Sabrina in Stockings

When was the last time you heard a phone sex operator have a real orgasm?

If you’re caller j, then the answer might be a few minutes ago. Twice over.

He called my Orgasm Ignore Line. It works like this: I put the phone down and do whatever I want. To myself. You listen in and count yourself lucky. It might take five minutes or it might take hours, depends on my mood and how revved up I am.

I was actually about to come when he called. I had a bad case of the morning hornies and was looking at some porn; the phone rang right as I was closing my eyes for the moment of truth. I grabbed the phone reflexively which is probably a good thing… it would have been tempting to let it go and finish but I was operating on instinct.

He let me know he knew the scoop (hooray for a stroker that reads the listing text) so I wasted no time in getting back to it. (No ulterior motives there. Really.) I’ll tease and deny everyone but myself. My denial was in waiting almost two whole weeks to be choked, spanked, and fucked by the man with the shiny black revolver. It was worth the wait (every minute of it!) but I’m an addict and all I crave is more more more.

This was the best I could do:

Phone beside me on my bed, about eight inches away from my face. The faint sound of his breathing. Nothing more. Face half-buried in my blankets, red hair everywhere. Rustling of clothing, of sheets… breathing back to ragged as my hand finds my slick wet lips, parts them, then slides up to my clit. I ride the waves and grind against my palm. The phone flickers in and out of my periphery of vision. It’s there, a blue glowing audience of one. A quiet presence that will not interfere – only witness. A moment later it’s not there to me. He’s not there to me, but somewhere there’s a man with his hand around his cock, listening for that change in my breathing. Soft low moans wriggle out of my body and break into screams.

I’ve been up for so long. And after last night… I’m floating, I honestly am. There’s mist outside and mist in my head. My whole body’s feeling like fog settling into the earth, just soaking in slow. Absorbing and being absorbed.

Now I’m with it and he just heard me come. I’m aware and smiling. If you know me, if you’ve called me, you know I smile when I’m feeling wicked so I don’t stop, oh no. I keep my hand cupped between my legs – and get more descriptive. He hears that I want more, that I’m going to come again. He hears my thumb brush my clit and hears me find it too sensitive. I’m going to try my ass instead.

There’s no way it’s going to take me long to come with my palm pressed against my clit and a finger in my ass still wet from my last orgasm. And he hears it. Every breath, every staccato moan, every word. Every choked-off scream and the bitten, imprinted knuckles it leaves.

“Do you ever come on calls?”

The tooth marks on the back of my hand say yes.

(Did he come? I have no idea. He hasn’t called back to beg permission to come yet.)

Unfortunately Niteflirt disconnected us before I could hit round three. Next time…

Orgasm Ignore Line

$1.99/min