* * * *
Neil texted me at one saying I should call him at around five for our phone sex rendezvous, because he’d be between meetings. Then he texted again at three to tell me his schedule for the day had gone off the rails, and he wouldn’t be home until after ten.
I whimpered as I read the text, then scolded myself. I’d gotten so spoiled by having Neil to myself all the time, and I’d known that it would be hard to go back to the way our lives were when we’d just started dating. Compared to our old routine of Skype sex du
ring the week and the occasional weekend together, things weren’t so bad for us now. Still, I dialed his phone, because I needed to hear his voice.
“Sophie?” He sounded concerned, but a bit distracted.
“You’re really not going to be home until ten?” I whined.
“I’m sorry, darling, but I did warn you that going back to work—”
“Would mean taking care of stuff that piled up while you were gone. I know. You’re making up for a year off.” I resigned myself to falling asleep to reality television.
“Look, darling, I have to go, but do call me later. Around seven, I should have time then. Do you remember what you have to do this evening?” he asked, his voice pleasantly neutral. The naughty man was talking to me about this in a room full of people, I was sure of it.
“Of course I do, Sir,” I purred.
After we hung up, I told Sue she should knock off an hour early and leave dinner to me, since Neil wouldn’t be coming back and he’d probably eat at the office. Then I worked on a video for my YouTube channel.
After India had started linking my videos to her massively popular Tumblr, I’d had to invest a lot more energy into them. I couldn’t just point a flip phone at the mirror and do my eye shadow. Now I had a studio light, a small, collapsible background, a state-of-the-art HD camera and professional microphones. The videos used to be a hobby, dashed off in a couple hours’ time. Now, I worked for weeks on just one, and Neil had taken to calling the library “the studio.” They just weren’t as much fun as they’d been before. Today, I decided I would record a tutorial on a smoky eye look—if Neil did get home early, I might be able to pull off the sultry vixen routine—and consider whether continuing with the makeup maven shtick was worth it.
At around six, I put away my stuff, washed my brushes, said goodnight to Sue and headed into the bedroom. Neil wasn’t always going to be around for sex, but it wasn’t like working late was the worst thing that had ever happened in our sex life. When he’d been ill, we’d gone for months without making love. I knew how to make this work.
Part of making it work was committing fully to great sex with myself. I ran a hot bath with lots of bubbles and scrolled through Neil’s iPod, since he’d left it plugged into the sound system in the bathroom. I found Morcheeba and decided I could definitely get down to their slow, sultry beats. I lit the candles around the garden tub, hit the lights, and sank into the water.
I leaned back, careful not to let my messily pinned up hair get wet. That would be uncomfortable later, when I moved to the bed. I had an awesome bath pillow, and I rested my head and neck on it as the tub’s jets blasted away the soreness in my calves and thighs. Closing my eyes, I imagined Neil coming home and catching me like this. I could clearly see him standing beside the tub in his button down and expensive trousers, his sleeves rolled up to the thickest part of his forearms. He would watch me wordlessly for a while as I stroked myself beneath the water…
I slipped my fingers down my body, lifting my hips as my hand strayed closer and closer to its goal. If Neil really were here watching me, I would take more time, teasing my nipples and making long, fluttering sweeps down my stomach. Since he wasn’t—and since he’d given me the time-consuming task of fifteen edges—I parted myself with my fingertips and made slow, gentle circles around my clit. The hot water moving around the unprotected bundle of nerves made me sigh, and a naughty smile bent my lips. I briefly considered getting out to retrieve the video camera, but the water was so nice and warm, and touching myself felt so good, I didn’t want to stop.
I thought about what Neil would say if he were standing over me. Something to get my attention, like, “No one should be so filthy in a bath,” or some similar cliché, yet insanely hot, quip. And I would gasp and open my eyes, and see him there, feel the sudden, piercing weight of his stare as he took in my form, and I would be utterly helpless.
My fingers sped up, rolling over and over my flesh. Fifteen edges. Fifteen orgasms denied at the last possible moment. Fifteen clenched fists, cramped toes, countless sobs of frustration and joy. I had to do them all and then I had to call him so he could give me permission to finally let go and tumble over.
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered, my other hand gripping the tub beside my head. I pumped my hips in time with my fingers and rose higher, higher…
I thought of Neil’s big hand dipping beneath the water, his fingers brushing mine as I pleasured myself, and I was so close, I had to jerk my hand away, laughing a little at how intense I’d gotten so quickly.
I handled the first five edges in the tub before I forced myself to get out. My knees shook, but as I moved about the bathroom blowing out the candles and drying myself, my arousal dimmed. I was in control enough to get to my sixth edge by tapping my clit with the soft terrycloth towel, though I had to grip the bar for support as I struggled not to come.
Making a little game of it, I considered how to get close to each next edge. I seated myself on the padded bench beside the shower and used a makeup brush to tease myself, whisking the smooth, ticklish hairs over my clit. He’d said no toys, but I didn’t think a blush brush counted as a sex toy. I went out to the dressing room and sat, legs splayed, in front of the mirror to watch my fingers spread my glistening wetness over me. The sense of being exposed and doing something really naughty harkened back to the days of my inventive teenage masturbation. There was a dirty thrill in taking so much time, moving from the bathroom to the closet to the bedroom, making a full event out of exploring my sexuality. It had been a long time since I’d really gotten to know myself in this way; after a summer of stresses that had pushed sex as far from my mind as possible, it was so good to catch up.
By the time I reached number fifteen, I was a sweating, panting mess lying in the center of the bed. When I was close, so close I felt a step from the summit, I pulled away my fingers and held painfully still. Any movement, even breathing too hard, could have triggered my long delayed orgasm. My vulva throbbed, all of my delicate tissues painfully swollen. I dripped onto the duvet beneath me; I should have put a towel down.
When the danger had passed, I reached for the phone on the nightstand. My hands shook, as much from physical tension as from excitement. As Neil’s cell rang, I held my breath, afraid that I might come just from hearing his voice.
“Hello, Sophie,” he answered cheerfully. “Is there something you need?”
A gasped laugh tore from my throat, hoarse from my moans and hisses at the denial. “Please, Sir. Can I come?”
“I don’t see why not. I’m all alone here.” The cocky half-smile that matched his tone would be on his face, I was sure of it. “But first, let’s make sure you followed my instructions. Are you wet?”
“Are you kidding?” I snapped.
He clucked his tongue. “I could always just deny you, you know.”
“I could always just come anyway!” I was mindless with desire, and though I knew my Sir didn’t like bratty subs, I couldn’t imagine any punishment he could come up with that would be worse than withholding release now.