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I followed the instruction but didn’t jump ahead. The fantasy was melding with the illicitness of taking his instruction, and the image of him in his suit, stroking himself while ordering me to touch myself.
“They are,” I forced out, barely able to speak.
“Plunge them inside,” he said, and I did.
Warmth rose from my core up my chest and flushed my face as I pressed two fingers deep inside myself. I cried out into the phone and heard an appreciative grumble from his end and a soft slapping sound in the background. He was stroking himself hard now, his fingers wrapped around his thick, pulsing cock, and I could nearly taste his salty precum on my tongue.
“Use your thumb,” he continued, “to stroke your clit. I want you to pretend it’s me, swirling my finger over you while I slam my cock into you.”
I did as he told me to, and the image was driving me close to a climax already. I swirled my thumb with each thrust of my fingers into me, starting a rhythm that quickly increased in speed as I squirmed in the sheets. Not long after I began, I ripped at my panties, pulling them all the way off and tossing them away so they didn’t impede my movement anymore.
“Oh God,” I whispered, as the sensation and the images mixed to make my skin tingle and hair rise on the back of my neck.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice labored now as he worked himself. He was clearly jerking himself fast now, and with every yelp or moan, he matched it with one of his own. It wasn’t as satisfying as smelling his skin and licking his body while he thrust his thick staff so deeply in me, but it was somehow nearly as intense, his breath rising and falling in heavy exhalations into the phone.
“I want you in my mouth,” I responded without thinking. It was true. I wanted to pleasure him, to please him in every manner possible. And in that moment, nothing seemed more intimate than my lips wrapped around his cock. “I want to suck your cock.”
He groaned loudly, and I smiled. I had him close and knowing that brought me closer to the edge myself. I could feel the tension building in my core, and it was about to burst, rolling through me in a powerful climax.
“What else,” he said, his voice low and strained.
“I want you to come with me,” I said. “Please, come with me.”
Just saying it was enough to feel the dam burst. I was tumbling over the edge and into an orgasm that blinded me to the world around me. In that moment nothing existed other than the sound of his voice, the image of his hand stroking his cock furiously, and the sensation of my fingers deep in my wet pussy. My hips arched up, and I cried out.
“Come with me, Nick,” I nearly shouted.
His voice built from a low grumble, almost as if he were in pain, into a wild roar. I could imagine his muscles tense, his veins popping out of his chest as he held himself above me, the powerful stream of his orgasm shooting deep into me. I matched his voice as I pressed my fingertips into my upper wall, pressing hard into my clit. The climax overruled all my other senses, and for a while I could only convulse, moan, and clench my eyes shut as the memory of his body smothering mine in a tight embrace filled me.
Slowly, my nerves calmed, and I cooed into the phone.
“Thank you,” he said, the smile on his lips evident even if I couldn’t see it. It was that mischievous grin, and I could sense it in how he formed his words.
“Thank you,” I said, giggling.
“I hope you know that this only makes me want you more,” he said, the grin forming the words, and my mind creating the image of his smile for me to grin back at.
“Me too,” I said, panting and rolling to my side so I could pull the sheet over my shoulders. “Nothing quite like the real thing.”
I let myself lounge around in bed, reveling in the satisfaction coursing through my body for a little while longer. I drifted in and out of sleep and finally woke up just in time to get ready to go meet up with Trish for lunch. I took a long shower, enjoying the way the hot water felt sliding over my skin.
I didn’t rush. Usually I wasn’t the type of person to linger over long, lazy showers. If I was particularly tired or stressed or had done some sort of physical activity that left my muscles sore, I might stand under the water for a bit longer. But for the most part, I was the type to get in and out.
