ring ring.

by s.m.

image courtesy Apple

Francesca changed out of her skirt and sweater and into a cashmere robe and was pouring herself a glass of wine when her phone rang.  She looked at the screen and saw it was Paolo; in the photo she had on his caller ID he was wearing sunglasses and looking perpetually cool.  It made her smile every time he called.

“Paolo!” she answered.

“Cesca, bella, how are you?”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I told you, I’m in Munich.  This week is Champions League.  Where are you?”

“Back in Milan.  Working.  It’s been busy–we’re trying to get our schedules set for the shows next month and Timo goes home for Christmas next week and there’s a lot to get settled.  And my mother is driving me crazy about making plans for Christmas with my brothers.  Are you going back to Torino before you go home to Napoli for the holidays?”  She paused, waiting for his reply, and heard only silence on the other end.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he finally asked.

“You weren’t even listening to me,” she scolded playfully.

“This is a big game tomorrow, I’m sorry, I’m a little distracted.  God, I’ve been thinking about you for days.”

“Liar.”  She walked into her bedroom and stretched out on her bed, setting the wine on her nightstand.

“I have.  I’ve been trying so hard to concentrate on the plays we’re practicing and the tapes we’re watching and instead all I see is that perfect pair of tits, I just want to bury my face in them,” he said.

“And?”

“And…are we doing this, Cesca?”

She pressed the speaker button on her phone and set it on the bedside table.  “Yes, let’s.  If I can’t have you here–“

“So what are you wearing?” he chuckled.

“Mmmm, well, I just got home from work, and I had a big meeting today, so I had to get all dressed up.  I was just about to take off my clothes now.”  She laid back against the pillows in her bathrobe.  It wasn’t a total fabrication–she had had a big meeting earlier that day, and she had been all dressed up.

“Are you going to take off your shirt?” He asked.

“Oops, yes–I just dropped it on the floor.  And now I’m unzipping this pencil skirt–it was like having my ass in a straitjacket all day long.”

“I like that.  Your ass in a straitjacket.”

“I bet you do.  It feels so good to take it off.  I had to wear stockings today, too, because it was so chilly here.  And you know I only like to wear the ones with the garter belt.”

“What color?” he asked.

“Black, of course.  All black.  I’m standing in front of my mirror now, Paolo.  I think I’ll keep my shoes on.  It’s drafty in here, my nipples are hard, they’re sticking out.”

“I just walked in through your front door,” he said.  “I’m calling your name and walking through your apartment looking for you, but you’re not answering.”

“I left you a trail of clothes,” she said.  “You know to come find me in the bedroom.”

“And I do.  There you are, standing in front of your mirror, admiring yourself.  And you see me walk up behind you–“

“You must have just had a meeting with management,” she said, “because you’re wearing your suit.  And even in the reflection in the mirror, I can see you’re hard, you’re huge against the front of those trousers, and you’re standing close behind me and reaching around me and pressing your cock against me–”  She reached inside her bathrobe and began stroking herself.

“God, yes,” he said.  “I’m rubbing against you, and I’m about to get off just from that, because I’m grabbing your tits and you’re grinding your ass on me and we’re watching it in the mirror, and you’ve got those shoes on, the ones you wore to that first game–“

“Reach inside my panties,” she begged him, circling herself furiously.  “Reach inside me–“

“Not yet,” he said.  “I need to get out of my pants.  I’m going to come in my pants, I’m so close.  You can barely tear them off me fast enough.  You kneel down to get me out of my pants, and I throw off my jacket and shirt, and I push you down on the floor because I want to eat your pussy.  I’m going to grab your ass and dive straight into your pussy and I’m going to eat you until you’re throbbing.  Until you’re bucking against my face.  I’m going to make you beg me to stop.”

She was almost about to beg him to stop now.  “Paolo,” she whispered.

“Tell me what happens next,” he said, and she could hear rustling on the other end of the line.

“I have to push you away.  And then I get on my hands and knees in front of the mirror, and you’re behind me, we’re watching ourselves–“

There was a more regular rustling now, she could tell he was jerking off, breathing erratically, and she picked up the slack.  “You’re kneeling behind me, your cock is huge, and I reach back to put you in me.  And you’re fucking me, Paolo, I can barely keep from collapsing onto the floor.”

“Cesca–” he said raggedly.

“I know, baby.  You’re coming, I’m coming, we’re watching ourselves in the mirror and it’s like a movie.”  She paused.  “You’re slapping against my ass and you’re touching my clit and I’m so close.”  Her voice trailed off and she heard him yell out, distant from the phone, and she fell back quietly against the pillows.

“I fucking hate Germany,” he said.  “I would much rather be with you than in this cold hotel room with my dick in my hand.”

“I’d rather have your dick in my mouth,” she said, smirking.

“God, Cesca.  You’re killing me.”