tagExhibitionist & VoyeurHead-Game 01: 40+ Minute Call

Head-Game 01: 40+ Minute Call

byIFOnle©

Her contact 'card' on my phone contains a particular notification sound: making texts or calls from her instantly identifiable. In this instance, to put it bluntly, as it has so often in the past, that!PING! seemed to reverberate straight through to my cock. It was her reply to the 'good morning' I had messaged her a few hours previously. It also suggested I should phone when it was convenient.

So I tapped the little phone icon and waited, listening as the ring cycle started at her end... Arranging myself so I was stretched on the bed with the pillows propped behind me...

Purely FYI, I am currently occupying our little getaway place to work on a very important special project-- and when I tuck into that special place expressly to work, I really tuck in. I make sure to have food and everything else necessary, so that I don't have to leave and lose time and energy chasing about. I tend, therefore, to quickly lose track of day or night, let alone specific times of day. That is, after all, the whole idea.

I also tend to, as the focus grows to be the work, and as the place warms to full comfort level, literally shed clothes. Sometimes every stitch. So effectively there are times when I pad about barefoot, and stark naked for hours on end, working. Quite comfortably. Since naked is also the mandatory dress code, at home, when I write for my fiancée, Izzy -- to publish on this website.

So while the text!PING! had started a good stirring of the juices, the sound of her voice put me on full lock-and-load. I mean, no safety -- quivering -- throbbing -- and on the cusp.

She had a lot to say -- to bring me up to speed on recent developments. We were, after all, getting married in the not too distant -- so there was a lot going on and it was important so I was focused on keeping up, paying attention. Part of me, however, given that it was literally right in front of me, noticed the full erection. To be precise, noticed the full erection and registered the time on my phone.

In a roundabout way, more suited to a glass of wine than this account, but because of the upcoming wedding, I had begun receiving correspondence from 'sex experts'. (Yes, okay -- it was probably the work of one or more of the guys on the invitation list.) The gist of this correspondence, which had been coming in sections day after day, was that I -- as a somewhat' mature male -- had to re-establish firm control over my sexual capacity in order to guarantee to satisfy my bride properly.

I had of course passed along this correspondence to my attractive, intelligent fiancée.

The short version:

This process involved being able to maintain an erection for at least 20 minutes.

This process also involved being able to withstand orgasm for at least that long while masturbating.

The secret to this process seemed to be in a little internal muscle with a 'latin' name that I had had to find and learn how to workout regularly.

So, as she was talking, and I was listening, I was also paying some heed to the passing time -- and a bit of attention to locating and (gently) working this 'latin' muscle...which I seemed to have found, and to be working correctly -- because there was, growing slowly, that all too familiar muscle pain of protest.

At one point, during a brief lull in conversation, I did inform her that her voice was having an impact on me physically. There was a short pause...two, maybe three, seconds...than her soft mischievous chuckle rolled down the line -- placing extreme stress on my little 'latin' muscle.

From then on, the undercurrent of humour was always in her voice -- always registering on my sexual radar -- always always a threat to put me over the edge.

To prevent any additional 'accidental' incitement, in the form of little adjustments and or tinkering, which as guys know can happen by sheer force of nature, I consciously placed my hands behind my head: interlacing my fingers. I also started adjusting my extended legs, eventually settling on foot soles together -- more or less fully splaying my knees and thighs, thus avoiding accidental friction and-or undue warmth.

But also raising my psychological sense of being exposed and vulnerable.

At 34 minutes, she mentioned how this call was like so many early in our relationship, in the first 12 to 18 months -- when the longer times apart and exploration in between created 'yearning' and 'intense excitement'...her words. Words, and a tone, that virtually doubled me over -- stressing EVERY muscle, let alone the little 'latin' one.

We said goodbye, reluctantly, another excellent sign, taking into account our now 5 full years together, as we look forward into our formal wedded partnership.

The call had lasted 40+ minutes.

So, on many fronts, although it's quite a while since I've drafted an account like this on my own initiative for her perusal, this seems an apt time to re-visit the practice... at least this once.

Maybe more?

So I hit Send.

!PING! Everything stirred, and I do mean EVERYTHING, as I sought about for the phone. To find a text reading simply: 'Fabian George you are 100% trouble! [devil emoji]'

I was chuckling, therefore, when the phone rang. "Hello."

"You have until 9 pm this evening to produce a story for publication. You are going to be punished regardless but if it doesn't meet certain standards you are going to be severely punished. Now take that silly tape off your cam lens and keep your hands away from that cute penis so I can amuse MYSELF in the interim while YOU work. Any other instructions will be by text." And with a CLICK the line disconnected.

But I was sure I could hear an undertone of humour in her voice...probably...well, possibly. Bearing in mind, mischievous was a mood of hers quite correctly prone to conjure dread based in experience...

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