Special Delivery

Oh fuck, it’s Monday, and I’m still here. That’s my first thought as I wake up, before I even open my eyes to the cloudy gray day outside my window. I want to be waking up to the heat of a DC summer and the warmth of a butch’s soft body, snuggling tighter against me every time I shift in the bed. Instead, I wake up alone to the consummately chilly Seattle rain.  

“Fucking long-distance,” I murmur to myself as I roll over and look at my phone to check the time. There, on the unlock screen, is the countdown I created months ago, telling me when it will be time to go home and time to see Luc, my partner, the beautiful butch I’m missing. I groan at the weeks left in the countdown, supremely frustrated, at least for the moment, with my life choices. 

I’m in Seattle ostensibly to see my family for the summer. But I’m really here because I’m not sure what else to do. Suffering an extreme burnout from an intense lobbying job, I had turned to what I had hoped would be the comforts of family and the beauty of the Pacific Northwest. In the ten years since moving to DC to take on an increasingly futile seeming job trying to get the US government to respect human rights, I had romanticized Seattle and selectively remembered what it was like to live near my family. They are sweet and loving, but often baffled by me and my non-binary gender, and scared of my big emotions. Over the years I had conveniently forgotten both the chill of the air, even in summer, and the chill of the people, so different from the city that had become my adopted home.

Before I can roll back over and bury my head in the pillows, I notice the bubble on the top of my phone screen telling me I have a text from Luc.

“Good morning love. I miss you and can’t wait to see you in a few weeks. In the meantime, did my package get delivered?

This sends me sprinting barefoot, dressed only in teal briefs to the front door of the in-law suite over my brother’s garage I’m staying in. I yank it open. And there, on the “Welcome” mat I remember from my childhood, is a plain brown cardboard box about a foot long and six inches square.

Eagerly scooping up the box, I admit to myself that this is at least one bright spot to long distance. Not being able to see each other in person has spurred us to start using real, old-fashioned mail. It started out as a joke: One day I sent a postcard with a cheesy painting of an orca jumping out of the Puget Sound framed by the snow capped cone of Mt Rainier with the message “Obviously, this is a painting of a view from my window. But I’d still rather see you!”

In return, Luc sent a card with a picture of a grizzly waving that read “I can hardly bear not seeing you.” Dad jokes are her love language.

To the postcards we quickly added packages. Mine would often contain baked goods as my sister-in-law and I bonded by trying vegan recipe after vegan recipe. Luc’s packages frequently featured books she thought I would like, or zines she had collected over the years that she thought might cheer me up.

But usually Luc’s gifts came in duct taped shoe boxes, covered in sharpie, not plain brown cardboard… 

“Good morning love!” I text Luc back. “Damn I miss waking up to your body pressed against mine, but I did get your package. May I open it?”

“Mmmmmm. I can almost feel your hot body pressed up against my naked back and fuck I miss it. But I’m glad you at least have my package,” Luc responds almost instantly, ending the message with a winking emoji.

I wait for approximately 10 seconds for another text, then, perpetually impatient, respond, “So, does that mean I can open it?”

“Well, that depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“If I let you open it, can you be a good boy for me and do exactly what I tell you to do?”

This is our code, our signal for when Luc wants to slip into the D/s play we both love, and wants to know if I’d enjoy that too.

“Yes daddy,” I reply eagerly, “I’ll do whatever you tell me to do.”

“Then yes, you can open it.”

I tear open the box and find another inside of it, this one featuring a photo of a dildo, a description of the high grade silicone, and its size -- 7 inches by 1 ¾ inches. It wouldn’t be the biggest cock that I have ever taken from Luc. She has one that’s even bigger that I often beg her to fuck me with. But it would be the biggest dildo that I have of my own, if that’s what Luc means with it.

“I love it,” I text. “Thank you daddy. Should I take it out?”

“You can take it out, but just set it on your desk. Don’t do anything else with it until I tell you.”

“Yes daddy.”

I’m already turned on by imagining Luc’s body pressed against my own, and the sight of the cock and the thought of what Luc might have me do with it turns me on even more. But before I can think more about it, I notice the time and realize that I better hurry up or, despite the 10 foot commute to the home office I had set up in the kitchen, I would be late for work.

I move to the dining table and open up my work computer, setting the dildo just to the right and behind the screen where I can look at it while I check my email. I also keep my phone nearby, waiting for further instructions from Luc. 

Luc and I have worked together for almost four years, and have been dating for the last three. We’re used to emailing back and forth about work, while simultaneously texting messages that are decidedly NSFW. So, without surprise, I open an email from Luc asking for my approval of a memo we were writing about the President’s recently released budget. The proposal would significantly scale up funding for combat operations while cutting funding for pre-schools, low income housing and just about everything else we care about. I read it carefully, quelling my outrage and frustration over the completely avoidable pain the budget, if passed, would cause and email back “Looks good.” 

Luc often teases me about my curt emails, joking that I really just need an “approved” stamp. I love Luc’s teasing, so keep my emails as short as possible and save my words for our other channels.

“I’m so excited about my present. Should I do something with it?” I text, staring at the sea foam green toy now decorating my desk, knowing I’m taking a risk and might get punished for my impatience.

But, “I don’t know. What do you want to do with it?” is all Luc types in response.

I imagine Luc with the cock strapped on, bending me over my desk and fucking me from behind, her hands pulling me down hard on the length of the cock with each thrust of her hips. That’s what I really want to do with it. But since that’s not possible this morning, I text back simply “I want to feel it inside of me. I want to feel you inside of me.”

Luc responds “Do you think you can take all of it? Do you think you can be a good boy for me?”

“I can if I touch myself first. May I touch myself, daddy? May I use the wand?”

I wait for a minute, then two, then three, staring at the screen, squirming in my seat, and feeling the wetness spreading between my thighs before a reply finally comes.

“Yes.”

Satisfied that I have responded to everything urgent in my inbox, I walk over to the bed and pull out the magic wand that Luc gave me for my last birthday. This is one benefit of working from home, I think as I slide out of my briefs, being able to go right back to bed and get myself off when work isn’t busy. Not that being in my office has stopped Luc and I from playing during work before. We have often taken full advantage of me having my own office with a locking door. 

“I have the wand. Are you going to touch yourself too?” I text.

“I can’t. I’m in the office.” She replies. I imagine Luc in her cubicle in our office, holding her phone low in her lap to keep it out of sight of any of our coworkers who might pop in with a question or just to say good morning. 

“That’s too bad. I’d hate to get you all turned on telling you about how wet and hard I am when you can’t do anything about it. I’m dripping wet, getting so open and so hard. I wish you could see it, could feel it, could feel how much you turn me on.”

“Fuuuuck, I wish I could too. Send me a picture.”

I lay back on the pillows, spread my legs, snap a picture of my wet, open hole, and send it to Luc. “Now what should I do? Can I feel you inside of me now?” I beg.

“Yes. Slide the cock inside of yourself, but don’t fuck yourself with it. Just leave it there.” 

I obey, feeling all seven delicious inches of it hitting every point of pleasure inside my hole. I long to fuck myself with it, leave the wand where it is and fuck myself hard until I come again and again around it. But more than that, I long to be controlled, to do what daddy tells me.

“It’s all the way in,” I text, with another picture, this one of the dildo buried to its base, my member swollen above it. “What should I do now?”

“Just leave it there. It’s time for our meeting, after all.”

I have once again lost track of the time and didn’t realize that it was time for our weekly team meeting. Most weeks I have little to say, but this week, I need to lay out my plan for how the organization should respond to the President’s budget.

The thought of sitting through the meeting with Luc filling me up, wondering what will happen when it is through, is both daunting and thrilling. I love submitting to Luc, trying hard to obey her every command, trying to be good for my daddy, knowing how good she can be in return. So I sit up, reluctant to stop pleasuring myself, but eager to see what Luc has in store for me.  

I gasp as I pull my briefs back on, the fabric pushing the cock deeper inside me. I skip pants, noting that this is another upside to working from home and the eternal video meetings. Hurried and distracted, I open my closet door and grab a sky blue shirt made of worn cotton that slides through my fingers as I button it up. I pull the meeting link up on my work computer, try to arrange my face, and log in.

As I sit down in my desk chair, the cock pushes even deeper inside. I stifle a moan as Barb, who runs the meeting, says a cheerful “Hello everyone!” I am momentarily distracted by the wave of jealousy brought on by seeing so many of my colleagues in one place, turning to each other to say good morning and talk about their weekends. But the cock brings my focus back to my body, at least until Luc enters the room onscreen. 

Luc has always been lousy at playing it cool. It’s one of the things I first loved about her. Years ago, I knew she was falling for me when she started blushing every time I spoke to her. Her emotions always show plainly on her face even when she’d rather hide them. In this case, even as Luc tries to say a casual hello to our colleagues, she turns bright red, and can’t look at the screen in the front of the room with my video amongst half a dozen others without getting flustered. 

Meanwhile, I rock in my seat. I can’t help it. The pressure of the head of the cock feels too good and with each movement of my pelvis, I feel the tip rubbing against my deepest points of pleasure. 

“God. You’re so deep inside of me. It feels so fucking good,” I text, and am rewarded by an even deeper blush from Luc when she surreptitiously looks at her phone. 

“You better fuck me soon, or I’m going to go crazy. I’m so turned on.” I continue.

I can see Luc fidgeting in her seat as she reads that last text and hope she’s as turned on as I am.

“Hold still and show me what a good boy you can be, or I might not fuck you at all,” Luc replies.

With great effort, I stop rocking and hold still. I’m so focused on the length inside of me and how badly I want to move to feel it more, that Barb has to call my name twice to get my attention when it’s my turn to speak. 

Unlike Luc, I am generally unflappable, but this is stretching even my limits. I try to remember what I need to say, what I had planned, but end up uncharacteristically rambling. In the middle of my explanation, I catch Luc staring at me intently, and lose my train of thought completely. 

“So…...yeah, I’ll follow up.” I finish weakly, unable to think about anything except Luc inside of me and how badly I need to come. 

I catch a smirk on Luc’s face as I finish, desperate for this meeting to be over. A half an hour meeting has never felt so long.

“Well, you’ve got me filled up and desperate. Now what are you going to do with me?” I text when the meeting finally ends, along with a picture of my soaking wet briefs, as I watch Luc slowly close her notebook, pick up her tea and leave the conference room.

“You’ve been a good boy. Now just wait a little longer,” comes the reply. I close my work computer and move back to the bed, desperately hoping for release.

Within a few minutes, I am rewarded with the sound of a video call coming in over my personal computer. I scramble to answer, and when I do, I see Luc in Room 406, one of the more private rooms in our organization’s office building, with her headphones on. Unlike the other conference and classrooms around it, Room 406 is windowless except for a small pane in the door. I know that with Luc sitting there, she won’t be able to say much. You can hear almost everything through the walls of that old building. But Luc will be able to watch me and give simple commands.

“Please daddy. Please fuck me. Please let me come for you,” I whine, without even saying hello. 

“Not yet,” Luc says. Then she texts, “I need to see how patient you can be.”

“Haven’t I already been patient? I’ve been waiting for so long! I’m dripping cum all over your cock. Don’t you want to at least see that?” I reply.

“Yes. I’d like to see that,” Luc replies in an officious tone, even as her eyes glisten with desire. At the same time she texts “So long, huh? You wait through a half an hour meeting while I let you feel my cock inside of you and think that’s being patient?” 

“I guess not,” I say with a pout as I position the computer so Luc can see all of me, reclining against the pillows and spreading my legs.

“Spread your legs wider,” Luc texts, riveted by the sight of the soaking wet fabric holding the base of the dildo in place, “And tighten your muscles around my cock while the rest of you stays completely still.”

I do as I’m told, and moan as this movement pulls the toy in deeper.

“Tell me how wet you are,” Luc types. 

“I’m so wet,” I respond eagerly. “You know how much it turns me on when you tell me what to do, and how wet riding your cock makes me. I’m dripping all over it. Don’t you want to see that?”

“Yes.” Luc whispers, her formal tone slipping.

I pull off my briefs, then slowly slide the cock most of the way out of me so Luc can see it covered in my cum.

“I wish you could touch yourself. I wish I could see if you’re turned on, too,” I moan.

In response, Luc glances at the tiny window, then slides one hand inside her Levi 501s. When she pulls her hand out and holds it up to the camera, her fingers are shiny with her cum. I moan again at the sight.

“Now put that cock back inside you and tell me what it feels like being filled up like that and having to just lie there, not able to move,” Luc texts.

“It’s torture,” I whine, “But it feels so good. It’s so hard to keep from moving, but I want to be a good boy for you. Please, daddy, please fuck me!”

“Not yet.” Luc responds. “But I want you to reach down and very lightly circle your cock, just once. Tell me how that feels.”

I eagerly reach down and visibly jump when my finger brushes the tip of my swollen member. I circle it once and then stop reluctantly, aching for more.

“Oh god. I’m so hard. It’s so sensitive. It feels so good. Please let me touch myself more.” I beg then stare hard, my eyes desperate while Luc types out a long reply.

“You’re so impatient, I haven’t even made you wait an hour. I really shouldn’t let you. I spoil you so much. But I want this. So, sit up and ride my cock while you touch yourself. But don’t you dare come. If you get close to coming, I want you to stop and put your hands flat on the bed. Then I’ll tell you whether you can start again or not. Do you understand?”

“Yes, daddy,” I breathe as I eagerly sit up, my weight driving the cock inside of me. Staring hard at Luc through the screen and remembering the dozens of times I have straddled her body and rode her cock, I rock my hips so the tip of the dildo rubs my g-spot. My fingertips circle my member until it is swollen enough to take between two fingers. I’m so turned on from waiting and being in Luc’s control that I near climax quickly. Desperate for release, but even more desperate to submit to Luc, I stop the movement of my hips right before an orgasm overcomes me. I reluctantly move my hands to the bed and turn a pleading, hungry look on Luc. 

“Good.” Comes Luc’s whispered response, my hungry look mirrored on her face. “Wait.” I grip the sheets in my hands and use my rapidly dwindling self control to hold as still as possible awaiting Luc’s instructions.

A few agonizing seconds later, comes a single word. “Again.”

I buck my hips wildly as my hand returns to my cock. I can feel every inch of the toy inside of me, can imagine Luc’s body underneath me, and this time I am on the brink of orgasm in less than a minute. 

Desperate as I am to come, I continue to obey, and before I explode, I stop moving, and return my hands to the bed.

“Please please please please please” I moan between heaving breaths. “Haven’t I been good for you? Can I please come?”

Luc stares hard, savoring my desperation and my obedience. I know she loves having me like this, has told me how much it thrills her to have me aching for more, and aching to be good. But soon, Luc’s own desire wins out, and she finally whispers simply, “Yes.”

This time as I buck my hips and stroke myself, I scream. 

“Oh. God. Fuck. Yes. So. Good. Thank you daddy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Each word rising in pitch until they morph into incoherent sounds as I come again and again, staring intently through the computer screen into Luc’s eyes where I can see her desire and her pride at what a good boy I am. As the orgasms recede into aftershocks, I continue to stare at Luc and once again wish I could press my body against hers.

After a few minutes of staring at each other, Luc pulls her microphone close to her mouth and whispers, “I miss you so much, I want to feel you so bad. But I thought that even if we couldn’t be together, at least I could make you feel good from here.”

“You make me feel so good, daddy,” I reply. “I hope you’ll let me make you feel good too. I hope that when you get home, you’ll strap on your cock and let me help you feel me riding it.”

Before Luc can respond, she’s startled by someone at the door, and straightens up.

“Well, that plan certainly works for me. Let’s flesh it out later,” comes her officious reply, before she hangs up with a wink for me, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

Photo by CottonBro Studio