The bar had that 1:40 a.m. smell. Spilled beer. Cold fries. Someone’s perfume fighting a losing war with the fryer. I was on the sidewalk lighting a cigarette I did not really want when he said it. Not a speech. Just, “I’ve been thinking about you doing that to me.” He could not even name it. I named it for him on the walk to my place. That is how this Pegging Phone Sex story starts. Not in a dungeon. On wet pavement, with his ears going red.
My apartment was dark except for the kitchen bulb. Black sheets I had not made. Boots by the door. I told him to drink water. I told him to take his jeans off and leave his socks on, because I like a man a little ridiculous when he is about to be brave. He laughed once and then stopped laughing. Good. I wanted him nervous, not performing.
I laid the harness on the bed like it was just another piece of jewelry. He stared at it. I let him. Then I talked while I buckled it, slow, so he could hear every click. I do not rush the putting-on. That is half the heat. A goth girl in a thin tank, hair a little wrecked from the bar, suddenly wearing something that means he is not running this anymore.
I had him on his stomach first. Pillow under his hips. I warmed lube in my fingers because I am not trying to hurt him for sport. I am trying to open him. There is a difference, and he felt it. One finger. Pause. Two. I kept one hand on the back of his neck, not pinning, just present. He breathed into the sheet and said please without decorating it.
When I lined up, I made him look back at me. That is the shot I still think about. His mouth open. My lipstick a little smeared. The city humming through the cracked window. I pushed in slow enough that he could count it. He swore. I stayed still until his back dropped. Then I gave him the first real stroke and watched his hands fist the black cotton.
I talked the whole time. Not cartoon villain talk. Directions. Relax your jaw. Push back when I tell you. Do not hide your face. I like hearing a man discover that this does not feel like a joke once it is inside him. That is the honest center of Pegging Phone Sex with me. I will describe the stretch. The heat. The way his cock stayed hard against the mattress like his body had not gotten the shame memo yet.
I fucked him in a rhythm that matched the traffic lights changing outside. Slow, then a little mean, then slow again. When he got loud I covered his mouth with my palm and told him the neighbors did not need a review. When he got quiet I leaned down and asked if he wanted more. He nodded so fast it was almost funny. I gave him more.
Halfway through I pulled out and had him turn over. I wanted his face. I wanted to watch him look at the strap and then look at me like he could not believe he was still hard. I stroked him with a slick hand while I pushed back in. That combination wrecked him. His thighs shook. I told him not to come. He said okay in a voice I had not heard at the bar.
I kept him there. Full. Held. My other hand braced beside his head so he could smell smoke and vanilla on my wrist. I told him this is what he asked for on the sidewalk. I told him he looked better like this than he did trying to be cool over a warm beer. He laughed and it broke into a moan. I kissed the corner of his mouth. Then I started moving again.
He came first, untouched except for the grind of the mattress and the way I kept hitting that spot he did not have a name for. Messy. Surprised. A little embarrassed after. I did not stop right away. A few more deep, careful strokes while he twitched, because I like the oversensitive sound. Then I pulled out slow and sat back on my heels and let him see me still wearing it.
That after-picture is the one I use on calls. The harness. The black sheets. A grown man trying to find language that is not a joke. I cleaned him up. I got him water. I let him put his head on my thigh like the night had taken a layer off him. That is the part people skip when they write this kink like a cartoon. I do not skip it.
If you call me for this, I will not pretend we are in a castle. I will put you in that kitchen-light apartment. I will describe the buckle, the lube, the first inch, the way I made him look at me. That is my Pegging Phone Sex. Goth. Specific. A little tender around the cruelty. And it leaves you walking home different.
He texted the next afternoon like he was trying to be casual. I sent back one line. Come tell me how it felt when you sat down at work. He did. That is how I know a night worked.
