Foreign Exchange

by Rachel Cade

  “Really? So you aren’t going to touch yourself for me then?”

  “Why are you doing this?” She tried to pretend his words didn’t excite her. “I thought British men were supposed to be proper and polite.”

  “My lady, would you do me the honor of touching yourself for me?”

  She almost laughed but stifled it. “No!” she shouted.

  “Doth protest too much.”

  “I’m not doing it.”

  “Yes you are. Get on the bed.”

  “I am on the bed,” she said with a tinge of annoyance to her voice. Partly with him, but mostly she was annoyed with herself because she was completely turned on and she couldn’t control it.

  “Then lie back.”

  She was panting into the phone.

  “Lie back, Lorna.”

  To her own surprise she did, pressing the phone to her ear.

  “Are you lying down?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ok. This works best if your bottom half is naked.”

  Lorna shimmied out of her cotton pajama bottoms.

  “Finished?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The first thing I want you to do is rub your hands over your breasts. Unbutton your top if you have to.”

  Lorna unbuttoned the top of her pajamas and opened it. She rubbed her hands over her breasts and felt her nipples harden as the grooves of her palm moved across them.

  “Now, take your finger and circle it around your right nipple, very lightly.”

  She did and felt a tremor roll over her chest.

  “Pluck it,” he said.

  Lorna gasped into the phone as she followed his instruction.

  “Take the same finger and put it your mouth.”

  She put the finger in her mouth, just the tip and let it sit on her tongue.

  “Suck on it. Get it nice and wet.”

  She took more of her own finger into her mouth and let it glide to the back of her tongue until her lips touched her bottom knuckle. Pulling it back out letting it get damp with her saliva she sucked back on it again and made a small mewling sound as she did.

  “Take your finger and circle the nipple again. Do it nice and slow, drag your finger around it.”

  She did. The effect was cold then hot and her nipple became even more erect—painfully so. She pulled her hand away gasping.

  “Ah, ah, Lorna, we are not done.”

  “I can’t do this Simon. It’s embarrassing.”

  “It’s not embarrassing. You’re just horny as hell. If it makes you feel better, I am sitting in a chair stroking a rather hard nine inch erection.”

  Her eyes slid shut. “Simon, can we just stop?”

  “No. Now you are going to take your hand and run it down that sexy tummy of yours until you get to the place I wish my mouth was at this very second.”

  Biting her bottom lip she moved her hand down her abdomen. When she touched her swollen labia she snatched her hand back.

  “I want you to take your fingers and I want you to pluck your clit until I tell you to stop.”

  “Simon—”

  “Do it!” he said through gritted teeth.

  Swimming in a sea of her own arousal she had failed to realize until that moment that his breathing had changed too.

  “A-are you really touching yourself too?” she asked quietly.

  “Yeah,” he answered, and a shuddering breath followed it.

  She listened to his ragged breathing for a few more minutes, and then let her hand continue down to her clit. She vised it in between her index and middle finger, her hips almost bucked off the bed and she stifled a moan. She couldn’t believe how sensitive it was.

  “Pluck it,” he said between breaths.

  She sucked air between her teeth then bit her bottom lip hard.

  “While you do it, I want you to imagine we are still in the alley. I turned you around and place your hands against the wall. I’m pressing my cock against you. You can feel it through your pants. I take my hand and shove it down the front of your jeans.”

  She gasped again, releasing her lip and spreading her thighs wider.

  “You’re so wet it covers all my fingers. I vise your clit in between them and pluck it. You feel it?

  “Yes.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes,” she groaned. “I feel it.”

  The phone line filled with the sounds of heavy breathing. One set from Simon, the other from her.

  After a particularly strong groan from Simon came through the phone, he said like a man who could barely breathe, “When I whack off I hold my cock in a fist,” he panted three separate times, “because I like my pussies tight. Is yours tight?”

  She swore into the phone.

  “Is it tight, Lorna?” he asked urgently, his voice muffled slightly, “Please tell me it’s tight.”

  “It’s tight!” Her voice cracked, “It’s so tight.”

  “I’m going to stretch it for you. You want that?”

  “Yeah.” She sighed as sensations rolled over her that made her thighs quiver.

  “Put three fingers inside of you now. Take three and fuck yourself hard because that’s how I like to fuck. And I want you to hold the phone close to your mouth. I want to hear you come.”

  She did, and the sound she made was something between torture and ecstasy. Lorna started to move her fingers in and out of herself, slamming her palm directly against her cunt. Her head turned sideways on the pillow as she mumbled, “Fuckin’ shit.”

  “Hold the phone next to your face, Lorna,” he growled.

  She gripped the phone as she continued pushing her fingers inside of herself, heels pressed hard into the mattress. Her whole crotch felt as if it was on fire. She could feel the juices that were overflowing from her slide down her body to wet the sheets underneath her. Her face contorted and she screamed low into the phone.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” The words were wrenched from her almost in a sob.

  “Keep pumping, Lorna. Keep pushing those fingers in and out of you.”

  She squealed as her back arched off the bed.

  “You want to come, don’t you? It’s just right there and you can feel it, right?” Simon’s voice shook. “You know where we are now…we’re in the alley—”

  “And you’re fucking me,” she cried. “You’re fucking me.”

  She heard Simon groan then his voice muffled. His phone dropped and clattered against something. She heard more groaning and a shout. He tried to cut himself off but she heard him.

  Her whole pussy felt like it concaved in that very moment and she cried out, lifting from the bed her whole body convulsed. She flopped back down in a sweaty heap.

  As she reached for the phone she heard her front door open. Keys jingled afterward.

  She sat up looking at her closed door. Her mother was home.

  Shit, what fucking kind of timing!

  She hung up the phone and slammed it down.

  Hopping off the bed she put her pajama pants back on and went to her door.

  “Please don’t call back,” she mumbled. “Please don’t call back.”

  The phone rang and she scrambled on top of her mattress to reach it but by the second ring it stopped.

  Lying across the bed with her heart thumping against her rib cage, Lorna’s fingers were mere inches from the phone.

  He hung up, she thought relieved, he hung up.

  Then from outside her door she heard her mother say in a muffled voice, “Hello?”

  Chapter Three

  That night had gotten pretty crazy toward the end. She’d ran out of her room looking like Michael Myers was racing behind her. Standing at the top of the stairs panting, she listened as her mother said ‘hello’ into the phone three times. Finally, she hung up on a groan.

  She looked up and saw Lorna standing up at the top of the stairs and smiled. “Hey, thought you’d be a sleep. I just came in, heard the phone ringing and went to answer it, but no one said anything.
Don’t folks just get on your nerves sometimes?”

  Lorna managed a smile. “Yeah.”

  ****

  Two days later Lorna found herself outside the Manhattan skyscraper that housed Simon’s office. Well, she wasn’t right outside; she was across the street—pretending to use the phone, for the last twenty minutes. It wasn’t like anyone else wanted to use it. The only people that would try to get in the corner where she was standing were bums looking for shelter from the cold. But she was currently in a section of New York where that didn’t occur too often. Police would come around to make sure bums didn’t make nuisances of themselves by staying in one place too long. The people that ushered up the streets yelling into their cell ear pieces and trying to hail cabs in their three-thousand-dollar suits didn’t want to be reminded that there were poor people in the world. Her lip curled at the thought when she reminded herself that she was here to try and see one of those people.

  For her surveillance stakeout she had at least changed her coat. Felling like the red one she had worn when they’d first met would be like a beacon if he saw her. Besides that the red coat seemed to be irrevocably ruined from being pushed against a damp soiled alley wall.

  Lorna pretended to laughed into the phone as a passerby came close to her, he probably didn’t notice her but still.

  And then there he was. He came through the clear glass doors and immediately tucked his chin down as a cool gust of wind went by him. He wasn’t wearing a black coat today. Today his coat was camel toned wool, but just like the black coat, it hugged his body perfectly. She let out a breath just watching him. Was he…was he wearing glasses?

  Yes. The sunlight hit them and they glared in her direction. He looked to his left and his chiseled profile lined perfectly. A portly man came up behind him just as he was about to emerge through the door. He turned back as if sensing the man’s presence and stopped the door from closing.

  That’s when she saw it—the long braid that flowed down his back. It was held with what she guessed was a rubber band. That’s why his hair had those wavy creases the day before. He wore his hair in a braid at work. Lorna let her tongue hit the roof of her mouth.

  The portly man nodded thanks as he continued about his way at a fast pace. Simon’s head dipped as he nodded back before turning around.

  Did he know how fine he was? Of course he had to know. God damn, it was just enough to make you swear, she thought.

  He started to walk up the street, and she let her eyes follow him.

  He walked as if he was in charge of everything—as if the world belonged to him. It wasn’t a quick shuffling pace like the other men that scampered by him. He took long leisurely strides, his shoulders and back straight and confident. Lorna’s brows lowered as she watched several women, in fact, almost all the women that passed him turn back and do double takes. The last one, an older looking woman with flying red hair, which had secretary stamped all over her, almost tripped on her feet when she did it. Lorna would have laughed if she weren’t so upset.

  To his credit, he didn’t ogle any of them. He didn’t turn back and look at any as they appraised him.

  Hell, he must be used to it, she thought still frowning, so why did he look at me? Why did he follow me? Why did he touch me?

  ****

  The next day she was in the same spot as the day before.

  If she was going to go in the building she had to dress like it. She needed some kind of suit to wear or something. Pants, skirt whatever...well she preferred pants. It was cold as hell down there. Wind seemed to like to hang in the tall crevices of buildings and just leap out at you like a tiger.

  What was she going to do when she got in the building, go up to his office? Once she found out where his office was. Did he even want to see her again? Maybe the cell phone incident was as far as he wanted to take things. Then that forced her to question herself: How far did she want to take things?

  She could have called him again. But she didn’t dare do that, between that sexy accent and his devious mind, he would probably have her humping The Empire State Building.

  So she’d put on her mother’s best pants suit and gone to Simon’s office. And didn’t make it further than the lobby. Fear made her skin go cold the whole ride there, but once she was inside the building her study resolve to confront Simon decided to stay behind and rough it out in the cold.

  What was she going to say to him? How would it play out? She imagined herself walking up to his door with a quick trip free Jerry Maguire gait; knock hard on the door, which probably had a gold plaque carrying his name. He would open it and she would say:

  Simon Dalton? Remember me, I’m Lorna. I called you the other night and you called me back, and made me orgasm over the phone? Remember that? If not, perhaps you remember the hump session we had in the dirty alley after you chased me out of Macy’s. Remember me now? Well, here I am, in my mother’s suit...

  That made her whimper with the spitefulness of it all. What the hell was she doing here? It was almost five and she guessed that the employees would all start coming out soon.

  She knew she should leave but was still staring off into space by some pamphlets display when a sandy haired woman in a suit more plain than hers, stood in front her. The woman smiled, and it looked as if it pained her.

  “May I help you with something?”

  Lorna blinked once. “Um, yes. I was looking to diversify my portfolio.”

  The woman’s eyes widened over slightly before another one of those smiles crept across her face and she led her to a cubicle in full one-woman boardroom sales pitch.

  Lorna could only nod and smile at appropriate times. She had no idea what diversifying a portfolio even meant. After twenty minutes of this she could only think how pissed this woman was going to be when she said ‘I’ll have to get back to you, thanks’ and hightailed it out of there.

  Thankfully the woman was called away. Reluctantly she stood but informed Lorna she would be right back. When the woman was out of her sights, Lorna promptly got up and headed toward the glass door. Her heart was pumping in her chest and she could only imagine the woman seeing her retreating back and yelling “Seize her!” like an evil queen from a fairytale.

  Lorna kept up her pace and was almost at the door when she heard the familiar British accent.

  “Well, well, look at this.”

  Her pace faltered as well as her features. She kept her neck very still, her eyes locked on the glass door and the scene beyond it. She managed a few more steps when, like a character from Looney Toones, the tall form of Simon Dalton blocked her way out.

  “Hmph, look at you.”

  Her gaze stayed at eye level. Eye level for her was a chest that was covered in a black leather coat.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked softly.

  Just the sound of his voice made her ears burn.

  She took the chance of looking up at him.

  No glasses.

  Still gorgeous.

  Lorna snatched her gaze away.

  “I--I was looking to diversify my portfolio.”

  He laughed. “Really? Were you now?”

  They were both getting knocked in different directions as more people went by them trying to get out of the door.

  He reached out and took her by the elbow. “Come. Let us retreat shall we?”

  Once outside as the sound of wind and traffic overwhelmed her, she gently pulled her elbow from his grasp, and pretended to be adjusting the bag on her shoulder.

  He looked down at her knowingly. “What on earth do you have in such a large bag anyway?”

  She shrugged.

  “A change of clothing perhaps?”

  “Why would I need a—No, no.” She shook her head and tried to stop her hair from flying into her face. “I just have a lot of stuff is all.”

  She didn’t miss his eyes dipping to her chest. Her coat was opened. She’d forget to close it in her rush to get away from the Apprentice reject. Her mother’s deep re
d suit did somewhat plunge at the neckline. Her mom usually wore another shirt with it, but she had opted out.

  “Yes, I see,” he said, still staring then abruptly stopped when he saw her shift in stance. “I will find us a cab.”

  As he walked toward the curb she mumbled, “Go for it white boy, you’ll have better luck at it than me.”

  Simon turned around, his head cocked at her. “White boy?” he questioned in that proper British accent. Upon seeing her embarrassment, he grinned.

  ****

  They were in a cab going to the upper west side. His apartment? She had no doubt. The ride was going by with only the sound of traffic and various top forty hits streaming through the cab’s radio.

  “Did you sleep well after our conversation the other night?” Simon asked, as if he were in a board meeting.

  If Lorna’s face could have turned beat red, it would have. “What?”

  “After our talk the other night? Did you sleep well? I didn’t, in fact I—”

  She slapped the leather seat hard, like she was trying to get a dog to stand at attention. Leaning over to him, she said in a voice she sprayed didn’t go beyond them in the small confines of the vehicle. “Are you trying to get on TaxiCab Confessions?”

  He leaned into her, and she almost lurched when she felt his mouth at her ear. “No. I just wanted to know if you slept well,” he whispered, “after you made yourself come for me.”

  Simon stayed poised over her ear. Was he waiting for her to respond? What could she possibly say to something like that? But it was true she had made herself come for him.

  Then he spoke again. “What I want to know is—when you came, how did it feel? Did it coil around you like a sweet abyss? Or did you just explode,” she lurched, “and then fall slowly back to Earth.” He grinned; she only knew this because his cheek hit hers and she could feel his smile.

  She tried to look out the window as he spoke, praying the driver wasn’t looking into the rearview mirror trying to see her face. “Isn’t that the way they describe it in romance novels?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in her ear.

  “What would you know about a romance novel?” she replied, her voice louder than she intended. But the ludicrous scene of Simon cuddled in a chair with a paperback put a sardonic smile on her lips.