No round-up of one-in-a-bed fun would be complete without a visit to the world of telephone sex. And since I had a very hot session of this kind not long ago, I may as well add it to my list of top wanks here. In some ways, telephone sex is the ultimate solo tease - because you can’t possibly get at the other person, no matter how much you beg and plead – you’re forced to listen to them becoming excited and coming, without any hand in the proceedings, so to speak. At the same time, the physical distance between you doesn’t prevent it being intense and intimate, in my experience; because it’s as if the other person is alone and yet their most private thoughts and most intimate sounds are right there in your ear; almost inside your head.
Of course there are lots of premium rate phone services claiming to offer this experience, but I more or less assume they’re all shite and suggest you phone a friend. I haven’t seen any offered to women, for a start – and mine seems to love it! Plus, you need the other person to get off, really - and to get off on you getting off – otherwise it isn’t going to work properly. Finally, I think you need to be quite familiar with one another; after all, no one can keep up an uninterrupted running commentary the whole time and have fun; while familiarity helps you picture them, picture what they’re doing, and keep pace with them, when you both start making so much inarticulate noise…...
Although Nicolson Bakers’ wonderful novel Vox (*) is entirely comprised of two strangers, on either side of America, having telephone sex after randomly encountering one another on a chat line, what makes it so accomplished and successful is that aesthetic and subject are perfectly matched in every way. The pair go through the complicated process of becoming familiar over the course of the novel/conversation. And they actually need to get to know each other extremely well in order to reach the point where they can encourage and facilitate the others’ masturbation, guiding one another towards climax. So they spend most of the novel swapping dating experiences, exchanging opinions and views on life, describing themselves, comparing masturbatory techniques and past sexual encounters, before they can, finally, come.
(* This will definitely be in my list of top ten one-handed reading)
Back to me: I was on my own, out of town, and B was home alone; her partner having gone off to visit grandparents with the kids. This is just the sort of opportunity we look for and I was desperate about being elsewhere and wasting it. It didn’t take us long to come up with the solution, though; because we know it’s good to talk and it’s not the first time we’ve resorted to this sort of togetherness. (Given that her voice can cause me to have a Pavlovian rodney during a perfectly ordinary chat, it really only requires privacy and we’re more or less there).
As with meetings in the flesh, anticipation is everything. And she’s someone who likes time to get ready – something you’ve got to appreciate in a woman. So we made an arrangement for later; enabling us to get something to eat, make other calls (you don’t want partners trying you later only to find the line engaged for an hour and a half solid); take time for a bath or shower, time to put your nicest knickers on; and most importantly, time to think about the fun ahead…….
By the hour her return call was due, I was already in a state; because I know exactly what she’s like and I’d been imagining her lingering in the bath and fiddling with herself, as she anticipated the evening ahead. I’d already swapped electric lights for candles, I had the phone beside the bed, I had a spliff ready-made on hand, pillows plumped up so I could recline comfortably, some chilled white wine to drink – and I had that crazy, wonderful, nervous, sexy, flutter of butterflies in the stomach - when the phone finally rang, I could have pissed myself with excitement, if it wasn’t for the wooden state of my willy.
I may have mentioned before that she has a sexy voice. When she comes on the line this time, I could swear my cock twitches in response – she’s like a snake charmer.
“Jesus, I’m bit over-excited, just thinking about this,” I tell her
“Mmm, me too,” she admitted. “It’s hot, isn’t it? Are you hard?”
We swapped information on where we were (she, too, was in her bedroom; confessing that she was so agitated she’d found it hard to stay out of there and keep her hands off herself until the agreed time for the call), on what we were wearing (in her case, knickers and hold-ups; even heels, apparently).
“I need to look my best at times like these,” she says. “Even if you can’t see me, I’m all dressed up for you.”
We talk about our bodies, of course. (I tell her that I'm already hard as iron, that it's glistening with lube in the candlelight. She tells me she’s cleaned and preened and creamed, with some saucy knickers already pushed low enough to expose her slit.) And she admits that when she put some scarlet lipstick on, “to make sure I looked sexy in the mirror”, she’d also put it around her nipples and the outer lips of her cunt. This image proves almost too much for me.
For both us, all this essential info excites us even more and we allow ourselves, finally, to let our hands stray where they’ve been itching to go all evening. I can hear her ragged breath loud in my ear, and she sighs and moans when she hears my own uneven breathing.
“It can’t be attractive in a man,” I worry; “dribbling and panting and wanking.”
“Not so – this is private and this is sex, not a dinner-date,” she reassures me; “it’s definitely okay – I’d be insulted if it didn’t affect you that way.”
And then we’re turning each other on, more and more:
“Are you wanking it now?” she asks. I grunt assent. “Do it, then,” she urges me. “Oh God, oh God, YES! Do it, you bastard!”
“Are you touching yourself?” I ask, needlessly.
“Yes!” she pants. “Mmmm, yes – it feels so good……”
And yet, excited as we are, we seem to reach some sort of natural hiatus.
“Oh oh oh, hang on, hang on,” she says.
“Ok.”
Perhaps neither of us wants to come just yet; perhaps we're curious about what more we can get from this experience.......
“I just need a minute… I’m going to have a sip of wine,” she tells me.
“Me, too.”
I light the j and feel a new, glorious tingle in every nerve; a lazy, sensual ease stealing through my limbs.
For a few minutes, we listen to each other’s breathing slowing down.
Fast and furious climaxes can be wonderful. B once made me come in my pants and that was overwhelming, like being fifteen again. It was dizzying and intense to go from the first prickle of excitement to spurting ejaculation without a pause - not even trying to prolong it, or reciprocate - simply surrendering helplessly to what was being done to me. It’s often quick if it’s in the car, for both of us; the sudden rush ending an hour’s toying and furtive petting and slow provocation within its risky, constricted confines. Just fucking, a second orgasm can have a strange, different intensity to the first. Nevertheless, I’m sure most men find that the most intense, the most long-lasting and the most mind-blowing orgasms occur when you keep approaching crisis and then holding back, without quite coming; and that the more times you keep doing this, the more sensational is the final climax.
And I find this is what happens with telephone sex, because what she’s doing makes you so excited you keep approaching climax, but then you don’t let go, because you don’t want to peak too soon: you’re listening to her, trying to sense that this is the hottest moment, trying to come at the same time. So although we could presumably have both just wanked our way to climax in minutes, on the wave of excitement engulfing each of us – and then done it again (and again, probably) – we hesitate and chat awhile, allowing the feeling to build. I finish the j and half a glass of wine, while she talks me through peeling off the hold-ups, and her knickers, so that I’m picturing her naked, in the candlelight.
“I think I want you to tell me what you’d like to do to me…..” she whispers, after a while.
Of course there are lots of premium rate phone services claiming to offer this experience, but I more or less assume they’re all shite and suggest you phone a friend. I haven’t seen any offered to women, for a start – and mine seems to love it! Plus, you need the other person to get off, really - and to get off on you getting off – otherwise it isn’t going to work properly. Finally, I think you need to be quite familiar with one another; after all, no one can keep up an uninterrupted running commentary the whole time and have fun; while familiarity helps you picture them, picture what they’re doing, and keep pace with them, when you both start making so much inarticulate noise…...
Although Nicolson Bakers’ wonderful novel Vox (*) is entirely comprised of two strangers, on either side of America, having telephone sex after randomly encountering one another on a chat line, what makes it so accomplished and successful is that aesthetic and subject are perfectly matched in every way. The pair go through the complicated process of becoming familiar over the course of the novel/conversation. And they actually need to get to know each other extremely well in order to reach the point where they can encourage and facilitate the others’ masturbation, guiding one another towards climax. So they spend most of the novel swapping dating experiences, exchanging opinions and views on life, describing themselves, comparing masturbatory techniques and past sexual encounters, before they can, finally, come.
(* This will definitely be in my list of top ten one-handed reading)
Back to me: I was on my own, out of town, and B was home alone; her partner having gone off to visit grandparents with the kids. This is just the sort of opportunity we look for and I was desperate about being elsewhere and wasting it. It didn’t take us long to come up with the solution, though; because we know it’s good to talk and it’s not the first time we’ve resorted to this sort of togetherness. (Given that her voice can cause me to have a Pavlovian rodney during a perfectly ordinary chat, it really only requires privacy and we’re more or less there).
As with meetings in the flesh, anticipation is everything. And she’s someone who likes time to get ready – something you’ve got to appreciate in a woman. So we made an arrangement for later; enabling us to get something to eat, make other calls (you don’t want partners trying you later only to find the line engaged for an hour and a half solid); take time for a bath or shower, time to put your nicest knickers on; and most importantly, time to think about the fun ahead…….
By the hour her return call was due, I was already in a state; because I know exactly what she’s like and I’d been imagining her lingering in the bath and fiddling with herself, as she anticipated the evening ahead. I’d already swapped electric lights for candles, I had the phone beside the bed, I had a spliff ready-made on hand, pillows plumped up so I could recline comfortably, some chilled white wine to drink – and I had that crazy, wonderful, nervous, sexy, flutter of butterflies in the stomach - when the phone finally rang, I could have pissed myself with excitement, if it wasn’t for the wooden state of my willy.
I may have mentioned before that she has a sexy voice. When she comes on the line this time, I could swear my cock twitches in response – she’s like a snake charmer.
“Jesus, I’m bit over-excited, just thinking about this,” I tell her
“Mmm, me too,” she admitted. “It’s hot, isn’t it? Are you hard?”
We swapped information on where we were (she, too, was in her bedroom; confessing that she was so agitated she’d found it hard to stay out of there and keep her hands off herself until the agreed time for the call), on what we were wearing (in her case, knickers and hold-ups; even heels, apparently).
“I need to look my best at times like these,” she says. “Even if you can’t see me, I’m all dressed up for you.”
We talk about our bodies, of course. (I tell her that I'm already hard as iron, that it's glistening with lube in the candlelight. She tells me she’s cleaned and preened and creamed, with some saucy knickers already pushed low enough to expose her slit.) And she admits that when she put some scarlet lipstick on, “to make sure I looked sexy in the mirror”, she’d also put it around her nipples and the outer lips of her cunt. This image proves almost too much for me.
For both us, all this essential info excites us even more and we allow ourselves, finally, to let our hands stray where they’ve been itching to go all evening. I can hear her ragged breath loud in my ear, and she sighs and moans when she hears my own uneven breathing.
“It can’t be attractive in a man,” I worry; “dribbling and panting and wanking.”
“Not so – this is private and this is sex, not a dinner-date,” she reassures me; “it’s definitely okay – I’d be insulted if it didn’t affect you that way.”
And then we’re turning each other on, more and more:
“Are you wanking it now?” she asks. I grunt assent. “Do it, then,” she urges me. “Oh God, oh God, YES! Do it, you bastard!”
“Are you touching yourself?” I ask, needlessly.
“Yes!” she pants. “Mmmm, yes – it feels so good……”
And yet, excited as we are, we seem to reach some sort of natural hiatus.
“Oh oh oh, hang on, hang on,” she says.
“Ok.”
Perhaps neither of us wants to come just yet; perhaps we're curious about what more we can get from this experience.......
“I just need a minute… I’m going to have a sip of wine,” she tells me.
“Me, too.”
I light the j and feel a new, glorious tingle in every nerve; a lazy, sensual ease stealing through my limbs.
For a few minutes, we listen to each other’s breathing slowing down.
Fast and furious climaxes can be wonderful. B once made me come in my pants and that was overwhelming, like being fifteen again. It was dizzying and intense to go from the first prickle of excitement to spurting ejaculation without a pause - not even trying to prolong it, or reciprocate - simply surrendering helplessly to what was being done to me. It’s often quick if it’s in the car, for both of us; the sudden rush ending an hour’s toying and furtive petting and slow provocation within its risky, constricted confines. Just fucking, a second orgasm can have a strange, different intensity to the first. Nevertheless, I’m sure most men find that the most intense, the most long-lasting and the most mind-blowing orgasms occur when you keep approaching crisis and then holding back, without quite coming; and that the more times you keep doing this, the more sensational is the final climax.
And I find this is what happens with telephone sex, because what she’s doing makes you so excited you keep approaching climax, but then you don’t let go, because you don’t want to peak too soon: you’re listening to her, trying to sense that this is the hottest moment, trying to come at the same time. So although we could presumably have both just wanked our way to climax in minutes, on the wave of excitement engulfing each of us – and then done it again (and again, probably) – we hesitate and chat awhile, allowing the feeling to build. I finish the j and half a glass of wine, while she talks me through peeling off the hold-ups, and her knickers, so that I’m picturing her naked, in the candlelight.
“I think I want you to tell me what you’d like to do to me…..” she whispers, after a while.
Ok, I’m up for a little narrative. Why not? Telephone sex is, after all, the art of talking dirty, taken to the nth degree. You have to get someone there - and do it using only your voice. Not surprisingly, ‘oohs’ and ‘aaghs’ won’t always be sufficient. You certainly have to be forthright about what you’re wearing or not wearing, what exactly you’re doing – and how it feels to do it – and about the thoughts, memories or fantasies these activities evoke.
Just time for two tips before I get started:
(i) one thing worth mentioning, is to make sure you can’t be overheard! Nothing could sound kinkier or sadder than someone having a one-sided sex conversation, describing in extremely graphic terms exactly what they are doing to themselves – and trying to make sure that every moan, groan and climactic wail can be heard clearly by someone at the other end of a long-distance phone line. It’ll ether cramp your style or embarrass you the next day!
(ii) Secondly, men should realise it’s got to be about her and paced for her benefit. Most girls need time, but they don’t need you to drone on about all the very explicit details about which men are usually so keen. And most women do not want to know every puerile fantasy which goes through your head; unless it in some way involves them, their infinite desirability and general gorgeousness. If she’s in it, go right ahead; but don’t expect your average thirty-five year-old to get off on your favourite daydream of spanking nubile teenage twins.)
Anyway, mine wanted a fantasy, or some proposal for taking liberties with her person, and I was game to oblige. The things that poor woman has to put up with, sometimes - you can imagine, I’m sure. As luck would have it, her submissive streak ensures it ain’t hard to conjure up an erotic predicament for her; say, along the lines of The Story of O……
You’re taken to what you’re told will be a ‘special’ party, I begin; only to realise, too late, what sort of party it is – and that for the other couples there, you’re the entertainment. No wonder your lover seemed strangely agitated at the prospect of the evening ahead, insisting you wore your very sexiest clothes, even selecting your underclothes. And no one else is in masks; you realise that straight away: you’re the only one with your face covered. The mask denies you your personality, that’s why; no one there is interested in who you are: that’s not what you’re for, tonight. You’ve simply become an exotic object for their erotic gratification.......
“Are you with me?”
“Mmmmm. Good, yes, go on…”
Through the slits in the mask you can see the other guests studying you speculatively as you enter the party, whispering together. You’re already regretting the drinks before leaving, the pill your lover offered to ‘calm’ you, which has left you on an oddly languid, woozy high. You do feel calm, but there’s something else - a strange, careless feeling, a lascivious itch it’s hard to ignore. You feel receptive, open, almost eager for whatever is going to happen to start. When your lover tells you that each of the other guests can choose whichever piece of your clothing they want to remove, you find yourself accepting it without any real protest. And then, on your next, slow circuit of the room, you’re told they can each choose which part of you they want to touch and explore……
At the other end of the line there are little moans and sighs as I paint this picture for her. And as I continue, I pause from time to time to listen to the effect I’m having. When I tell her that slowly, item by item, all her finery is being removed, and she’s going to be made to display herself, to stand still, to parade for the delectation of the other guests, she protests for the first time:
“Oh no-oo… No!”
“Oh yes,” I insist.
They’re crowding around you now, to see better, I continue; to look, and caress and fondle and lick…. And they’re no longer whispering - they’re talking quite openly about what they could do with you, speculating, in no uncertain terms, about what you’ll be good at. They talk about you in such filthy terms, they’re making you blush behind your mask, saying what a hot, dirty slut you probably are…...
“Oh no.”
“Save your breath, Sweetie - it’s too late for your objections, now. And truth to tell, don’t you want it?”
“No!”
“I think you do.”
“Oh no.”
“I think a part of you wants it – a part which can’t be denied any longer. There’s a hot, secret pleasure growing inside you, despite yourself. Your cunt’s aching for it, your back’s arching to push your arse towards those behind you, offering your breasts and mouth and throat to those in front of you.”.
“Oh God, oh God.”
“And now they’re all touching you.”
“Oh God!”
“I’m supporting you, I’m right here; but I’m not going to interfere. I’m just letting them touch you everywhere. And I can see how you’re responding. Your skin’s becoming flushed under all those exploring hands and tongues, your nipples are erect, you’re breathless, pulse racing, lips parted, the tip of your tongue wetting them, seeking those other probing tongues, your sex becoming engorged and moist, your thighs opening…..”.
“Oh God, yes!”
“Now you don’t want it to stop. You’re getting more and more aroused….. Can you imagine what they want now? I whisper. Do you know what I’m going to ask you to do for them now?”
“No.”
“They want to see how you pleasure yourself.”
“Oh no.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll do anything, anything else.”
“What will you do?”
“Anything, I’ll do anything, she promises, breathlessly. I’ll fuck….I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck them, fuck, they can do anything they like, I’ll suck their cocks….”
“I know you will Baby. You’ll do all that, anyway…..soon.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh God.”
“But right now, I want you to touch your breasts, that’s it; put your fingers between your legs and show them how sexy you are….”
I tell her that although she begins reluctantly, hesitantly, she finds herself carrying on with growing excitement; mortified by own responsiveness, her unexpected willingness to make such an exhibition of herself.
“You’re turning them all on," I whisper. "Go on, that’s it.”
“Oh oh oh.”
“Oh yes, baby. You know you’re making matters worse, don’t you, getting them going like this? Everywhere, clothing is being loosened or discarded, hands are straying to their own and neighbours’ bodies…. They’re all wanking themselves silly, watching you; you know they’re going to fuck your fucking brains out when they get their hands on you, don’t you…..”
“Oh God fuck yes.”
“……but you can’t help it, can you? You can’t stop now; not when it’s so-o hot, not when it feels so-o good….”
“Oh God, yes, it does.”
“That’s it. Do it for them. You look so gorgeous, so fucking hot…… And there’s something very exciting about being the centre of that much attention, isn’t there? You’re the belle of a ball, baby – there are so many people who want to meet you and really get to know you; so many people wanting you… They’re going to have to take turns…”
I tell her the other party-goers are becoming increasingly bold in the liberties they’re taking with her person:
“You didn’t know you could feel like this, you didn’t know I’d want you to do these things with others, with strangers, men and women. You’re ashamed of your own excitement, but you just have to have this.”
“Oh God, yes I must. I just can’t help myself….”
“You can’t stop now, you can’t control it any longer. All around you it’s turning into an orgy – they’re more and more frenzied now, inflamed by your submissiveness, by how available you are, how open, how eager for them…… You’re like some kind of sex Barbie - you’re eager for it, you’re hot for it, you’re begging for it now - almost too willing to submit to whatever lascivious impulses are prompting the other guests; to be held by one and touched by another, to be bent this way and that, folded over the back of a sofa….”
“Yes!”
“…..pushed down onto all fours,….”
“Oh no!”
“…… made to kneel,….”
“Yes!”
“……eager to be caressed and fondled, opened and penetrated,……”
“Oh fuck!”
“…… to be licked…… and fingered….. and fucked; to pleasure two….. then three of them at the same time……”
“Oh God, I can’t stand it! Yes-yes-yes-yes-YES. Ohhhhh!”
“You hot, bad, gorgeous, dirty girl…………………. But what’s this, though?”
“Oh, oh, oh, what?” she pants.
“They want a finale. They’re not going to make you kneel down in front of everyone, are they?”
“Oh no! No, no, no, no, no.”
“Ye-es, they are. And I’m standing there telling you to take out my cock and you can’t wait to have it in your mouth and your fingers are undoing my trousers eager to release me and suddenly you’re licking it and it’s so hard and shiny with your saliva and then it’s in your mouth and you can’t get enough of it into your mouth….”
“Oh, oh, oh, oh oh, oh oh, oh..”
“You’ve got your fingers between your legs and your lips wrapped around that big, hard, hot cock…”
“OH! Oh God, look, I can’t…I’m coming again, I just can’t…..Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
“They’re cheering, cat-calling, but you’re not listening; you don’t care about anything except feeling that spurt of hot spunk into your mouth….. It’s coming now! Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes, give it to me! Come NOW, you bastard! Do it to me!”
“I am, I’m coming! I’m spunking into you, it’s spurting, spurting into your… into your……”
“Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, Ohhhh Go-od!!”
“……into your mouth…. Oh. Oh, yes, then you letting it run out again, over your lips, dripping onto your breasts…..”
“Oh. OH. Fucking HELL! Fucking bloody hell. You bastard!”
Something like that. It may not be word for word, but that’s the sort of thing you talk about at such times, and that’s the way you talk about it. You get the idea, I expect. And then, after a while, after some sweet nothings and some sweet goodbyes, it’s nice to say goodnight and put the phone down and come quietly again in the darkness on your own, just on the brink of sleep, thinking about them; knowing they’re still carried along on that same tide of excitement, too; knowing they’re surely doing the same thing at that very moment, thinking about you………….
Just time for two tips before I get started:
(i) one thing worth mentioning, is to make sure you can’t be overheard! Nothing could sound kinkier or sadder than someone having a one-sided sex conversation, describing in extremely graphic terms exactly what they are doing to themselves – and trying to make sure that every moan, groan and climactic wail can be heard clearly by someone at the other end of a long-distance phone line. It’ll ether cramp your style or embarrass you the next day!
(ii) Secondly, men should realise it’s got to be about her and paced for her benefit. Most girls need time, but they don’t need you to drone on about all the very explicit details about which men are usually so keen. And most women do not want to know every puerile fantasy which goes through your head; unless it in some way involves them, their infinite desirability and general gorgeousness. If she’s in it, go right ahead; but don’t expect your average thirty-five year-old to get off on your favourite daydream of spanking nubile teenage twins.)
Anyway, mine wanted a fantasy, or some proposal for taking liberties with her person, and I was game to oblige. The things that poor woman has to put up with, sometimes - you can imagine, I’m sure. As luck would have it, her submissive streak ensures it ain’t hard to conjure up an erotic predicament for her; say, along the lines of The Story of O……
You’re taken to what you’re told will be a ‘special’ party, I begin; only to realise, too late, what sort of party it is – and that for the other couples there, you’re the entertainment. No wonder your lover seemed strangely agitated at the prospect of the evening ahead, insisting you wore your very sexiest clothes, even selecting your underclothes. And no one else is in masks; you realise that straight away: you’re the only one with your face covered. The mask denies you your personality, that’s why; no one there is interested in who you are: that’s not what you’re for, tonight. You’ve simply become an exotic object for their erotic gratification.......
“Are you with me?”
“Mmmmm. Good, yes, go on…”
Through the slits in the mask you can see the other guests studying you speculatively as you enter the party, whispering together. You’re already regretting the drinks before leaving, the pill your lover offered to ‘calm’ you, which has left you on an oddly languid, woozy high. You do feel calm, but there’s something else - a strange, careless feeling, a lascivious itch it’s hard to ignore. You feel receptive, open, almost eager for whatever is going to happen to start. When your lover tells you that each of the other guests can choose whichever piece of your clothing they want to remove, you find yourself accepting it without any real protest. And then, on your next, slow circuit of the room, you’re told they can each choose which part of you they want to touch and explore……
At the other end of the line there are little moans and sighs as I paint this picture for her. And as I continue, I pause from time to time to listen to the effect I’m having. When I tell her that slowly, item by item, all her finery is being removed, and she’s going to be made to display herself, to stand still, to parade for the delectation of the other guests, she protests for the first time:
“Oh no-oo… No!”
“Oh yes,” I insist.
They’re crowding around you now, to see better, I continue; to look, and caress and fondle and lick…. And they’re no longer whispering - they’re talking quite openly about what they could do with you, speculating, in no uncertain terms, about what you’ll be good at. They talk about you in such filthy terms, they’re making you blush behind your mask, saying what a hot, dirty slut you probably are…...
“Oh no.”
“Save your breath, Sweetie - it’s too late for your objections, now. And truth to tell, don’t you want it?”
“No!”
“I think you do.”
“Oh no.”
“I think a part of you wants it – a part which can’t be denied any longer. There’s a hot, secret pleasure growing inside you, despite yourself. Your cunt’s aching for it, your back’s arching to push your arse towards those behind you, offering your breasts and mouth and throat to those in front of you.”.
“Oh God, oh God.”
“And now they’re all touching you.”
“Oh God!”
“I’m supporting you, I’m right here; but I’m not going to interfere. I’m just letting them touch you everywhere. And I can see how you’re responding. Your skin’s becoming flushed under all those exploring hands and tongues, your nipples are erect, you’re breathless, pulse racing, lips parted, the tip of your tongue wetting them, seeking those other probing tongues, your sex becoming engorged and moist, your thighs opening…..”.
“Oh God, yes!”
“Now you don’t want it to stop. You’re getting more and more aroused….. Can you imagine what they want now? I whisper. Do you know what I’m going to ask you to do for them now?”
“No.”
“They want to see how you pleasure yourself.”
“Oh no.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll do anything, anything else.”
“What will you do?”
“Anything, I’ll do anything, she promises, breathlessly. I’ll fuck….I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck them, fuck, they can do anything they like, I’ll suck their cocks….”
“I know you will Baby. You’ll do all that, anyway…..soon.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh God.”
“But right now, I want you to touch your breasts, that’s it; put your fingers between your legs and show them how sexy you are….”
I tell her that although she begins reluctantly, hesitantly, she finds herself carrying on with growing excitement; mortified by own responsiveness, her unexpected willingness to make such an exhibition of herself.
“You’re turning them all on," I whisper. "Go on, that’s it.”
“Oh oh oh.”
“Oh yes, baby. You know you’re making matters worse, don’t you, getting them going like this? Everywhere, clothing is being loosened or discarded, hands are straying to their own and neighbours’ bodies…. They’re all wanking themselves silly, watching you; you know they’re going to fuck your fucking brains out when they get their hands on you, don’t you…..”
“Oh God fuck yes.”
“……but you can’t help it, can you? You can’t stop now; not when it’s so-o hot, not when it feels so-o good….”
“Oh God, yes, it does.”
“That’s it. Do it for them. You look so gorgeous, so fucking hot…… And there’s something very exciting about being the centre of that much attention, isn’t there? You’re the belle of a ball, baby – there are so many people who want to meet you and really get to know you; so many people wanting you… They’re going to have to take turns…”
I tell her the other party-goers are becoming increasingly bold in the liberties they’re taking with her person:
“You didn’t know you could feel like this, you didn’t know I’d want you to do these things with others, with strangers, men and women. You’re ashamed of your own excitement, but you just have to have this.”
“Oh God, yes I must. I just can’t help myself….”
“You can’t stop now, you can’t control it any longer. All around you it’s turning into an orgy – they’re more and more frenzied now, inflamed by your submissiveness, by how available you are, how open, how eager for them…… You’re like some kind of sex Barbie - you’re eager for it, you’re hot for it, you’re begging for it now - almost too willing to submit to whatever lascivious impulses are prompting the other guests; to be held by one and touched by another, to be bent this way and that, folded over the back of a sofa….”
“Yes!”
“…..pushed down onto all fours,….”
“Oh no!”
“…… made to kneel,….”
“Yes!”
“……eager to be caressed and fondled, opened and penetrated,……”
“Oh fuck!”
“…… to be licked…… and fingered….. and fucked; to pleasure two….. then three of them at the same time……”
“Oh God, I can’t stand it! Yes-yes-yes-yes-YES. Ohhhhh!”
“You hot, bad, gorgeous, dirty girl…………………. But what’s this, though?”
“Oh, oh, oh, what?” she pants.
“They want a finale. They’re not going to make you kneel down in front of everyone, are they?”
“Oh no! No, no, no, no, no.”
“Ye-es, they are. And I’m standing there telling you to take out my cock and you can’t wait to have it in your mouth and your fingers are undoing my trousers eager to release me and suddenly you’re licking it and it’s so hard and shiny with your saliva and then it’s in your mouth and you can’t get enough of it into your mouth….”
“Oh, oh, oh, oh oh, oh oh, oh..”
“You’ve got your fingers between your legs and your lips wrapped around that big, hard, hot cock…”
“OH! Oh God, look, I can’t…I’m coming again, I just can’t…..Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”
“They’re cheering, cat-calling, but you’re not listening; you don’t care about anything except feeling that spurt of hot spunk into your mouth….. It’s coming now! Are you ready?”
“Oh, yes, give it to me! Come NOW, you bastard! Do it to me!”
“I am, I’m coming! I’m spunking into you, it’s spurting, spurting into your… into your……”
“Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, Ohhhh Go-od!!”
“……into your mouth…. Oh. Oh, yes, then you letting it run out again, over your lips, dripping onto your breasts…..”
“Oh. OH. Fucking HELL! Fucking bloody hell. You bastard!”
Something like that. It may not be word for word, but that’s the sort of thing you talk about at such times, and that’s the way you talk about it. You get the idea, I expect. And then, after a while, after some sweet nothings and some sweet goodbyes, it’s nice to say goodnight and put the phone down and come quietly again in the darkness on your own, just on the brink of sleep, thinking about them; knowing they’re still carried along on that same tide of excitement, too; knowing they’re surely doing the same thing at that very moment, thinking about you………….
