This FICTIONAL story contains graphic sexual situations, if you are under age or easily offended. Stop reading!
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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,"
