Russ spoke into the phone without knowing who called. "Speak softly and tell me what you want." He inhaled the joint for a moment then slowly filled the air around his head with a cloud of marijuana smoke.
Connie knew it was the wrong number. She casually brushed the stump of her left forearm though her hair. Some of her girlfriends had told her she had a voice that would melt their knees. A guy she had known for a short while told her the same thing. She held the phone against her ear using her left foot. Using her feet instead of her hands was a talent she had acquired as a small girl, mostly for fun, after watching her Aunt Grace who was born without arms and lived next door.
"Well," she drawled in her most sultry voice. "I want a man who knows his way around a woman's body and can last all night." She giggled softly waiting to hear the response. All she heard was silence then a deep breath. She played with a button on her blouse, then another, letting the blouse open slightly as if the person at the other end of the line could see. "Cat got your tongue?" she drawled having fun with the person at the wrong number.
With the phone wedged in the crook of her neck, a cup filled with whiskey dangled from her toes resting near her face. She tipped it slightly with the foot as though it was the most natural way of holding the cup and the brown liquid rolled along her tongue. Her forearm stump dragged over the nipple that just exposed itself. The next breath was deep and swelled her chest.
"No. Just picturing how you were touching your nipple. How that made you feel. How it made you moist." It was as if he could see her.
"Hmmm," she purred. "Really?" She quickly put the cup down and let her foot grip the phone as it almost wiggled free from her neck.
"I bet you prefer to reach your climax through a long slow exposure to your partners tongue."
She could hear his labored breath. Hers matched. The short stump of her right leg moved to the side. Her hand had already filled the space between her thighs. "Go on." Her hips moved forward as she slouched down. Her head leaned back against the couch. Her mouth opened slightly. The continuing massage over her mound made her quiver with excitement.
"I was just trying to decide if I wanted you on your back with my face looking down between your thighs or to have you riding my mouth. What's your preference?" He inhaled again and held the pungent smoke longer this time as he slipped his pants away. His cock stood like a monument, the head swollen with the smooth skin stretched tight. A finger played with the small indentation at the back of the head and the thick shaft pulsed with anticipation. A small amount of fluid covered the tip and began to roll away.
"Guess I'd like to start on my back, your tongue lapping wildly over my pussy. I would rest a foot against your back." She drawled a long slow moan into the phone. A fingertip circled her clit. "Yeah ... like that," she whispered as though he were touching her. Her head leaned to the side keeping the phone in place as her foot lifted the cup for another sip. A finger pushed the blouse onto the floor next to the skirt already there with her panties. Another sip of whiskey washed over her lips. "Yeah." Her fingers teased her clit. She gasped. She batted it around as though it were not cooperating. "Ah-h," she almost screamed but caught herself in time to turn it into a long sigh not wanting to let the listener know how aroused she was. Moisture flowed towards the wet spot on the cushion.
"Yeah, you like what I'm doing to you as much as I do. We have all night. Don't we?"
"Could be ... you holding your cock yet?" She could hear. She knew he was.
"I'd rather you have it in your mouth."
"Yeah, me too." Connie loved the fullness of the head, swollen and full. She pictured her lips slipping past the thick ridge around the head, the slight popping sounds as her lips fell against the slightly smaller shaft, the way the head filled her mouth barely leaving room for her tongue to move over it, the slight gag reflex....
"Un-huh," he groaned as he let another cloud of marijuana smoke blow from his mouth. He pressed the remains of the joint into the ashtray next to one from before. "Love your clit. It's nice and large."
"Oh baby, it loves your lips." She let her chest swell, her breasts move. The thumb and forefinger rolled the clit, slipped along the shaft. "Ah-h," she moaned loudly. "Flick your tongue over my clit." Another moan filled the phone. "What do you think about my pussy lips? The hair is all gone too."
"I'd noticed how neat it was. I like that." He groaned realizing how close he was to losing control and his hand flew away as if it had touched a hot stove.
"What?" she inquired as she heard his troubled sounds.
"Almost came ... trying to prolong this."
"Yeah," she moaned adding a finger inside her, the thick wetness covering the new finger. She gasped. "I'm enjoying what you're doing to me."
"In person would be better."
"You wouldn't like the way I look."
"Tell me why. I bet you are lovely, maybe five-six, nicely tanned, slim, athletic-like, great breasts, long hair just past your shoulders, blue eyes, kissable lips, and a doll of a face. Am I close?"
"Not so far off." Her fingers continued to massage and drill. She gasped. She moaned. She played.
"Then why wouldn't I like the way you look? What, you're missing a few limbs?" He laughed nervously. She nodded as though he could see, otherwise silent. His hand was back. The grip was even tighter, pumping furiously. Just a few more strokes and the stream arced through the air. A long pause followed by a low grunt and another pause.
"You did it."
"Yeah." He paused. She waited. "Is that's all that wrong? Don't be silly. With a voice, a pussy, like yours...."
She interrupted. "You're sweet to try and smooth away my lack of an arm and leg. Maybe we could talk more another night. This was a wrong number you know."
"Are you kidding, of course it was a wrong number." He laughed. "No body ever called and got me off like you just did." He laughed again as he rinsed his hands under the kitchen faucet. "How do you know I would be someone you'd like to see naked?" He laughed again and patted his chiseled stomach. "I might be old enough to be your father." He wasn't.
"I doubt it. I think you are...." she paused for a moment. "Mid-thirties, tall, nearly six feet, great bedroom eyes. Hung like a horse." She giggled. "You might be too large to get inside me." She giggled. She clicked the button and they both heard the dial tone. Her foot lowered the phone to the table next to the couch. "Hmmm," she purred circling her fingertip around her clit in tighter circles. The thought of the phone call fanned the flames and ratcheted the heat up. Her fingers slipped into her drenched flesh, massaging, stroking. "You watching?" she groaned aloud to no one. Waves of pleasure pounded her. She rubbed, moaning with each, until there were no more to be found ... for now.
"Wow," she said and stretched. She picked the phone up with her hand and pushed the redial button with her thumb then wrote the number down holding the pen with the toes of her foot. She leaned down and picked up her single crutch as she stood.
-
The ocean breeze wafted across the deck lit by a faint quarter moon. Connie sat undressed and wet from the shower she had not dried after. Watching lovers entwined in the edge of the surf, she slowly sipped from the cup of whiskey held by her toes and thought about the phone call. Her forearm stump toyed with a breast drawing the nipple into a rigid mound of flesh resembling a pencil eraser. She sat the cup on the table and picked the phone up with her foot. She pressed the buttons with a fingertip and lifted the phone to the ear. The dialing tones soon became a voice.
"Hey sweetheart," she said to Darla, her closest friend and confidant.
"What's up?"
"Guess if I transpose two of the numbers for your phone, I get one hell of a phone sex partner." She laughed and slouched while keeping the phone wedged against her face by her shoulder. The whiskey from the cup held by her toes wetted her throat as she listened for a reply.
"I should rush over and let you tell me about it. Maybe we could act it out." Darla giggled with excitement.
"Uh-huh," Connie moaned as the flat of her palm rubbed her mound in small circles. A chronic masturbator, Connie was always playing with herself and constantly near orgasm.
"Oh dear, you're playing with yourself."
"Un-huh. Uh-huh," she drawled and gasped repeatedly though a small orgasm.
Darla slipped the stump of her left leg into the socket of the peg leg, straightened her skirt with a few brushes of her hand, and then paced about the bedroom while listening to Connie.
"Do you like to listen when I do that?"
