Thread: It was just one... (Bevatoria and skittish_butterfly)

You... just g-g-great, everything's f-fine for you, j-just go b-b-back to your p-p-papers. Her stuttering was rattling him, throwing him off even as her body language clearly said she was unsettled. Grant would need time to process this. So I have your p-p-permission, your Holy Ex-x-xaltedness, thank you s-s-so much. That you do. He watched her leave hastily, rising up as he saw her cap falling out by the door. He grabbed it, wanting to give it to her but by then she was long gone. Maybe I won't give it back if she keeps wearing her hair like that... He wanted to say 'hello', to announce his presence, but something stopped him. Elizabeth never called him late at night - come to think of it, she'd probably never called him ever on his cell. He took a breath, the instinct almost kicking in until he heard something. Or, more specifically, dead air. Meaning nothing.. She'd hung up. Curiously, he looked at it, wondering if it was a misdial, another ring a moment later confirming that it had indeed, not been a mistake. So he answered it quickly, keeping his own counsel and wanting an explanation. His patient, listening ears did hear something, but no words, at least not a first. A breath. Not the kind of 'oh she's alive thank goodness' type breath. The type indicating she was involved in a physical activity. Further listening indicated that it was the kind that good men weren't supposed to listen in to, hearing just the faintest sounds of moaning, something rubbing against something else, and then.... Grant? I kn-n-ow that's y-you. Say something. S-say something! It's me, El-liszab-b-beth. It's on speakerphone. He could tell instantly from the sound of her voice, slightly fainter then usual on a phone call. The image seared into his mind, as plain as day even though he couldn't see it. Elizabeth was so desperate to get off that both of her hands were occupied with certain other things. And suddenly the faint squishing noises he was hearing made sense, too... W-what are you doing? He gulped, his own voice hoarse with nerves and lust, a potent tonic as it wasn't entirely certain which force was more overpowering at the moment. It was pretty damn obvious what she was doing, and Elizabeth seemed to be fully aware of that as she responded. Damn it G-grant th-this isn't f-funny. You s-said, you said, I h-had your p-p-permission! To c-c-cum! And you do.... He started, partly confused, partly wanting to hear more. Much, much more. Words to accompany the sounds he heard, and the pictures his minds was forming of her of a woman in heat. P-please, h-help me! How tempting it was to say he didn't know how. But Grant knew that he'd lingered too long already, his cock hardening at the wanton sounds of self pleasure that seemed to be wafting through the phone, if that were possible. His hand creeped down to his belt, undoing it so his manhood would have a little room to stretch out a bit as he heard more. I can help you as long as you listen to me. Again, his voice was a whisper, dark as the devil on his shoulder started to take over. And then you'll get what you want. Another moment to listen to her, and he spoke again. What are you wearing? His hand undid the button on his pants, slowly sliding inside and forcing his zipper down as he spoke. It's a hot night, after all... At her answer, his own breathing started to get labored, but without the burden of a speakerphone he doubted she had as much of a clue about his actions as he did of hers. Or that her mind was focused enough to pick it out. Take them off. You don't want them to get dirty. A simple, childlike statement, even as it carried the darkest of intentions. Now, he knew she was as he wanted her, as he dared to imagine her. Grant was hard, and he let the moment linger as he dared to stroke himself. It was sickening to think about, about him getting off at her debasement at his command, but it was like the most delectable of treats, sitting in front of him, and all he had to do was do nothing, listen to her beg, plead, her body wracking and striving for something it couldn't have unless he granted it. The thought of uptight young Elizabeth, nude and writhing, her hands manhandling herself desperately, twisting and pushing, near a perverse climax only he could grant. Ask me again. He said hoarsely. For what you want. To let her form the words. The blush on her face, probably her whole body at this point, and then he felt his own rise coming, taking in a breath only to get the words out. Cum, Elizabeth.