Henry. Client 5.
It’s been two days since the last time we spoke at noon. Two days since I’ve heard his powerful, commanding voice. A voice that basically says fuck the world—these are his rules and you can either obey them or get off the bus. Two days since he basically made me his over the phone.
Do you want to know something? I haven't told anyone yet, because I’ve kept it a secret.
Two days ago, when we were together on the phone, when he told me he wasn’t going to let me touch myself, I got so turned on just listening to himself telling me what I could or couldn't do. When he forced me to call him “sir” or “master” or "king," and started telling me to imagine Lower Manhattan and imagine his cock and how it would feel to have him plunge into and out of me, I swear to God I was dripping wet. I was panting. I could tell my heart rate had increased just from hearing his voice.
But that’s not what I have to tell you.
What I have to tell you is this. As I got him off with my words, it was turning me on like nothing else too—to the point where listening to my words and the effect it was having on him was only making me hungry to hear more. When he finally came, my body was a quivering mess. I hadn’t been allowed to touch myself and it was like desire was overwhelming every aspect of my body.
When King Henry finally let me touch myself, I desperately brought my fingers to my clit underneath my panties. And it took me maybe five seconds and three flicks before I exploded.
That’s what I wanted to tell you. That’s what I’ve been thinking about for the last 48 hours. What kind of a man can get me so keyed up, so on the brink already, that it took absolutely nothing to push me over the edge?
It’s like he can make me cum with just the sound of his voice.
You’re probably shaking your head at me. Thinking I’m just a stupid little girl, but I swear to God, I honestly think that if he wanted to, he could get me to cum just by talking to me.
But it's not just about cumming. He said something to me the last time we talked. He talked about how his Dad would take him out to the Empire State Building to give him a view of the city. Telling him that anything was possible. It sounds almost like…
“It’s like you’re a million fucking miles away,” Arsen says again and I snap back to reality.
I shake my head and smile at him.
“I was just thinking about work,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. I don’t want to lie to Arsen. I don’t want to throw away what I have with him. Because it's good. He’s a good man. He may have been a bad boy before this, but I know he’s trying for my sake to rein it in.
We haven’t had the conversation yet about being exclusive. And I’m glad. Because as much as I like Arsen, I can’t explain it but my mind keeps going back to Client 5. To Henry.
“You mean the guys who call in to talk to you?” Arsen asks and gets up.
We’ve finished dinner and decide to take a walk down the waterfront. It’s a nice evening and the water is peaceful.
“I have maybe about 6 regulars who call in,” I tell him as I grab his hand and squeeze it reassuringly.
I may not be completely sure about Arsen, but he’s here, with me, right now. The sex is phenomenal. I would have never imagined sex could be this good before I met him. And he’s kind, considerate, and open. I don’t want to lose him because of Henry, who I’ve never met.
But I’m still looking forward to the Client 5 call I have penciled in for tomorrow morning.
“Well, you’re regulars probably see you the same way I do,” Arsen says, looking at me. “They probably know a girl like you doesn't come by every day and they’re doing whatever they can to hold onto you.”
It’s like he’s not jealous at my job at all, and that’s the surreal part. Does he know that my words are supposed to get other men’s cocks hard? That I tell them the nastiest things I can think of so that these men shoot loads of cum all over themselves? That even more than porn, the act of talking dirty over the phone is perhaps the most intimate one can get before actually having sex in person?
“It’s such a nice night tonight,” I say out loud, trying to change the subject.
Arsen looks around, and humors me with a smile. “Ever since they finally finished construction around the Freedom Tower, this area has gotten a lot nicer without so much construction,” he says to himself.
“Did you follow the construction or something?” I ask him. “I’ve never really had strong opinions on it one way or other.”
He sighs. “I’ve always wanted to build things,” he says out loud, more to himself than anyone. “I just never got the chance.”