Reflections of a Virtual Harlot

This narrative isn't quite for those who came here for a quick "jerk off" to a short story about humiliation, rape, or BDSM. No. It's more the experiences of a girl, mainly for those who enjoy the taste of virtual sex coupled with real depravity. I think this story will find its reader, even if that reader turns out to be just one. Or just one woman.

After university, I was a girl quite experienced in sex. I had tried a lot, knew a lot, and was aware that I liked rough, wild sex much more than the ordinary kind. As well as various deviations in that very sex—quickies in public places, several

partners in a day, a spanking on the ass, and so on. In these moments, orgasms and the arousal itself were an order of magnitude higher than ordinary nighttime sex in bed. And when one of the guys started calling me dirty names during sex, I realized there was no turning back. But it didn't upset me much, quite the opposite.

I went online to figure out what I was, why I liked these things, and if everything was okay psychologically. And I discovered a whole world of vulgarity, fetishes, depravity, vices, and the unreal (in theory) pleasures associated with these discoveries.

I quickly got into mail chats, the main theme of which was cybersex, and against this backdrop, I tried MMF, FMF, and paid sex in real life. I quickly realized that girls attracted me no less than boys. I tried sex with a girl. Then with girls. And then I came across one virtual person who interested me. I don't remember the details anymore, unfortunately, but it was she, Ksyusha, who opened up the world of submission, light BDSM, humiliation on a moral-sexual basis, and so on, to me. Initially, I wasn't very impressed, but I gradually got into it, tried to play along, and I myself began to like these intoxicating, depraved things. I understood that I was simply looking for new means of arousal, a new level of adrenaline, because I had tried a ton of things in real life and fucking was becoming simply boring for me.

Cybersex with Ksenia was incomparable. Me on top, her on top, role reversals, switch sessions, fetish upon fetish. I very quickly delved deeper and deeper into the world of depravity, sinking into it headfirst.

Our vulgar games didn't go beyond cybersex, remaining within the realm of fantasies, until one time she suggested I dress the way I wanted to be dressed in cybersex. At first, I was surprised, but thought it was a pretty good prelude, especially since according to the cybersex scenario, I was a schoolgirl. And I accepted the game's conditions, putting on knee-high socks, some ultra-short tight skirt, a blouse tied in a knot on my chest, and completed the look with two ponytails and bright makeup. It turned out fiercely sexy, and while I was dressing up, my mood for cybersex was already at its peak. So when Ksyusha suggested wearing something again before virtual sex the next time, I agreed without hesitation.

We adopted this and started using it more and more often when the situation allowed. By that time, it was normal for me to hear her address me not by my name, but as slut, whore, cocksucker, and so on. Our cybersex sessions became harsher, I came more often and more intensely. I got so carried away with this that in real life during sex, I asked guys to slap me and call me a slut, spit in my mouth or on my face, choke me, and fuck me roughly. Not all of them stayed for a second time))

At some point, I noticed that I was having cybersex more often than having sex in real life. Guys changed every week because the main criterion for the "casting" was the wildest sex that could satisfy me. But not every male could meet my selection criteria, and those who remained still couldn't quench my lust the way I did myself during virtual sessions with my internet girlfriend. I began to realize with fear that I preferred to spend the night at my laptop, half-naked and with a vibrator, having virtual sex with girls on BDSM themes, rather than trying to get satisfaction with the help of some new or old acquaintance. I stopped enjoying sex in real life.

The problem was the following. It was terribly boring. The session was supposed to be quite ordinary—I'm the slave, she's the domme. I come over in the previously agreed-upon outfit, don't make eye contact, do everything she says. Taboos were also agreed upon, and in theory, everything looked wonderful. During preparation, I almost went crazy with anticipation and... could barely hold back a yawn during the act itself. I was dying of boredom. My partner held pauses too long, fussed with the stuff for a long time, and, well, she couldn't properly shove a plug-tail into my anus, and dropped the ball-gag a couple of times while diligently huffing and puffing to fasten it between my teeth. I endured until the end, diligently doing everything required of me, satisfied her, but was not close to orgasm myself.

After the meeting, I analyzed my feelings, trying to figure out what was wrong. Looking for the reason first and foremost in myself and my inexperience. After some time, another girl appeared. Sexy, smart, experienced. We talked, she liked me. Again, burning between the legs during preparation... again not even close to orgasm, again boring, again strained...

Fuck your mother! I thought. And dove back into the internet. While I was trying to arrange my real depraved life, I wasn't really having cybersex. And now I returned. And immediately—Ksyusha, prelude, I dressed up like a streetwalker, hardcore cybersex, and I came within the first few minutes. And then about four more times. And once more in the shower, from the memories.

Then it dawned on me. It's simple. I started with cybersex. And in cybersex, everything is perfect. Any factors that can interfere in real life are one hundred percent compensated by fantasy. And often aren't even considered. Pain, public exposure, all the BDSM stuff, location, quantity and quality of participants, outfit, scenario. However you want it, that's how it will be. In cybersex, everything was so vivid and so fabulous that my experiences with real life were losing cleanly in all aspects.

But I didn't despair. I continued to change partners in search of that cherished one who could keep up with my pace of sex and be a promiscuous slut in cybersex. But again, it wasn't enough for me. I wanted to feel that thrill, shame, burning cheeks, tears of pain mixed with pleasure, feel the moral torture in my head from performing such humiliating things on another person's orders. This thought haunted me, and I expressed it to Ksyusha.

We thought about it and decided—why not? We can transfer cybersex into a sort of semi-real life. She talks, I do. Just some initial prelude for arousal and that's it. The first few times weren't great, but we made allowances for inexperience and learned together from our own mistakes.

It so happened that by voicing my thoughts to Ksenia, I initially presented myself from a bottom's position. And although we still switched roles in cybersex, in real sessions I was much more often the one on my knees. At some point, I finally started playing on the slut's side in cybersex too. And then Ksyusha carefully hinted to me about a long-term session of real play. Not cybersex.

A week.

I had to set my status on the site that I was Ksyusha's sex slave, address

her formally as "You" and follow her orders. It seemed interesting to me, I agreed. After all, in the end, this was exactly what I was looking for when leaving a profile on a BDSM dating site. Even if the partner turned out to be a virtual girl, the meaning didn't change.

As it turned out later, I wasn't mistaken in my choice at all. It blew my mind when Ksyu came online and I wrote "Hello, Mistress," sliding from the chair onto my knees and placing the laptop in front of me.

In my "arsenal," besides vibrators, appeared gags, anal plugs, plugs with tails and anal beads, all sorts of belts, crops and whips, lubes, lubricants, collars and leashes, gloves and masks. And even though my Mistress was just a nickname in a messenger, I obeyed. I felt like a slut, and I liked it. I was Her virtual sex toy with no voice. Absolutely no rights in Her presence. After a few months, I stopped deciding what to wear altogether. My wardrobe changed completely and was controlled by Ksyu. As were all my sexual actions. Everything was coordinated with my Mistress. I didn't suck, didn't fuck without Her permission. I got so into my role as a controlled slut that I didn't even entertain the thought of deceiving my Mistress. Everything related to erotica and sex—belonged to Her.

It should be noted that all this slutty theme didn't affect my life from a negative point of view. I calmly found a job, lived quite happily, had no problems with bosses or friends. I was fine, I was calm and balanced because I fed my sexual, depraved demons to my heart's content in the evenings as the frankly powerless whore of Mistress Ksyusha. Of course, I brought colors from our "relationship" with Her into my life, like the same collar, Her choice of my wardrobe, some orders in public, but carefully, without harming myself or my social status.

We both respected each other, and there were no talks about photo reports or video sessions. We tried these sessions in real life with others and understood perfectly well—there's no need to destroy this fragile world of fantasies by trying to make it real. It was much more variable to fantasize for our partner and maintain our balance of Mistress and slave.

I was a calm and cheerful girl in "ordinary" life and turned into a lustful, soft, like plasticine, creature in the evenings at the computer and an obsessively fuckable slut when carrying out Mistress's orders. I was satisfied with everything.

Everything changed on my birthday. As a gift, the Mistress allowed me, her slave, to have her. For an hour in cybersex. And then for another hour allowed me to have her in a real session. I had her so hard that I myself broke a sweat, coming over and over. After that, I began to notice a change in Her mood to have me as her slut. And I was right. Ksyusha said she had exhausted herself as a Mistress and could no longer maintain that lustful spark within herself.

I was devastated, upset, and angry. For a week, we tried to communicate as equals, and then she offered herself as a slave. For a long time.

I thought for a long time. After all, I identified myself as a bottom. I even still hadn't taken off the collar. But I decided to try. And again, I wasn't wrong. For another six months, I was the Mistress. The situation was completely mirrored, I was absolute authority, Ksyusha was a perfect slave. So I'll omit the details of our "relationship" in this key. I'll just say that I started liking the new position fairly quickly. I got used to being in charge now and skillfully used it, but I also got a bit bored after a long time. I understood why Ksyu got bored after I fucked her on my birthday. When you're in the leading role for a long time, sooner or later you want to be led yourself. Back then, we didn't yet know this was called "switch," when partners change roles from time to time. We decided to take a break and be on equal footing.

Since then, we haven't had long-term sessions. We fucked each other in cybersex, arranged group chats with others, had fun in the comments, played games we invented in real life. If she was in a good mood and it coincided with mine, I got on my knees without a second thought. And she fucked me again with the most sophisticated and humiliating methods. It worked the same way from her side. We were each other's sluts and mistresses.

I don't know how to explain these feelings, the desire to submit, to do something humiliating that only you and she will know about, but for which only you will feel ashamed.

I don't know how to describe the powerful thirst to own that spineless slut on the other side of the monitor, destroying her morality with my desires.

I don't know how to explain the desire to belong, to be someone's bitch, a toy for fucking.

I don't know how to describe the desire to order shameful and humiliating things, knowing you won't be refused, from your personal virtual whore, and that she likes it, to the point of cramps in her lower belly.

Trying on skirts and tops in a giant store on a Saturday evening, blushing to tears from shame and dozens of stares, because the Mistress ordered not to use the fitting rooms.

Ordering her to find a ride home from work in such a way that she appears online with cum in her mouth and knowing that "hello Mistress" she types while rolling that whorish tongue around the thick liquid in her mouth.

Offering a numb jaw to the fourth cock in a row and knowing with horror that there's one more ahead, because there was an order from the Mistress to pass my mouth around with five guys.

Smiling, typing "slap" for the tenth time in messages to the slut, knowing that the whore is on all fours, looking expectantly at the monitor, and after each "slap" she loudly whips her own ass with a hard crop.

Head spinning, burning between the legs, thighs glistening with wetness inside, lower belly cramping, cheeks crimson... And you can't understand where the finest line is between the mix of thrill and shame, pleasure and pain, moral humiliation and physical satisfaction, moral satisfaction and physical humiliation.

Where is the line between virtual and real? Where is the line between desire and lust?

Only one thing is clear. This line is so blurred and indistinct, and beyond it are such horizons of MY pleasure, that I am ready to cross it again and again.