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Two months ago Betty had hooked up with Bret and loathe as she was to admit it, he’d been embedded deep beneath her skin ever since. She had thought giving in to her hatelust would be enough to flush him out of her system – she had bigger, more pressing, life or death fish to fry after all – but she’d thought wrong. Now thinking about him made her whole body hum. Made her get so wet her panties felt sloppy and slick. Made her shift and bear down against her seat to try and catch the seam of her pants just right, even in public, discreetly rocking her hips in a torturous exercise that only left her more unfulfilled.
Needless to say things were getting out of hand. She found herself masturbating three, four times a day and still she wasn’t satisfied. She was a horny monster who wanted Bret to fuck her until she died.
After sleeping together Betty had expected Bret to come on strong. Inundate her with calls, text incessantly, reach out in some way to crow his victory and ask for more. But to her profound shock (and unacknowledged disappointment) he’d done no such thing, which had rattled her to the core. Because it meant that he knew her in her bones, that he knew the things she wanted in her most secret heart and exactly how she wanted them. And that absolutely terrified her.
Finally, unable to stand it any longer and tired of agonizing over the situation, one night she texted him.
📱 Show it to me
No artifice, no preamble, just a wanton demand that betrayed all of her desperation.
Betty was propped low in bed, one hand already between her legs, lightly trailing her fingertips over her underwear, pressing into herself through the thin fabric until her digits came away shiny.
It didn’t take long.
📱 Fuck, I’ve been waiting for you Ponytail
She smiled when his reply popped up, imagined the low scrape of his voice saying the words, her insides convulsing with want so that she could literally feel herself drip. The glow of the phone illuminated her needy face, eyes glued to the screen in eager anticipation of what she knew was coming next. And Bret did not disappoint. Less than a minute later he sent her a shot of his penis, hard and leaking, balls pulled out to hang over the waistband of his grey fuckboy sweats, no underwear. Captioned:
📱 🐕🍆💦
Then he sent
📱 Quid pro quo
immediately after.
📱 Tits first
Betty practically tore the delicate silk of her teddy wrenching the thin straps down her shoulders to expose her chest and quickly snapped a picture to send back. The frame was neck to bellybutton, her breasts high and round, nipples so hard and achy she thought he must be able to tell just by looking at them.
📱 Jesus Cooper you’ve got a great rack
📱 Was just starting to worry I didn’t fuck you good enough, that you wouldn’t want any more
📱 But I should have known you liked it the way your pussy milked me dry
Betty was trying not to touch herself too much because she knew if she did she’d cum immediately, and she didn’t want Bret to stop running his filthy mouth. But even so she felt like she was on the brink of an orgasm that could come at any moment.
📱 More
The mechanics of a follow-up were a little more difficult for Betty to orchestrate in a timely manner and the enterprise involved significantly more trial and error to successfully capture the desired subject matter. Eventually she shifted to face the mirror, trying a variety of positions and zoom adjustments.
After five minutes passed with no reply he sent another message.
📱 Come on Ponytail you’ve got me edging over here
📱 Let me see how wet that pussy is so I can shoot this load
Betty was just sending him two more pictures as this last text came in. Both with her legs splayed wide. The first, gusset soaked and twisted, pulled to nestle between her lips, the fabric nearly getting sucked inside of her. The second, hooked completely to one side so Bret could see it all, pink and soaking and pornographic.
📱 Fuck you made me cum so hard
The photo he sent then was so obscene Betty had to bite back a moan. His dick looked like a science fair volcano, thick trails of semen oozing out of the head and down the shaft, over his fist where he still held it, proudly displaying what he’d done for her. A dog with a bone.
📱 Wanna see it with your fingers inside
He didn’t have to tell her twice, she yanked her underwear down to her knees and speared her hand so that she could shove all four fingers into herself. There was no editorial photoshoot going on this time, she just thrust the camera blindly between her thighs and angled it as best she could. The picture was serviceable enough, perfectly capturing the way her vagina stretched to accommodate almost her entire hand with ease.
The effect was instantaneous. She sent the photo and the next second he was calling her. Betty watched the notification take over the screen
Incoming Call Bret Weston Wallis
She whined high in her throat, just trying to cum now and telling herself she didn’t need Bret’s help to do it. But her climax was hovering maddeningly out of reach.
(1) Missed Call
📱 Answer the phone Betty
The screen came to life again, alerting her insistently that she was getting another call, coming in silent but vibrating to represent every phantom ring.
Incoming Call Bret Weston Wallis
She watched Bret’s name appear above his generic contact photo image, because of course she had no photos of Bret to customize his profile with. One ring. Well. Two rings. She did now. Three rings.
📱 Pick
📱 Up
Four rings.
She let it go to voicemail again.
(2) Missed Calls
She was so desperately close now she had her eyes screwed shut, fingers moving in and out, in and out, in and out, clutching her phone so tight it was cutting into her palm.
Incoming Call Bret Weston Wallis
This time, the moment she felt it vibrate she shoved it between her legs, nearly pressing it inside of herself to get relief, letting it catch her clitoris, rabbiting her hips against it pathetically until finally she was cumming, drenching her phone in the process, imagining she was drenching Bret’s stupid face instead, eyes rolling back as she convulsed from the intensity of her orgasm and then collapsing over onto her side.
When Bret called for a fourth time Betty picked up, hastily wiping the phone on her sheets in what amounted to a futile gesture before bringing it up to her ear. She didn’t say anything, just let her heaving breaths out into the receiver.
“Betty?”
More breathing, taking deep swallows, gulping the air, poking her tongue out to taste the sweat that had beaded on her upper lip.
“Are you still alive over there?”
“Mmm,” Betty managed in response.
“Wish you’d picked up Cooper,” Bret said, voice warm with a smile in his voice. “Wanted to help you cum,”
“You did,” Betty said. A pause. “Now you owe me a new phone I guess.”
Bret let out a choked off sound of comprehension.
“You really are something Bitsy.”
Betty felt a warm tingle in the pit of her stomach at the affectionate nickname but didn’t say anything about it. Instead she said, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
It was so much easier to admit this to him in the sanctuary of her own bedroom, with him far away from her in his own bedroom where she didn’t have to look him in the eye.
“Thought you were never going to text me after that mind-blowing sex.”
“I can’t stop thinking about that either,” Betty said, and she already felt the itch coming on again. “Maybe I’m a sex addict,” she mused aloud, not even really saying that part to Bret.
“No worries there Cooper, I’ll fuck you anytime you want. All you gotta do is say the word.”
Betty laughed. A real, genuine laugh. She wasn’t sure Bret had ever made her laugh before.
“Send me a picture,” Betty said.
“What?”
“I said send me a picture.”
There was silence, muffled sounds and movement for a minute on Bret’s end. Meanwhile Betty just lay there in her bed, naked by nearly any metric except for the nightie still circled loosely around her midriff and the flimsy underwear bunched at her knees. She took a photo of herself and sent it to Bret.
“Jesus Christ Cooper are you trying to kill me?”
Betty pulled the phone away from her face with a smile to look at the photo he’d sent her. Classic thirst trap, Adam’s apple to hip bones, his muscles all toned and perfect. She brought the phone back up to her cheek.
“No dummy, a picture with your face in it.”
“What for?” Bret sounded apprehensive, but she heard more compliant rustling on the other end of the line.
“Better?” he asked after about five minutes.
Betty looked at the picture he'd sent this time and smiled. Bret had gone into his dormitory bathroom to take a picture in the mirror, plaid boxers, faded Stonewall Athletics tee, hair soft and mussed to match his sleepy expression.
“Perfect,” Betty said, mucking around on her phone, then sending Bret a screenshot of his updated contact photo.
Bret didn’t say anything.
“I guess I could have made it the photo of your dick…”
The conversation was becoming more silent stretches than actual talking, but it felt nice, comfortable.
“I really like you Cooper,” Bret eventually said, willing to make a long distance confession of his own.
“Ditto,” Betty replied after a bit.
“Let me take you out.”
“I’d like that.”
“And then I’ll fuck you anywhere, any way you want.”
“Be careful what you wish for. I’m a horny monster that wants you to fuck me to death.”
Bret laughed big and full throated.
“Then I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Deal.”