They’ve been texting all evening, teasing, playing, promising, and now all her people are in bed. When she looks at her phone this time, the message simply says, “Call me. Now.”
So she does, curled up in the big chair in the lounge, comfy and relaxed. Headphones on; she knows she’ll need both hands.
When he answers, it’s like the relief of cool water on a hot day. His voice flows over her, clearing her mind. This is what she needs.
“It feels like forever,” she whispers.
“I know,” he replies, his voice also quiet. “Life just gets like that sometimes. I missed you.”
They are both silent for a minute. It’s like they’re breathing in sync, taking each other in.
“I want to be touching you,” she breathes, “want to be feeling you. Everywhere.”
“Everywhere?”
“Everywhere.”
He says, suddenly remembering, “I dreamt about you last night.”
“You did?” she asks, intrigued. “What did you dream?”
“You were on your knees in front of me, hands behind your back, looking up at me. I was teasing you with my cock. You were desperate for it in your mouth, but I wouldn’t quite let you. And then when I finally slid it between your lips, you licked and sucked and took me so deep.
“I let you play for a while, and then I slowly began fucking your mouth. I was holding your hair, pulling gently, guiding you just the way you like. When I couldn’t take any more, I pulled you up, turned you around, bent you over the bed, and slipped straight inside you. You were so hot and wet and tight around me.”
He can hear her breathing becoming slightly quicker as she listens.
He pauses. “And then I woke up.”
She laughs, quietly. “That does sound like a good dream. What do you think would have happened next?”
“Oh, I’d have fucked you until we both came. Slipped a hand round to tease your clit so I could feel you clenching around me as your juices flooded me, and that would have sent me over.”
“I’d have needed to feel you cum inside me. Hot, and spurting, and filling me, until you just collapsed on top of me. I would cum so hard on your cock, feeling that.” Her voice is breathier now, she’s almost moaning the words.
“Are you touching, now?” he asks, hoping desperately that he’s right.
“Yes,” she admits.
“Tell me what you’re wearing.”
“Just a t-shirt and panties. Red lace.”
“Stroke through your panties,” he commands, “I don’t want you touching properly yet. Can you feel how wet you are through them?”
She moans softly. “Yes.”
“Use the fabric. Rub it over your clit. I want those panties drenched.”
She obeys, holding the material taut and skimming it through her swollen, wet, folds, brushing the tip of her clit, increasing the pressure until the slick evidence of her mounting need covers the scrap of lace and cotton.
“Fuck, I’m so wet for you. Please may I touch properly?”
“Slide your hand inside. Little circles around your clit. Not touching it, just around.”
She follows his instructions, gasping as her fingers part the folds of her labia, feeling the heat and wetness at her centre.
“Now down to your entrance. Not inside, just teasing. Stroke. Back to your clit. Tighter and tighter circles. Side to side, over the tip. Slowly…”
He can hear from her breathy moans that she’s close already.
“Slower. Lighter. Just tease. You’re not cumming yet. Gently. Imagine it’s my fingers. Two fingers, one on either side of your clit. Just stroking down the sides, squeezing so lightly. Hardly moving. A little more pressure. Rubbing. I know you’re so wet.”
He can tease her like this forever, moving from her clit to her entrance and back again, edging her until she screams, never quite giving her the release she needs.
“Move back down to your entrance for me. Dip a fingertip in. I know you’re soaked. Rub that wetness over your clit. Round and round… increase the pressure. I want you begging to cum.”
