She was alone for the third straight night while he was on a business trip to New York. She had worked all day and had just treated herself to a long hot bath. After the bath she dried her hair, finished a second glass of wine, and pulled on an oversized night shirt. She climbed into bed with her latest trashy romance novel—something to do with a knight in shining armor with more on his mind than saving the medieval damsel from the wicked king.
The phone rang. He was calling to say goodnight. "How was your day?" he asked.
"Fine...long...I didn't get home 'til 7pm. How about yours?"
"Long too. I just finished dinner with McAllister, we took him to his favorite steak place," he replied. "I just got back to the hotel—I'm ready for bed."
"Me too, I just took a long bath and now I'm lying down reading my book."
"That romance novel with the English wench on the cover with the huge cleavage?" he teased.
Ignoring his male-pig comment, she retorted, "I have to do something to fulfill my sexual fantasies when you're not here." She meant it when she said she had fantasies—she was amorous—she would even say downright horny. They had both been so busy at work they hadn't spent much time together, and he had been gone most of the week. Even saying 'sexual fantasies' aroused her.
"Instead of reading that book, would you like me to help with your unfulfilled desires?" he asked, thinking there was no way she would bite at his overt suggestion of phone sex.
"What could you do to help me?" she replied with a hint of possibility in her voice.
"I could give you...instructions—help you satisfy yourself..." There was a long pause while she considered his suggestion. It felt a little weird to think about masturbating with him on the phone, but maybe not much different than if he was there touching her.
"Okay, what kind of instructions?" she agreed.
"You have to do everything I say," he commanded.
"Okay," she submitted. "Tell me what to do."
First he asked her what she was wearing. When she told him her old red nightshirt, he imagined her nipple protruding under the worn fabric, and as always when she went to bed, no underwear. He told her to take it off.
"Go to the dresser drawer on the left and find that white silk nightgown with the spaghetti straps and put it on." She followed his directions. He could hear her open the drawer, then set the phone down while she took off her old nightshirt. He imagined her slipping the silk negligée over her head, the satin fabric grazing her breasts as it fell below her waist.
The satin was soft—it made her feel sexy when she wore it. She picked up the phone and replied, "Okay, I put it on."
"Turn off all the lights except the little lamp on the dresser and put the phone on speaker and set it on the bedside table," he directed. He could hear her moving around the room, then the change in sound as the phone switched to speaker mode and she set it on the table. "Okay, the lights are off," she said.
"Now take the arousal cream from the drawer and rub a few drops on your clitoris." He could hear her slide the drawer open and find the tube of cream they had recently discovered somehow intensified the stimulation of her clitoris. There was silence while she parted the folds of her labia and rubbed the cream on her clit.
