Page 57 of Mischievous Lies

When the water starts to turn cold and my skin starts to prune, I get out of the bath and check my phone. It’s still buzzing. I don’t even have to look at the screen to know it’s him.

I can’t help but be curious about his predicament, and so, after I dry off and dress, I grab my laptop and tuck my feet under my ass as I sit on my couch and hack into his cameras.

He comes up on the second camera, still in the living room. He’s sitting on the couch, spread eagle, his hand wrapped around his cock as he pumps it, his other hand holding his phone to his ear. Persistent fucker. I almost feel cruel now. I flip my phone over and see his name appear again. This time, I do answer.

“Finally.” He huffs, and I can hear his hand moving.

“How is your problem going?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek. This guy, I swear…

“Better if you were here,” he growls.

“I don’t think you’re allowed near my vagina until it recovers.” I watch him on the camera and his hand pauses.

“So you’re saying there’ll be a next time?” he questions, and when I don’t answer, he says, “Lover?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. How about tomorrow?”

“Ummm, no.”

“Today then?” he says. “Please, come back.”

“I think you can take care of that yourself. Besides, you might not be home tomorrow if you’re getting the blood drained from your cock in the hospital.”

His hand freezes on his cock. “That’s not really what happens, is it?”

“Sure is. Better get that hand working faster.”

“Fuck,” he curses as his speed increases.

“Put your back into it,” I say cheekily, and his gaze darts straight to the camera. A slow smirk draws across his face as he continues stroking himself.

“You’re enjoying this a little too much,” he scolds. “Tell me, what did you like…”

“When I left,” I joke.

“Liar.”

“I liked it when you bit me,” I confess.

When I was in the bathtub, I looked at my body, which happened to be covered in bite marks. And I liked it. I liked it even more when he was the one doing the biting. How and why I like it confuses me. And I know he wouldn’t judge me because he loved doing it as much as I loved receiving it.

“Good, what else…”

“All of it.”

“Are you wet?” he asks.

“No. I’m sore.”

“I could make you feel better. My tongue could make you feel better.”

“I’m going to sleep now,” I say sweetly.

“It’s daytime,” he reminds me.

“Yes, and you kept me up all night, fucking me.”

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