"So, are you going to blog about this?"
It hadn't occurred to me when I started my series on phone sex partners that any new ones I took that also read this blog would be expecting that I write about them. It is of course a logical expectation but has me incredibly on edge. This is nothing like being sent a CD in the mail - I have no problem slagging a band. But, what about bad phone sex? How do I account for that gracefully? My solution right now is only to write about someone that I've done it with more than once. That creates an immediate stop-gap for the bad ones (which are obviously not repeats.)
This is what I told S today while I was still catching my breath. The absurdity of the question weighed on me as I was basking in the glow of my orgasms. Interestingly, by writing this, I am breaking my own rule. However, I expect to speak to S again. Although it is probably unwise to document the events while my pussy is still wet from the sound of his voice, objectivity isn't a necessary component of smut.
I've known S for a few months and up until recently he always treated me like a kid sister. Albeit a kid sister that he gives candid sex advice to. Still, there was never much of a spark between us although we were good buddies. Then recently the dynamic shifted - I had been harboring a bit of a crush on him all along but I'm not sure just what clicked in his head. We flirted for a few weeks and things finally came to a head today.
I've never been so nervous about phone sex before. Perhaps it was because I pursued him more than he pursued me - I didn't get that worshipful vibe that I get from most of my partners. But, there was something delicious and exciting about trying to please and seduce him. Then it happened, he told me to touch my pussy and describe how I felt. Once the ball is rolling there is no turning back. I savored the change in his breathing when I told him that I was incredibly wet.
S used the word "cunt" in a remarkable way. It slid from his mouth softly but with undeniable precision. I usually don't care for the word very much, nor the word "slut", but he wielded both with grace. I've come to realize that I can be ordered around gruffly with words that I approve of or tenderly with words that I usually hate. The tenderness that S caressed his words with made them delicious.
My favorite moment in any phone encounter is when the man loses his composure despite how hard he is trying to maintain it. S was fighting to keep his voice even and smooth but I knew that as he listened to me writhing and moaning on the other end of the line it was getting more difficult for him. When he finally interrupted the fantasy he was weaving to tell me how amazing I sounded, I almost came. His voice cracking, his moment of weakness was my glory.
We came together with a fantastic amount of noise. Then I came again with him murmuring about what a sweet, dirty, pretty, slut I am.
I guess rules are meant to be broken.
(Previous posts in the series include B and E.)