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“Thank you so fucking much, Yasmine,” I say and she just looks at me in a daze as I rush down the stairs.
I got to get ready for tomorrow.
It’s going to be a great fucking day. I can feel it.
5
Ashley
It's been exactly one week of taking calls and I've learned a few things: never ask permission questions, never asked if they're married, and hot girls aren't bored. So when the phone rings, I immediately snap into character. I lower my voice almost to a whisper. I finger the lace of my bra—Agent Provocateur—and then run my hands up my stockings. I know some people can do this job while they're washing the dishes, or mopping the floor or something, but for me, I have to be all in. I can't multi-task. I think it should feel authentic, and wearing the heels and lingerie instantly gets me into character. I even turn down the lights. I find that the darker the room is, the more I can focus on the voice on the other end of the line.
I answer the call and sit back on my bed. I whisper in a soft, sultry voice. The secret is to keep your voice smooth as a stick of butter. "Hi, this is Misty. Who am I speaking with?"
I hear a man clear his throat. "Mike."
I wait for more but it doesn't come. "That's my favorite name for a man," I purr, urging him on. "You sound strong and handsome."
"You can say I'm strong. I work construction—concrete pump operator."
"Oh that's good because I could use a few pumps of your hot concrete. I'm so glad you called. My neighbors have been fucking all day and listening to them has made me so horny…"
"That makes two of us," he says.
"And I've got a secret to tell you. I'm not wearing any underwear."
"Is that right?" he replies, and I can almost hear a smile in the way he asks.
"I've been so horny. I can hardly stand it. I haven't had sex all day and it feels like forever. I have myself so worked up and hot that I'm lying in front of a fan, and the cold air is making my nipples hard. Do you like hard nipples, Mike?"
"Mm hmm," he mumbles, and I continue.
"What kind of girls do you like?"
"Young, blonde, and busty," he says without hesitation.
"Well, you're in luck. I'm 18, and I have long, blonde hair that goes down to my tiny waist. I wish you were here with me right now," I say, just above a whisper, and Mike lowers his voice as well.
"What would you do to me?" he asks, as if it were a shared conspiracy.
"Oh Mike, I'd make sure my lips touched every manly inch of you. I'd start by nibbling on your ear—playfully, but then I'd get more serious and move my lips down to your neck and I'd touch your strong chest—I can tell you have a strong chest just by your voice. And I'd run my tongue over your nipples, circling them a few times."
"And what else?" he asks.
"I'd let my mouth move down your body even further, my tongue resting in the deep V above the waistband of your pants. I can even taste the salt on your skin and it leaves me wanting more—so much more."
"Is your pussy wet?" he asks.
"Oh yes, you make me so wet. I'm soaking wet—it's your voice, your body—you have me so turned on, Mike. My pussy is throbbing for you. I'm in the mood to fuck."
"Cut or uncut cocks?" he asks.
"I love all cocks."
"What would you do to my cock?"
"I'd unbutton your jeans after you've had a hard day at work, and I'd slip my hand over your cock. Both of my hands would work their way up and down your shaft until you're nice and hard and then I'd place my lips on it. First kissing the tip, and then slowly basting it with my warm, wet tongue, moving up and down your manhood."
"Mm hmm, I like that," he says.
