Chapters 4 and 5: Evening on the Balcony and The Long Road Home

Chapter 4. Evening on the Balcony

You wake up and immediately catch the anticipation—a shiver, like from cold water.

The day drags on in waiting.

You catch yourself thinking that you've come to love this state—the shiver when you don't know what will be offered to you.

In the evening, when you're home, I write:

— Go out on the balcony.

Take a blanket with you so you don't get cold.

You will do everything I say.

You reply:

— I'm ready.

It's already dark outside, only the yellow windows opposite.

You go out onto the balcony, wrap yourself in the blanket, sit in the corner.

Under your home clothes—nothing, as you know I like.

I write:

/> — Put on your headphones.

Play the voice message from me…

Position yourself so your legs, stomach, chest are visible.

You listen to my voice…

It sounds only for you.

I give you commands:

— Stroke your thighs.

Open your chest.

Take off the blanket, let the night see you.

Run your hand between your legs.

You're afraid someone might see you, but the fear only heats you up.

The air is cool, your skin gets goosebumps, but inside—hotter than ever.

I imagine you breathing faster, holding back moans.

— Don't look down, look only at the sky.

Come on the balcony, right now.

You obey.

Fingers slide over your body, you're already wet, shivering from cold and arousal.

You try not to scream—bite your lip, but your body gives everything away.

After—silence, a light shiver, and relief.

You wrap yourself in the blanket, sit on the floor.

I write:

— Good girl.

I feel your struggle even through text. I'm here.

Rest.

You go back into the apartment, but the shiver in your body doesn't subside.

Chapter 5. The Long Way Home

Today you stayed late at work.

Evening, fatigue, the city—heavy and wet.

There are few people on the metro.

You're heading home, but your thoughts aren't about home, they're about me.

I deliberately don't write, I want to test if you can take the initiative first.

You couldn't hold back:

— I'm on my way home. I want you.

I smile, read it, but don't reply right away.

After a minute—briefly:

— Take off your panties right in the train car.

Put them in your bag.

Then take a photo of your thighs in the underpass before the exit to the surface.

Show me.

You froze.

You exhale, lower your hand under your skirt.

Your fingers find the elastic, pull the panties down.

Your bag is on your lap—you slip them in softly, so no one notices.

Your knees tremble.

Your cheeks burn.

Station. You get off, walk towards the exit.

The underpass is empty, no footsteps are heard, you're very nervous and breathing deeply.

In your chest—a shiver of anticipation.

You take out your phone.

Skirt up, the skin on your thighs exposed.

You click "send".

I see your picture.

I write:

— You're brave.

Now go home, don't put on underwear.

You walk down the street—it's cold, but inside you're hot.

Every step seems to echo inside.

The skirt clings to your body.

You feel your legs getting damp, how from your gait one could guess—you're not your usual self today.

In the apartment, you shed everything, lie down on the bed.

You wait for a command.

I write:

— Touch yourself.

Do it slowly, look only at me on your phone.

Keep your hand between your legs until I say "you may".

You obey, tremble, almost cry from the tension.

Time drags on.

I give the command:

— Now.

The orgasm comes quickly, you're completely open, moan out loud, not embarrassed by anyone.

Then silence.

Your body is relaxed, your thoughts empty but happy.

I write:

— You're good.

Sleep. I'll write first tomorrow.