When he called her one the listed nicknames she’d offered up—more as humorous suggestions than anything else—she giggled internally. Yeah, I like it when ‘e says that. Roar, baby, roar. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid saying it out loud, not that she was worried about his reaction; mostly because she liked the idea of holding just a little bit back. What she wasn’t holding back, however, well... it was bloody beautiful mess—sticky sweet like a hot bun lathered in honey, half cool and still warm enough to melt in one’s mouth.
Initially she was a little confused by the apologetic tone that came through her systems and fed directly to her brain after it siphoned its pathway through the organic chip in her head. That didn’t sound right. Her brow knit and she pouted again. Had she said something wrong? Ah, bugger... he wasn’t gonna get pissed at her, right? As far as ‘annoying batshit crazy’ shit to say went that was pretty lowballing.
But as she was silent and pondering this, overthinking it to the point of nearly running said thoughts in front of her eyes—his screen and hers—she heard a loud bang over the com. It wasn’t at all unlike the one she’d heard much earlier. She opened her mouth to ask if something was wrong, a little alarmed—to the point of stopping her forward trek actually. And then came his groan... the long drawing out of the word—like a prayer of want and frustration.
She smiled and leaned into the side of a wall as she went on puffing at her fag, listening—reading his text before her eyes.
Melt-worthy words, those. Lovely words she'd save and hold onto to reread later over and over again.
She hummed, eyes closing as she turned, rolling her back along the wall until she’d slipped into a dark alley—shadowed, secluded, and conveniently empty.
>Salted caramel.
“Because I like salty sweet things,” she said aloud as she leaned back into the wall, dropping her head against the steel and stone as she shut her eyes. The fag was long forgotten on the ground. As he talked, pleasing her all the more, she unabashedly pulled a glove off her hand and stuck it in her pocket. With a gentle sigh she did not bother to mask over their audio connection, she undid a button, unzipped, and slid a hand down over smooth skin—over slick folds wet with his words, his voice.
“Could put plastic down,” she murmured, adding to the oil suggestion as she idly worked herself—slowly, gasping once. “Keeps... keeps the sheets from getting... wet.” she bit her lower lip. Tits. Icing. His mouth. His tongue. “’Oney dust is good too,” she said. “Lickable power,” she tried to explain in case he didn't know. Broken words and thoughts whispered with a breathy voice as she pushed two fingers in, as she pulled them up and teasingly rolled her fingers over her clit.
Her free hand pressed against the wall, needing something to grasp at. “I’d come up then,” she went on, imagining the scenario in her head—trying to without going too far an actually sending what she was thinking right to him. It’d come up as some odd haze of barely watchable video pornography all too fucking easily without some level of control. “But go lower,” she went on with the same ache in her tone. “Run my tongue over your balls. Take ‘em... take ‘em one at a time in my mouth...” A moan this time, but not loud enough to cause any kind of trouble. “Suck an’ lick till they were soaked."
When he continued talking she wondered if it was to her; though she quickly realized he was speaking to himself. And then to her. She smiled lazily as she worked herself, as she considered just what she’d pick up if he asked her to—definitely toys. And Honey dust. He liked being in control; she understood that. But she didn’t much care about it right now. Not when she was once again sliding those two fingers inside of her and wishing he was there—wishing it was his hand, cock, anything.
She wanted to be there, but didn’t push it. Not when each and every single little thing in their dance of words, of tech puzzles, seemed to be leading to that. She could wait; she hated waiting, but she could. Some things were worth waiting for, after all. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t warm up in the meantime.
“Thinkin’ of you right now, luv. Thinking of you ball deep in one of three warm ‘oles.” A hum of satisfaction. "Which one you want first?" Despite where she was, what she’d started, and what she’d said, this really hadn’t been her intention: masturbating to his voice in a dark and dirty alley. It had been a thought much earlier, but that was when she’d only gotten a clip of his voice. Looping it while she masturbated had been a former idea. Something she probably would have done in her own little hole of a living space.
But then he’d said such sweet little nothings. Filthy wonderful things. Words that made her unable to wait too long for something. Gods, she really hated waiting. Needed something to hold her over for now. This--this--was probably why she was never very good at undercover work. No patience. At all. There was almost nothing low-key about her, not without the proper motivation.
“Keep talkin’,” she ordered, making another soft sound that was just barely a whine.
Initially she was a little confused by the apologetic tone that came through her systems and fed directly to her brain after it siphoned its pathway through the organic chip in her head. That didn’t sound right. Her brow knit and she pouted again. Had she said something wrong? Ah, bugger... he wasn’t gonna get pissed at her, right? As far as ‘annoying batshit crazy’ shit to say went that was pretty lowballing.
But as she was silent and pondering this, overthinking it to the point of nearly running said thoughts in front of her eyes—his screen and hers—she heard a loud bang over the com. It wasn’t at all unlike the one she’d heard much earlier. She opened her mouth to ask if something was wrong, a little alarmed—to the point of stopping her forward trek actually. And then came his groan... the long drawing out of the word—like a prayer of want and frustration.
She smiled and leaned into the side of a wall as she went on puffing at her fag, listening—reading his text before her eyes.
Melt-worthy words, those. Lovely words she'd save and hold onto to reread later over and over again.
She hummed, eyes closing as she turned, rolling her back along the wall until she’d slipped into a dark alley—shadowed, secluded, and conveniently empty.
>Salted caramel.
“Because I like salty sweet things,” she said aloud as she leaned back into the wall, dropping her head against the steel and stone as she shut her eyes. The fag was long forgotten on the ground. As he talked, pleasing her all the more, she unabashedly pulled a glove off her hand and stuck it in her pocket. With a gentle sigh she did not bother to mask over their audio connection, she undid a button, unzipped, and slid a hand down over smooth skin—over slick folds wet with his words, his voice.
“Could put plastic down,” she murmured, adding to the oil suggestion as she idly worked herself—slowly, gasping once. “Keeps... keeps the sheets from getting... wet.” she bit her lower lip. Tits. Icing. His mouth. His tongue. “’Oney dust is good too,” she said. “Lickable power,” she tried to explain in case he didn't know. Broken words and thoughts whispered with a breathy voice as she pushed two fingers in, as she pulled them up and teasingly rolled her fingers over her clit.
Her free hand pressed against the wall, needing something to grasp at. “I’d come up then,” she went on, imagining the scenario in her head—trying to without going too far an actually sending what she was thinking right to him. It’d come up as some odd haze of barely watchable video pornography all too fucking easily without some level of control. “But go lower,” she went on with the same ache in her tone. “Run my tongue over your balls. Take ‘em... take ‘em one at a time in my mouth...” A moan this time, but not loud enough to cause any kind of trouble. “Suck an’ lick till they were soaked."
When he continued talking she wondered if it was to her; though she quickly realized he was speaking to himself. And then to her. She smiled lazily as she worked herself, as she considered just what she’d pick up if he asked her to—definitely toys. And Honey dust. He liked being in control; she understood that. But she didn’t much care about it right now. Not when she was once again sliding those two fingers inside of her and wishing he was there—wishing it was his hand, cock, anything.
She wanted to be there, but didn’t push it. Not when each and every single little thing in their dance of words, of tech puzzles, seemed to be leading to that. She could wait; she hated waiting, but she could. Some things were worth waiting for, after all. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t warm up in the meantime.
“Thinkin’ of you right now, luv. Thinking of you ball deep in one of three warm ‘oles.” A hum of satisfaction. "Which one you want first?" Despite where she was, what she’d started, and what she’d said, this really hadn’t been her intention: masturbating to his voice in a dark and dirty alley. It had been a thought much earlier, but that was when she’d only gotten a clip of his voice. Looping it while she masturbated had been a former idea. Something she probably would have done in her own little hole of a living space.
But then he’d said such sweet little nothings. Filthy wonderful things. Words that made her unable to wait too long for something. Gods, she really hated waiting. Needed something to hold her over for now. This--this--was probably why she was never very good at undercover work. No patience. At all. There was almost nothing low-key about her, not without the proper motivation.
“Keep talkin’,” she ordered, making another soft sound that was just barely a whine.
Sometimes I feel like a girl~... sometimes I don't~
The following 2 users Like Blade's post: danixiewrites, Tindome
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RE: Wicked, Wanton, and Wired [Closed] - by Blade - 11-20-2015, 10:50 PM
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