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Now, in this moment, I’ve already started getting wet thinking of King Henry’s deep, gravelly voice. Within a minute, Arsen is out the door. I rush inside and it takes me just a few seconds to slide off my yoga pants and whip off my tank top. I lounge on the bed in my bra and panties, my heart trembling at the call that will get re-routed to my cell phone.
Four minutes to go. They seem to last an eternity. My heart rate increases with each passing second. I feel the dampness in my pussy and can tell that without even talking to me, King Henry has gotten my panties wet.
At last, the call comes and the phone vibrates. It startles me and for a second I’m scared. But the fear doesn’t stop me from accepting the call and with a shaky voice filled with excitement I speak into the phone.
“Hi this is Misty, who am I speaking to?” I say, seeing Client 5 on the screen and holding my breath till he speaks.
There’s a pause and a rustle and finally, “Hi, Misty, where are you?”
Now it’s my turn to pause. I don’t know what to answer.
“Are you at home?” he asks me.
“N-No,” I say.
“No what?” he retorts.
I close my eyes. “No, King Henry.”
“Good, you remembered.”
“Yes, King.”
“Where are you? Are you with someone? At their place?” he asks me and I close my eyes.
“Yes, King, I’m at someone else’s place. On their bed,” I answer. My heart is beating at what he’ll say.
“What are you wearing?” he asks.
“I have on a pink cheeky and a lace pink bra, King,” I reply back. “I’m on his bed talking to you.”
“Does he know you’re talking to me?” my King asks.
“No, King,” I tell him. “He went out for a while.”
“Does he make you cum when you fuck him?” my King asks.
I gulp. But I’m this far in anyways. And I’m so wet. “Yes, King, he makes me cum,” I reply. And I can’t help but add, “Hard.”
“Good,” the King says. “I want you to touch yourself and tell me what you’re doing.”
“I have my fingers under my panties,” I tell him. “I’m stroking my clit.”
“Are you wet, kitten?” he asks.
I gasp. A momentary shudder goes through me. “Yes, King,” I say. “I’m very wet.”
“I want you to imagine me next to you, kitten,” he says. “I want you to imagine me pressing my fingers over your wetness, sliding one finger into your pussy.”
My heart races as I begin to stroke my clit to his words.
“I want you to think of my hands stroking your clit, faster, and harder, and faster still,” he says and my fingers time themselves to stroke with every cadence of his speech. I let out a moan.
“Are you enjoying this, kitten?” he asks.
“Yes, King,” I reply. “Please don’t stop.”
“Beg me to not stop,” he orders. “Beg me to keep going. To tell you how my tongue traces the contours of your pussy and flicks itself against your nub.”
