Call me
Settled in bed the woman reads for a while.
Words blur with tiredness, but not before she's at least a little excited by the content.
It's late, dark, cold and lonely.
She struggles, but manages to find the energy to turn to the reading light, glimpse the time, and drop the book.
She lies there, tired but not quite asleep. Visions and ideas from the blurry book dance in front of her closed eyes.
Opening them, she turns back to the bedside table, and then instead of turning on the light, she picks up her cellphone.
Her breasts look strange in the techno backlight, and she waves the phone around to see the effect before pressing more buttons on the keypad, pausing, and then punching some more.
The last button-press is emphatic, deliberate and final.
She lifts the blankets, slides the cool case of the phone down her body, between her breasts and down over her navel, and then further.
Lifting the elastic with one hand, she slides the phone into her thin purple panties with the other. Down over her dark thatch of hair, and lower, until the edge of the device is nestled snugly between two puffy labia.
She turns over, presses her thighs to the sheets beneath her, wriggles to get comfortable, and falls asleep.
If you looked quickly enough, on the glowing display lighting up her pink wetness, you'd see the latest sent item displayed on the screen.
Call me.