Remote Control

The house was quiet; not silent but very quiet. Outside her bedroom window she could hear the subdued thrum of traffic like a calm sea rippling on a distant shore. The sounds had diminished as the evening had dwindled into night.

Still the telephone beside her didn’t ring.

What to do? She was not allowed to call him: it was against the rules. She would have liked to touch herself, to relieve the tension that had been building for too long. That, too. was against the rules.

She thought of her previous lover, how inconsiderate he had been, Not for him the slow burn of anticipation, the subtlety of foreplay, the variations of touch and tempo that could delay the inevitable over an exquisite hour or more of give and take. When the mood took him he would finger her until she was wet not as a means of welcoming her to the game of desire bur merely to facilitate his entry. She had learned how to move against him, meeting thrust with thrust, fantasising at the same time, and sometimes that would bring on her orgasm; often she was left unsatisfied. When he was finished, he would sleep, leaving her to masturbate or to find solace in sleep herself. The relationship was doomed but still he seemed surprised when she ended it.

So where was she now? Had she gone from extreme to extreme? Was this better? Yes, much, much better. At the age of twenty-seven, she knew her own body and mind, how they could be made to work together. This was what she needed.

But the phone remained silent.

Thinking about it, she remained certain he would call. Once the arrangement was made, he never let her down. Exactly when it would be he never told her. She could only guess what delayed him but she knew the waiting had the same effect on him as it did on her. She was sure of that.

When at last the phone sounded it startled her so much that she almost picked it up. But that was against the rules. It rang three times and stopped. The signal. It was him. Otherwise she might have answered and found herself unable to get her mother off the line at just the moment he was trying to get through. Now, after a brief pause, it rang again and she could pick up the receiver.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” God, was she ready!

“Tell me, then.”

“What?”

“Everything.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Go on.”

“Hard”

He said nothing.

“But make it last.”

“Go on.”

“What do you want?”

“Tell me.”

In her impatience she had almost forgotten what came next. “Oh, yes, the blue. Panties and bra, the ones you like. And stockings, hold-ups. That’s all.”

“No suspender belt?”

“Oh. No.”

“Next time. You must remember.”

“Yes. Next time.” She waited for him to speak again. This time he did not prolong the expectation.

“On the bed?”

“Yes, on my back. Shall I take them off?”

“Wait.”

There was a pause. She knew he was still there because she could hear him breathing. There would be more interludes like this, though she could never be sure at what point they would occur. He was always in charge. Those were the rules.

After a while, he said, “Now. But take your time.”

Setting the receiver aside momentarily, she sat up, reached behind her and unclasped the bra. When it fell, she saw herself in the dressing table mirror. She was proud of her breasts, high and firm, the dark nipples slightly upturned.

“I’m going to touch my tits,” she said into the telephone. “As though it’s your hands. I’ll pinch the nipples. Not too hard because it hurts, but I like that.”

“Harder.”

She did as she was told, moulding, tweaking, squeezing, testing her limits. It was good. She knew he was listening, visualising, drawing conclusions from the rapidity of her breathing.

“Enough.”

“What now?”

“The panties.”

Lifting her hips, she slid the silky material slowly down her thighs, wondering if he could pick up the sound, knowing that this was one of the big moments for him.

“Now open.”

“I am.”

“Wide.”

She raised her legs to rest the soles of her feet on the bed, knees apart, spreading herself, wishing he were there to see, to feel, to lick. Knowing what would be next, she waited for him to give the signal. But there was only silence. There was an ache in her groin that could not be contained much longer. She needed to touch herself but until he spoke it was against the rules.

A minute passed, then two, before he said, “Ready?”

“You know.”

“Test, then. And tell me.”

At last she was able to put a hand between her legs, part the lips and slide an index finger inside.

“Very wet. Like always.”

“You have the instrument.”

“Yes.” She turned her head towards the plastic phallus on the bedside table, reached out, took it in her left hand and waited, the telephone in her right hand pressed to her ear, willing him to continue.

“You know where now.”

“In my mouth. As if it were you.”

Holding the receiver close to her mouth, she took her time licking and sucking the dildo, greedily, noisily. This was where she tried to gauge from his breathing how he was responding. Was she doing it as well as he wanted? Was his moment getting closer, just as hers was.

“We can go more quickly.” He seemed to have read her thoughts. “Continue. And tell me. Everything.”

“I’ve made it very wet with my mouth. It’s hard and shiny. I wish it was you because it’s going in now.” She held the telephone towards her vagina, wanting him to hear the squish as the folds of her labia welcomed the instrument into her inner depths, wet and aroused by the sensation of that void that had ached for so long being filled. Then she began to move it in and out, relishing the sensation, emitting a little “oh” of pleasure with each firm penetration, hoping he would hear.

“Now I’m going to leave it inside. I can tighten my muscles to hold it there.”

This was one of the testing moments. If he was still fully in control of himself, he would make her wait. On the other hand, if she had aroused him sufficiently, he wouldn’t apply the rules.

He said, “Go on.”

“It’s my left hand now, finding my clit. It’s hard and slippery from my juices. I'm starting to rub it. Quite fast. It won’t take log.”

“Stop.”

She had been deceived, lured into believing that from here they would work together for the ultimate devouring sensation. But she was mistaken: he was still in control of himself, still able to enforce the rules. Although her clitoris was virtually demanding the final explosion, she stayed her hand. Waiting. The telephone in her other hand clasped to her ear. Then she realised the the line had gone dead.

*********************************************

Below in the sitting room he switched off his cell phone and placed it on the table beside his arm hair. Rising, he stowed his throbbing erection away, zipped and went slowly up the stairs. In the subdued light of the bedroom he found her exactly as he had pictured her: on her back, knees spread wide, one hand clamped between her thighs, the discarded bra and panties on the floor.

He walked to the side of the bed and slowly removed his clothes, her eyes following every movement, her left hand still folded over her vagina. After a pause, he spoke.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” God, was she ready!

“Tell me, then.”

“What?”

“Everything.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Go on.”

“Hard.”

He said nothing.

“But make it last.”

And then, with consummate skill, he did. There were no longer any rules. His cock was hard and demanding, her mouth and cunt eager and compliant. He turned her on to her knees and mounted her from behind, reached underneath her to cup her tits with his hand. He motioned her on to her back and buried his face into her musky depths. She talked to him all the time, words of encouragement, “Yes, there ... that’s good ... like that but faster ... hold off a second ... now be a stallion for me ... nobody can fuck like you ... do it ,,, do it again.” At one point he manoeuvred into the sixty-nine position, as she sighed with joy, took his cock into her mouth, caressed his balls with her fingers. Three times, an orgasm swept through her body in an ecstatic wave. Until at last she cried out to him: “Now, ride me until you fill me.” When the spunk burst from his cock she thought she could feel it spatter against her inner walls, flooding her like never before.

For a long while they lay in each other’s arms, kissing, caressing, remembering. Finally, he asked, “Was I good? Did everything work for you.”

“Yes,” she said. “It always does. And thank you again for letting me set the rules.”