Whispers from Mister L

Submission

Aimee couldn't stop thinking about it.

"Next time... I want to see you touch even lower."

His voice echoed in her mind like a secret she wasn't supposed to have. It stayed with her in class. In the shower. When she lay in bed at night staring at her ceiling, her legs curled tight together, her chest still tender from the way she had played with herself for him.

He had seen her.

Really seen her.

And she had let him.

But now?

Now he wanted more.

Lower.

The word haunted her.

She wasn't sure if it scared her... or thrilled her.

Because every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel it-her own fingers pulling at the edge of her bra, his voice guiding her,

every command making her body heat and ache like she was wired to obey.

And now he wanted to see more.

All of it.

But she didn't know if she could do it.

She opened the app the next night.

And then closed it.

Opened it again. Stared at it. Locked her phone.

She sat on her bed in an oversized shirt and no pants, her legs bare beneath the blanket. Her laptop sat nearby. Waiting.

Just like him.

What if she disappointed him?

What if she froze?

What if she tried and just... couldn't?

But another thought whispered in the back of her mind:

What if he liked it? What if he said her name the way he always did, low and deep and proud, and told her she was a good girl

again?

Her thighs pressed together at the thought.

When she finally opened the app, her hands were cold with nerves.

'Start.'

The screen blinked.

Then his voice came-calm, knowing.

"There you are."

She swallowed.

"Hi," she whispered.

"You've been thinking about what I said."

It wasn't a question.

"Yeah..."

"You're nervous."

Still not a question.

She nodded, then realized he couldn't see.

"I am."

Silence.

Then-

"Good."

She blinked. "Good?"

"Because it means you're not numb. It means this matters to you. That you're not just going through the motions-you're

feeling every second."

She breathed in slowly. Her chest still tight.

"I want to, Mister. I do... but I don't know if I can."

"You don't have to decide tonight."

She looked up.

Surprised.

"I won't ever force you, Aimee. You know that."

Her lips parted.

She nodded again, even though he couldn't see.

"But," he added gently, "when you're ready to give me more... I'll take care of it. Of you."

Her fingers twisted in her sheets.

"Can we just... talk for a while tonight?" she asked.

"Of course."

And so they did.

He asked her how her day was. She told him about her classes, about a boring group project, about how she couldn't concentrate. He

didn't need to ask why.

They talked like they always did-open, quiet, laced with something unspoken that filled the silence between every word. And when

he said goodnight, he didn't ask for anything.

Just one thing.

"I'll wait. Until you're ready to show me everything."

And somehow, that was what scared her most-

The fact that she wanted to.

Days later. She didn't think she'd do it.

Not tonight.

Not yet.

But there she was-sitting on the edge of her bed, her fingers trembling as she opened the app and waited for him to appear.

No words had been exchanged yet.

Just the unspoken understanding that this was the night.

She had lit a small lamp in the corner, just warm enough to glow across her skin without making her feel exposed. Her laptop sat

propped on a small stack of books at the foot of her bed, angled carefully.

Her heart was hammering.

Then-

Video Call Incoming: Mister L

She clicked. And there he was. Still shadowed. Still faceless. But his voice came through immediately, soft and low like smoke

curling through her chest.

"Aimee."

Her breath caught.

"Are you ready?" She nodded before she realized. Then whispered, "Yes."

A pause. He exhaled like he was holding back something dangerous. "Good girl. Get on the bed."

She climbed slowly into the center of it, pulling her blanket aside. Her bare legs brushed against the sheets. She sat with her knees

curled close to her chest, too shy to move fully yet.

"Camera down a little. I want to see all of you."

She adjusted it with shaky hands.

"Lie back. Let me see you stretch." She obeyed.

Arms above her head for a second. Her shirt lifted with the movement, revealing the curve of her stomach.

"Now."

His voice deepened.

"Take your shirt off."

Her breath caught.

Fingers found the hem of her shirt.

And slowly—inch by inch—she pulled it over her head.

Her bare shoulders met the air first. Then her bra came into view—still soft pink from last time, barely containing the fullness beneath.

He let out a quiet sound.

"Now the bra." She hesitated.

Hands moved behind her, unclasped the band. Her bra slid forward and fell away. Her breasts rose with each shaky breath-round, real, not too big but full enough to draw his complete attention. Her n*****s were already perked. Tight. Sensitive.

She covered herself quickly with her arm.

"Don't." His voice came sharp.

"Move your hands." She looked into the camera. Flushed. Exposed.

But slowly she dropped her arms. Her breasts lifted naturally with the movement, bare and begging to be touched, even if it was only

Through the screen. "Beautiful."

"Shorts."

The command got smoother now. No pause.

She slid them down her hips.

Revealing pale thighs and soft, simple underwear.

"Now your panties."

Her fingers lingered on the waistband. Heart pounding. And then she pulled them down. All the way. Until she was bare.

Completely.

The air hit her skin and made her shiver.

She covered herself again on instinct.

"Aimee," he said, voice thick.

"Move your hand. Let me see you."

And she did.

Every inch of her was now his.

He saw her body—trembling, flushed, wet.

"You're mine tonight," he murmured.

"Now spread your legs, sweetheart. Let me give you your next command."

Her fingers trembled as they slid down the insides of her thighs.

"Spread them, Aimee." Mister L's voice wasn't loud. It was soft. Measured. But behind every word was something that left no room for refusal.

She opened her legs slowly, shyly, until her knees were parted just enough for the laptop camera to catch what no one else had ever

seen. Her breathing stuttered. "Wider." She obeyed.

Now there was no hiding.

No shadows.

Just her-naked, exposed, and soaked beneath the low light, with her heart beating so loudly she could barely hear her thoughts.

She looked away from the screen, too shy to meet her own reflection, too overwhelmed to meet his.

But his voice found her again. "Put one hand on your breast." She lifted her hand, placing it over the soft curve of her chest.

"Touch your n****e. Gently."

Her fingers brushed over it, and she gasped. It was already so sensitive. Her back arched without meaning to. "Good girl. Rub slow circles." She did. Her hips twitched. Her thighs squeezed instinctively.

"Now slide your other hand down."

Her free hand trailed down her stomach. Over the warm softness of her skin. Past the place where her panties once were. To the heat

that pulsed at her core.

"Touch yourself, Aimee."

She obeyed.

Her fingers slipped between her folds, already slick with anticipation.

A whimper escaped her lips—sharp, breathy, vulnerable.

"Louder."

She didn't mean to.

But her fingers moved again—pressing gently, rubbing in small, shaky circles—and her moan spilled out, raw and real.

She heard it.

So did he.

"That's it," he breathed. "Don't stop."

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her hand moved faster. Her other hand still cupped her breast, squeezing gently, thumb brushing over her

nipple until it throbbed with need.

"Do you feel how wet you are?"

"Yes," she choked out.

"You're dripping for me, aren't you?"

"I-I am..."

"That's because your body knows who it belongs to."

Her thighs trembled. Her breathing turned shallow. Every word from him pushed her closer to the edge.

"Faster now, baby. Rub harder. Let me hear you break."

Her fingers moved faster, desperate.

A soft cry left her lips—then another.

"Say my name."

"Mister," she gasped. "Please—Mister—I'm-"

"Come for me."

Her hips jerked.

The pleasure hit hard—rushing up her spine, tightening every inch of her body.

Her mouth opened in a loud, broken moan as her back arched off the bed. Her legs shook. Her chest rose and fell in waves.

And he said nothing.

He let her fall apart.

Watched her unravel completely.

Only when the tremors faded, only when she collapsed onto the sheets—bare, dazed, glowing—did he speak again.

"Look at me."

She turned her head.

Her vision blurry.

"You were perfect."

A small smile touched her lips, shy and breathless. She didn't say anything. Because she didn't need to. He had already

taken everything.

The next morning felt different. Not just because of what she'd done—naked, trembling, completely exposed-but because of what it meant. He had watched her. Listened. Spoken her name like it was a prayer and a command all at once.

And when she came, she didn't just give her body. She gave control. Now, even the softest memory of his voice sent warmth rolling through her again. But that wasn't what made her nervous today. It was what he said at the end. Just before they ended the call.

"Do you use i********:?"

The message came hours later.

She was sitting at her desk, trying to read-but her phone lit up with a notification from the app.

Mister L: I want to see you again. Not just your body.

She stared.

Typing slowly.

Aimee: What do you mean?

Mister L: I mean... the rest of you. Your world. Where you exist outside of this.

Aimee: I don't really post anything.

Mister L: Do you have an account?

She hesitated.

Then:

Aimee: Yeah. But I haven't used it in a long time. I don't even know how to find people on it.

Mister L: I'll teach you. Open the app.

Her hands moved automatically. She opened i********:.

Dusty. Empty. Her feed was quiet. No notifications. No messages. No posts. Just one profile picture from a year ago. No face-just a

mirror selfie. Cropped at the chest. A long shirt. Slender legs. She had forgotten what it even looked like.

Mister L: Send me your handle.

Aimee: What's that?

Mister L: Your username. The one under your name.

She found it. Sent it. Felt a shiver of panic as soon as she hit send.

What was she doing?

But seconds later:

Mister L: Found you.

Then:

Mister L: Added.

Mister L: No posts. No story. Nothing but that picture.

Aimee: I told you. I don't use it much.

Mister L: Your profile picture...

She swallowed.

Mister L: I recognize that shirt.

Her eyes widened. It was the one she wore the first night they talked. The one she took off slowly, nervously, inch by inch on

camera.

Mister L: You have no idea how badly I want to see more.

She didn't reply. She didn't have to. Because the part of her that used to hide was already wondering what it would feel like—to post

something just for him.