Page 13 of Sexting the Don

With a naughty grin on my face, I send the pic.

Much, much better.

Then another text.

You’ve got me hard, Mandy.

My eyes flash, and I stand there in silence for a little while, trying to process what I’ve just read.

I take a deep breath to calm myself down. What the hell am I supposed to do with this information?

The thought lingers in my head, and I realize I’ve just given myself a good question to ask him.

What am I supposed to do with this information, Mr. Martelli?

Whatever you want. But I’ve got some ideas.

I bite my lip, and another hot wave of arousal runs through me.

Such as?

Take the shorts off. But not your panties. And send me a picture.

My legs feel weak beneath me. The nervousness is fading, but at the same time, I’m still heading into unknown territory.

So far, it’s been fun. Is he planning on helping me with the money situation? Who the hell knows? He could just be using me to get himself off.

Then again, maybe I’m using him. I can stop this whenever I want, after all. And though I’d been a touch shy at first, I’m quickly realizing this has been an experience I’ve desperately been needing.

I step over to the mirror and hook a thumb underneath the waistband of my shorts, slipping them down my thighs and kicking them off. My panties are nothing special, powder-blue hipsters, but it’s not like I own anything sexier. I’ve never had the need.

This time, I try a different pose. I turn around, putting my shapely ass on display. I glance over my shoulder, turning just a bit so part of my boob is visible. I snap a shot and send it off.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Glad you like it.

Tell me this … are you wet?

God, this guy is bold. And I kind of like it. He clearly knows the effect he’s having on me.

I am. Very wet.

The response comes right away.

Good. Now, I want you to touch yourself.

Reading the words is surreal. I blink hard, feeling like I might faint at any second. Touch myself?

How?

I type the word without even thinking, my cheeks reddening as soon as it appears on the screen.

Do you need me to walk you through it? I can sense his sardonic tone through the text.

No, I think I can manage.

A shame. It could be more fun that way. Tell me when you’re touching yourself.

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