"You’d mentioned a preference for older men, more experienced. Someone to teach you. Someone dominant. I’d responded, intrigued. Despite my age (I was much older) I seemed to fit the bill. Our chats flowed easily. Your curiosity about dominance was palpable, and I was eager to indulge it. We’d set a date, and today, our game of submission was set to begin."

You had a remote-controlled toy, designed to stimulate both your G-spot and clitoris. I knew this toy well. I’d used it before. Excitement guaranteed. I took control, right out in the open. The app allowed for video calls. I could see you, your expression. How aroused were you? Were you close? Should I increase or decrease the intensity? I decided. The most thrilling part? We were doing this outside. In your town’s busiest street. On a Saturday. The ultimate test of your submission to an older man.

I pressed the button. The feed flickered to life. You were young, 23, and stunning. I said nothing, just watched. My gaze was demanding. I tapped the screen, asking if you were ready. A hesitant nod. I requested access through the app. Granted. I checked the device, confirming the settings. A familiar pattern: gentle intensity, enough to moisten, enough to arouse, but not enough to lose herself in audible moans.

She strolled down the high street, lost in thought. Her mind was racing, no doubt about it. With a flick of my finger, I increased the intensity. Once. Twice. Then held it. Just long enough. She stopped, her body stiffening. I could almost hear her stifled moan. Her cheeks flushed, a mix of arousal and mortification. Through her camera, I saw people staring. She was beginning to sense the dull thrill of submission. With a gentle decrease, I returned to the original pattern. I imagined her, so wet.

The first five minutes were over. I typed, asking if she wanted to continue? My insistent gaze said enough. True submission was yet to come. I sensed her hesitation, but she firmly pressed the button in the app again. I was back in control for the next five minutes. I repeated the game I’d played earlier. Slowly, slowly, and then suddenly full intensity, forcing her to stop walking. She gasped for breath, and I heard her soft moans. She was becoming less aware of her surroundings. She was surrendering. She wanted me to be proud. I reveled in it, in her, in her lustful expressions. It was time for the finale.

I typed that it was time for her orgasm. The fear in her eyes was instant. I knew I had to reassure her. A trip to the shops, she had to choose three sexy dresses. To try on. Once in the fitting room, she was to video call me again. To hand over control. Instructions would follow. I wondered if she would dare. If I'd hear from her again, or if she’d block me. It happens sometimes. No harm done, not everyone was cut out for this lifestyle. Some came back though, curiosity and desire overcoming shame. I wondered what kind of woman she was. As I mused, my screen flickered back to life. She was a persistent one.

I instructed her to tape her phone to the dressing room mirror, screen facing out. She complied immediately. The device buzzed softly. I wanted to see her breasts. Without hesitation, she unfastened her bra. Her breasts were beautiful, swaying gently as she tried on dresses.

She’d been so obedient, a perfect first-timer. It was time for her reward. I adjusted the settings, choosing a pattern I knew would push her over the edge. Her breathing quickened, her excitement palpable. When the saleswoman asked if everything was alright, I heard her strained reply. Her eyes met mine, understanding the sadistic pleasure in my smile.

She stifled a moan, so close. I knew it was coming. Her hand flew to her mouth, muffling a loud cry. Her climax was intense, I could see. She deserved it. I lowered the intensity, typing a simple compliment. Then wished her luck as she left the fitting room. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed. I could only imagine what the sales assistant would think. But that was part of the game of submission. With an "X", I ended the message, knowing this wouldn't be our last contact.