He’s talking in my ear, saying nothing really, just words to fill up the space between us. Between my hotel room and where he is.
I interrupt. “Where are you? Right now. What are you doing?”
A pause. “On the couch. Looking at the trees…”
“Are you alone in the house?”
“Yes. For the moment. E is shopping for the weekend.”
“Then what are you doing on the couch?”
Another, longer, pause. “Where should I be?”
“Well,” I say, slow, thoughtful. “I think you should be upstairs. In the room we share. In the bed we sleep in when I am there. Where you can pull your cock out and stroke yourself.”
“You do, huh?” He’s quiet a moment. “Feeling kind of bossy, are you? I think maybe we need to create a protocol for when you decide you want to be a bossy kitty.” Then, a moment later, “That’s okay. We can work on that.”
I hadn’t actually been feeling “bossy” as such. Not Toppy, as he is alluding to. I had hoped he was going to say, “a protocol for asking permission for things,” like sex or play. Or, okay, playing Toppy occasionally. That maybe he would turn stern and put me in my place. To be honest I had been laying there wishing he’d take the conversation in that direction himself. That he’d take the opportunity to top me, maybe view my “bossiness” as overstepping, and turn the tables. Bossy kitty needs to learn her place. Lay back in the bed now. RIGHT now. Spread your legs for me…
“Okay,” he says instead. “I’m in our room, on the bed. What now?”
What now, indeed? Well, now I have a part to play, a part that has obviously excited him, if I am any judge of tone of voice. I can do this, I think, because it excites me to know he is excited. I think about his cock, hard and distended, the drip of precum at the tip. Of watching him – listening to him. My pussy throbs and I let myself play along, even if it isn’t the story I’d originally hoped it was going to be.
“Do you have your cock out?”
“Yes,” he says.
“Mmm. Are you touching yourself? Is your cock hard?”
“Yes,” he says, “I’m stroking myself. And yes, i
t’s getting there.”
“Did you get hard walking up the stairs?” I ask. “Were you already excited?”
He says he was. I tell him it is making me excited too, thinking of him there, with his cock in his hand. And it is. I am touching my pussy, just stroking myself, playing with the lips a little. I tell him that I am imagining his fingers touching me, and that it is making me wet. We go that way for a little while, back and forth between him and me, until I ask him, “Do you want to come?”
“Do you want me to?” I am flummoxed for a moment. Does he want me to tell him yes or no? Would he enjoy it more if I make him tease himself but not come, to “save” himself for later tonight? I tease him a little with that idea, tell him to get himself close and tell me when he’s there, but not to come. He does, a couple times.
“It’s been a long time since you’ve come in my mouth,” I say.
“It has,” he says.
“Do you miss it?” Do you want my mouth?”
“I do,” he says, and when I hear the excitement in his voice I am suddenly throbbing, my fingers pressing and circling on my clit.
“I want you in my mouth,” I say. “I want to be on my knees sucking your cock in the dungeon tonight. I want to taste you, feel you sliding down my throat.” My voice is a little ragged, and I can hear his breath, a little ragged too.
“Are you almost there?” I ask. “Are you ready to come?”
“Yes,” he says, “do you want me to?”
“Yes,” I say, because it’s true. “I want you to come. In my mouth, right now…”
And he does, I can hear him, I can see him, I can almost taste him. And it is all good.