“Green light, start stroking.”

The game was familiar; the formula repeated ad nauseam. Trent had already lost count of the number of JOI videos online that used it as a premise. Then again, it’s very hard to keep track of things like that when you’re all fired up and eager to cum. It’s not like he enjoyed Math, anyway.

His latest discovery wasn’t tagged as a JOI video, and yet there it was, in gorgeous full screen, dictating the rules of engagement. Nadine was a perfect tease in a petite body, one hazelnut eye visible on camera and the other one obscured by platinum blonde locks. Despite her frail complexion, she had the cutest pair of perked-up tits he had seen in a while, highlighted by the Lolita-like strapless mini corset dress in red and black PVC she was wearing. Her smile also hit all the right notes of enticement and allure, extending mellifluously to the corners of her glossy lips with every dirty syllable.

“Red light, stop,” she commanded, and he did so, right away. His expertise at going along with the flow in these pre-ejaculatory porn sequences had achieved legendary status a long time ago. There was no rhythm he couldn’t follow, no self-gratification he wasn’t aware of, to speed up or delay the pleasurable outcome. Most of the videos he had jerked to over the years allowed a sweet release at the end but, for the occasions where that didn’t happen, he had learned to ride it off, savoring the edge like a blissful delicacy. Having a master’s degree in Wanking 101 was, perhaps, a pathetic achievement, but he was prouder of it than of his current employment status.

Call centers are weird. Call centers are exhausting. Call centers exist, not to promote legitimate thinking, but to fry as many brain cells as possible in sixty seconds. They test one’s patience, the limits of frustration, and sheer stupidity all at the same time. Smart people become dumb hearing the dumb complaints on the other side of the line. Dumb people become even dumber, parroting factoids and canned propositions to deaf ears, incapable of even acknowledging what’s being said. He hated the amorphous boundaries of his workplace, the raspy microphone next to his mouth, and the gopher-faced yuppie that had parachuted his way to a leadership position without a clear understanding of what that word entailed. A lot of things to hate, and just one way to shake them off.

“Green light, slow strokes with your dominant hand, cup your balls with the other one. If you get too hard, squeeze them a little for me,” Nadine continued, resuming their imaginary D/s relationship. Her name was most likely an alias and he was nothing more than yet another anonymous pervert, number 24085 if the video’s hit counter was correct but, somehow, things worked. Following clear instructions helped him brush aside the incoherencies of his 12-hour shifts, and the orgasmic promises brought comfort to otherwise restless nights. He adjusted himself on the chair and continued to submit to her sexy voice.

“White light,” he heard her say, echoing with an extra layer of depth through the speakers.

“Huh, what?” His head tilted to the side, an involuntary spasm caused by genuine surprise. She was leaning closer to the camera now, corset pressed against her deliciously looking boobs. It was the best angle so far, enough of a temptation to make him question if he had heard what he thought he did. Perhaps not, for that went against the game. Changing the rules in the middle of it all was a sure reason for disqualification, even in pornographic circles. “Do I need to complain to the official, sweetheart?” he muttered, with a half-baked grin.

“Red light, stop and take a breather. Put your hands to the side and stretch your fingers if you feel a slight numbness on the tips,” the video continued, shattering any illusion of interactivity he could conceive in his mind’s eye. Trent cleared his throat and allowed the air to pass through at steady intervals. Only four minutes had elapsed and there were still sixteen more in the queue, making hers one of the longest videos in the last eight months. Bushy Carmen’s – or was it Camille? – still clocked the longest, but more than half of the fifty-minute romp comprising shots of crossing and uncrossing her legs while droning the “horny slut” moniker non-stop. He had never returned to her website to that date and had no intention to.

Nadine was now having fun of her own, rolling on the bed, and making it squeak. Judging by the characteristic sound, a water mattress hid underneath the white frillies quilt and a funny thought crossed his mind. Would he and it squirt out at the same time? He laughed at his own idiocy, almost choked himself, and swore: “Never again!”. He was still recovering from the shock when she resumed the game, adding a simple element to it. Pink smartphone in hand, her right index swiped the screen.

“Green light and listen to the beat. I want you to keep up with it, alternating between hands. This will get rough, so you better be prepared to get a hold of yourself. If even a drop of pre-cum comes to the surface, you will lick it and, if you dare to cum without permission, chances are you are never getting off again!” she giggled.

Well, that was an interesting angle, hints of witchcraft, a covenant of forced chastity. Interesting, but also somewhat scary as being forced to stop altogether wasn’t his thing. Few things repulsed him as much as the sight of a shriveled cock locked in a metal cage. An ex-girlfriend had once whispered the thought in his ear, hoping to spice up their sex life, only succeeding in losing both sex and relationship in less than ten minutes. Limiting the play is no fun, regardless of possible future benefits, he believed with all his heart, and all the elongated inches sticking out like a flagpole between his fingers.

Nadine’s rhythm was strong, a heavy bass line interspersed with the sound of a mechanical beating heart. His hands moved fast to stay in perfect synch, never going for a full stroke but rather snappy rubs. It was a lot like rope climbing in high school. He missed P.E. Classes, the nubile shapes of the wannabe cheerleaders, Mrs. Jenkins’ ass protruding from the neon spandex leggings… his thoughts derailed into those long-gone years of basketball finals and making out under the bleachers… the heart beating faster, the pacing getting louder…

“White light means nothingness,” Nadine interrupted his flight of fantasy, adding an extra layer of confusion to the initial revelation, three minutes earlier.

Okay, now he was absolutely, 100% sure to have heard that. It wasn’t just an aural trick, a rapid dissociation between body and mind. The words lingered on with a slight vibrato, two converted to four, none of which made sense. Adding to the unequivocal echo still ringing in his ears, there was a visual confirmation, too. A filter of diaphanous blankness now enveloped her face, dominating the whole screen and rendering most of her features blurry, save for the visible eye and lips. The details he couldn’t see gave way to an intriguing display of void, negative space consuming the positive one. The rhythm intensified as he tried to come to terms with the present absence before him.

“Red light, stop again.”

He blinked in response, and the glow vanished. The bass echoed one last time before fading away. She sat in bed, legs stretched, naked toes beckoning. It was the first time he was seeing them. They were pretty, though not as pretty as her porcelain face.

“Just relax for a moment,” Nadine said. “Too much excitement and you’ll lose control. You don’t want that, do you?” she concluded with a wink.

No, absolutely not. He had to make it to the end at least, before deciding if it was worth it to look more stuff of her online. Strange interruptions notwithstanding, the scales were tipping in her favor. He had a feeling she would look fantastic in leather, hmm… leather had such a wonderful smell…

“Green light, use only one finger now,” she instructed once more. “Take your time pressing the tip, making it tingle with each touch. This will feel better if you are kneeling, but it’s not mandatory. Whatever works best for you.”

“I can kneel, no problem,” he nodded forward, left hand already working to build himself up again. The floor was cold, perhaps a bit too cold. The central heating was broken again, no doubt about it. That was what? The fourth malfunction in two months? It was time to have a conversation with the landlord to negotiate a better rent.

Trent circled the reddish skin with care, feeling it light up, a spark in the making. His balls were swollen, icy blue veins pulsating. He looked at Nadine, just in time to see her lips whisper:

“White light means nothingness, complete relaxation. While it’s on, you may keep stroking if you wish, or you may choose not to. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Don’t stop to think about what it might mean. Try to stop thinking and then… do it.”

“This is too much! Now they’re putting Zen shit in my porn!” he said out loud as he edged forward to stop the video.

She smiled from behind the veil of whiteness that, once again, rose to meet him, and he stopped halfway through, a futuristic statue crystallized in a single moment, yet still keeping enough elasticity to give off an impression of unbridled energy. White fell upon his eyelids, wings fluttered within dreamy anesthesia.

“White light, it’s so easy… white light, it’s not complicated at all… it drips and oozes like paint from a brush, different strokes for a different state of mind. I’m speaking to you from within the light now, and I would like you to listen for a bit. Let your arms fall loose, forget to move them at all… take a deep breath, hold it, and then begin to breathe slowly, just the minimum you require to stay conscious. You’ll notice, of course, that consciousness is but a fleeting perception for you’re one foot or two below its threshold by now. The white light brought you here, and it is already exuding through your computer screen, isn’t it?”

Trent said nothing, for anything he could say would cause a slurred syllable, a babbling word, an inebriated sentence.

“White light, flashing and fading… white light spread across the canvas of thought… You can find many things inside the white light: sounds, objects, and even impressions of souls drifting in its rapture. There’s one thing in particular I enjoy, and it’s a thing I wish to share with you. It is one word, a favorite one, in fact, one I’m sure it’s to your liking. You don’t need the whiteness to find it and yet, when touched by it, it becomes even more powerful.

“That word is… hard. Yes, hard. I love the way the letters that compose it swirl around my tongue every time I let them out but, most of all, I love the effects that follow it, the changes in the surrounding world with each repetition. Pay attention… hard… hard… hard…”

Trent’s cock twitched almost imperceptibly, it too in a light trance.

“I know you felt the energy being channeled, its rippling waves sending shivers down your spine, but perhaps you didn’t feel it as you should have because a part of you is still busy, trying to struggle against the white… you can relax because you’re safe, and safety brings about increased focus. Focus more intently on my words and let’s give it another go, shall we? This time around, I will use the word in a couple of sentences so listen good, listen hard…

“My nipples are hard underneath this corset, hard like concrete knowing you’re staring at me and enjoying all I have to show. They’re almost as hard as your throbbing dick, that hard-working, fleshy vessel that longs to sail in troublesome waters and then sink hard, so very hard…

“It’s so hard to fight the increasing flow of sensations, the luscious images pouring from every known direction and converging inside your spellbound mind… mentioning the word hard again just hardens it even more for you… hardness is more than a simple manifestation of physical pleasure, it’s also a doctrine of the spirit, so hard to ignore…”

Trent’s genitals became even more engorged, red, blue, and purple, his whole body quivering, lips without words, his mind without anchors besides her voice.

“Keep growing harder and harder, blank and hard for me, so many endorphins unleashed, so many paths to explore… let’s go down the hardest one, the hard chiseled one that ends on a hard wall of erotic pleasure. Your head bangs hard against it, and becomes even harder, bigger, gigantic, hard, hard, hard…”

A moan, a scream, a melody of ecstasy easy to interpret. Trent’s head almost hit the desk as he felt the cum bubbling, rising, ready to explode high in the air, straight into his salivating mouth.

“The harder it gets between your legs, the softer it becomes everywhere else. Hard cock, hard balls, soft reasoning, soft mind… Too hard to think when you’re hard for me, too hard to not want to be hard like this all the time… so hard and receptive, so hard and obedient, so hard and ensla…

“Hmmm, let’s save that last word for later if you continue to choose the white light. I bet you’re too hard, too eager for the deliverance of an earth-shattering orgasm. I know you want to cum. You want to but, and here’s the curious thing about all of this, you don’t need to, and wanting things you don’t need is a meaningless waste of energy. However, needing things you want is acceptable, reasonable, and even desirable, for the need fuels the want, and the want becomes an even stronger need inside your mind. I could be wrong, but I’m willing to bet there’s only one thing you want at this precise moment, and that is the need to go blank, enveloped in white light. You crave its embrace; you yearn to become one with it. See the white light and go deeper, feel it expanding all around and go deeper still, touch it and sink even more, deeper than the deepest of deeps. There’s no darkness in the abyss… just lovely, captivating, bewitching white light.”

Trent saw the white light falling in flakes inside his bedroom, controlled purity to control him further. It descended upon his hair, glued itself to his eyelashes, and made its flavor known in his dry tongue. It was so good, so liberating. White light, new life. The need to orgasm subsided but remained in waiting, ready to be reactivated at any time.

“Now, just enjoy the drifting awareness, the new dreams calling out to you within the white light. Keep your eyes on the screen for me and be sure to notice this: In a moment, a phone number will flash on the bottom-right corner of this video. When you see it appear, you may experience a sudden urge to call it right away. You are free to do it if that’s what you want, or you can ignore it and float back up into the world you know, at your own pace, no worries at all. Note the following though: if you make the call, I shall ask a question of you. It is a very important question, and your possible answer is even more important, for it will determine what happens next. You only have one chance to get it right. If I sense any hesitation on your part, I will end the call immediately and block your number. Do not, I repeat, do not make the call if any part of you lingers in doubt about the beauty of the white light. Take care.”

The number flashed from black to white, and everything special melted at the video’s end. Trent remained still and serene for a few minutes, still hearing fragments of the familiar challenge, now rendered dull. At great cost, he pulled himself back together, grabbed his boxers, and zipped his pants. A memory whirred, its gears pulling him to the phone. He smiled like an innocent child, followed its trail, and punched in the right sequence, 9448354448, each number cementing the trigger deep inside his mind:

9… W.

4… H.

4… I.

8… T.

3… E.

5… L.

4… I.

4… G.

4… H.

8… T.

He didn’t have to wait long to hear her voice again. As expected, it was warmer live than in a compressed video, and much more irresistible.

“Hello,” she began. “I don’t know who you are, but I know you watched my video. I also know you’re one of the few that made this call and, for that, I’m grateful. You got a taste of something different, something special, something that can go a long way if you’re willing to take the steps forward. Things will change, but change can be a good thing if properly guided so… stranger on the line, it is time for that question I told you about in the video, and it is time for your answer. What do you want?”

“I want the white light,” Trent replied, in perfect harmony of body and soul. “I want to go blank again. I want to obey.”

Nadine laughed like she hadn’t laughed in millennia and, who knows, perhaps that was true.

“That is the correct answer,” she cooed. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to hear someone say that without faltering. I’ll give you what you want because I want it too. Can you tell me your name?”

“I’m Trent.”

“Nice to meet you, Trent. And yes, my name really is Nadine. Does that surprise you?”

“A bit,” he admitted.

“I’m full of surprises, as you’ll come to discover. I hope you’re sitting down,” she chirped.

“I am now,” he gulped, already expecting the inevitable.

“Good. Let’s have fun, shall we? See you inside the white light.”

His jaw dropped under the weight of mesmerizing bliss. The real game was on and she was going to play it to perfection.