“Is your hand between your legs?”
“Yes, baby, I’m touching myself.”
“And your other hand?”
“I’m playing with my nipple.”
“Are you wet?”
“Yes, baby, I am. So wet, wet for you.”
“Mmmm that’s good.”
“Where’s your hand?”
“Around the shaft. Stroking slowly.”
“How does it feel?”
“So good. Push a finger in your cunt.”
“Yes, baby, sliding it in now. Oh that feels soooo good.”
“Fuck. I wish I could see it. Can you push another finger in?”
“Tell me what you see.”
“I’m spreading my cunt for you and fingering myself.”
“Is your clit swollen?”
“Yes, it is. Are you still wanking yourself.”
“Oh yes. There’s a drop of precum on the tip.”
“I would like to lick it off.”
“Fuck, that will be good.”
“Do you want to come with me, baby?”
“Are you close?”
“Me too! It feels so very good. I have three fingers in my cunt and I imagine you are fucking me. Your thick hard cock pushing into my wet folds, opening me even more. Oh yes, fuck me harder, baby, fuck me. I am so close. Yes, harder, more. Come on, give it to me. I want it. I want it. Oooooh I am so close…”
“Come! I’m going to come!”
“Me too. So hard. Oh, oh, oh, ooooooh.”
Violet leans back on the couch. The phone and earphones lie discarded next to her. Her right hand disappears into the bag of crisps on her lap as she pushes the button on the remote with her left hand. The movie she has been watching when Jack – or Pete or Bill or whatever name he has given her – continues. She looks at the images on the screen, but doesn’t really see them. Her mind is still with the phone call.
The sounds she has heard were genuine – as real as hers have been faked. Back when she lost her job as office manager she had enough money to help her through a couple of months until she had a new job. She was optimistic back then, eager to find something new. As the months passed by and the money got less. Violet was disappointed. In despair. Some days she didn’t even get out of bed. Most of her days she spent inside. She didn’t want people to see her. It was pure desperation because she had almost run out of money that chased her out of the house. She came back with a paper and that night she started working again.
The phone rings. Violet pauses the movie, pushes an earphone in place and taps on the screen of the phone.
“Hello baby, how can I please you?”
She continuously practices to make her voice sound sexy. Violet sounds a lot younger than her real years, but she knows the men on the other side of the line care only about horny talk and an orgasm.
“Yes, baby, I am pinching my nipple.”
“Yes, baby, my legs are spread wide. I am wet.”
“Are you hard, baby?”
Sometimes a phone call is over within five minutes. Other times it lasts twice than long. Every time she makes money. The longer they take to orgasm, the more money she earns. Easy money, as Violet calls it. Not that she talks to anyone these days, except of course her mirror image. Easy money. No going out to an office. No one to boss her around. No office clothes. No high heels. Only her, the curlers in her hair, her tracksuit and the television. And, of course, the phone.
“Easy money,” Violet whispers when her movie starts playing again. She ignores the melancholy of her words and the tightness in her chest. Pushing away thoughts of a different life, she breaths in deep and concentrates on the images on the screen.
© Rebel’s Notes
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