It was after midnight, and an October storm raged outside. A thunderous crash of booming thunder accompanied by a blinding flash of white light illuminated the entire yard. I sat in my favorite chair reading Insatiable Appetite, a story of lesbian desire. Reading is my cure for a sleepless night.

I wore a basic black sheer top unbuttoned. My firm breasts rested on my chest in the ambient light, exposed with my nipples which were very aroused. Then there is the matter of a pair of black satin panties, which were a bit moist and nestling my crotch. I am captivated by the story of a woman’s desire which was akin to my own. Her desire for another woman to share her bed, to feel a warm breast, to kiss a stiff nipple, and to touch a pair of silky wet lips at the confluence of a pair of shapely legs and as I read those words, I was oblivious to all else.

The house was dark. A solitary floor light illuminated my chair as I read the author’s decadent words and felt my body react. A quick squeeze of my ripe breast, a simple flick of my hard nipple would cause me to shudder as I vicariously shared the author’s hunger.

The wind howled, the rain beat against the window, and my heart was beating faster, and my breath came in labored gasps when my hand slipped under the waistband of my black panties. I could feel the sensual wetness trickling from my swollen lips, while not enough to be an orgasm, but enough to keep the silky satin material that nestled my crotch wet with my nectar. When it happened, it was a deafening ring, or so it seemed to me.

Enslaved to my sexual pleasure, entwined in the story of insatiability, I jumped at the sound of a loud ringing bell of the old-fashioned telephone that resided in the corner adjacent to my chair on an old corner table.

It was a cordless phone that sat in its charger in the corner of the room. That number, under some yellowing scotch tape, was never used, and was now ringing boisterously, shattering the quiet of the early morning hour. The phone was there for emergencies, a left-over relic from days gone by had now come to life. No one had this number, or so I thought. My cell phone served as my lifeline to the outside world.

My hand shook as I reached for the handset and tried to remember how to use it. I fumbled with the buttons but finally managed to answer. A timid “Hello” tumbled from my lips. I hear a low husky voice of a man, or so I thought.

I had to strain to hear the voice that proclaimed he was watching me. I demanded that he reveal his identity

I received no response to my demand, just a simple request, “Rachel, what are you wearing?”

I stammered, “None of your business, but I am wearing sweatpants and a Tee shirt,” I lied.

“I can see you, Rachel, don’t lie. Do you want to know what I am wearing?” the man said.

“No,” I quickly issued my firm declination. “I suppose you will tell me anyway,’ I replied.

“Sweet Rachel, you know me all too well.”

That was the problem; I did not readily recognize the voice on the other end of a never-used line. It is a bit terrifying to have an unseen voyeur tell you he can see you, but it is another level of fear when they know you are lying to them. In some depraved way, I found this to be arousing. The evidence was undeniable as my panties were now soaked, and I could smell my pungent scent in the air.

The voice rasped, “Rachel, I am naked and my cock is so hard, just like you always liked it when I fucked you. I know you like a wet juicy pussy to suck on rather than my thick nasty, crooked cock. You are quite a cunt licker, Rachel.”

Who is this cryptic caller? I pondered my caller’s identity. Instead of hanging up, I listened intently, hoping for a clue as to who my late-night mystery caller was. I encouraged him to talk as I wanted him to reveal his identity to me.

“Yes, I am Bi, and I prefer wet, hot pussy over a hard throbbing dick. Do you recall the last girl I had sex with, and she would cum for me?” I queried, hoping he would reveal a clue to his identity.

“Yes,” he replied, “a petite Asian young girl with delicate fine, sleek black pubic hair that you loved to lick and get her to cum for you.”

“Rachel, do you want me to fuck you with my thick cock?”

“I would like that,” I replied, and I heard a familiar drawl in his voice. I suspected it was an old lover. A man I had not been with for a long time, and he did indeed have the most curvaceous cock I ever had in me.

“I can see you, your hand in your panties. Do you have your finger in your cunt, sweet Rachel?

“No,” I stammered, lying once again.

“Rachel, now don’t lie; you like to finger your sopping pussy!”

OMG, this man or was it a woman who knew my deviant pleasures. I did have my fuck finger buried in the wet folds of my cunt. I was fucking myself to the sound of the decadent words he uttered. This voice had my pussy aching, I wanted his cock, but I still did not know who my caller was, but one thing was evident he had intimate knowledge of me.

I rubbed my pussy furiously, I slid down in my chair, I splayed my legs, this drew my black panties taunt almost to their breaking point.

“That’s it, Rachel, take your panties off, show me your gooey cunt, Rachel,” the voice commanded.

My book fell to the floor, my breasts swaying as I bent over to push my wet satin panties off my legs. I could hear my callers heavy breathing coming from the speaker. I spread my legs wide and spread my swollen pussy lips exposing the glistening pink flesh of my cunt for my voyeur. Again, I thought of my ex-lovers crooked cock.

“Rachel… do you still like it from behind?

I stiffened; doggy is my favorite position. I love a man to take me from behind as my head was down, and he impaled me from behind. A face came to mind an ex-lover who would only do me doggy, and my lover, with his curvy cock liked me on my hands and knees. He would slip his thick crooked shaft into me, and I would squeal as his curvy cock rubbed my pussy as he impaled me. My late-night caller must be the man with the curvy dick. I sighed.

“Rachel, you were born to be on your hands and knees, you were such a slut and loved my big cock buried in you.

Yes, I knew my caller. Yes, I did enjoy his crooked cock fucking me. “I know who you are; why are you calling me?”

“I am horny, and I thought of you to satisfy my lust. Rachel, I just came. I have cum all over my hand, and I see your pussy glistening in the flashes of lightning.”

“Rachel, would you like me to fuck you doggy again with my thick cock? Your pussy or that tight ass of yours, I could do both.”

“Yes, yes, I would like that. I want your cock in me again. The door is open,” I panted.

The next thing I knew, the storm had ended, and it was daybreak. I had cum on my thighs, and my knees were quite tender. For the next several weeks, I sat in my chair in the late hours of the night, reading and hoping that the old phone would once again ring and I could be on my knees once more.