



                       THE PHONE CALL

                             by

                        C. Lakewood



    I was just lying there in bed, feeling a little sorry for 
myself...a little horny...a little lonely....  My husband, Frank, 
was out of town on business.  Though, even if he had been here, 
I'm sure I'd still be horny.  We'd been married eight years, 
and the last seven had been getting progressively duller and less 
satisfying.  What is it they say?  

	On your wedding day, get a big jar and, for 12 months, 
	put a dry bean into the jar every time you make love.  
	After the first year, take a bean OUT each time.  On 
	your Golden Anniversary, there'll still be beans left 
	in the jar.

    Something like that.


    So I was lying there, vegetating, wishing I could enjoy 
masturbation more -- but the tantrum my mother threw when she 
caught me doing it at age 13 had pretty well ruined it for me 
permanently.  There was nothing I really wanted to read and 
nothing I really wanted to watch on TV....

    And then the phone rang.

    I wasn't expecting a call, but this was a potential rescue 
from my doldrums.

    "Hello," I said.  Silence.  "Hello?"  More silence.  "HEL-LO!"  

    (Goddamit!)

    Then a raspy voice, rather muffled, somewhat slurred, "Hi, 
baby.  Lonesome?  Well, my big ol' cock's sure lonesome for 
you...." 
   
    (God!  An obscene phone call.  How crude.  How disgusting.  
How...intriguing.)

    "Oh, yeah!  I can just feel yer beautiful lips wrapped aroun' 
my hard cock...me fuckin' yer mouth while yer hot tongue slithers 
all aroun' the head...."

    (It couldn't be Frank, I thought.  Maybe someone at work....  
Well, whoever, he had a captive audience.)

    The voice (disguised, yet vaguely familiar?) went on to 
describe his dream blowjob, step by step, until I'd swallowed 
his whole load.  He was so demanding...commanding...arrogant.  

    So different from Frank.  

    And so arousing....

    "Hot for it, baby?  You sweatin'?  Whatcha wearin'"

    "P-p-panties...j-just panties."

    "Wet panties?"

    "Yes...wet...."

    "You topless?  Tell me 'bout yer tits, sweetcheeks."

    "I AM sw-sweating.  M-my nipples are...hard...stiff...."

    "I bet I know what they need, babe."

    (God!  Who was he?  A co-worker?  A friend of Frank's?  Some 
pervert who'd just called me at random?  Or a neighbor?  Or a 
clerk in a store I go to?  The brawny yard man?  The well-hung 
pool boy?  Somebody who knows me...and will now know what a slut 
I really am....  Somebody who sees me regularly...and laughs to 
himself at this horny, obedient bitch.  I'd be at his mercy, and 
he'd be merciless.  The idea is so awful.  So degrading.  So 
exciting.)  

    "Play witcher tits for me, babe...."

    (He sounded like he might be black.)

    I clicked over to "speakerphone," and then, both hands free, 
I obediently began fondling my breasts -- which he persisted in 
calling "tits" -- pinching my already erect nipples.  He kept 
giving me orders, and I kept following his commands, getting 
hotter and hotter.

    "Now, yer cunt.  Tell me 'bout yer cunt.  How's it smell?"

    (Shit!  First "tits" and now "cunt."  What a pig!  Maybe he's 
that idiot pizza guy who always smirks when I answer the door.)

    "It's wet...."

    "What's wet?"

    "M-my...um...my cunt's wet, so wet that juice is running out, 
and my panties are soaking.  It smells so...rank, like I'm a bitch 
in heat...."

    "Pull down yer panties so you can get at that hot, itchy cunt.  
Finger-fuck it.  One finger...two...three fingers....  You LOVE it, 
donchoo?"

    "Y-yes.  I-I love it...I want it."

    "Whatchoo want?"

    "I-I want your cock, please...want it to-to f-fuck me!"

    I DID want it.  I was squirming, whimpering.  My cunt was 
throbbing, almost painful....  I was reaming my cunt with three 
fingers of one hand and mercilessly tormenting my clit with two 
fingers of the other....

    "Spread your legs, baby.  Work that cunt hard.  'Magine you 
jus' a cheap gringa whore in a sleazy Mexican cat-house...an' 
there's a dozen greasers lined up, waitin' to fuck yer brains out...."

    (Omigod!  Omigod!  My customers!  They'll be...demanding.  
Please....  Oh, geez, now my asshole is starting to itch!  Will 
they want to butt-fuck me, too?)

    "Or maybe, for 'community service,' say, yer laid out in a 
slum alley, with a bunch a' smelly homeless guys gonna fuck you 
for free."

    His voice was slimy, compelling.   

    "You a right fine piece a' ass, baby.  Ever'body I know 
thinks so.  We all be watchin' you strut yer stuff.  You need 
to lose the bra, though.  Jus' let those sweet tits bounce an' 
jiggle...."

    (He DID know me!  And there's a GANG of them watching me?  
Lusting after me?  Wanting to stick their big, hard cocks into 
my dripping cunt and my insolent mouth and my....  Oh, God!) 
   
    I began cumming and cumming and cumming and....

    Slowly the world came back into focus, my heart-rate slowed, 
and my breathing evened out.  I could hear the caller chuckling.

    I licked my dry lips.  "Who the hell ARE you?  Who?  Tell me, 
please."

    A loud laugh, unmuffled.  A clear, strong voice, "It's Adam, 
Gina baby, who else?  But I gotta go now.  Talk to you tomorrow.  
Love you.  'Night."

    CLICK!

    It had been the greatest orgasm of my life.  

    There were only two things wrong.  

    I don't know anybody called Adam.... 

    And my name's Louise.      

      