Page 89 of Imperfect Player

Setting down my bowl of cereal on my nightstand, I do as he asks. Not that he would know if I didn’t, but still.

“Okay? Now what?”

“Show me.”

“Show you?”

“Send me a photo. Just your tits. Just as proof.”

“Ethan . . . ”

“Please, sunshine? Do it for me.”

I try a few different angles before finding one that doesn’t look horrible. I snap the photo, sans face, and send it to him.

“Good girl.”

The words thrill me. Make me want to follow every direction he gives to be just that—his good girl.

“Fuck, you’re sexy,” he groans into the phone. The s in sexy sounds slurred again.

Before I can think too much into it, Ethan continues by telling me to put him on speaker phone and then to touch my breasts.

I do as instructed, the sound of his voice enough to cause the slickness occurring between my thighs.

“Roll your nipples between your fingers,” he instructs.

Doing as he says, a small moan escapes me.

“Louder, baby, let me hear you.”

I pinch harder, twist a little. The moan this time louder, the sensation I’m feeling more intense. The slickness between my thighs now a fucking puddle of pleasure.

“That’s it, baby. Are you wet?”

“Soaked,” I tell him.

“Good. Now slide one of your hands into your shorts but don’t touch yourself.” Silence fills the air. My hand slides beneath the fabric of my shorts. “Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

Tell me I’m good. Tell me I did good.

“Good girl.”

I moan.

“You like that, sunshine? You like when I tell you you’re a good girl?”

“Yes,” I murmur. “May I touch myself now?”

“Say please.”

“Please, Ethan. Please let me touch myself.”

“Oh, fuck,” the words are strangled and filled with tension as he says them. “Do it. Touch your clit. Imagine it’s me touching you. Imagine my fingers are pressing down on it, rubbing it. My mouth would cover your nipple, sucking on it.”

One hand beneath my shorts, the other stimulating my nipple, my mind visualizing Ethan being the one doing it all to me.

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