Blue Monday - Part 4

Betsy picked up the line expecting the usual sighs and stammers. The caller mumbled about not knowing who—or what—he wanted. She kept her voice low, silk against skin. "Touch yourself first," she said. "The rest follows." Silence, a held breath, then a raw, grateful gasp. The confusion shattered like thin glass. The second she heard release, her other hand reached to the nightstand drawer. She always kept it ready. She tugged the silk cord, freed the toy—double-ended, cobalt, still warm from the lamp. Her caller begged for more guidance. Betsy knelt, knees sinking into the mattress, angling the toy toward her own slick heat while she rasped encouragement into the receiver. The first slow push widened her; she kept the phone pressed to her ear. Soon the length curved up and met her cunt again from behind, filling her in two directions at once. Every grunt she fed him fed her own slick descent, hips riding the steady, obscene give of it. The line crackled with his hoarse climax. Betsy smiled through her own, rocking harder, telling him exactly what it looked like—shiny, split open, both ends working her to a wet, helpless finish.