The Call

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Bec Cartwright gets a late night call.
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This FICTIONAL story contains graphic sexual situations, if you are under age or easily offended. Stop reading!

*

As 22-year-old Bec Cartwright slept peacefully in her bed, her state-of-the-art cordless phone rested on the night table right beside her head. She hardly had to move except to lift her arm to reach it. Being the light sleeper that she was, only two low rings rang out before she reached over to lift the receiver from its cradle. Just because her physical reaction was instantaneous did not mean that her mental faculties had kicked in with equal speed. The sound she made was more "huh nuh?" than "hello?"

"Are you alone?" a deep, whispering voice invaded her world.

Half asleep in the dark, one might have thought this to be an unwanted, obscene call. One might be half right – but she also recognized the voice. The pulse that had quickened at the first sound thumped even faster inside her chest.

"N—No," she admitted in a disappointed tone, much softer than a whisper.

"Is he there, sleeping?"

"Yes," she answered in a breathless sigh.

Bec hardly dare breathe as she strained in the darkness to judge the sound of her Husband. His breath was deep, small and snuffled – a soft snore escaped his parted lips. Lleyton Hewitt and Bec Cartwright had only been married a few months, but with his renewed determination to climb the tennis rankings, the former number one didn't spend much time at home with her.

"I don't care," the voice growled, "I want you, I want you now."

A longing welled up in Bec's chest, accompanied by a rush of sudden fear at being found out by her husband. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again.

"You're naked, aren't you?" he said, making a statement than asking a question.

"Yes" she softly replied, as she then carefully slipped out off bed and quietly snuck downstairs.

In actual fact, Bec was indeed topless but was still dressed in her tight frilly pink underwear. She tip toed through the house – her skin breaking out in chills at the cool air and her caller's words. It was as if he could see her as she moved around the house in the dark, she was shivering but not cold.

"Your nipples are getting hard, aren't they?"

They were, so stiff they almost hurt, the areola crinkled tight like dry raisins. Standing nervously in the hallway her eyes were closed, her breathing becoming a little faster. All the while she listened to his voice; part of her mind listening for any change upstairs, hoping her husband wouldn't catch her on the phone in the middle of the night. Her whole body was tense as if ready to spring up in fright. Bec quietly made her way into the living room, towards the large leather sofa in the middle of the room where she then sat down.

"What do you want – I told you, we can't do this anymore?"

"Spread," He ordered, and almost instantaneously she did, readjusting her posture and position on the lounge.

"Oh God," she said to herself as she instinctively parted her knees and lay back getting comfortable, "Please,"

"Wider," he said and again she was struck with the feeling that his eyes were on her.

The way he knew her so well was what made her almost helpless to his directions. Sitting back in the dimply lit room, Bec now lay exposed and vulnerable, with her legs spread apart she was topless and barefoot, and barely dressed in just a tiny pair of pink cotton panties.

"Play" he instructed, and Bec only hesitated for just a moment before running a hand up her bare thigh and across her skin – between her open legs.

Running her fingertips across her panty clad pussy, she gently pressed against the material, rubbing and wiping her warm, moist lips against them.

"Play with your clit, touch it, tease it."

Bec didn't reply, and only responded by letting out a low whimper. She brushed her fingers over her panties one last time, finding her clit through the thin material – it caused her to squirm in anticipation. Moving up to the waist band she then slipped inside, finding her sensitive clit immediately. Biting her bottom lip she touched and tapped it gently before briefly sliding her fingers down the full length of her taut pussylips, gauging her arousal and finding herself wet – and God was she wet.

"Open your pretty little lips for me," he directed, "I wanna see if you're glistening for me."

Gripping the phone, Bec moved her fingers across her tight hairless lips – they were so soft and smooth, just shaved hours ago, and very warm from being under the covers.

"What do you want?" she whimpered again, asking but already knowing the answer.

Sighing, she found it hard to hold back, although she loved how he made her be loud sometimes, letting out feelings she tried to deny. But tonight, she was deathly afraid of rousing her husband upstairs.

"Lick your fingers," he instructed.

Bec immediately did, slipping her hand from out of her pink panties and taking two digits into her warm mouth - coating them in her spit and saliva.

Not hearing her respond, he growled again, "Do it, lick them,"

"I am," she breathed between slurps.

"Put them in your mouth, get them really wet – spit on them and lick them with your tongue... I want to hear them in your mouth."

Bec swirled and slurped them in her mouth, sliding and wrapping her fiery tongue around her well manicured fingers. Pulling them out, a long strand of saliva drooled from her lips and onto her breasts as she guided her fingers back towards her searing slit. Slipping her hand into her underwear knuckles first, she immediately found her clit again and massaged it – mixing her saliva with her juices.

"Oooohh God..." she let out as she gently stroked her throbbing clit – unconsciously opening her legs a little further.

Feeling an overwhelming and tremendous sensation of guilt and pleasure, tears formed in her eyes and she began to quietly sob.

"Mmm, rub that tiny clit of yours – I want to hear you moan for me,"

"I—I can't," she barely made out, sniveling softly, "He'll hear me... this is wrong,"

"You mean you won't," he spoke with vinegar in his tone.

"Do it or I'll just hang up and not waste my time anymore." He dared, his voice growing faint and she knew he'd pulled his phone away from his mouth.

All the practical parts of her knew it was the best thing if he left her alone in silence, but her whole body silently screamed "NO!" at the thought of being left in this aroused state.

It came out a pleading whisper, "Please, no!"

For a moment she was afraid it was too late, but then she heard his breath.

"Good, then tell me what you want, even if he's awake and listening, I don't care. I want you to tell me, say it."

Shaking so badly Bec Cartwright could barely hold the phone, and murmured, "I—I want you. I want to feel you inside of me."

"Yeah, tell me, tell me more?"

"I want you to touch me... taste me... and feel me."

"Yeah, beg, beg baby."

"Please," she moaned as loud as she dared, running the tips of her wet fingers along the outskirts of her taut labia, "Please stay with me, make me cum."

"Are you playing, are you wet?"

"God yes,"

"Are you going to cum for me if I stay?"

"Ohhhh yes," she let out.

"Push inside, slip a finger inside you," he commanded, "I know you're nice and wet already, aren't you?"

"Yes," she sighed, doing just as he instructed, "Sooo wet..."

Lying back and teasing herself she had in avertedly wiggled herself down the sofa – her ass now hung off the edge of it. Resting on her lower back, her smooth slender legs spread wide and she was totally open to the cool air. With her hand stuffed inside, stretching her small panties, a long middle finger slid between her tight thin lips and pressed into the hot, slick opening. There was no way to stifle this new moan.

"Mmm, yes," she heard the sound of his lust, "Right there baby, finger yourself – I want to her you fuck yourself"

Hearing him speak, heightened her arousal until it was just a blue fog inside her brain, totally overwhelming, canceling out everything else.

"That's my hand touching you," he said, "That's my finger inside you. Can you feel me there?"

"Yes," she answered boldly now, louder.

She still listened for any stirring from her husband but now didn't care nearly as much.

"Stroke your clit, show me how you like to do it," he instructed, "I want to hear it. I want to hear how wet you are."

In the stillness, her fingers in the wet cleft began to make a slurping kind of noise. It was unmistakable and he could clearly hear it over the line.

"Oh yes," he urged her on, "Faster, baby, faster. I want to hear you cum for me."

"Urghh... yeah...?" she groaned, picking up the sound and her speed.

The fear was almost tangible on her quivering skin. She rubbed herself faster and harder as all the sensations worked together to bring her quickly into a frenzy. Her breath was a gasp; she tried hard to muffle it and tried harder not to care.

"Yes, baby, that's it. Feel my tongue there – over your pussy, in you!"

He gave her another minute, picturing her sitting there naked, her body vulnerable and available to anything he wanted.

"Cum now, cum for me! I want to hear you! Don't hold back baby! Don't be afraid!"

"Yes... yes... yesss!" she hissed through clenched teeth, "Ohhhh fuck yes!"

Her body shook with each contraction. With every spasm, there was a deep intake of breath. The sound of her dampness wafted up to her nostrils.

"You know what I want to hear," he demanded.

He had reached his own climax at the same time but now needed one more thing to make it complete. She knew what that was. She did it every time he had made her cum. She did it when she was alone and it was now second nature to her.

Falling into the sweet warmth of total submission, she said, "I'm a bad girl!"

As she continued to come, she said it over and over again, "I'm a bad little girl... a bad... little slut... I'm your slut! Your dirty little bitch!!"

They shared silence afterwards, each coming down in their own way. Her fierce listening resumed – she was certain most anyone would have heard that. It seemed Lleyton hadn't though. He'd not even stirred. But then again he'd once slept through an earthquake.

"Go clean up baby and get back to sleep," his deep voice said, "My dirty little bitch... bad girl"

This was his professional voice, one she could listen to forever and never tire of.

"Yes, Sir," she was very reluctant for him to go but he knew it was best.

There was inherent danger on both their parts - it was the ingredient that made it so much sweeter.

"I'll talk to you later."

She nodded as he hung up and she did the same.

Getting up, her legs almost buckled as she quietly slipped back upstairs unnoticed. Before getting back in bed, she ducked into the bathroom, locking the door she sat there in the darkness. The intensity of the experience had brought tears to her eyes and now shudders of relief washed over her – a sexual relief of contentment and of not being found out. The feeling was almost indescribable – as if someone had suffocated her just to the point of unconsciousness then let precious air rush in.

Several minutes passed before she was able to creep quietly back to bed – the covers feeling extraordinarily warm and comforting, like arms around her. Sleep was not far away.

The next day at work, on the set of her show; Home and Away, she bumped into him and smiled knowingly. Strangely, he didn't ask what she thought about the call. In fact, he didn't mention it at all, and Bec felt compelled to ask. Waiting for the right moment and some privacy she asked him.

"What call?" he replied, a genuinely puzzled look on his face.

"Last night, you called."

"Nup, it wasn't me Bec," he said.

Bec seemed to turn white.

He then asked with disapproval, "Who else have you been giving your number to?"

"No one!" she exclaimed, "No one has it but you, I think."

He shrugged.

"Oh well, I guess it's just another one of your "Fans" then," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Don't even say that!" Bec spat, not doubting him for a second, but instead beginning to doubt herself.

"Maybe you dreamed it, I don't know?" he suggested, before walking away.

Going back to work he left her there, standing there in shock. No one else knew her number, but she thought it was strange how her husband didn't hear the phone. Could she have dreamed the whole thing? Apart of her hoped so. At that precise moment as she pondered her sanity, her cell phone suddenly beeped – there was an incoming message. She picked it up and read it – stunned, she dropped the phone.

It read: Same time tonight again?

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