Cynthia And Clive Do Phone Sex

"So... What are you wearing?"

Cynthia glanced down at her comfortable, baggy trousers with the elasticated waist, and wiggled her toes inside well-worn carpet slippers. "Mmm..." she began, doing a rather dodgy Mae West impression, "Why dontcha come up and see me sometime? Silk stockings and suspenders, high heel shoes... and a skimpy bra and panties set - black, trimmed with lace, with a little love-heart motif on the... er... private bit. You know where I mean?"

"Oh wow, babe," Clive enthused, building the picture in his mind's eye, and oblivious to its implausibility. "That sounds drop-dead sexy. Wish I was there to see you. And check out that little motif. I'm sure it just needs a quick stroke to make it come over all wet."

Typical Clive, Cynthia thought. He was rushing things forward too fast, as usual. Where was the flirting? Where was the small-talk? A kiss? Some romance? It was the same in bed - that impatience to get on with it, without any preliminary love-making to get her in the mood. Obviously, it was something which suited him, as a testosteronic male, but not her, as a... as a what? Her self-doubt kicked in again. No, I'm not a frigid old biddy... And I'm not a... Yes, I like Bea... OK, I love Bea... But that doesn't make me gay.

A single mother, Bea was Cynthia's best friend, though they had known each other for only a short while. They had met on a junior school outing for their children, and though the relationship thus far was platonic, there had always been a certain 'something' between them - an occasional 'frisson', indefinable and unrealised. Bea openly admitted she was not attracted to men. This obviously had not stopped her becoming a mother, although the father of her son very quickly was off the scene once Bea got pregnant. Not wanting to risk damage to the valuable fabric of their developing relationship, Cynthia had always politely avoided asking uncomfortable or intrusive questions. Nevertheless, she did harbour a burning curiosity about the mechanics of Bea's impregnation, viz. Was it an accident? Or was it planned? Was the father simply selected as a suitable gene-source for Bea's progeny? And how many times did they 'do it'? Was it only during Bea's fertile time of the month? Was there even any affection between them, at any stage?... And, importantly, did she enjoy it?

While such mysteries teased Cynthia, at the current moment she needed to concentrate on her sophisticated tart impression. "Naughty, naughty," she chided him. "What about you? Hope you're suitably presentable for our 'special' date. Fresh from the shower, a nice musky after-shave, fitted shirt, Armani cuff-links?"

"Better than that," Clive announced proudly, his phone lodged behind his ear. "I'm on the bed, totally starkers, hands free. My dick is getting hard just hearing your sexy voice on the phone, babe."

Cynthia didn't doubt it, but suspected it was a condition which would similarly have been induced by any female voice on the phone. Hers was free of charge, of course, as opposed to one at the end of a premium-rate phone-line. She suspected her husband would easily have been on such a line, had Cynthia not suggested their little telephonic tryst to spice up their week apart.

Yes, phone-sex, while Clive was away on one of his frequent business jaunts, was Cynthia's idea, so she didn't have anyone but herself to blame for her disappointment. She wasn't brave enough to say, "Clive, this isn't working," or, "Clive, this is everything I don't like about our sex-life." So although Bea was now even more in her conscious thoughts, Cynthia pressed on with the pathetic charade: "Mmm... unfastening my bra... whoops... falling out all over the place!"

Describing her imaginary disrobing inevitably reminded Cynthia how totally inept Clive was at manipulating clasps, zips, buttons, suspenders, or indeed any securing device associated with women's attire. At least, not in any way seductively - he always expected her to do her own undressing. She recalled that hot day with the kids at the beach, wrapped in a towel, her hands messy with after-sun and sand, when Bea offered to help take off Cynthia's bikini top. Bea had stood behind her, fingers playfully running down Cynthia's shoulder-blades, then slowly and smoothly separating the hook from its locking piece. No fumbles. No drama. Cynthia had felt Bea's warm breath on the side of her neck. Both women laughed, for some reason - maybe to take the heat out of the intimacy of the encounter. But long afterwards, the incident still lingered in Cynthia's memory.

"Don't worry, babe, I'll catch them," Clive countered. "One in each hand. Squeezing them now... are your nipples getting hard? I know my cock is."

"Are you getting hard?" Cynthia silently asked her nipples, looking downwards. Then, in the manner of a parade-ground drill-sergeant, she (silently) bellowed out the order: "Atten-shun!"

"Like bullets," Cynthia confirmed. "I'm flicking them from side to side - they're in need of some manly TLC. I'm stroking them with my phone. Put your lips to your phone, darling, so they can feel your tender kisses."

"Mmm..." responded Clive, discounting the practicality of putting his mouth any nearer the phone. "Licking... sucking... biting... God, you are sooo hot! Can't wait to go down and taste your pussy juices. Fuck, babe, you're good at this!"

Pussy juices? Where DID he get these expressions? The land-line phone in their hallway abruptly diverted Cynthia's bemusement. Having told Bea that Clive was away for the week, and that any company would be welcome, Cynthia had half expected Bea to call - both their respective sons were off on a field trip. And if this was Bea calling, she didn't want to miss it. Clive also heard the ringing: "God... What a time to ring! Leave it, babe. Probably a junk call. Whoever it is can ring back. For Chris'sake!"

"Sorry Clive," Cynthia apologised. "I better see who it is. It may be mother - better make sure she hasn't had another funny turn. Hold whatever thought you were having, darling."

Cynthia went into the hall, leaving her cell phone on the armchair and quietly shutting the lounge door. "Hello, yes... oh, hello Bea... Interrupting anything? No, not at all, nothing important anyway... Yes, Clive's away all week, so I'm just slobbing about, all on my lonesome ownsome... You want to come round? Yes, that would be lovely... No, don't go out of your way - I've got a bottle already open... Fine, see you in twenty minutes or so... OK, and muhaahs to you too."

Cynthia returned to her wifely duties, although she didn't recall anything in the marriage vows obliging her to consummate over the phone. Was refusal to participate grounds for divorce, she wondered, resuming the masquerade. "Mother. What a time to ring, eh? She had a dizzy spell, but she's alright now. Where were we, darling?"

Clive seemed less upset about the interruption than Cynthia feared he might be. "Sorry, babe," he panted, "Couldn't help it. You got me going and I couldn't stop."

"Oh," Cynthia said, somewhat taken aback, but not really wanting to know the messy details. She felt put out by his selfishness, but not overly concerned that she herself had not been fulfilled - she never expected to be. Now she was lost for words as to how to proceed. Fortunately, Clive pre-empted the situation.

"That was a great idea of yours, babe," he said. "Just next time, take the other phone of the hook, eh? How about tomorrow? Same time?"

Well, at least Clive wouldn't now be spending the housekeeping on premium-rate adult-TV channels in his hotel room, Cynthia consoled herself, putting down her cell-phone. Though in truth, Cynthia didn't really need consoling - she was quite upbeat about the impending arrival of her soul mate, and already was busy upstairs making herself a deal more attractive.

+

Bea looked terrific. A little well-built, if one were going to be picky, and hair cropped a tad too austerely. But such aesthetic considerations were only of importance to image consultants and advertising executives. Bea's beauty was in her lovely clear skin, a broad smile, sparkling eyes and a personality which exuded fun and kindness.

The two women sat drinking wine, and catching up on one another's gossip. Cynthia furtively admired Bea's looks, and confident choice of clothes and chunky accessories, which made such a bold statement about her. And every now and then, Cynthia would guiltily fantasise about Bea's body, and how it might feel, locked in a passionate, unclothed embrace with her own...

Then, annoyingly, Cynthia's mobile tinkled. She had meant to turn it off, or at least set it to silent mode. Oh no, it was her husband: "Hi babe, me again. It's too early to turn in. I was thinking of earlier - unfair of me to finish without you. Fancy we go again? You were getting so hot. This time it'll be for you. What do you say? Up for it?"

Cynthia was aghast. She had not only left her phone on, but with the volume turned full up, and if Bea had not clearly heard every word, she certainly would have got the general gist of Clive's indelicate proposal. Crimson-faced and wide-eyed with remorse, she turned towards her guest. But Bea was way ahead of her, putting a finger to her own lips, beaming, and nodding her head approvingly.

This was almost more embarrassing than Cynthia could bear. She raised the phone, but no words would come. She looked again towards Bea, who nodded more vigorously and pointed to the phone. At last, Cynthia gulped and answered: "OK... er, Clive... that would be really nice... thank you for being so thoughtful, darling."

"Anything for you babe, you know that. OK, first take that other phone off the fucking hook. If your mum or Bea rings, you can always ring them back."

"I already did, darling." It was the truth.

"OK. Strip, you beautiful bitch. Down to your undies. Let's have a look at that gorgeous sexy body. Do it slow. Stroke yourself as you go."

What to do? Cynthia looked to Bea for encouragement. Using hand signals, Bea directed Cynthia to continue the 'conversation', while Bea herself took charge of implementing the stage-direction. In just a few seconds, Bea had slid the clinging threequarter length halter-neck dress over Cynthia's head and raised arms. Bea was more than your average house guest, and the significance of someone wearing sheer stockings while 'slobbing about at home' was not lost on her. She stroked the side of Cynthia's face with the back of a forefinger.

"Down to my bra and panties, darling," Cynthia confirmed. "I can feel you stroking me, it's so, so good."

"Aww babe," Clive contributed, getting excited himself. "Feel my hands... grabbing those fantastic tits..."

And on cue, Bea slipped soft, warm feminine hands down inside the satin cups of Cynthia's pretty brassiere, tenderly caressing each breast and gently massaging areolae with the edge of each thumb. Cynthia gasped. It was an out-loud and involuntary gasp. The castle walls of her inhibitions were crumbling. A taboo was being vanquished. And above all else, the touch of her empathetic lover made what was wrong feel so right.

"Wow, girl," Clive reacted, hearing Cynthia's response. "You're really getting into this aren't you, babe, you minx!"

"Loving it, darling," Cynthia replied, not needing to fake it.

"About time we had those panties off," he ordered. "Let's get some action going!"

Bea effortlessly relieved Cynthia of her bra, then sensuously slipped her fingers down over her tummy, and inside the waist-band of her flimsy knickers. Initially alarmed, Cynthia then decided 'in for a penny, in for a pound', and raised her bum to allow her panties to be removed. And in no time at all, a neatly trimmed snatch was on display, framed between her garter belt, suspenders and stocking tops.

Cynthia's heart was racing, and she was reduced to whispering. "Ready for you, darling."

"Oh babe, you're driving me wild. Working your clit now... Fingering your hairy cunt..."

Under normal circumstances, Cynthia would have been embarrassed and ashamed of her husband's crudeness, but he was on Mars, and she was on Venus with Bea, whose beautifully manicured fingers were making darting sorties beneath her clitoral hood. "Aaah..." she moaned.

"Hey, you like that don't you, babe?" Clive was not wrong. "How about I give you a good tonguing? Here I come, babe!"

Bea leant over, her chunky bracelet clattering against Cynthia's hip, and her necklace beads draping across Cynthia's midriff. Holding labia apart with her fingers, Bea attempted to stimulate Cynthia's little pleasure button with the curled tip of her tongue. "Murgghh... arrgh..." was Cynthia's response, acknowledging the attempt was entirely successful.

"OK, babe. I get the message," said Clive. "You're ready for a good hard dick, aren't you?"

The two women were stopped in their tracks. They looked at each other. Bea shook her head and shrugged. They could hardly suppress hysterical laughter, resulting in Cynthia gurgling loudly, as though choking.

Clive was pleasantly surprised, and quite proud of his performance. "Oh babe, you needed that, eh? Babe...? You OK? Cyn... you there? Oh, I get it - gone to clean up, I guess. Forget to say goodnight in all the excitement?... Same time tomorrow then, babe?..."

But he was talking to no one. Upstairs, two naked bodies were embracing under the duvet, breasts were pressed on breasts, thighs rubbed against thighs, and lovers bruised each other's lips with deep and powerful kisses.

End