SPH Phone Sex With a Brat

We matched on a dating app, which is usually where my stories go to be boring, but this one got interesting fast. He was sweet in his messages, a little shy, the kind of guy who uses proper punctuation and apologizes for double-texting. By day three he confessed something, all in a rush, like he had been holding it in for years. He told me he had a thing for SPH, that it was the only thing that really got him going, and he was terrified I was going to unmatch him on the spot.

I did not unmatch him. I told him he had just become the most interesting man on my phone, and then I asked him how long he had been waiting to tell someone that. He said years. Years of wanting it and being too embarrassed to ask, years of imagining it. And I am a brat, but I am not a monster, so I told him we were going to fix that, starting immediately.

That is how we ended up spending a whole week doing sph phone sex before we ever met in person. Every night, same time, he would call me, and I would curl up on my bed and take him apart with my words. I learned everything about him that week. I learned what made him whimper and what made him go silent and what made him beg. I learned that the sound of my laugh did things to him that nothing else could. He told me he had never come so hard in his life as he did that first night, just from me giggling at his description of himself, and I believed him, because I could hear it happening.

By Friday I was genuinely excited for our first date, which almost never happens, because usually by Friday I am already bored. But I had spent a week building this thing with my voice, and now I was going to get the in-person version, and I was starving for it. He suggested his place, takeout, low pressure, and I showed up in a little black dress that I knew would drive him insane, carrying nothing but my confidence and a week of ammunition.

He was even cuter in person, tall and nervous, opening the door like he could not believe I had actually come. We ate on his couch, and he kept glancing at me like he was waiting for the catch, like a girl like me did not just show up at his apartment for no reason. And I let him squirm through dinner, because anticipation is my favorite appetizer. I asked him about his week, his work, his terrible taste in takeout, and he relaxed by degrees, and then halfway through the evening I set my food down, and I looked at him, and I said it was time.

He knew exactly what I meant. His whole face changed, this mix of terror and excitement that I had been picturing all week. I told him to stand up, and he did, and I stayed right where I was on the couch, legs crossed, completely in charge, and I told him to show me what we had been talking about all week. He fumbled with his jeans, his hands shaking, and when he finally got them down, I just started laughing, because there it was, the thing I had spent seven nights imagining, and it was even funnier in person.

He groaned and covered his face with one hand, and I told him not to you dare, that I wanted to see his whole face while I laughed at him, that hiding was cheating. I patted the couch cushion next to me and told him to sit down, and he did, and I kept laughing, softer now, teasing, running one fingernail down his chest while he sat there exposed and throbbing. I told him all the things I had said on the phone, but now I could see him reacting, now I could watch his stomach tighten and his breathing stutter, and it was a thousand times better.

I took him in my hand, and he was so hard it was almost sad, this tiny rigid little thing straining up at me like it was trying to prove something, and I laughed right in his face, and he bucked into my hand. I worked him slow, making him look at me, making him listen while I described exactly how small he felt in my grip, how my fingers overlapped with room to spare. He kept saying he was close, and I kept telling him not yet, that he had waited years for this and he could wait five more minutes, and when I finally let him go, he came so hard he cried out, all over his own stomach, shaking like a leaf.

After, he just sat there, dazed and grinning, and he told me that was the single best night of his entire life, and I believed him. I curled up against him on the couch, still in my little black dress, and I told him he was adorable when he was ruined. He asked if there was going to be a second date. I told him to pick the movie for next Friday, something funny, because I was going to need material. He laughed, this relieved, wrecked, happy laugh, and I have not told him yet what I have planned for the main event.