the5erotic/senses_sound

The fifth and final story in the5erotic/senses series. Your feedback has been overwhelming so thanks for that.

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It was Friday and another week of mindless work was behind me. For most of the population that meant going out with friends, lovers, family to celebrate. For me, however, my weekend began with the reassuring sound of the key to my flat sliding into the lock, the creaky door swinging open and thunking shut behind me.

Those routine sounds were almost a highlight for me. They signalled the start of 39 hours of quiet and solitude until I dutifully and not a little reluctantly made my way back to work on Monday morning. Back to the infernal noise of the factory where, to the whine and groan of massive machinery, I packed boxes of cookies into crates. Trying not to look at the clock, eager to get each day over with.

The silence of my flat on the weekend was soothing.

I sighed and took off my jacket and shoes and padded softly over to the fridge, humming faintly in the kitchen. Having lived alone for 15 years since my husband died and not having any social life to speak of, routine was of utmost importance.

A cold bottle of inexpensive chardonnay stood in the fridge door. I opened it, relishing the loud 'pop' of the cork and the following 'glug, glug, glug' that a new bottle of wine makes when you pour it into a glass.

I never took a sip right away, instead headed over to the stereo to press 'play'. The CD starting whirring and in a couple of seconds, the moving, melancholy chords of the first song of the Three Colours - Blue soundtrack toned up to vibrate through the air in the flat and drown out the dull roar of the city street below my window.

It was my weekend music. I felt such an affinity with that lovely Juliette Binoche. We had both lost our husbands in car crashes. That was where the similarity ended, of course: she was young and gorgeous - I was 55 and past my prime, in my opinion. She was a talented composer in the film - I could only pack 200 boxes of cookies in an hour.

Nevertheless, the music soothed me. I made my way into the bathroom and ran a bath, the water echoing inside the tub at first, giving way to the deeper sound of running water as the tub filled. A squirt of bubble bath and I was ready. Setting the glass of wine on the edge of the tub with a 'clink', I disrobed.

As ever, I regarded myself in the full-length mirror before it clouded with steam. My body was far from the slim figure I had cut in my youth but neither had I let myself go. Full curves, a little too much flab around the middle and my behind but impressive, I always told myself, for a woman of 55. And my breasts were the jewel in my modest crown. Full and round and unwilling to sag to much. I lifted them up and felt their weight in my hands, turning to the side to see myself from that angle. 'Betty Hansen', I mumbled to myself, 'you're not all that bad...'

My reflection distorted as steam filled the room. I stepped gingerly in the tub and submerged my tired bones in the luscious water. And now I took my first sip of wine, savouring it on my tongue and leaning my head back.

Another weekend alone.

I was jolted out of my revelry but a most unusual sound. It took me moment to figure out what it was but I soon realised... the telephone was ringing. I was taken aback - I hadn't received a phone call for years, it seemed, and I had forgotten that sharp, shrill, insistent ringing sound.

I was irritated and curious all at once. My routine was interrupted, but I knew I had to answer. That's what you do with telephones, after all. I splashed out of the bath in my hurry to get to the phone before it stopped ringing. Wet footprints marked my trail out into the living room. As I approached the phone, I realised that I was naked and the curtains were open. I panicked briefly, as modest as I am, but calculated that the living room was dark enough to thwart prying eyes from the building opposite. Besides, I was sure no one would bother wanting to look at me.

I picked up the telephone, almost forgetting how, and placed it to my ear, saying, "Betty speaking...'

There was no immediate reply. Perhaps telephonic etiquette had evolved since the last time I spoke into a phone.

'Hello?'

I was acutely aware of the faint static on the line, like a long, continuous shh and then I heard it. It sounded like breathing. Laboured breathing. It rumbled gently in my ear.

'Betty Hansen. Another lonely Friday night. Home alone...'

The male voice on the other end was low and calm and I was taken aback. It wasn't a voice I recognised. I waited for him to continue but only continued breathing could be heard.

'Who is this, please?' My own voice sounded nervous and I realised that I was a little frightened.

'Just a another lonely soul.' His voice was throaty and strangely soothing, which only served to increase my fear.

I instinctively hugged myself in modesty.

'What do you want?'

'To talk...'

Goose pimples popped up all over my naked body and my breath caught sharply in my throat. He continued before I chance to reply.

'I've seen at the supermarket, and in the park, feeding the ducks... you're a lovely woman, Betty Hansen...'

I mustered all the courage I could in my reply:

'Who is this?!'

'You're a lovely woman...', he repeated as I tried to place the anonymous voice or his age or any clues at all.

'I've watched you often. You might say I'm rather taken with your beauty, Betty...'

I found myself shivering, not from cold, but from trepidation. I found myself thinking his voice was somehow... well, sexy... but how would I know? I hadn't had any contact with a man for 15 years. But yes, it was somehow sexy and erotic...

'I only want to talk, Betty... and I want to please you. You are so lovely and lonely, I only want to make you happy...'

'I'll call the police...' It was a feeble reply and he knew it.

'No need for that. Just let me please you... aren't you chilly? You're dripping onto the floor... I'm so sorry to interrupt your Friday bath but I simply had to call...'

I panicked at his words, looking around the room - a foolish reflex - but then squinting out of the window and moving closer to the wall, hugging myself. But still keeping the phone against my ear. Like in many European cities, the narrow streets give you a clear view of the opposite buildings and my eyes darted from flat to flat in the building opposite. But they were all dark and I couldn't see anyone in the windows.

'Where are you? How can you see me?'

'Irrelevant details... I want to give you pleasure, nothing more. Allow me this one thing. I will call you on another phone. Please answer it...'

'But I don't have another tele...'

Suddenly, a loud beeping filled my flat. I soon realised that the melody, albeit electronic, was the first song on the Three Colours-Blue soundtrack.

His breathing continued, increasing in tempo until he was almost panting. My own breathing was ragged with fear and trepidation as I glanced frantically around the room, trying to track the sound.

'Go on. Answer it... I'll be waiting.'

With that a sharp 'click' reverberated in my ear as he hung up. The incessant beeping was seemingly coming from the night table in my bedroom. I was paralysed at first. Who was this man? How did he know who I was? And how did he get into my flat?

I numbly padded into the bedroom and approached the night table. With shaking fingers I reached out and slid open the drawer. A modern mobile phone was placed there, the little screen flashing green and the electronic rendition of the song increased in decibels. Without knowing why, I reached down and picked it up. I had never had a mobile before but I figured out that pressing the centre button was the best option.

Two long wires dangled from the phone as I raised it to my ear to answer. There was, however, no sound. But I heard his voice, that smooth, sexy, scary voice somewhere in the distance. I realised the wires were headphones and fumbled clumsily and nervously with them as I fit them into my ear.

My legs were weak and I sat down on the bed, holding the phone. With the headphones now in place, my head was completely filled with the sound of his panting - all other sounds were voided.

'I'm so pleased you answered it, Betty. I know you're not accustomed to such modern hardware, so I'll just tell you that the microphone on the wire will pick up your voice, your soft, delicious voice, if you choose to speak to me...'

'Like this?' I tried it out, my tone meek and little.

'Perfect...' His voice was hypnotic to me, despite my fear. I sat there waiting for him to continue, but he took his time, content with letting me sweat with his ragged breathing filling my head.

My mind raced. I tried to remember all the strangers I had seen in my street, trying to figure out if he was one of them. But no bells rang. I looked out of the window again, trying to figure out which flat he may be in but no clues there, either.

It was the strangest experience in my utterly dull and uneventful life. My privacy had been violated when he had entered my flat. He was haunting me, taunting me, harassing me with his phone calls. Somewhere deep inside me I was furious and I was most certainly petrified. Despite, however, these very real and present emotions, I was mesmerised.

I found myself listening intently to his breathing and I swallowed hard when it finally dawned on me that his panting was surely a sign of his arousal. His sexual arousal. A flash of disgust blinded me for a brief moment. Brief because I realised that, for whatever strange reason, I was the object of his desire.

Hadn't he said I was lovely? That my voice was soft and delicious? Could it be true that he fancied me? That he found me attractive? As unlikely as my insecure self found that to be, I was entranced.

'Say something... please...'

'I'm here', he replied. 'I'm right here, darling Betty. And you're right there. On your bed. Your wonderful body unclothed and visible to me. I can your nakedness, Betty. I adore it. I crave it. You are beautiful...'

My god, that voice. It vibrated through my eardrums and swirled gracefully through my head, making me dizzy. I felt quite suddenly like a teenager again. And, to my shock, I realised that I was squeezing my thighs together tightly. A moment ago it was modesty, but that feeling between my legs was unmistakable. Even if I hadn't experienced it for years, I was a woman and that feeling was that of a woman who was aroused.

I stared down between my legs, as though in disbelief at the subtle but insistent sensations that were building up inside me. Before I could help myself, I heard a sound escape my lips. A soft, squeaky, girlish sound, bewildered and surprised.

'Oh...'

'Yes, Betty... you are aroused, aren't you? You can feel your arousal between your legs. Can't you, Betty?'

'Yes...'

'Wonderful... you are a woman, Betty. You deserve pleasure. Let me provide it for you. Please?' He was hoarse and eager.

'Yes...'

My mind reeled at the seductiveness of his gorgeous voice. Inevitable thoughts of insecurity made their appearance; "He must have mistaken me with someone else... who would want me? It must be a mistake..." But all the while that remarkable, long-forgotten sense of arousal increased between my legs and soon that was all that mattered to me. I was putty in his hands.

'Let my voice caress you, imagine my voice is my hands on your breasts, between your legs, on your ass... can you do that?'

'Oh... yes...'

'Let my voice guide you to pleasure... and let us do it now...'

I nodded, still staring incredulously down between my legs. My thighs had relaxed slightly now as my body followed my mind into submission. The sharp odour of my arousal drifted up into my nose and caught me off guard. Strangely foreign after so many years, but intensely familiar. I inhaled deeply.

'Caress your breasts for me. Knead your splendid tits, so full, so round, so perfect... let me see do that... now, Betty...'

His voice urgent and hungry and I found myself eager to please him.

My hands rose and cupped my heavy breasts and my fingers began to squeeze them softly. I watched myself do it, watching with awe as my nipples began to stiffen. My fingers moved up to assist them and I rolled them between my fingers until they were hard as nails.

'Yes, Betty... like that... they are erect, aren't they? Feel the sensation. Your nipples are hard and erect... as am I...'

I groaned at that. The thought hadn't occurred to me that he may be pleasuring himself at the same time.

'You are reason I am erect. The reason that I am eager for release... as my voice caresses you, am holding it in my hand, masturbating it slightly... I am rubbing my... cock...'

'My god...' was the only reply I could muster. Never in my 55 years had anyone uttered that word to me and I had never said it myself. Such language disgusted me... until now... the hard consonants of the word were bullets of pleasure in my brain. So erotic. So sexy.

'Yes, my... cock... is hard for you, Betty...' He emphasised the word so that it was like a whip and my body reacted as such.

I was kneading my breasts harder now, pinching my neglected nipples harder and harder. My chest rising and falling rapidly as I panted hungrily to the sound of his voice. I was staring out of the window now, into nothingness, but towards him, wherever he was.

'Open your legs for me now... I crave to see between your legs... to see the very centre of your womanhood...'

My reaction times were getting shorter and I found myself spreading my legs and scooting my ass closer to the edge of my bed, still caressing my tits. I was increasingly eager to please the voice, eager to reciprocate, to repay him for this overwhelming sensation that was washing over me.

'Can you see it...?' Again, I heard myself sound girlish and innocent and somewhat naïve. I could make out a faint groan down the line.

'Yes, I can see it now. It is beautiful... and you are wet there, Betty...'

I looked down to see what he was seeing. My mouth dropped open at the sight of my most private place glistening with juices generated from deep within my desire. I couldn't remember the last time I had looked at myself down there with purely sexual eyes. Despite the lack of sexual contact over the past many years, I had kept myself trimmed nicely, mostly due to the fact my deceased husband had liked it like that.

'You are so wet... your hot, moist... pussy... is wet with your desire...' Another word that would normally disgusted me now electrified my soul.

'I crave your... pussy... Betty. My cock is hard for your... pussy... I can feel how hard it is, harder than ever, every vein bulging with desire for you as I masturbate...'

'Yes... yes...' I wanted him to be hard, be hard for me... so very much...

'Now, Betty... now... touch yourself. Touch your pussy. Feel your desire on your fingers... feel the heat and the musky moisture...'

My hands flew down to my pussy and held it tight, my hands flattening themselves as much as possible against my lips and clit and the sensation was violent and sudden;

'My god... yes... oh, yes...' My head rolled backwards at the feel of my pussy. I was on fire and was sure I would faint.

'Can you feel the heat? You are a woman, Betty, and you are aroused. You deserve this arousal. Let it happen. Let me see you rub your pussy, put your fingers inside your pussy, fuck... your pussy...'

'Fuck...' I had to repeat that most foul word, now purely erotic to my ears, carried into my head on his sensuous voice. 'Fuck...'

'Yes, fuck, Betty....'

'Fuck...' I couldn't get enough of hearing it. My hands obeyed my lust and starting rubbing my pussy hard at first, anxious to stimulate every inch of skin, but then slowing, seeking a rhythm. Two fingers on one hand sought out my clitoris, the erectness of which sent my hips into spasms upon contact. My other hand rubbed my wet lips and slid inside my pussy. I groaned and grunted at my own penetration...

'Fuck, Betty... fuck your pussy... fuck your hole... fuck it...'

'Fuck it... yes... I'm fucking it...'

'Your clitoris is hard and electric, too, isn't it?'

'Yes... so hard... Uhh...'

'Rub it. Rub your clit, feel your hot juices, fuck your hole...'

'My hole... yes... oh, my dear god...'

My body was shaking uncontrollably and it was all I could do to stay sitting upright.

'My cock needs you, Betty. I am jacking it hard now, watching you fuck yourself... do you need my cock?'

There was nothing I needed more. 'Fuck... yes... your cock...'

'Reach under your pillow. Now...'

I didn't understand and was almost too far gone to make any such movement but the voice had spoken and I had to comply. I reached, fumbled, groped under my pillow and my fingers wrapped around a hard plastic object. I pulled it out and the sight of it, the sight of something so sexy and so forbidden to me previously in my life made me moan.

I was holding a large vibrator in my hand. White plastic. Long. Hard. Wide.

I lay there, staring at it in disbelief, with my other hand still circling rapidly on my clit.

'Oh no... yes...' I was shocked, firstly at the sight of it, and then at the thought of what he intended I use it for.

'That's right, Betty... it's a cock... a hard cock... it's my cock. Let me see you fuck yourself with my cock. Turn the dial on the base and fuck...'

I did so and soon heard the shrill buzzing sound filter into my ears, past my headphones, to electrify my brain. With hands shaking, I lowered the vibrator between my legs. The first impact was with my clit and the reaction was violent. My hips bucked wildly and my head rolled from side to side.

'Lie down, Betty... spread your legs wide for me and my hard cock... and fuck...'

'Yes, fuck... it's so hard...' I flopped backwards on the bed, my legs spreading with a will of their own.

'My cock is hard, yes... I can feel my sperm in my balls. It wants to rise, it wants to shoot out in orgasm... Help me cum, Betty...' I wanted to help. I wanted his cock to cum.

With two hands, I positioned the vibrating head at the entrance to my pussy, as though I was trying to control an angry bull. I hesitated for a moment and the voice was quick to encourage me.

'Inside... you are so wet now, Betty, let it slide inside your beautiful pussy, your exquisite fuckhole...'

With a loud, intense, desperate groan I impaled myself on the vibrator. The voice groaned loudly with me, his breathing ragged and desperate, too.

'Glorious...' was all he could say in a hoarse hissing whisper.

The very foreign feeling of being filled up with a cock, real or otherwise, was one I soon adjusted to in my heated, aroused state. At first I bucked my hips high off the bed, fucking myself with the vibrator - no, with his cock, his cock inside me... I then held it with one hand and my other hand returned to my clit to whip round in tight, eager circles. My feet were up on the bed and my ass was in the air and I soon found myself gradually approaching a place I hadn't visited for years.... orgasm. And he knew it.

'You are close now... fucking my cock hard... you can't get enough... need it... crave it... and I am going to cum with you, darling...' His words were mumbled now, originating deep within him, somewhere at the base of his cock and his need to cum.

'Yes... cum... cum with me... please, god, yes!... NOW!!!'

'NOW!!!', he shouted back.

I exploded. My clit swelled and triggered the most spectacular sensation of my life. The hard cock inside me vibrated hard and fast and only increased the whole feeling. With my ass high in the air, back arched, chest heaving, I came.

And in my ears was nothing but his voice, uttering a long, low, intense, guttural moan as he, too, peaked and exploded.