Authors: Gillian Jones
Fuck.
With that I freeze. I blank. I have no idea what to say. It was sort of easy to talk about getting myself off, I could see it. But the vision of me using my underwear on a guy’s dick is leaving me speechless.
“I, I, ahem, er…”
“
Well?
” I hear an unhappy voice coming through the line. “I’m paying a fuck of a lot to get off here. I’m waiting. Slip those panties onto my cock, tell me what you see, how you’ll finish.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t think. I guess I’d slide them along your penis.”
“My ‘penis’? For fuck sakes…now I’ve lost my motherfucking hard-on. I thought this line was the best of the best?”
“I’m sorry. I froze. It’s my first shift,” I say, maybe looking for some sympathy? Some understanding?
“Well, you need to practice, sweetheart. You obviously only ever get yourself off. I suggest you ignore my calls in the future. Fucking lame ass bullshit…” With that, he hangs up, and tears immediately sting my eyes. But I will not cry over that asshole. No way.
“Slut”. Who
says
that?
Shit. Am I going to get in trouble for that?
A bit shaken, I move the cursor, changing my colour to yellow. Reaching for my phone, I decide to text Destiny about what happened, asking if being on my first-time solo do they watch or listen to see that I’m actually ready to be on my own? Which, if you were to ask me right now, is a big farkin’ “no”.
Thankfully, her reply is immediate.
Destiny:
relax no spying. Just in the system when you reject and call times. They might ask why a call is short but no ones listening in. Or video either. It’s your show. Relax you got this. Fuck him he was an asshole you’re fine Ellie.
Me:
thank goodness. Okay. A bad call isn’t the end of the world. I might need to practice some calls, maybe come sit with you again?
Destiny:
Yes, anytime come do a shift with me. I got your back. Girl you’ll have like ten fuck ups. It’s normal. Quit being hard on yourself. You can do this. Think of the $$$
Me:
thanks.
I toss my cell back in my bag after turning my status back to green in the system. I’m about to go sit on the chaise and do some deep breathing when the telltale beep signalling a call comes. Slipping on the headset, I adjust it and turn the computer screen so it faces me, click accept, and sit back on the chaise.
“Breathless Whispers. Let me leave you breathless.” I decide to add the little tag line.
“Hi,” a low voice greets me.
“Hello,” I greet back as low, not sure how it really sounds, seeing as I opted to use the voice adapter again tonight.
“I was on Facebook,” he says. “I saw your profile picture. So pretty.”
I tense at his words. Worrying he knows who I am, my heart pounds. Then it clicks, realizing that’s pretty much impossible. Shaking it off, I take a deep breath and play along, realizing this is his angle. He’s a creeper caller. Looking at the clock, I decide to try for a ten minute call.
“Oh, you did?”
“Yeah. You’re sexy, covered in sand, lying on the beach like that in your cover photo.”
“Thank you. I…I love the beach, especially the feeling of sand covering my body. The grittiness of it feels so good. Do you like that feeling? The sensation of having things covering your body?” I ask, pausing.
“I’m going to Aruba,” he states, ignoring my questions.
“Ohhhh!” I squeal. “I love Aruba.”
“Good. I want to take you with me.”
“You do? Oh good. I’d love to go,” I reply, not really sure where this call is going. Maybe it’s simply a companion call. One where the caller needs someone to talk to.
“Do you wanna come with me, angel?”
“Yes, I’d love to. When would we go?” I enquire.
“Well, you can’t come unless you tell me all the clothes you’d pack.”
Ding ding ding and cue the freak talk.
“Well, seeing as it’s the beach. I’d pack nothing. How’s that sound?” I ask, thinking I’ve nailed it.
“No,” he yells. “What will you wear to the beach? Give me details.”
“I’ll wear my skin. I’ll let the sun kiss me while we swim and play,” I try again, thinking he wanted more details.
“Fuck. You’re not listening. Fine. What about on the plane? What will you wear?
Tucking my hair behind my ears, I think for a minute. “Er, probably jeans and a shirt. Maybe yoga pants?”
“No. That’s not acceptable.”
“Okay. Well, how about I let you dress me? You pick what I should wear.”
“That’s perfect. Because I’m actually standing inside the Stag Shop sex store, in the ladies section, and I’ve got the perfect outfit for you. I love sheer. It all needs to be sheer. I want to see your body through pantyhose. I wanna be able to rip a hole at your pussy entrance and finger fuck you. Whenever I want. I want to feel the sheerness of the material, hear it rip as I take you. Oh God, I’m gonna come thinking about tearing a hole in the material. All you need to wear are panty hose. Fuck, yes. The sound of the tearing, Christ, I love that sound,” he pants and I hear a car door slam. “So good. So…fucking…good,” I hear him say softly, before the call ends.
“Holy shit,” I mutter, taking off my headset. Glancing at the clock, I see that call lasted seven minutes.
Hmm. Not bad.
Resting my head on the desk, I don’t know if I should laugh or cry.
Am I doing okay tonight?
Do I have what it takes to get my superhero cape?
Do I want to come back?
Ace
E
llie’s late.
I’m sitting behind my desk in my stuffy office, the same office that happens to have a great view, mind you, and I’m agitated. The constant
tap tap tapping
of my pen only annoys me more, but I’m pissed.
Right fucking pissy.
She better have some Oscar-worthy performance once she gets here to go along with her excuse.
It’s after six-thirty; the cinema department where my office is located is quiet. Everyone’s gone home except me. Again, Ellie is proving that she affects me, hence the bane of my pissed offness. Never have I ever extended my office hours for anyone. I need to get my dick in check here, it’s not my liege.
This girl is changing me, and she doesn’t fucking know it. And I most certainly do not like it. I need to prioritize, remember my rules where student-teacher relations are concerned. The other day in the gym was the catalyst. I had fun with her, liked hearing her views on topics we discussed, fell a bit hard for her infectious smile and her personality, one I want to get to see all facets of.
In our introduction session, I was clear with my expectations, reiterating that all preliminary meetings were mandatory. That the times were to be respected and upheld, and here I am, breaking my own fucking rules. I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down with her like I did. It’s Thursday, my office hours ended at six, and here I sit, pretty much on pins and needles, waiting for the stunning distraction herself to come waltzing in.
The ballsy little thing emailed me last night despite my warning, asking if I could make an exception and change her meeting time. Ellie said that she had something work-related come up. That she couldn’t risk losing the job, that she felt she was in a hard spot (
I have a hard spot I’d like to put her on).
She added that she hated to ask, but felt she had no other option. Ellie explained briefly that she’d just started this job, and that she needed the money after losing her sports scholarship due to an injury. Ellie shared how she was embarrassed to ask, apologized profusely, and in the end managed to come up with what I felt was a valid excuse. I can appreciate the struggle to pay your own way, I can relate to the life of the working class, so, of course, I agreed. After creeping her on the university’s Varsity Blues website, I know now why she has the athletic department’s gym privileges too. I had been planning on asking Mercer, but now I knew why. I replied, agreeing to reschedule, as long as she realized this was the only time I’d be accommodating.
So here I sit.
Waiting.
I hate fucking waiting.
I don’t wait for anyone.
Groaning, I take my wallet from my desk drawer, deciding to go grab a cup of coffee before settling in on marking the first assignments from my Sexual Aesthetics class. Might as well stay now and be productive until I meet Mercer and Dylan at the pub in a couple of hours.
Opening my office door, I’m met with a mass of deep-hued auburn hair as it falls into my chest. The scent is an instant dick whisperer—this whole girl is a goddamn dick whisperer—and if I’m not careful, I’m going to be begging her to show me her mad skills up close. I jump back.
“Christ, you smell good,” I whisper before I can stop myself, closing my eyes and praying she suddenly has issues with hearing loss.
“Sorry, I know I’m late,” she rambles against my chest, before pausing. “Wait. What did you say?” A beautifully confused Ellie Hughes cocks her head, waiting for me to repeat myself.
Fuck that.
“You’re late. I’m pissed. I’m going to grab a coffee. Go sit down. I’ll be back in five. Be ready to impress me with your thesis topic and research, Ms. Hughes.” I don’t bother using her first name; she needs to realize I’m not here to be her buddy.
“Okay, yes, sir. I’m sorry. I missed my bus.” She shuffles side-to-side on her feet.
“I’m not happy, Ellie,” I bite out, before adding for effect, “at all.”
With that, I move past her, hopefully leaving her to see that I’m in control here.
Even if I know I’m not.
Ellie
S
hit. Shit. I
can’t believe I missed the bus.
Why didn’t I email him? Oh right, because the universe hates me. Nothing like a dead cell phone to piggyback on top of missing the bus, on the day of the most important meeting of the school year. He probably thinks that I think I can take advantage of him now, after we spent some time talking the other night at the gym. This meeting is too important for me to blow, I need to think of a way to turn this around.
Mandatory.
No excuses.
No exceptions.
Except he made an exception for me.
And now I’m late.
“Fuck my life,” I mutter to myself as I make a beeline along the corridor of the cinema department searching for Professor Ryan’s office. I’m just about to knock, when the door falls away, and my face is introduced to a brick wall—or is it a sexy mother of a chest? That smell, his smell, the earthy vetiver, infiltrates my senses immediately, telling me I’m in exactly the place I want to be.
His office, of course. Found it!
I hear him say something but like a stupid fangirl, my brain goes on lockdown as the eleven-year-old boyband fan in me loses her mind at the thought that he might have just paid me a compliment. Reluctantly, I pull away, straightening myself with a bit of his help.
God, I want those arms around me.
His green eyes are intense behind his glasses, almost boring into me, his annoyance evident tenfold. His eyes are vibrant, matching the intensity of fresh cut grass in the summer. I could get lost in them, loving the thought of never being found.
“Sorry, I know I’m late. I missed my bus,” I start, a bit confused, wondering if I heard him properly.
Did he say I smelled good?
I try to ask him to repeat himself only to have him dismiss me. “You’re late. I’m pissed. I’m going to grab a coffee. Go sit down. I’ll be back in five. Be ready to impress me with your thesis topic and research, Ms. Hughes.” His rigidness leaves no room for argument. Hearing him telling me to get ready sends a pulse right between my legs, leaving me in no doubt that I’m absolutely already ready.
Stupid mandatory staff meetings.
Destiny neglected to tell me that every third Thursday of the month is staff meeting day from four- to six p.m. Her late night text sent me into panic mode. I texted, telling her I couldn’t go, gave her shit for dropping the ball and not telling me. She apologized again before calling me to explain that by mandatory it means no show equals no job. With that tidbit of info, I decided to take a chance and email Professor Ryan. There was no way I could risk losing my job, not that I could risk losing a grade either, but I figured it was worth a try. To my surprise, he agreed. A part of me wondered if it was because he had as soft a spot for me as I did for him. I know it’s silly, but the way we look at each other, I swear we’re heading down a path where our eventual collision will be explosive.
So here I am now, late for my already rescheduled appointment, flailing with how to start an apology after he’d granted me a favour, one I know he didn’t grant lightly. And all I can seem to think of is how much my face is missing being buried in this beautifully brilliant man’s chest. After a beat, his words finally register with my lagging fangirl brain. I nod and apologize again before he bristles past me, muttering under his breath.
“Again, really sorry I’m late,” I whisper as he closes the door behind him.
Moving into his space, I breathe in his familiar scent. I wonder if he realizes just how good he smells or how it affects other people? I would gladly suffer smelling that scent for the rest of my life. Taking in the smallish space, I note the dark-stained desk positioned in front of a pretty big window, a comfy-looking leather chair tucked against it. I also spy a small stack of unpacked boxes, and movie posters of all genres hang on the walls, giving it a relaxed feel. I smile when my eyes land on posters for
Star Wars
and
Casablanca,
and I wonder if Ace likes all the classics I do. I wonder what else we might have in common, and admit that I’d be more than willing to find out. I see a few Tarantino ones and smile, thinking back on our game at the gym.
The more I take in his space, the more my imagination begins to conjure up little fantasies. The fact that I’m alone in his office after hours isn’t lost on my imagination or my ladybits for that matter. I’m starting to think my short time at Breathless Whispers is affecting not only the vividness of my imagination but also my needs as a woman.
Maybe I’m not so prudish after all?