At the end of our call, I have him get into bed.
I read him a bedtime story… it is a tale about a father and son, and three wishes. He quiets as I read softly to him.
When I switch to reading my post about sexual violence half way through, I am not sure if he is still awake.
I hear him shift as soon as he notices the change, he moans softly as I whisper the first sentence into his ear.
I read on, muted sounds from him, hot and quiet murmurs, expressive inarticulate whimpers, making my stomach lift into my throat, going straight to my cunt.
In the middle there, I slip a finger between the lips of my pussy, wet, velvety-slick, bring it to my lips to taste… slightly salty, musky. I interrupt the story to describe the flavour to him in gentle low tones. He makes a growly sighing sound.
When I finish the story, he whispers, “Thank you, Ma’am…” I hear him start to say something else when I tell him goodnight, and hang up.