Page 28 of Sexting the Pakhan

I laugh.That’s the plan.

You’re impossible.

And you’re rubbing yourself while you text me that.

Long pause.

Then:yes

No capital letter. No punctuation. Thatyesdoes something vicious to me.

You close?I ask.

A long, trembling silence.

Then:I think so.

Don’t think. Know.

You’re such an asshole.

And yet I make you wet, apparently.

She takes longer this time, and when the reply comes it’s almost incoherent:I hate that that works on me.

No you don’t.

Nothing.

Then:No.

I stroke myself harder, faster now, the tight pull at the base of my spine beginning to build.Come on your fingers,I tell her.And imagine it’s my hand making you do it.

No answer.

I wait another ten seconds.

Before I can examine that, another message appears:I’m close.

I type back immediately:Then come.

Finally, after a stretch of silence that has me gripping myself hard enough to ache:God.

I let out a curse and come with her last message open on the screen, my hand tight around my cock, my forehead pressed briefly to my fist as the pleasure hits hard and clean.

For a few seconds the room goes quiet except for my breathing. The city still glows outside. My body eases down slowly.

The phone buzzes once more.

I look.

That was filthy.

A smile pulls at my mouth.

I type:You started it.

Her answer takes a moment.