Listen 8

"How do I look?" I asked, again, as I stood in the doorway in my ridiculous shoes.

"You know how you look," Pete said.

"I know." He raises an eyebrow. "I

know

. But tell me again." I'm stalling, working up the nerve to leave the house looking like this. Everything I'm wearing feels too small; every time I move, I'm afraid of spilling out of the top or the bottom. I half expect someone on the street to cover me with a towel and usher me back in. I feel so obvious.

"Please," I say.

He looks me up and down, smiling. "You look like you want to be fucked."

This was not exactly what I needed, and my face must have said so.

"But beautiful! You look beautiful. Of course." He takes a step toward me, pulling my face toward his with one hand, sliding the other between my legs, barely lifting the tiny dress. "But ... you do want to get fucked, don't you?"

He teases me with a finger. He knows how he's left me -- he doesn't have to feel, but I wish he would. "Yes," I breathe.

He stops and backs away. "OK, then."

"I'll call you."

**

I call from the hallway on my way to room 450. When Pete picks up, I can hear the murmur of the bar in the background. "Oh good, you're already there."

"Uh huh. Are you?"

"I'm in the hallway."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I'm glad I have you on the phone."

The sounds of voices comes through. I know where Pete is, a few blocks away, waiting for me to tell him what I do in room 450, waiting to listen, to see if I sound different with someone ... different.

"You can leave if you want, you know," Pete says.

I take a deep breath. "I know."

"But you can't. Not until we tell you to."

**

He nods approvingly from the doorway, making me stand outside. A white-haired couple walks by, whispering.

"This all for me," he says, not really asking.

"Of course."

"I like it," he says, and pulls me inside.

**

"I liked the outfit," he calls toward the phone when I first call Pete. I'm on his lap, straddling him. My dress is pooling over my spread thighs; he's pulled the straps of the tops off my shoulders and pulled one breast out of my bra. He's rolling that nipple back and forth, making me whimper. His boxers are still on, but I can feel him underneath me through my thin panties, and every time he squeezes I grind against him.

I try to say hi, but he pinches my nipple again and I gasp. I hear Pete clear his throat.

"I've got your girl on my lap here, but we're not going to stay like this for long -- she keeps trying to hump me through my shorts," he continues. "She looked great when she showed up. I'm going to try to make sure she looks better when she leaves."

He reaches behind me, grips my hair and pulls my head back, slowly and firmly. I swallow.

"What are you doing," Pete asks me, through the phone, from the bar.

"He's ..." -- having my neck open and exposed, with this merciless grip on my hair and on my nipple with the other hand, is making me writhe. It's already hard to talk. "He's pulling my hair" -- I squeal as he puts my nipple in his mouth and bites it -- "and pulling ... my head back ..." I shift and try to press against more of him, and he pulls my head back further.

"Where are you?"

"On a chair," I get out. "Near the bed. He's -- fuck -- he's teasing me and he won't let me ..." I don't know how to finish.

"I've got her tits out and I'm squeezing them and she is riding me like a whore," he says, as I search for words. "Does he do this to you," he asks me. I nod. He reaches into my bra for the other breast, which has been aching to be touched, and twists that nipple abruptly and painfully. I moan and shift again.

"Like this?" he asks.

"Not like that," I sigh. I hear the sounds of the bar and Pete's breathing.

"Hang up," he says.

**

"I thought you might want to hear this," he says to the phone lying on the floor next to my knees. I can't talk -- I can't breathe, with this cock blocking my airway and his hands on my shoulders, holding me against him. I love being stuffed like, this, but I start to gag, and above me I hear him say "fuck, yes," as he pulls my face further toward him and then releases me. My eyes start to water and I'm panting to catch my breath.

"I didn't think she could take the whole thing, but she did it," he says to the phone. Holding his cock, he presses it against one of my cheeks, then slides it across my mouth to the other side. I reach for it with my tongue, but he pulls it away. I think about Pete, at the bar; I wonder if it's crowded. The phone is too far away for me to hear anything.

"You like this?" he asks, sliding the head of his cock across my lips, but keeping back.

"Yes," I say to his cock.

"Tell him," he says. But before I can answer, he stuffs himself back into my mouth again, so I can only grunt. He pulls out again immediately.

"Pick up the phone. Tell him," he says again.

"I'm" -- but he does it again, father, and only a muffled gasp comes out. "Good girl," he says, pushing back further. I work my tongue alongside the cock in my mouth, wanting to be better, and he groans. "Tell him what you look like right now," he says, holding my head in his hands for a moment before he releases me.

I'm trying to catch my breath. "I'm on ... my knees," I pant to Pete on the phone. "My legs are spread. I'm ..."

"Yes," I hear Pete say, quietly. It's a question.

"Tell him what we're doing," he says.

"I'm sucking his cock."

"Tell him what it looks like."

I look up at him. "It's big," and before I can finish, he's pushed into my mouth again and pulled out. I reach up wrap a hand around his cock so I can suck on the head and he lets me.

"It's thick," I say, sliding my lips and tongue over it. "It stretches my mouth when I" -- and he's stuffed himself back in again, and Pete's listening on the other end of the line as this stranger takes my head with both of his hands and is pulling me toward him, or pushing himself into me, and I'm struggling to open my throat to take more, and grunting every time he hits the back of my throat, and hoping Pete can hear. "Oh, fuck, good girl," he's saying as he fucks my mouth. "Fuck. Yes. Take it." My spread legs are shaking and I reach between my legs to press my clit and moan around the cock in my mouth. I hear Pete exhale; the man grunts and lets me go.

"I've got to go home," Pete says. I can't respond; I'm blinking away tears.

"This slut's got my dick in her mouth and her hands between her legs," he says to the phone. "Don't you?"

"Yes," I say.

"Michelle," Pete says.

"Are you ready to get fucked?" he asks.

"Yes," I say.

"Go home," he says to the phone.

**

"I'm on my hands and knees," I mutter into the phone, while the man behind me slides his cock back and forth against my wet slit, teasing me. He's got a hand on my ass, keeping me from pushing back against him.

"Fuck," Pete says.

"She wants it so bad, doesn't she," he says to the phone, as he slides just the first few centimeters in and pulls out, making me moan. "You should see her. She's pushing her ass back for it."

"You can't have it yet, honey," he says to me.

"What's he doing?" Pete asks.

"He won't fuck me," I moan, pushing. "He keeps pushing in ... and pulling out." I press a hand between my legs and sigh through clenched teeth. He sees me and pulls my hand behind my back.

"You want him to fuck you?" Pete asks.

"Oh yes," I breathe.

"You need something inside you?"

"Yes," I plead to both of them. I feel him behind me again, a bit more this time, and suddenly he's not sliding in so easily. I gasp again, but he keeps pushing.

"Fuck," I moan into the phone as I feel another inch.

"She's getting it now," he calls into the phone.

"Tell me," Pete says.

"Fuck, he's..." but I can't get the words out.

"She's got about half of it," he calls again. "She's nice and spread out now. Is that what you want to hear? That there's another big cock opening up your girlfriend?" He slams the rest into me and I cry out, it's so big. He drops my arm and I try to spread my legs to accommodate him.

"How's that feel?" he asks as he pulls out, slowly, and when I whimper, pushes back in, slower.

"God, that's so good," I say, before I can't speak anymore because he's buried the whole length in me and I have no air left.

"What are you doing," I ask Pete, when I can talk again. In the middle of fucking this stranger, I want to know that he likes it, that he's picturing it, what it's making him do.

"What am I--"

"Have you got your dick out? Are you touching it?"

"Yes," Pete says, and it makes me moan.

"Good. Don't stop."

But behind me, he pulls out and waits.

"Give it back," I say, pushing back.

"What do you want?"

"Come back, please," I say, trying to avoid saying what I know they both want to hear.

"Tell me what you want."

"I want you back inside me, please; put your cock back inside me," I say, dropping my head to hid my face.

"You should really see this -- she's pushing her ass back toward me, all spread open," he says down to the phone. "Maybe I should just put it in her ass. Do you think she'd like that?"

I murmur, "Not now," and he says, "No, not now, I'll give you what you want for now," and then he's deep inside me again and again all I can make are animal sounds.

"Tell him how it feels."

But I can't talk with him fucking me like this. "It feels ... so ... fuck, he hears. Her words are half interrupted by thrusts. "Keep going," the man tells her. "So ... no, please, come back... fuck... deep. Oh god ..."

He slows down again. "Tell him how that is." But then he's fucking me harder and faster and I don't know what I'm saying. I hear Pete on the phone say, "Jesus."

"She looks like she needs one in her mouth," he observes. "I can see why she's here and you're home. She does need more. Maybe next time you can be here. Maybe." I want desperately to cum while listening to this, pressing my fingers to my sopping wet clit while he fills me. He's right, I do need something in my mouth, and I turn my head to bite the skin on my upper arm, for some kind of release.

"What are you picturing now, at home, by yourself?" he asks. "Is it your slut girlfriend's open mouth? You should see the view from back here. She was so wet when she came over, I thought you'd already been at it, but she said you weren't. Was she lying?"

"No."

"Good. I hope you like messy, I'm going to send her home messy." He pulls my head back by my hair and thursts brutally and I almost gag.

"Does she like it?" he asks the phone. I can't talk. There's no sound from the phone.

"Don't stop jerking off, now. Does she like it?" he asks again.

"Yes," I hear. I feel him speeding up, not caring any more what I feel, and I know I have to cum now or wait until I get home, and I don't know which I want more. I'm moaning and gasping with each thrust, and there are obscene slapping and squelching sounds traveling through the phone line and I'm mortified but I love it, I just want more.

"Jesus. I have to stop," I hear from the phone. I try to talk but I can't.

"Not yet," he says hoarsely, moving faster. I'm almost there, on the edge, and suddenly he grips me and pulls me back toward him, holding me there, filling me. He pulls my hand away while he pulses inside me, leaving me nearly blind with need.

"Stop," I whisper into the phone.

"Yeah, stop," he says, finally. "She's all yours."