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“Keep doing that.”
His tongue slips out over his lips. I feel his eyes burn all over me. His nostrils flare wide. “Push your fingers down. Slowly. Over your wings.
“They’re wet, Carlo.”
“Press into your lips.”
I shudder. “Carlo.” and I tell him, “I’m slippery.”
“Spread them. Push around the outsides of your folds. Scrape the crevices.”
I start to shake.
“Slide your hand around down there. Are you wet?
“Yes Carlo.”
“How wet?”
“I’m dripping, Carlo.”
He shifts, settling onto a couch. “Run your fingers over your pussy. Get your juice all over your fingers.”
My stomach clenches as I do.
“Pull out a good dripping handful.”
My thighs tighten and my knees lift.
“Then put them on your tongue. Suck it all off. Lick your fingers and taste your juices.”
I put my slippery wet fingers into my mouth.
“Taste that honey for me.”
“It’s tangy and dark, Carlo.”
“Suck on your fingers. One at a time.”
I gasp. “It’s all for you, Carlo.” The sharp, bittersweet taste makes me lightheaded.
“Stand up.” His demand is a hard lash. I’m collapsing inside.
“Lean against the wall, and lift your foot onto a chair.”
I turn the phone so he can see me and tilt it until I’m filling the image.
He tells me, “It’s your face I want to watch.”
I’m watching the small image of myself in corner of the screen. The lovely silk top is loose. My breasts are hardly covered and the sheen of the soft fabric shows the curve and the points of my hard buds.
Crackles and sparks of sensation fly around my body, under the surface of my skin. A current of anticipation flaps in waves, up the front of my stomach, lighting up through my nipples.
“Put one finger above your clit.”
“Carlo.”
“Press down. That finger can play. Around in circles… try that.”
