I tell them I’m masturbating. That I’m naked, sprawled on the bed. I tell them I have my fingers between my legs, stroking my juicy pussy. They like it when I say that, the men who call. The more obscene my words the better.
Sometimes I stick my fingers in my mouth. Suck loudly and sloppily. Pretend that I’m choking on their cock. You’re so big, I tell them. God, you’re just gonna split me in half, aren’t you? They lap it up. I hear their breathing get faster, heavier.
For some of them – the ones who like to think they’re good in bed – I pretend to come. Loud and high-pitched and keening. I run a hand through my hair and let my voice go high enough to break. Fuck, I whisper, oh fuck I’m coming.
But I’m not. I’m curled up on the sofa in my pyjamas, usually. I’m making toast in the kitchen with the phone jammed between my shoulder and my ear. Sometimes I’m even playing video games, the volume muted, the only soundtrack my hushed profanity, my melodramatic screams.
You’re fucking me, I tell them. You’re fucking me so good. Keep jamming that hard cock in there I’m about to squirt all over you.
And they buy it. Of course they do.
When I do masturbate, it’s out of boredom. I do it on the long calls – the ones where they want to hear the same thing over and over again. Fuck me like a slut. Claim that ass. You can jizz your come into me nice and deep if you like. Endless obscenity, that becomes just noise after you’ve said it often enough.
Sometimes, to pass the time, I’ll push my fingers down between my legs and stroke my cunt. Ease one, then two fingers inside of me. Curl them. Pluck that string in my belly that makes my whole body quiver. And all the while in a monotone: fuck your slut, you stud. God I love that cock. You’re so fucking good.
I can make myself come without it showing in my voice. I do it early in the call, before the big, fake climax at the end. I do it while they’re still warming up, while I’m talking them through the foreplay. I circle my clit and shudder silently, and it bursts through me like sunlight. Like rain out of a full cloud.
And through the waves of it I’m still speaking. I’m on autopilot. That’s it. I’m gonna slobber all over that thick fucking cock. I’m gonna suck that jizz right out of you.
I come without them knowing. Without them even suspecting. They can live whatever fantasy they like with me. It’s a service I provide. But there are some things they cannot ever have.
Hot! If only they knew.
Thanks! Talking on the phone is funny, isn’t it? You never really know who you’re speaking to…
That is very true.
I absolutely love this. There is just something about the ‘disinterest’ while the men get off that is so… sexy. I remember writing something similar years ago, and reading this made me want to re-read my own story 🙂
~ Marie
Sounds awesome. I’m glad I’m not the only one who finds a little bit of disinterest here and there quite exciting!
Once more great bit of fiction – love for you to link up to 4thoughts_fiction sometime – there is a prompt but u can write musings or fiction
May x
Awesome – will give them a look.
That mental game a good sexy voice can do to a guy in need. I remember a music video that showed a guy calling a woman who was doing all kinds of things and his mental image vs the reality. It still cracks me up to this day.
Also it is a service that some men enjoy so be proud of being able to take care of their need by just the sound of your voice.
I’m all about the mental image… even if reality doesn’t always match up. And voices – voices can be downright sexy.
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