“Get on your knees.”
Even through the phone, I could tell Jonathan was using his dominant voice. I got nervous that I would dampen the expensive panties so badly the protective paper at the crotch would curl and peel off. “Yes, sir.”
Facing the dressing room mirror, I got to my knees. The black garter and stocking I was trying on looked as though it had been taped on me. The black satin belt slung low on my hips held the straps that dropped down my thighs with silver rings.
“How does it look?” he asked.
“I think you’ll like it.”
“How does it make you feel?”
“You really want to know?” I asked.
“I’m sitting in the back of my car, thinking about you. It’s wall-to-wall traffic. So, yes, I want to know how it makes you feel.”
I heard women outside the dressing room door. Their soft conversations and laughter were muffled by the clothing draped around the room, lingerie with bows and clasps and metal rings set into lush satins and elastics. Every piece I’d tried on aroused me, and when he called, the addition of his voice to the mix brought me near tears.
“How do I feel?” I asked. The carpet dug into my knees, and I was goose bumped from the air conditioner, but that wasn’t what he meant. The black satin bra cups were made of two panels that could be moved for access. It felt so comfortable, I didn’t even know I had it on. The curves of the underwear accentuated the length of my pelvis. “I feel like fucking.”
I heard him take a breath. I did enjoy shocking him. “Tuck the phone under your left ear.”
“Done.”
“Done?”
“Done, sir.”
“Put your left hand on the mirror,” he said. “Lean on it.”
“Yes, sir.” My hand spread on the mirror like a starfish. It would leave a mark.
“Put your right hand between your legs.”
“Jonathan…”
“Do it.”
My cunt clenched with anticipation. I stroked lightly through the string of cloth, sucking air between my teeth from the tingle of the touch.
“Get under the fabric,” he said, as if he could see I hadn’t put my fingers on my skin.
“Yes, sir.” The word sir seemed to vibrate not just outward, to him, but inward, down a thick nerve connecting my vocal cords to my core. When I slipped my fingers under the panties, I shuddered.
“You wet?”
“So fucking wet,” I whispered.
“Your legs spread?”
“Yes.”
“Look at yourself in the mirror.”
I did, and I was greeted by a face slack with arousal, flushed with sex. “Yes, sir.” I watched myself submit to him, in that outfit, as if I needed to be more turned on. Outside the door, I heard a throat clear.
“How do you look?” he asked.
“I look like I can’t stay in here much longer without someone coming.”
“You got that right,” he mumbled. Papers shuffled on his side. He was working while telling me to finger myself. A true multitasker. “Stroke your clit and all the way down to that beautiful hole.” I groaned, my cheek caressing the phone. “Keep going. Work your clit. Go around it twice, then over the top.”
I did, and the heavenliness came as much from my own touch as the knowledge I obeyed him. “Oh, Jonathan.”
“Put two fingers in.”
My pussy clenched around my fingers, kissing them, sucking them in. The heel of my hand found my clit as I pushed my fingers in and out.
He whispered, “Tomorrow night, when I see you, I’m going to put my fingers in you and lick you until you beg me to stop. Then I’m going to squeeze your clit with my lips until you come again.”
“I want you.”
“You will have me.”
“May I come?” There was a distinct possibility he’d say no, and I was so far gone, holding off my orgasm would hurt. “Please let me come.” His silence tormented me. “Please, sir.” I smiled a little. I never thought I’d actually want to call a lover sir. But it felt good, and right, and fun.
I heard his smile as he said, “You may.”
I pressed my whole hand along my wet cleft, feeling everything from the tingle around my pussy to the powerful ache at my clit, back and forth, slowly. My breathing got hard and short. I had to keep it down. If I could hear myself, someone else could as well. I closed my eyes and buckled. My hand left the mirror as my back arched, encompassing me in heat from my knees to my waist. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My hips pumped as pleasure washed over me in impossibly long waves. The phone dropped to the carpet.