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Things she says
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Things she says The things my girl says when she’s out West and I’m back East, boy, they melt me like butter! And usually her saucy ideas come out of nowhere. We’re just talking about whatever, chatting on the phone, and suddenly—bang!—my panties are slick and I’m counting the minutes until she gets home. Like the other day… well, I guess I started it the other day. We were talking about what she had for dinner, what I had for dinner, then about cooking and all that. I remember she said, “Cooking is skill and art. Baking is skill and chemistry.” I said, “I like to improvise. That’s why I’m better at cooking than baking. When I bake I have to be disciplined.” It wasn’t until after I’d said it that I heard the double meaning. I was really just talking about using measuring spoons instead of eyeballing it. But I think Becca took a shine to that word, discipline, because she laughed her throaty laugh—the one that tells me she’s got ideas in her head—and she asked, “Why do you think I bought you a brand new wooden spoon?” I knew what she meant, but I wanted to hear her say it. “Why, Becca?” She laughed some more and said, “So you can be disciplined while you bake!” That’s exactly what I thought she was going to say, but I still blushed. Even though my girl was all the way across the country and could only see my pretty face in her mind’s eye, my cheeks burned red. And I giggled. “Or would you rather have me tie you up?” she asked. “How about that, sugar? Tie you up and whack you with that spoon!” I was lying on my couch, and still my legs were trembling up a storm. My skin was twitching for her, wanting her here to warm my ass. “That sounds good,” I said. “Wish you could smack me right now.” I heard her breath change the way it always does when I moan about something I can’t have. But she recovered without scolding me, without telling me she does the best she can or that her work’s important too. She stayed in the game and said, “Maybe one day I’ll bind you up really tight so you can hardly move, then I’ll eat you ‘til you can’t breathe enough to say stop.” “Yes,” I begged. “Please do that.” “I’ll bend your knees and tie your ankles around your thighs…” “Yes, please.” My toes were curling already. “…and I’ll tie your hands at your sides. No, I’ll attach them to your ankles. How about that?” “Oh my god!” Between my legs, I was wet and ready. She was talking about tying me up, but that didn’t mean I had to deny myself the pleasure right now. Did it? “How about a short dowel under each knee as I tie you? That would keep your knees apart.” I said, “Okay,” even though I couldn’t really picture what she meant. Part of what turned me on so much was just the sound of her voice: husky and dark. It got inside me like a tornado, whirling around in my belly. “Good position to eat you,” she said. “Eat you, finger you, fist you, fuck you…” “Oh my god, you’re making me so horny!” There was no other word for it. My pussy was pounding now. I think it was the mention of fisting that really put me over the edge—and then wondering what she’d use to fuck me. “Sorry for making you horny,” she teased. “Vixen!” I teased back. “I’m clawing my eyes out, here.” “A couple light plastic bulldog<b> clips </font></b>with not much pressure, but enough to attach to each nipple.” My tits knew they’d been mentioned. They started throbbing just as hard as my pussy. “Oh my god,” I said. “That would hurt.” Her voice was low like black velvet. “No, baby, just light<b> clips.</font></b>” “They would still hurt,” I said. “But that’s the point, right? The pain is pleasure.” I listened to her breath, a heavy, heaving rattle. What was she doing all the way out there? Did she spend as much time thinking of me as I spent thinking of her? That question was always on my mind, but I never asked. I didn’t want her to know how needy I was in my heart of hearts. So instead of talking about relationship matters, I said, “I love it when you do stuff to my nipples.” “Oh, do you?” she asked with a shimmering giggle. “Well, baby, after you’re all tied up I’ll show you the biggest fucking cucumber in the world.” I felt my eyes widen as my pussy pulsed. “Oh my god. I hope you do more than just show me.” Her chuckle felt a little more cruel this time. “A cucumber and a whole bottle of really good lube.” “Oh my god.” My clit felt so huge and distended it actually started to ache inside my panties. “You must be as horny as I am, or else you’re just trying to torture me.” “Wait until I bring home that cucumber,” she said. “That’s when I’ll really torture you.” “Yes, please.” “And that new wooden spoon? I could fuck you with one end and spank your ass and your nipples with the other.” “And spank my pussy too?” I cupped my mound with one hand and squeezed. It felt so good I groaned into the phone, wondering what her hands were up to. “And your pussy,” she agreed. “If that’s what you like—if you want to get your pussy all red and spanked. If you want to get your pussy juice all over your brand new wooden spoon.” “Oh my god!” I slid my palm down, nestling it firm against my clit, and started rocking on my hand. “I’m squirming, baby. You’re making me wild.” “You would be wild if I were smacking your slit with a wooden spoon.” She never used to be like this, my Becca. When we first met, she was my little vanilla cupcake. Now she was full of ideas, and anxious to turn those ideas into action. “Did I make you this way?” I asked. “Did I turn you into a kinkster?” “A little,” she said. “But it’s more like you made it possible for me imagine things and then tell you about them. You’re my safe space. You’re not going to judge me.” “No, I won’t.” I closed my eyes and grinded against my hand, imagining I was getting off on her tongue. “Even when you’re all the way across the country and I want you between my legs, I still won’t judge you, Becca.” She was quiet for a moment, and I knew she was trying to decode my tone. Passive-aggressive? Is that how she heard it? Is that how I meant it? Sometimes even I didn’t know. “I want you home,” I said to fill the void. “Ahhh.” Becca’s smile was right there in her voice. I could see her face between my thighs. I could see her smiling up at me. “Thanks. That’s a nice compliment.” I writhed against my palm, but I wasn’t going to come tonight, not without my girl. “I wish you were here so I could fuck you right now and then wake you up in the morning.” “Wake me up how?” she asked. “With my mouth, of course.” “Nice.” Her voice was softer now, a dove’s otherworldly coo. I said, “You’re my girl. I know what you like.” “Yes you do.” She breathed heavily, and then said, “Go to sleep, sugar. It’s late where you are.” Three hours’ time difference between Becca and me. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d fill the void. “Wish you were here,” I said. She replied, “I know,” which wasn’t the same as saying, “I wish that too.” We were quiet while I tried working up the courage to ask if she had another girl out West. But I’d always been a weakling. I couldn’t ask a question like that. I didn’t want to know. “Dream of me,” she said. “Oh, trust me, Becca.” I pulled my wet hand out of my panties and wiped it on the dirty couch. “Trust me, I will.” |
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