Erotica: The Surrogate by Cela Winter

Young Woman In Bed On Cellphone by David Castillo Dominici, courtesy of http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

Young Woman In Bed On Cellphone by David Castillo Dominici, courtesy of www.freedigitalphotos.net

Molly’s in Saint Paul, Troy is in San Diego—but maybe distance really is just a state of mind …

It’s three minutes till ten.

As usual, I’m sitting up in bed, a magazine open on my knees, and my phone within easy reach on the night stand. Not so usual are the other things lying alongside it.

At ten o’clock sharp the bird chirp of my husband’s ringtone sounds.

“Babe.”

“Babe. How’s San Diego?”

“Great, of course. How’s Saint Paul?”

“Crappy without you.” I could go on, but we’ve had the same conversation so often. This year is an important one in Troy’s career and we just have to deal with the frequent travel it requires. He’s promised to make it up to me. Then comes the routine exchange of daily happenings, but I’m having a hard time concentrating. The items on the bedside table are drawing a good bit of my attention.

“So … did you get the package I sent?”

“I did.” The words are ordinary enough, but I can’t help the smirk that breaks out. He hears the smile across two thousand miles, I can tell by the chuckle from his end.

It’s hardly the first vibe I’ve owned, or that we’ve owned together, but—“Two hundred dollars, huh? My eyes almost bugged out when I looked it up online and saw the price tag.” It even has a warranty.

“I’m given to understand that it’s worth every cent.”

“Do I want to know how you came by this knowledge?” I run a finger tip over the curving shaft and up the exterior stimulator.

“Molly. Babe. I asked the sales clerk. A very informative shopping trip, I must say.”

“It runs like a dream.”

“You’ve tried it already?” He sounds indignant.

“Not without you, of course,” I reassure. “But I wanted to, uh, familiarize myself with it. A workman is only as good as his, well, her, tools.”

The banter is light, but I can feel a column of heat gathering in my torso, from throat to thighs. Lying in the bed, hearing his voice, knowing he went shopping for my pleasure—and by extension, his—is turning me on.

“What are you wearing?”

“That turquoise shortie with the lace.” It’s one I’d bought to welcome Troy home from a previous business trip. He’d approved enthusiastically. Trying to conjure his touch, I rub my belly through the fabric, feeling the glide and slide of the satin across my skin like a breath.

“Open the lube so it’s ready.”

“Already done.”

“Good girl. Turn on the vibe, low for now.”

For an answer, I hold it to the phone. “Can you even hear that? It’s very quiet.”

“I’ll take your word for it. I want you, hmmm, to run it over … your lips … down your neck … around your breasts.”

“Yess … Oh, wait.” I almost fumble the phone. “There, I put it on speaker. I can’t wank and talk at the same time.” There’s the chuckle again. “Starting over.”

I close my eyes. Troy’s scent lingers in our bed and I breathe in deeply, summoning desire. Not that it takes much effort, I’ve been anticipating this all day. I think of his strong hands, one finger tracing my mouth; I touch the tip of my tongue to the “finger” of the toy.

“Are you doing as I said? I want some commentary, love.”

“Mmhm. Um, let’s see …” A pause to get my mind in the right place, a short one because I hear an impatient throat clearing from the phone. He’s watched me get myself off before, but narrating while I do it is a very different sensation. I shrug the straps of the nightie from my shoulders.

“My breasts want you, Troy. I’m … putting my finger in my mouth, getting it wet, now I’m circling my nipples … and then I’m using the toy the same way. Round and around, switching from one side to the other. The vibrations on my wet skin are making them stand straight up.”

“Go on.” Troy’s voice is level, but with an edge to it. I imagine him imagining me, sprawled on the bed in the impersonal comfort of the hotel room, naked and aroused. I can’t help licking my lips.

“Now I’m touching my pussy.”

“With the vibe?”

“No, not yet. With my fingers. I’m really wet. But I’m, uh, using it to draw patterns on my stomach.” The space between my hips, just above the mons, is exquisitely sensitive—the little jolts of pleasure the toy gives me are like mini-gasms. I turn up the intensity. Surely, the hitch in my breath is heard in San Diego.

“Are you touching your clit?”

“I’m getting there, but for now I’m teasing myself, the way you do. So, I’m stroking the insides of my thighs, higher, closer … now I’m, ohhh, slipping the shaft between the lips. Whoa. That’s too intense, I-I’m going to have to turn it down.”

There’s a raspy groan. Again I picture him, the way he masturbates. He likes use both hands, one moving up the shaft of his cock and palming the head in a circular fashion, before falling back to the root, while the other hand repeats the motion. My pelvis makes a swirling movement, wishing he was sliding that sturdy length inside me.

He knows.

“Find a vibration you like.” My thumb flicks over the control buttons and settles on one with a rising and falling intensity, almost like thrusting. “Put it inside you, slo-owly.

“Now show me. Take a picture.”

I wipe my lube-slippery hand on the sheet to get a better grip on the phone and position it between my spread legs. A couple of fumbles, then I press the button.

“Oh, yeah.” Troy’s voice is almost a growl. “Did you look?”

With hazy eyes, I peer at the little screen, then blink them wide open.

“Oh. Wow.”

The velvety black of the vibe disappears inside me, surrounded by all the pink and violet shades of my inner folds. The sight is … compelling and stunningly erotic, a view of myself I’ve never had before. I’m captivated by my own wantonness.

What a man I married.

“Turn it up. Imagine me fucking you.”

I drop the phone to the mattress and follow orders, beginning a steady thrust. My free hand scrabbles a pillow under my bottom for a better angle and I yelp at the contact with my g-spot.

“Okay, Babe?”

The reply is a mumble, it’s hard to think clearly, let alone speak. I can hear him encouraging and directing, a distant sound track as his surrogate pounds into me, ever faster and harder. I forget the phone, forget the performance. My body is pure sensation, both hands in play as one plunges the toy in and out, while the other presses the vibrating outer finger to my clit. Muscles tensed and straining, my back arches from the bed.

“Oh, oh Troy. I’m coming.”

Matching pulse for pulse, pleasure spreads out from my core in ever-widening rings till I am released and drop to the embrace of the mattress. From two thousand miles away, I hear the sharp huffs of my husband’s breath as he reaches his own climax, can almost feel the hot spurt of his cum on my own hand.

… … …

No real sentences, just murmurs.

“Babe.”

“Babe.”

“That was …”

“Oh yeah, it was.”

My body spirals down, napped in bliss. Still I experience a pang of missing him—of strong arms clasping me against sweat-slick skin and wiry chest hair beneath my cheek.

“But it’s just not the same.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Both of us are reluctant to let the experience end, but we finally wind down the conversation and say good night. I set the phone aside, all smeary with lube and pussy juice, smelling of me. My limbs are heavy with satisfaction, while my mind swirls with ideas of how to parry Troy’s game.

Would I have the wherewithal to do something like this on Skype? Or maybe I could pack a stroker in his bag for him to find on his next trip.

Practicing, I murmur aloud, “Imagine it’s my mouth …”

So many possibilities.

It’s thirty-nine minutes past ten when I turn out the light.

 

Learn more about author Cela Winter here

Posted in Cliterati Magazine, Erotica, Straight Erotica and tagged as , , , , , ,
One comment Submit a comment

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *