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He didn’t say much at first.
Just quiet breathing and the occasional “yeah” when I asked if he was still there. I thought he might hang up — or maybe he was nervous, first time caller and all that.
But then I asked the question that always unlocks them:
“What are you thinking about, baby?”
That’s when the silence broke.
He told me everything.
About the things he couldn’t tell his girlfriend. About the fantasies he thought were too dirty. About how badly he wanted someone older, someone experienced, someone who wouldn’t flinch when he used words like “sloppy” and “gag”.
He said he wanted to be used.
“Not gently,” he added. “I don’t want sweet. I want messy. Raw. Like you’ve been waiting for this all day.”
I leaned into it — told him how I’d pin him down and take what I wanted. How I’d push him past the point of return with my mouth, until he begged me to stop… but didn’t mean it.
His moans were quiet — but constant.
Desperate little gasps as I described every detail, from the glint of spit to the slap of skin, until he was panting in my ear.
And when he came, it wasn’t with a roar. It was quiet. Shuddering. Intense.
Like he’d just released a secret he’d been holding in for years.
“You really don’t judge me,” he whispered afterwards.
I smiled. “No, baby. I understand you.”
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