Her Soft Voice
Dylynn DeSaint
The phone rings. I answer it and hear the sound of her soft voice on the other end. She is away on another business trip and I know she misses me. I can also tell from the tone of her voice that she is in a sensual mood. It is something I know based on my experiences with her.
Soon, her words, like the flames of a newly lit fire begin to stoke my desire. Almost immediately she effortlessly moves my body into a slow sexual burn.
I put the newspaper down that I am reading and push my body farther into the big leather cushions on the couch, getting more comfortable and cradling the phone closer to my face. I can hear the water in the background as she moves in the tub filled with soapy water and bubbles.
“I thought of you as I poured the bath. When I saw my naked reflection in the mirror, I couldn’t help but remember the feel of your hands on my body.” She purrs into the phone.
Only silence and the quiet murmur of my beating heart greet her ears. She knows she has my attention. I say nothing and allow her to go on.
“The warmth of the water moving between my legs feels like your tongue lapping at my pussy.”
My nostrils flare at the mention of her sex. I close my eyes and savor the sweet recollection of her womanly scent and the way she tastes.
The sound of glass clinking together and liquid pouring out of a bottle expands the visual I have of her in the tub. I wonder what kind of wine she is drinking. Was she burning candles as well? Would she use a dildo this time? I loved second guessing her and fantasizing about what she would do next.
The sound of the receiver making contact with the tub tells me that she has put the phone down and is no longer holding it. I can still hear her moving around in the water. The swishing of the foamy liquid reverberates loudly against the walls in the hotel bathroom.
Pressing the phone against my ear, I listen intently, not wanting to miss a sound. She set the phone down on purpose, to keep me at bay and force me to stretch my imagination to keep my fantasy going. The fact that she could care less about what I hear makes participating in her voyeuristic sexual game a perverse thrill. I am immediately filled with unrelenting, wild lust for her. All I have to go on are the sounds that she makes in the bathroom; putting her in the titillating position of dominance and me as a submissive, a delicious role that I am fast becoming accustomed to and beginning to crave.
Soon, I hear the vague sound of a jagged sigh and a whimper of pleasure. I hold my breath and don’t move an inch. I clutch the phone even closer to my ear. Feeling my crotch heating up and growing tingly, I close my legs and squirm as my desire continues grow. My feverish longing for her has reduced my reactions to a visceral primal level; like a she wolf in heat, I lick my lips and sit transfixed and alert, straining with every muscle tensed.
“Mmmmmm…” she moans, the sensuous sounds echoing along with the water splashing in the tub. The telephone’s receiver picks up every minute sound of her sexual pleasure.
Her soft moans bring a vision of her lying in the tub, touching her wet body. In my mind, I can see her skin glistening from the soft glow of the candles around the tub, her hands touching her neck and making their way down to her breasts; the beautiful nipples aching to be stroked. I will her to run her fingers over them, circling each one gently until they stand high. As she touches herself, her back arches upwards as if reaching instinctively toward the origin of pleasure. Slowly she lets one hand wander down to her shaved mound while the other stays on her breast. When her fingers reach the lips of her pussy, she opens them up and begins to probe inside, pushing her middle finger deep inside the wet entrance.
She lets out a long sigh. I stop breathing and hold my breath, waiting to hear what happens next.
“Ohhhhhhhhh….” She gasps, her voice shaking.
Soon, she is groaning and murmuring that she wants me to fuck her. Each groan becomes more prolonged and louder.
“Yessssssss, oh yessssss, fuck me, baby!” I hear her begin to wail over and over again loudly, knowing that she’s finger fucking herself and close to having an orgasm.
My whole body is painfully tense with anticipation. I unzip my jeans and shove my hand between my legs. I quickly insert a finger inside my already wet and drenched pussy. Using the wetness on my fingers I begin to stroke my clit.
Clinging to the phone, I listen to her groans grow louder and louder. I wonder if there are people in the next room and if they can hear her too. It excites me to think that they might be listening just as intently as I am.
I visualize the way her fingers might look, diving inside her vagina, probing and searching anxiously for her g-spot in the warmth of the velvety soft passage I covet. She’s driving me crazy with passion. I am hundreds of miles away from her, yet so close, in mind and body. As we both approach our own separate orgasms, it amazes me that she knows exactly how to arouse me and how to take me to the edge, even without the sensation of touch.
I can feel myself approaching a huge climax, yet do not dare make a sound. It is hard to tell who was going to cum first, her or me.
“Babyyyyyyy! Honey!” She cries out louder than ever, and then through clenched teeth lets out a guttural growl. It is the unmistakable sound of her reaching a climax.
Using the sound of her orgasm as a signal, I allow myself the pleasure of sexual release. Stroking my clit roughly, I come hard, curling up on the couch, groaning loudly as wave after wave of each explosive orgasm convulses through my body. Still holding the telephone against my ear, I lie breathless on my side, my eyes closed, clinging to the sounds of her sighing in pleasure.
Then there is silence for at least a couple of minutes.
“How is my baby?” she asks, stifling a wicked chuckle, her voice still breathy and deliciously sultry as she speaks directly into the telephone.
“Fine, baby” I reply, out of breath…you fucking little bitch.
I can tell by the sound of her voice that she is smiling, knowing that on the other end of the telephone; she’s got me with my hand down my pants, fingers soaked in wetness and that I am completely under her control.
© 2007 Dylynn DeSaint. All rights reserved.
