Phone sex

“I’m at your beck and call.” River is on the couch. Incapacitated. “Beck me. Call me.” “You can make dinner.” I work my way through the vegetables for pico de gallo, prep the chicken for grilling. I pop into the living room every now and then for a visit. Smooch. Rub her feet. Suck her toes. “You making dinner is really hot. I'm getting turned on.” That’s giving me the obvious ideas. “Or maybe it’s watching David Byrne in this video.” Stop Making Sense. My suggestion. “I approve. You can get turned on by whatever you want.” And so can I. Even if all I can think of at the moment is sexy accents. “And we can do something about it together.”

I’m in the bathroom and I hear River’s voice. On the phone. At 10 o’clock? In the bedroom? That’s unheard of. I quickly stifle my reflex to be offended. She has a good reason. And this is an opportunity. River knows my fantasy of her doing me on top while I’m on a phone meeting. I can switch things up and do her while she’s on the phone with a friend.

I walk to the foot of the bed and strip. Purposefully. I want my intent to be clear. She’s wearing shorts. I pull them down. She doesn’t seem to mind. Helps, even. When I reach for her panties she lifts her legs in the air for me to whip them off and throw them aside and reveal her neatly manicured bush and her lush lips. I could eat her. But I’m naked for a reason. I want to go all the way. While she’s on the phone.

She keeps up her end of the conversation as I spread her legs, sit between them, circle her clit with my thumb, and start working up an erection. She’s still talking like nothing is happening. From her point of view, maybe nothing is. But I know she’s getting something out of this or she wouldn’t be doing it. My thumb slides down to her pussy opening and feels her wetness while my cock starts to stiffen. I want to stick it to her while she's talking. See if I can make her gasp. River’s friend will never know we’re fucking while they talk. Or will she? But their conversation ends before I have my chance. Thirty more seconds and I would have been there. Maybe it wasn't doing anything for her after all.

“Didn’t you skip something?” Her back rub. With oil. Her lower back needs some attention. I give it to her. I always enjoy touching her. Any part of her body, with any part of mine. “I’m almost putting myself to sleep tonight.” We’d better get to it.

We do the stick-in in default, me pulling the skin tight above her slit as I push in. When the head of my cock is secure in her pussy I roll left and we fuck with her legs over my hips, her feet on my ass pulling me in. It’s a nice position to explore her pussy with my cock. Unhurried. “You feel nice.” She’s got her classic post-period goo today, thick and nicely slippery. “And those are some impressive sounds.” My cock smacking in and out, a steady rhythm at varying depths, her pussy giving a particularly affectionate squeeze tonight.

I want to go deeper. Maybe this will work. I pull her legs towards me, hold them against me, slide one onto my shoulder, curl my top leg over her hip. It works. It’s close. And intimate. And deep. A good long fuck. Neither of us talking.

I want an interlock finish. It’s been a while. I miss it. I shift us into position and there’s the characteristic feel of penetrating River in interlock, through the frill of her improbable spot, into her pussy, long and deep and relaxed.

I should be coming. Why am I not? Are River's secretions too slippery? No, she feels nice. I don’t know. But I know how. I move my hand up to her nipple and focus on the feeling of orgasm, the warm feeling that starts on the ridge of my cock, spreads down the shaft to my balls, then explodes and pumps my load out. I think about how much I enjoy River, how much I enjoy being with her, how much I enjoy doing things with her, doing this with her, how warm she makes me feel. And I come, feeling warm, feeling friendly, feeling loved.

A quick pullout tonight, my cock popping out of her. We clean up and sleep well.

What are you wearing?

River is out of town visiting relatives so we don’t get to do it for a while. One of us calls the other every night. But she’s not really the phone sex type. She’s not the Skype sex type either. But at least she’ll flash me on Skype. I’ll have to remind her about that though. I want to see her muff. Or what's left of it.

So there we are. On the phone. The first night goes something like this: “What are you wearing?” “I haven’t even taken my bra off yet.” Why she even puts one on, I don’t know. That’s not true. I do know. But I wish she wouldn’t. Her small tits perking through her shirt are a sure thing for me. Always a treat. But having her bra between us is worse than having a phone between us. A phone and a bra? That's too much for even me to overcome. Unless she's ovulating.

The second night. “What are you wearing?” “A tank top.” Mmm, I like her in sleeveless. I picture her in it, and nothing else. She knows I like that. Her soft brown hair falling in tangled waves to her shoulders, the tanktop, a black one, coming barely down to her creamy ass, her cheeks swelling smoothly beneath it, her secret darkness waiting to be revealed. She turns, and I catch a glimpse of her freshly waxed landing strip, first from the side, then full frontal, cleaving her pubis vertically. My fingers push between her legs as we kiss, she spreads them for me, my thumb flicks across her nipple.

“He wants to know what I’m wearing.” “I was just leaving the room.” At least whoever she’s talking to there gets the hint. How could they possibly be related?

The third night. “What are you wearing?” Maybe she’s getting the hint by now. “Blue shorts and a top.” I guess not. She claims to be lousy at hints. She’s right. I like the subtle connection of a well-taken hint. But with River I’m just setting myself up for disappointment. Good thing I like her so much. Fortunately she doesn’t mind the direct approach, and it works pretty well. But for me, “let’s have some phone sex” doesn’t set things up quite as well as “let’s fuck.”

The fourth night. “What are you wearing?” “Well, let’s see. I looked under my cousin’s bed, and found a purple and gold teddy.” I know her cousin. She was probably a virgin when she got married. So when River says teddy, I think bear. Then I get it. She’s one step ahead of me. But only because I took a step back. Sadly, purple’s not really her color. Even though she looks good in anything. “And there were some straps, and . . .” “Handcuffs?” “Yes.” “Put them on.” “Ok.” “Your cousin is naughty. But you’re so much naughtier.” This is fun. “Look in her drawer.” “I’m opening it.” “What’s in it?” Probably a Bible. I’ve got some ideas for what she can do with that, but most of them involve her ass. “A feather tickler.” Cousin is somewhat naughty after all. In my mind it’s turned into a feather duster, and I’m working out which end to suggest using, seeing the spray of fluffy dark feathers emerging from between her legs as she works herself into a lather with the handle. “I’m sleepy.” I sigh. Unlike the real thing, I don’t think it would be much fun doing her over the phone while she falls asleep. “I love you." "Sweet dreams.”

The fifth night? That’s tomorrow. I'll call her during the day and ask her to be Skypable. Her muff will just be the beginning.

Addendum: A wave of panic floods me. I'm the one who's not getting the hint. After all, I know she's not the phone sex type. An embarrassed shame sweeps through me. Then I remember why that could never be. River doesn't get hints. And she doesn't give them, either. Sweet, calming relief. And contentment that she lets me be myself.