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You are here: Home / Confessions / The Call That Started with Silence

A confident brunette woman lying on a bed at night

"The Call That Started with Silence"

He didn’t speak.

Not at first.

I answered with my usual cheeky hello, but all I got was slow, deep breathing. Not heavy or rude — just… deliberate. Nervous. Curious.

“You okay, baby?” I said, softer now.

More silence. But then, finally, in a breathy whisper: “I’ve never done this before…”

That was all I needed.

I lowered my voice and painted the picture for him.
“I’m lying in bed,” I said. “My favourite knickers are already damp. My top’s riding up and I’ve just slid one hand under my waistband…”

I spoke slowly, each word like a drop of warm oil. He didn’t reply, but I could hear it — the sound of movement, of friction, of pleasure.
He was stroking himself. Quietly. Completely caught up in the fantasy.

“You like listening, don’t you?” I purred.
“You want me to describe everything… what I’d do if you were here. What I’d let you see.”

He let out the faintest gasp as I told him how wet I was getting. How my fingers felt. How I’d slide them in, slow and deep, while staring into his eyes.

Still no words — just broken breath and need. Pure need.

He came hard, just from the sound of my voice. No conversation. No build-up. Just that tension, that heat, that pure, raw audio-driven release.

And then — quiet.
Not awkward, but heavy. Intimate.

Before he hung up, he whispered just one word.

“Thanks.”

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