The screen flickered to life, revealing her. She lounged in a high-backed leather chair, one fishnet-clad leg draped over the arm. Her smirk was a weapon. "Oh, look. The little otaku managed to log on. Are your sticky, Cheeto-dust fingers trembling already?"

I nodded, my dick already straining against my sweatpants just from her condescending tone.

"Pathetic," she sneered, leaning forward. The view down her tight latex top was intentional, her tits squeezed into deep, tempting cleavage. "You're going to touch that sad little wee-wee for me, but only how I say. Understand, my worthless kun?"

"Yes, Mistress," I mumbled, my hand already moving to my waistband.

"Ah-ah-ah!" she tutted, a sharp, mocking sound. "Hands off the merchandise, piglet. First, you look at me. You look at my perfect, plump lips and imagine them wrapped around your pathetic cock. Imagine the wet, sloppy sounds they'd make. But you don't get that. You get your own grubby fist."

She described a hentai scene with cruel precision. "Think of that big-titty oni girl, the one from your favorite trash. Think of her massive, bouncing jugs, those dark, swollen nipples you'd give anything to suckle. Now look at my tits. They're better. Real. And you'll never touch them."

My cock wept a bead of pre-cum. I was painfully hard.

"Now, fist that pathetic dick," she commanded. "Use your whole hand,