My Filthy-Mouthed Gentleman
I stare up at the ceiling, wishing for the hundredth time I could see the stars through the tin and plaster. Wishing I could fucking fall asleep.
Both seem equally unattainable.
I sigh again, rolling onto my side and forcing my eyes closed. My body is tired, aching with fever and the remnants of a cold I can’t shake, but my mind is an incessant hum of energy that races beneath my skin. I can’t tune out long enough for sleep to find me and the harder I pursue relaxation, the more impossible it seems. Every glance at the clock as I count down my lost hours only serves to wind me tighter until finally I throw the blankets back and climb out of bed.
I stalk across the room, lifting my phone from its hidden nook to check the time: 2:21 am. Since I’m up, and sleep is hellbent on eluding me, I break my cardinal rule and carry the phone with me back to bed. With the blankets pulled up to my chin, I unlock the device that rules my waking hours.
On a whim, I message the only person I think may be awake. He’s always awake when I am, despite our five hour time difference, and this time is no different. His response comes almost immediately—
[ME] : I can’t sleep.
(HIM) : what’s on your mind, gorgeous?
I think for a moment. My instinct is to say ‘nothing’ because there’s nothing sustainable, just a slipstream of inconsequential thoughts.
[ME] : everything but nothing important. It’s too loud in my head.
He reads the response immediately, and I watch him type and then erase something a couple of times.
I wait impatiently, noting that the buzz of restlessness now has a name and a focus. Though I am no closer to sleep, at least my thoughts are linear. I am focused on him.
On what he’s not saying, and on what he will.
I message again.
[ME] : cat got your tongue?
But in the same moment his message comes through. A voice note. My heart trips into double time as I press play and his delicious voice comes through the speaker to fill the cavernous room.
“I’m not sure what you're hoping for, but I’m at your disposal. Just tell me what you need. I’ve got you.”
As soon as I hear the purr in his voice and the low sensual tone it’s taken on, I know exactly what he’s hoping for. What I’m now hoping for. Heat pools in my belly, warming my limbs and flooding me with awareness and longing.
A mischievous smile tilts my lips while I type.
[ME] : I need sleep. My body is tired but my mind is not. Got anything in mind to help with that?
The want grows with every passing moment and the anticipation of the time his touch is accompanying his tease becomes so sharp I can taste it on the back of my tongue as I watch the blank screen.
That blinking cursor and those moments between messages feel heavy with anticipation and curiosity. It seems to be the way of things when you meet someone on the internet. The ocean between us tempered expectations at first, but as things have built, so did the hope. We’ll meet, but that meeting is far off. Somehow, knowing that makes the time between texts feel both thrilling and agonizing at the same time. We’ve waited months to touch, so surely I can wait just a little longer for another message. Still, impatience prickles at my skin and I wonder idly if this is what it will be like when he’s coming toward me, poised to touch me for the first time.
He’s typing again but he sends nothing. Another voice note, I suspect, so I wait. I can feel my body responding. My hand grips the blanket, drifting beneath it to lightly touch my throat, my collarbone and then the swell of my breast. The places he tells me he thinks about kissing me, nipping at my skin.
The voice note pops up and I can’t click play fast enough.
“Oh, I’ve got a lot in mind. Do you want me to tell you about it, or shall I have you guess?”
[ME] : I want you to tell me, please.
(HIM) : I’m thinking about those gorgeous breasts of yours, and how your nipples belong in my mouth.
(HIM) : I’m thinking about what you said last night about watching me come, and I’m thinking I’d let you if you really wanted to.
(HIM) : And I’m thinking about how nicely those two things could go together.
The messages tumble in one after another and my heart hammers as the words register in my body before my mind. Desire is dancing across my skin and pooling between my thighs. The skin of my stomach and breast ripples with anticipation when my palm skims over it lightly as I type with the other.
[ME] : I think you’re right. They really could fit together quite well. I’d love to let you play with me while you play with yourself too.
Impulsively, I pull the blankets down, my nipples instantly hardening in the cool air of my bedroom. I snap a photo, and it’s blurry but I don’t care. I send it.
(HIM) : well fuck.
This makes me smile, as I know exactly what it means and I can even hear the way he says it echoing in my head. He’s turned on too. He wants to play. Sleep is now the furthest thing from my mind.
[ME] : that’s the idea ;)
(HIM) : and is that what you were looking for?
[ME] : not initially.
I snap another photo, my back arched and the swell of my pale breasts in stark contrast to the dark room. I know how much he loves photos just like this one, how fond he is of my breasts in general, and I’m using it to my advantage. The curves and fullness I’ve found a burden are his favorite playground. He’s never been shy about letting me know how I affect him. As my need is driven higher by his teasing questions, my shameless exploitation of his desire follows suit. The arch in my back is designed to tease as much as the contrast of skin and the curve and implied weight of my breasts. I hope when he opens them, he thinks about the way they’d feel under his hands.
[ME] : but it is now.
Our back and forth continues just so for a few minutes, teasing pokes at one another’s turn-ons until one of us breaks first. Tonight, it’s me.
[ME] : Make me come.
(HIM) : With pleasure.
With that, his attention turns to his task. Our conversations built slowly from the start, but he’s learned me well and doesn’t even need to be told what kind of mood I’m in to spin just the right fantasies to get me wet and needy for more. Tonight is no different.
(HIM) : Are you still laying in bed?
[ME] : yes
(HIM) : I’m thinking about laying behind you, my arms around you, one hand on your hip drawing lazy circles
(HIM) : your ass pressed against my cock, shifting your hips until you feel me respond to you.
[ME] : reaching back to touch you lightly, squeezing your hardening cock.
My hand slips into my panties, tracing over my pussy lightly as he types.
(HIM) : Yes, and you’d feel me grip your hip, my loose patterns and lazy cuddles turning into something different as I kiss your neck, my teeth against your skin in that spot you like so much.
At that, a shiver cascades across my body, heat and desire pooling between my thighs and I feel the rush of wetness there. Before he resumes with the scenario, another voice note comes through.
“I hope you know how good this all sounds. In fact, my cock is aching at the thought of you like this.”
I smile at that, heat and pride hardening my nipples further. Turning him on turns me on, and often we find ourselves in a battle of pleasure and teasing, each of us trying to turn the other on only to turn ourselves on more. It’s an ever-climbing series of delights each time we do this.
[ME] : I love knowing that.
(HIM) : I know you do.
(HIM) : I’d rock into you, pushing my cock through the light grip you have on it and against your ass, my hand tugging you back into me.
(HIM) : My other hand would be at your breasts, playing with those gorgeous nipples as I kiss across your shoulder and use my grip on your hip to encourage you to spread your legs a little for me. And when you do, I’ll press my cock against you.
[ME] : I’m already so wet for you.
I’m practically dripping for him. The slick heat of my desire collects between my folds and I swipe the tips of my fingers over it, bringing them to my mouth and licking it off. Tasting myself.
[ME] : So wet. And I want you to taste it, like I just did.
(HIM) : fuck.
I trail my wet fingers from my mouth, across my throat and chest, over a nipple and down my stomach until they reach my pussy again. I play. Indulgent swirls and taps against my clit until my hips are rocking against my hand. I add the fuel of his words to the fire of my desire.
(HIM) : You feel me slide against you, the head of my cock leaking precum as it rubs against your wet pussy. I’ll tease you with it, using my hand to teasingly rub myself against your clit until you arch your back and moan for me.
[ME] : god yes.
(HIM) : I’ll wait for your ‘please’ before pushing my cock into you, filling you and fucking you the way you like. Hard, but holding you close. Kisses across your body and my hands on your breasts as you rock into me.
As he spins this fantasy, I fuck myself with my fingers in accordance with his words. I imagine his cock inside me instead, I imagine his hand instead of mine against my clit. I imagine the sensations of him behind me, against me, of his mouth on me and his strong hands on my body. The power of his muscular thighs fueling his thrusts. When I’m close, I tell him so. He responds as he always does—with a voice note. Encouragement in the hypnotic velvet of his voice, especially potent when he’s turned on.
“I want you to come for me. Come now, gorgeous. Come for me.”
So I do. My imagination and my hands lead me to a thigh-shaking orgasm and as I’m coming, I surprise myself by thinking how much I wish he could hear me. How much I wish he could see me. But in the afterglow, I have a thought. One, I decide on impulse, to share with him.
[ME]: I want to hear you come.
There is a long pause between when he reads the message and when he replies with another voice note. I’m not sure what to expect, as I’ve never asked this of him before.
“Happy to oblige. But you know...this app has got a call feature, if you were serious about watching.”
I hesitate briefly. Not because I don’t want what he’s offering—I do, intensely—but because my voice is still barely more than a whisper and even if it was working properly, I tend to be much shyer in spoken word than I am when writing. A call like he’s suggesting isn’t something I’ve done before, and I’m not always the greatest at the phone on a good day. It’s scary, but I think I kind of like the thrill of fear sharpening my arousal. Before I can reply, he’s typing again.
(HIM) : I know that scares you. You don’t have to talk. Just listen.
This time I don’t hesitate.
[ME] : okay. But I’m sick, too. I have no voice
(HIM) : That’s okay. Just listen, remember?
(HIM) : you sure??
[ME] : yes
(HIM) : ok. You ready?
[ME] : ready.
The message has barely sent before the screen lights up to let me know I’ve got an incoming call. I click accept before I can change my mind and bring the speaker to my ear.
“Can you hear me? Are you sure about this?” his voice is smooth and deep over the line, the first time I’ve heard it in real-time, and it sends a chill across my skin.
“Yes,” I say back, my already-ragged voice breaking with anticipation on the single syllable.
“Good,” he tells me, “you don’t have to talk. Just.. listen okay? Do you want to watch too? I can just turn my camera on. I won’t be able to see you.”
He’s soothing my fears before I’ve even given them a voice, eternally prepared to put me at ease in that balanced way of his. My filthy-mouthed gentleman.
“Are you ready to play?”
I make a sound of approval, of want, and the screen comes alive with a visual that takes my breath away. His hard cock, one hand wrapped loosely around it as he lazily slides his grip over his length. The sound I make now is unfiltered desire.
His laugh is husky, and it breaks on a breathy moan as I watch his pace increase on the screen. I prop my phone against the pillow so that both my hands are free to wander in response to the stimulus on the screen. One palm brushes over my nipple and I sigh lightly at the sensation that registers when it does—soft skin against soft skin. The other skims over my ribs and the swell of my belly, across a hip to the top of my pubic bone and I lightly run my nails over the short-cropped hair there. I gasp, but I’m not sure if it’s from the feeling of my hands running over my body, or the incredible show on my screen. I can’t look away from his hand gripping his cock. A soft whimper fills the room and it takes me a moment to realize that it came from me. His cock twitches visibly in response.
“Oh fuck,” his voice is low and rough with sex, “did you see that? Sometimes it’s involuntary when something’s particularly sexy like you moaning in my ear,” he laughs and releases his cock so I can see it twitch again, “but I can also do it intentionally.”
I whimper again, this time the sound undeniably clawing its way up my raw throat with a pure, needy want that makes my skin flush—he swears again.
“Do you like what you see?” he asks, and I watch as his tempo increases when I make a happy, needy sound in response.
“You’ve got my undivided attention,” I tell him in a soft whisper and I’m delighted to see that telltale twitch at the sound of my voice.
“And oh, gorgeous, you’ve got mine. Or can you not tell?” he laughs and squeezes his cock once for good measure before speaking again, “but that’s the end of the show for tonight.”
The camera goes black and for a moment I’m not sure if he’s disconnected, but I hear him sigh, a soft moan and the slick whisper of skin against skin before he speaks again, “I guess I should go now. Do you want me to?”
I don’t even think about my answer, “No, I want to hear you come.”
“As you wish,” he breathes.
For several minutes, neither of us say anything and my rapt attention is focused on the sound of his breathing and his soft moans before he asks, “Are you just listening to me moan and stroke my cock?”
“Mhm,” I hum, my attention still on his breath and the slide of his skin.
“Good,” he moans, breath catching and the word breaking as he swears, “Fuck, I’m close. Is this what you wanted? Me to lose control for you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. I bite my lip to try to reign in the needy sounds his lust brings out of me.
“Oh fuck. Even just knowing you’re listening, hearing those fucking sounds you make,” he growls, “It’s so fucking hot.”
I can hear him picking up speed, both with his movement and his breathing over the line as he swears and pants, the small growls going a bit more guttural with every passing moment. Then he’s swearing again, my name a ragged gasp on his lips as he cums.
“Yes,” I tell him softly, even though what I want to say is so much more. I want to tell him to come for me, but my words aren’t working as I listen in rapt awe at his pure need and the pleasure of his release. I make soft, happy sounds as he catches his breath and I make it a point to breathe evenly into the phone until he matches his breaths to mine.
“Did you like that?” he asks with an adorable giggle.
“Mhm,” I reply happily, a dreamy haze of sleep seeming to fall over my awareness as if it was me that just had the orgasm. I yawn.