Chapter Text
Agatha unlocked her apartment door and dropped her bag on the floor with a deep, world-weary sigh. The apartment was dark and silent, and she felt very little relief at being home.
Work had been unbearable. Everybody had been getting on her nerves all day. The framing company who were doing the latest exhibition had been late and had got both the measurements and the kind of wood wrong, and she’d had to send them away and tell them to come back the next day, on time and properly prepared.
Her calendar hadn’t synced properly and so she’d been thrown into a meeting with no warning with one of her least favourite clients. The internship kid Billy had got her coffee order completely wrong and had thus presented her with some kind of milky monstrosity in the middle of said unexpected and unpleasant meeting. She’d given herself a headache forcing herself not to shout at him, since he was only eighteen and probably trying very hard — not that there was much evidence of that to be seen.
Jen and Lilia had then called her into the meeting room to go over the floor plan for the next exhibition, and the three of them had bickered for what felt like hours about the placement of one specific photograph, only for Jen to recall that the placement of said photograph had been stipulated by the photographer in the contract. A total waste of time.
To top things off she’d got a text from Wanda in the middle of the afternoon asking to come by and pick up some things she’d forgotten at Agatha’s in her haste to move out after the breakup — something about a jumper and a scarf.
Haven’t seen them, Agatha had texted back.
They’re sentimental, Wanda had replied. Try to find them.
Agatha hadn’t deigned to reply to that.
And then there was the matter of her sexual frustration. Namely, Rio Vidal. Lilia’s young and very green new assistant, who insisted on whirling around the gallery like a sexy hurricane in a very short skirt.
Agatha hadn’t had an orgasm since the breakup, not for lack of trying, which meant two months and three days (not that she was counting). She supposed it was a combination of general stress and exhaustion, and not having even the slightest bit of will or desire to get to know someone new, who in turn would have to take into account her own idiosyncrasies and would doubtless fail, like everybody else before them.
Every night after a glass of wine she attempted to take care of herself and was thwarted, either by the overwhelming need to sleep or the limited capacity of her own imagination. She couldn’t alight on a specific fantasy to get off to, her mind constantly drawing a blank, and the fact that the figure she pictured behind her closed eyelids was perpetually faceless freaked her out a bit. Even her vibrator wasn’t cutting it, becoming overstimulating too fast, at once too much and not enough.
So she had resigned herself to being sexually frustrated and constantly vaguely aroused, and Rio’s miniscule skirts, bright smile and overly obliging manner were decidedly not helping.
This particular night Agatha had a plan. The night before, after a tumbler of whiskey and yet another inconclusive masturbation session which came to completion when her vibrator died, she’d swallowed her pride and googled phone sex hotlines. She’d had friends in college who ran them for a bit of extra money and they’d seemed content, so she didn’t think it was too exploitative. She just needed a little help.
She’d picked one out last night, a woman called Victoria who wrote that she ‘did both men and women’, with a New York City area code. She wasn’t sure why the area code mattered to her — but maybe the whole affair would feel more grounded in reality if the woman was relatively nearby, and not on the other side of the world.
Sliding into bed with just the bedside lamp illuminating the room, Agatha called the number. No point giving herself even more time to second guess herself.
The phone rang twice, and then there was a click. “Hello, you’ve reached Victoria,” a smooth, honeyed voice said on the other end of the line.
Okay, she had a pretty voice. That was a good start.
“Hi,” Agatha said, a little stupidly. She cleared her throat.
“Hi yourself. Do you want to tell me your name?”
“I’d rather not, if that’s okay.”
“That’s totally fine, darling. There’s no pressure to say or do anything you’re not 100% comfortable with on these calls, alright?”
“Alright,” Agatha said. She had very rapidly lost any sense of higher ground, and had to admit to herself that she was totally out of her depth.
“Do you know that this is a phone sex hotline, sweetheart?” Victoria asked.
Agatha flushed. “I do.”
“So you’ve called because you want to have phone sex with me.” It wasn’t posed as a question, but Agatha sensed it required an answer.
“Yes. I just… this is my first time doing anything like this. I don’t really know how it works.” She felt sick at her own admission of vulnerability, but Victoria seemed unphased.
“That’s okay. How about we start by having a regular conversation, and see where it takes us?”
“Alright.” Agatha felt vaguely sweaty and very on edge. She was pretty certain that she was not going to be able to relax into this enough to get off, but she’d got this far, so they might as well continue.
“Can I just confirm you understand my rates and the system by which you will be charged?”
“Yes, it’s all on the website.”
“Okay, glad you can read. Some people clearly can’t.” Victoria laughed. She had a sweet laugh, breathy and a little coy. “So, how was your day?”
“It wasn’t great,” Agatha said. She sighed and stretched her back. “Lots of minor irritating things at work. No huge disasters, but… it didn’t leave me with a good feeling.”
“What’s your role, where you work?”
“I guess I’m…” Agatha tried to be as vague as possible, “the head of everything.”
“Ohhh,” Victoria gave another very slightly mocking laugh. “If I had known I was on the phone with the head of everything I might have tried a little bit harder.”
“You’re doing just fine.” Agatha found herself laughing too. It was nice to laugh at herself in this context, knowing that Victoria wasn’t actually ridiculing her.
“And my ex texted me out of the blue today,” she added. “She wants some of her stuff back and I don’t even know where it is.”
“Messy breakup?” Victoria asked sympathetically.
“If messy can be used to describe her deciding that she’d had enough of me and simply walking out of our shared life one day, then yes, I suppose it was messy.”
Victoria hummed. “That must have made you feel like shit.”
“Yep. And since then… I suppose I feel very disconnected from my own body,” Agatha found herself admitting. “I feel I don’t recognise myself, physically or psychologically. I wasn’t always such a highly strung person, when I was younger, but now I feel like all the tension is just… accumulating within me. My reality changed so abruptly I don’t know which way is up anymore.”
“So you need a release?”
Victoria’s soft, honeyed voice soothed Agatha enough that she was able to make her next confession.
“Yes.”
“I think I could help you with that,” Victoria said.
Agatha didn’t particularly like that it sounded as though Victoria was slipping back into a practised script, but she told herself to get over it. This was this woman’s job. She wasn’t special.
“Are you still with me, darling?”
“Sorry, yes.”
“No need to apologise. Why don’t you tell me what you’re wearing?”
Agatha looked down at herself. A simple black tank top, loose, and dark purple cotton panties with a hole in them, her currently untrimmed bush poking out at the top, were what she had distractedly picked out. She decided that Victoria didn’t need to know about the hole.
“A tank top and panties.”
“That sounds comfortable. How about you pull up that tank top of yours a little?”
Agatha obliged. They were doing this, then.
“Now I want you to play with your tits,” Victoria murmured. “Gently. Don’t rush. I bet they’re so pretty.”
Agatha realised she had been skipping this step recently. Doing foreplay by herself had felt like a bit of a waste of precious time. But now, as she felt herself grow immediately wet from her ministrations, she realised that this might have been the missing link. Oh.
Agatha’s breath came harder against the phone microphone. Distractedly, she put the phone on speaker and lay it on the pillow beside her head.
“How does that feel?” Victoria said a moment later.
“Really good.”
“Do you like it hard or soft there?”
“Soft to begin with, and then hard.” As she said this Agatha rolled a pebbled nipple between her thumb and index finger and sighed.
“Do you mind if I touch myself too?” Victoria said.
Agatha’s eyes snapped open. “Do you want to?”
“Yeah, listening to you has got me all worked up.”
This was almost certainly an act, Agatha thought, but there was no reason why she shouldn’t go along with it.
“I don’t mind,” she said. She heard some movement on the other end of the line, and then a breathy gasp.
“Fuck,” Victoria moaned.
Now Agatha had never been one to watch porn and honestly fundamentally disagreed with the existence of the entire industry — which made the position she was in right now even more incongruous. But Victoria’s very vocal moans were definitely doing something for her.
“Do you want to touch yourself over your panties for me?” Victoria said. “Tell me how wet you are.”
Agatha reached down and rested her hand against the worn cotton for a moment. Reaching further, she found that she’d soaked through the fabric.
“I’m really wet,” she admitted.
Victoria outright groaned at that.
“I want you to push your panties to one side and rub your clit.”
“To one side?” Agatha didn’t quite see the point of that when she could just remove them.
“Yeah, like I was so desperate to get my hands on you that I couldn’t even find the time to take them off,” Victoria said, her voice becoming husky. “Because you’re so fucking beautiful.”
Okay. Agatha pulled her panties to one side and began to rub her clit fast. In no world had she expected this to be so good.
“Are you…?”
“I’m doing the same,” Victoria replied. “You’re making me so wet.”
Agatha realised that she could hear the soft clicking sound of Victoria’s movements. She was actually doing it.
“Take your other hand,” Victoria said, her breath laboured, “and fuck yourself with two fingers.”
Agatha did so, and the answering rush of arousal in her body was so overwhelming it almost overcame her. She was seized by the sudden potency of her desire, so much so that she panted into her phone, “I’m going to turn over, I want to ride them.”
“Go on,” Victoria said.
Agatha turned over, her face pressed into the pillow and her erect nipples chafing against the sheets, and managed exactly three thrusts against her own fingers before she came, hard, sobbing out her release and drenching her hand. She heard Victoria’s answering moans and wondered, distantly, if she’d actually come at the same time or decided to fake it to be polite.
They both caught their breath for a moment.
Then Victoria let out one of her raspy laughs and said, “Feeling more connected with your body now, darling?”
It was sunny the next morning. As Agatha got dressed she found herself wanting to listen to music for the first time in months, so she put on an old Britpop mixtape from college while she drank her first coffee of the day.
Billy met her at the door of the gallery with her second. It seemed he had managed to memorise her itinerary for the day, but not her coffee order, and she winced a little at how sweet it was.
“Billy, next time, one sugar,” she said with gritted teeth.
Looking suitably chastised, he nodded and wrote that down in his notebook, as he had already done three times since the start of his internship.
Rio, already situated at the reception desk, seemed even more bubbly than usual, flashing Agatha one of those bright smiles as she passed by on her way to the meeting room.
Agatha quashed the urge to ask Rio what could possibly be so exciting about a Tuesday morning. There was nothing wrong with having some more lively, youthful energy around the gallery. At least she was well-rested and had found out that she could still have an orgasm if she wanted to. That made everything else feel a little more bearable.
Over the next weeks the calls with Victoria became a daily occurrence, always at 10pm when Agatha had finished getting through the backlog of emails accumulated on her journey home (artists were truly the neediest variety of human).
They’d talk for a while, and then after ten minutes or so Victoria would slip into that seductive tone she had mastered so well and say something that would make Agatha lose her mind.
What they actually did remained fairly vanilla by Agatha’s standards — just Victoria talking her to orgasm and, more often than not, reaching her own. There was something about the guidance of someone telling her exactly what to do and when and how to do it that allowed Agatha to take the pressure off herself, and not only was she now able to come but she was having the longest and most intense orgasms she’d had since she was young.
Whenever she’d reach her peak and her breath would start to catch, Victoria would sense it and say something like, “Breathe through it for me, darling,” and the swell of her climax would overcome her and just keep going, on and on.
One night Victoria warned her that she wouldn’t be available the following night — she had an unavoidable commitment.
“Hot date?” Agatha asked.
“Babysitting, actually.”
“Oh. More lucrative than the phone sex?” Agatha kicked herself as soon as she said that, knowing it sounded crass and unfeeling. But Victoria didn’t seem perturbed.
“It’s just a favour for a friend.”
“Do you have a partner?” Agatha blurted out. God, what was wrong with her? She put it down to exhaustion, but wow, she really needed to shut up. She resolutely closed her mouth.
“Wouldn't you like to know?” Victoria teased.
Agatha kept her mouth shut, because she would, actually.
Victoria seemed to take pity on her.
“I’m single. And not dating at the moment.”
“No one catch your eye?”
“Not really. There is this woman at work, but…”
“Oh, isn’t there always,” Agatha chuckled at the irony of it. “But what? Is she your boss or something?”
“Not exactly, but she’s in a… senior position.”
“Sounds like a no-go to me.”
“Yeah. I know. I just find it hard to resist trying.”
“I suppose there’s no harm in a little flirting,” Agatha mused.
Because it would be very hypocritical of her to say otherwise. Her flirtation with Rio was as unrelenting as it could be while remaining subtle, because if Lilia noticed Agatha making her assistant blush every time she passed her by she’d be in big trouble. It was just small things, like compliments on her outfits and her colour-coded scheduling.
While Rio was still pretty green in the art business, she was clearly good at her job. Agatha was just encouraging young talent.
One night, after she’d made Agatha come twice in quick succession, first on her knees riding her fingers and then with her (charged) vibrator, Victoria seemed to be feeling unusually philosophical.
“It’s strange that we talk so often and I hardly know anything about you. I don’t mind not knowing your name, but I don’t even know your favourite colour or… I don’t know, how you take your coffee.”
“You know half of my sexual insecurities and fantasies, don’t you think that’s intimate enough?”
“Not for me.”
Agatha swallowed. This felt like slightly dangerous territory.
“It’s purple,” she relinquished. “And black, very strong, one sugar.”
“Strong black coffee, no wonder you’re highly strung,” Victoria remarked.
“Not so much anymore.”
Victoria hummed. “Do you want to do some homework for me, darling?”
“Depends what it entails.”
“Get yourself some bath salts or bubble bath or something and have a bath. Allow yourself to properly relax. And next time we call, light a candle. I’ve been noticing that you often find it hard to allow yourself nice things. Will you do that for me?”
Agatha felt oddly moved by this, as well as slightly unnerved.
“Yes,” she replied.
She noticed that she had yet to say no to anything that Victoria asked of her, apart from telling her her name.
The office meeting on Friday afternoon was a moment for the gallery staff to regroup and swap notes on the occurrences of the week. Everyone except Rio, who continued to man the reception.
When Agatha got to the meeting room Rio was just leaving with a mug of green tea. She looked rosy-cheeked and content today, Agatha noticed. Not too tired. Good.
“Afternoon, Agatha,” she said brightly.
“Afternoon.”
They passed each other in the doorway, Rio brushing against her side. She smelled like jasmine.
When Agatha settled in her chair at the head of the table she noticed a steaming mug of coffee had already been placed in front of her. She gingerly took a sip and blinked, pleasantly surprised. Perhaps the minimum wage they were paying Billy was worth it after all.
They were only about halfway into the meeting when Agatha heard some kind of commotion outside the door. Lilia, Jen and Billy were all bent over the new artwork labels having a dispute about the literary style in which they were written, which Billy thought was ‘accessible’ and Lilia thought was ‘frankly inane’.
“I’ll just be a minute,” Agatha said. They barely looked up. She slipped out of the room into the gallery, and the raised voice she’d heard got louder.
“And I just don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me. I booked the gallery for an event on the 29th, and you’re saying you’ve got absolutely no record of it and someone else has booked it instead?”
Rounding the corner, Agatha realised who the raised voice belonged to. Ralph Bohner, one of their most valued donors, and a real piece of work.
“I’m telling you,” Rio was saying, calmly and patiently, “that it doesn’t look as though anyone has entered your booking into the system. I’m new here, which is why I was asking for your details, so I can look you up and figure out what’s happened to your reservation, and then we can find a solution. I can’t do that if you don’t tell me your name.”
Ralph barked out an incredulous laugh, widening his eyes at Agatha as if she would be just as shocked as he was. He leaned forward on the reception desk and looked Rio up and down.
“It’s a good thing you’re sexy, because apart from that you’re utterly useless,” he said derisively. “I’d fuck you alright, but I sure wouldn’t let you handle my schedule.”
He smiled at Agatha as if to get her in on his joke, but Agatha could only focus on the utterly astounded look on Rio’s face, which transformed from composed to crushed in a matter of seconds.
Rio stood up abruptly, her chair scraping on the floor, and walked fast out of the room.
Agatha watched her go. And then she walked past Ralph, behind the reception desk, pulled up Ralph’s records from their database (contrary to popular opinion she did know her way around the clunky system, she just didn’t like to use it), and, without hesitation, clicked ‘Delete All’.
“What are you doing?” Ralph was laughing still, but nervously now.
“I’ve just struck you from our database,” Agatha said. “You certainly won’t be booking the space again and actually, you’re no longer welcome here. You can see yourself out.”
Ralph’s eyes widened comically. “Come on, Agatha, I was joking.”
“There is no place in my gallery for ‘jokes’ like that.” Agatha kept her expression stony, but fury was mounting inside her. “Get out now.”
Ralph, perhaps not quite as stupid as he appeared, turned and left. Agatha strode back towards the meeting room.
“Has anybody seen Rio?” she asked.
Lilia narrowed her eyes, looking up from the labels they were still crowded around. “Why do you want to know?”
“I need to ask her something.”
“She’s in the bathroom,” Lilia said suspiciously. “Remember she’s my assistant and I need her, Agatha, don’t go giving her any of your insurmountable tasks or sending her on wild goose chases.”
The last part was yelled, as Agatha had already headed straight for the bathroom and flung upon the door. She could hear sniffling coming from the stall at the end.
“Rio,” she said gently. “I know you’re in there.”
“I’m fine,” came the response. “I’ll just be a minute.”
“Come out please.”
There was some shuffling, and then the door slowly opened and Rio appeared. She looked sweetly dishevelled, her nose pink and her eyes slightly bloodshot, her mascara running.
“Sorry, I’m such a mess,” she said, swiping roughly under her eyes in the mirror to little effect.
Agatha watched her, with her slightly trembling hands and her apparent desire to pretend that nothing was wrong. More than anything she wanted to give her a hug, but she’d never hugged an employee in her entire life and she wasn’t about to start now.
“Ask Billy to cover for you this afternoon. We’re going for a drink.”
Rio blinked. “It’s 3pm.”
“Yes. Let’s go. Fix your mascara.”
Rio blinked in confusion when the car pulled up outside The Witches’ Road. They’d spent the journey there in relative silence, both of them tapping away on their phones writing emails, Rio probably delegating the million tasks she always seemed to be doing to Billy.
“You drink here?” Rio said incredulously, when she realised what their destination was.
“Yes, problem?”
“Isn’t it basically a dive?”
“I think you’ll find there’s nothing wrong with a dive bar,” Agatha said smoothly, holding the door open for her. “And they do great Old Fashioneds.”
She headed straight for her favourite booth, the most secluded one, and installed herself there. Rio followed, shrugging off her leather jacket.
“What am I buying you?” Agatha asked.
“Oh… uh… a red wine would be great.”
“Not a whiskey girl?”
“Not in the slightest.”
Agatha ordered her a glass of the best red, the bartender giving her a knowing look as she mixed her cocktail, which Agatha ignored. When she walked back to their table and set it down in front of Rio, the other woman beamed.
“So,” Agatha said, sitting down, “you know what that man said was complete nonsense, right?” She levelled a penetrating stare at Rio, who took a grounding sip of wine.
“I guess.”
“Tell me you don’t think there was an ounce of truth in it?”
Rio laughed. “Are you saying you don’t think I’m sexy, Agatha?”
“What…? Oh. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“So just to clarify, you think it’s nonsense that he called me utterly useless and not that he called me sexy?”
“I… yes.” Agatha felt she was getting out of her depth here. Was Rio flirting? She couldn’t even tell. At the very least she was teasing. Agatha squeezed her thighs together. Fuck. She was supposed to be checking that Rio was okay, not getting turned on.
“Good to know,” Rio said, smiling slightly. She sipped her wine. “I cry when I get angry,” she said. “I wasn’t upset by what he said, not really, just angry.”
“That’s understandable.”
“I fucking hate men,” Rio added. “Wait, should I not say that? I don’t know how well hardcore misandry goes down in the workplace.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Agatha said, trying to suppress her smile, “we’re not in the workplace. And do I look to you like someone who loves men?”
Rio, of course, used this opportunity to look her slowly up and down. Her gaze turned predatory. “Not particularly.”
Agatha literally felt her nipples get hard. God, this was embarrassing. She had to claw back the upper hand somehow. “Do you like this job?” she asked.
Rio looked a bit disappointed at the subject change. “Yes. I mean, it’s not that well-paid, so I have to work other gigs on the side, which means I’m tired all the time. But I like it enough to deal with that. I like the team. It’s very… diverse, personality-wise. And I feel strongly about the work the gallery does in allowing minorities to tell their own stories.”
“Don’t worry, Rio, I’m not interviewing you.”
Rio blinked owlishly. “I know.”
“What kind of gigs do you do on the side?”
“Oh, you know, bar work.”
Despite Rio’s relatively put-together appearance in the gallery, Agatha found it very easy to imagine her behind a bar, with that dark eyeliner and penetrating gaze. Fantastic. Just when she thought she couldn’t get any hotter.
“And I suppose you don’t want to be an assistant forever?”
Rio laughed, showing her cute little tooth gap. “Probably not. But I know that you have to play the long game in this industry. I’ll likely still be an assistant in five years and that’s okay.”
“I was an assistant from the moment I graduated until the age of thirty, you know. You do have to be patient. But it’s worth it.”
“Yeah? You’re happy?”
Agatha laughed, despite herself. “Happy… I don’t know. I’m satisfied with where I am professionally, though. That’s more than most people can say.”
They spent the next two hours there talking, and Agatha found herself revealing much more about herself than she intended to. But she learnt a lot about Rio in return — about her penchant for houseplants, her adoration of her elderly cat Salem, and the existence of her extremely extroverted roommate, Alice, who was currently unemployed and had decided to start painting a huge mural of the Tree of Life in their living room. It was while Agatha was laughing at the thought of this, her second drink in her hand, that she found herself, unbidden, thinking of Victoria.
“I should probably get going, Rio,” she said, finishing the drink.
“Big plans?”
“With my inbox and a takeaway, yes.”
Rio grinned. “Well, thanks for taking me out, Agatha. I feel much better. And I’m glad to know that you think I’m sexy and not utterly useless.”
True to her word, Agatha did have big plans with her inbox.
After a couple of hours of putting out fires over email (note to self, never again leave work at 3pm) she dragged herself off the couch, brushed her teeth, briskly splashed cold water on her face and crawled into bed nude, not having the energy to attempt to find something resembling pyjamas.
She remembered Victoria’s suggestion from the night before and lit the almost untouched candle on her nightstand — a gift from Jen after the breakup. It was sandalwood and lavender. She had to admit the soft glow was comforting.
Settling into bed she found herself itching to talk to Victoria, and before she knew it she was ringing her number.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” Victoria said, once they had exchanged their usual hellos. “A fantasy, involving you.”
“You had a fantasy about me?”
“Yeah, on the subway earlier.”
Agatha swallowed. She was so casual about it — admitting that she had fantasised about a client on the subway. Was that normal?
“What does this fantasy involve?”
“Well, if we were together in real life,” Victoria said thoughtfully, “it would involve me bending you over and fucking you with my strap. But since we’re not… Do you have a strap?”
Agatha felt a flush spread through her whole body. This woman was brazen. She loved it.
“Yes, but it’s… I haven’t used it since my ex and I broke up. And I was always the one who wore it, I never… took it.”
“Do you want to? With me?”
Agatha didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Yes.”
“Then I guess it’s time to reclaim it, hm? Go and get it for me.”
Agatha scrambled up, phone pressed to her ear, and went to the chest of drawers where she and Wanda had kept their minimal collection of sex toys. Wanda had taken all of them except the strap when she left and — oh, there was that jumper and scarf.
The strap was seven inches and light purple, slightly curved. Agatha held its weight in her hand and felt a little nervous. She grabbed the bottle of lube beside it, deciding to be sensible and not overestimate herself.
“Have you found it?” Victoria said. Agatha could hear her shifting around.
“Yes,” she replied, mouth dry.
“Go and lie down for me. What are you wearing?”
“Nothing.”
Victoria gave one of her slow, sultry moans. Agatha still genuinely could not figure out whether it was real or performance. “Perfect,” she said.
Agatha lay across the bed on her back, awaiting instruction. She was panting slightly, impatient.
“Do you need your fingers first or are you wet enough to take it?”
“Gonna use lube,” Agatha said, uncapping the bottle hastily and stroking a healthy amount down the length of the strap. “I’m not in my twenties anymore.”
She felt her cunt clench as her hand slid up and down the strap, imagining it attached to someone. There was something about the situation, her giving a hand job to a silicone cock while being talked through it, that made her impossibly turned on.
“How old are you, actually?” Victoria said curiously.
Agatha thought about lying, but decided against it. “Forty five.”
“God, that’s hot.”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Yes?”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty six.”
“Do you have a MILF kink or something?”
“Uh… no? You’re not a mother, are you?”
“No.” Agatha rolled her eyes, even though Victoria couldn’t see her. “Are you going to let me fuck myself or not?”
“Patience is a virtue.”
“I’m not feeling very virtuous at this moment,” Agatha said.
She looked down at the glistening length of the strap in her hand and knew she could just sink it into herself if she wanted to and Victoria would be none the wiser, but for some reason she found herself waiting for permission.
“I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” Victoria said. “Rub your clit with it. With the tip.”
Agatha did as she was told, groaning. It did feel extraordinarily good, especially if she closed her eyes and imagined that it wasn’t her own hand guiding it.
“Now slide it down and get yourself nice and wet. Back and forth. Don’t go inside just yet.”
Agatha did so, the cool silicone quickly warming to the temperature of her body.
“Does that feel good?”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“I want you to pinch your nipples for me, the way you like it. Can you do that?”
Agatha moaned and did so, not stilling her movements between her legs.
“Good girl,” Victoria said.
That, Agatha wasn’t expecting. She choked out a groan at the praise, fresh wetness pooling between her legs.
“Is that something you like, darling? Being told you’re good?”
“Yes,” Agatha hissed.
“Well, it won’t be difficult for me to find reasons to tell you more often. Because you are so good. You should be told all the time.”
This was opening a Pandora’s Box that Agatha hadn’t even known existed. She was so wet that the strap was almost slipping inside her without pressure as she dragged the length through her folds. So much for needing lube.
“Please,” she managed.
“Keep playing with your tits for me, baby,” Victoria said. “Now, if you feel ready, you can push that cock inside yourself. Slowly.”
Agatha did not need to be told twice. She angled the strap up and pushed the tip inside, and then, slowly, just as she’d been told, the whole length. It was big, and it took her a minute to accommodate the stretch, but when she did she felt deliciously full. She opened her legs a little more, propping her thigh up on the pillow beside her.
“Jesus,” she whimpered.
“He’s not here, I hope.”
“Oh, shut up.” And then, “Tell me what to do.” She couldn’t believe those words had just left her mouth, and so easily, without any persuading.
“Only you know what feels good for you, darling. Just, take it slow. Breathe. Find your rhythm. And keep playing with those perfect tits. Imagine it’s my mouth on them.”
“Would you bite them?”
“Obviously.”
Agatha twisted her nipple particularly harshly at that and the strap slipped impossibly further into her until it was buried up to the hilt.
“So deep,” she moaned. She started up a rhythm, beginning slow but rapidly speeding up. She could hear how wet she was.
“I can hear how wet you are,” Victoria said, as if reading her mind. Her voice was full of wonder. “Why don’t you rub your clit for me?”
“I think I’ll… I’ll come if I do that.” Agatha’s hips thrusted up to meet the strap. She squeezed her eyes shut and imagined a woman on top of her, actually wearing it, strapping her down. Her movements became frantic, irregular. She was barely moving the strap now, just keeping it deep inside her and moving it in short, rapid thrusts, hitting her sweet spot over and over again.
“Isn’t that what you want?” Victoria said curiously.
“Yes, but…” Agatha had to focus to stop herself from coming there and then, clit untouched. “Want to last longer.”
“There’s no rule against going again.”
Agatha huffed out a laugh. Behind her closed eyes a figure was materialising, with messy dark hair and big brown eyes. She reached down between her own legs, pressed a fingertip to her swollen clit, and promptly tumbled over the edge.
“Oh fuck,” she moaned. “Oh fuck, right there, fuck, Rio.”
The orgasm seemed to last forever, and it was only through a blissful haze that Agatha registered Victoria saying, “What the fuck?”
“What?” Her brain slowly caught up with her mouth and she realised what she’d said. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry, I—”
The line clicked, and Agatha realised, still clenching around the strap, that she’d been hung up on.