And so that Wednesday night she sat with her scissors and a book in her lap, reading through the middle chapters of a slight paperback from Grandad’s stash. A sub-Bond spy novella where the hero ended each chapter balls deep in a beautiful woman. All fucking, all cock in cunt action; the occasional bitten nipple or slapped arse but nothing more intriguing.
Still, as she read the passages, and cut around the dirty words, she thought of her Mister, who was somewhere, nibbling Claudia’s tender skin. She pulled up her t shirt and snapped a photo of her tits, not artistic but laced with urgency, and sent it to him, knowing he wouldn’t reply. A reply would break the spell.
Before he’d left for the theatre that night, there’d been a video call – he was killing time after a shower and called to check up on her. She was sat exactly where she sat now, cross-legged on the floral sofa in her tiny studio flat. He rarely visited her space, apart from when he was dropping off books. Once he was passing by her building by chance, and rang her doorbell at 6am. He made her masturbate on the doorstep then clamped his hand over her pudenda as she was about to come and pushed her back inside, walking home with the scent and taste of her on his lips.
After briefly instructing her to bare her arsehole for the camera, she was allowed to sit down and he indulged her with a blow by blow account of the last time he was fucking Claudia. Coming in her glorious mouth. Flogging her pendulous tits until she moaned.
“Wouldn’t you like to see Claudia, all pretty and naked? Watch her drool my come over her trembling body, wishing you could lick it up? I can’t say the thought of you face deep in her cunt hasn’t crossed my mind.”
Adjusting himself in the seat; she knew he had reached down to feel himself. She heard the sigh in his voice. She knew he would never let her see. He would never reference it at all. He went on.
“You might even get to feel my cock. I have thought so often of what your cunt feels like, Puppy. Of course I’ve seen what a sloppy wet mess I’ve made of it just by whispering bad words into your ear. I’ve seen the juices that cling to your toys, thick and creamy and watched you lick them like the pathetic slut you are.” He exhaled sharply and she shivered, picturing his grip around the soft skin of his erection, smoothing it back and forth. She pictured the veins becoming more prominent, and the head glistening with drops of precum. She felt her own wetness pooling in her knickers.
“And I’ve felt you clench over my fingers over and over. And over. I’d like to feel that clench on my cock. Wouldn’t you? Haven’t you been desperate to feel me inside you ever since those first innocent dates? Isn’t a belly full of my seed the only thing you really want? You get so jealous when Claudia wastes it. When it splashes over her cheek, or into her hair and I don’t shoot it deep inside her welcoming cunt or mouth. You dream of milking my cock, you little breeder slut. You dream of me filling you over and over.”
She might have blacked out at this moment; her heart was racing and when his moans subsided – and of course, he wouldn’t show her the point of no return, wouldn’t let her see the creamy residue running down his shaft, all she caught was the flicker of his tongue licking droplets from his thumb – when he was satisfied and she slid a hand into her knickers at his instruction, she was embarrassingly wet just from the notion of being fucked; of being denied being fucked. She showed him in another series of photographs, of her come-slicked fingers catching the light.
He didn’t respond for days.