Fun To Have With Cellphones When You're Horny
written by:
Naughty Miranda

"Really, mom, I'm doing fine."

Slurp

"Yep, classes are great."

Lick

"No, I told you, I found a job..."

Gobble

"Ten dollars and change an hour. It's not bad."

Ssshhhhh! She'll hear you

"Really? Can't I talk to him next.... oh, hi dad."

Suck

"Yeah? I'll look out for it on Netflix."

nibble

"Okay, or Amazon Prime. Yeah. Look, I've got to go..."

bob

"Yeah... no. I'll call at the weekend."

Bite

"Promise. Okay, bye now..."

succcckkkkkkkkk

"Bye."

Click.

"Thank fuck for that. Now, where was I?"

Bruce looked at Zoe, laughing. "I cannot believe you just did that."

"What?"

"Took a call from your parents while you..."

"While I was sucking you off? Why not? It's not like we were on Skype, or anything. Although..." she paused. "It would probably brighten things up for them. I can't imagine them ever doing something like this." And her head sunk so low on his cock that he thought, for a moment, he was fucking her stomach. Via her head.

Two thousand miles, and two time zones away, Sarah took the phone from her husband and replaced it in its cradle. "And I tell you, there was somebody else there."

"Who?" Mark asked. Their daughter Zoe had only left home six days ago, to start her new life at University on the other side of the country. In that time, she had fought with her room mate, discussed dropping out of one class, found a job in an art gallery and bought a used car. She'd not had enough time to go around meeting new people.

Sarah sighed. Zoe could do nothing wrong in her father's eyes, she knew that. And generally she was a good girl. There'd been that incident during the summer where... but that was between mother and daughter, because the stain on her blouse really could have been mayo.

It wasn't, because Sarah had been doing the laundry long enough to know the difference between sandwich fillings and cum, but if Zoe wanted to kid herself that her mother was still in the dark ages, that was her prerogative. And at least she was smart enough to only get it on her blouse. It was when it started turning up in the crotch of her panties that Sarah would let herself worry.

"So who was it, then?" Mark's voice floated into the kitchen from the den, followed a moment later by his face in the doorway.

"I don't know, do I? A boy, probably."

Zoe wouldn't have gone "sssh" so vehemently if it had been another girl. And probably wouldn't have been making those other noises either.

"Who? What boy?"

"Call her back and ask her," Sarah said, a hint of tease in her voice to disguise the exasperation that she was beginning to feel. "Just hit redial..." and, for a moment, she thought he was going to do that, and wouldn't that be a downer for whoever Zoe was with. "But she's eighteen and she's in Portland, Oregon. It's up to her who she spends her time with now."

"I just don't like the idea of..."

"And now you know how my father felt." Sarah flicked him with a dishtowel, finished the drying and put the last of the plates in the cupboard. It's funny, there was so much less washing up to do, now that Zoe had gone. Why the girl needed to use five cups a day, any number of glasses and half a dozen plates as well, a fresh one for every drink or snack she had, was something Sarah would never understand. It's not even as though she ate that much - looking down at her own figure, Sarah tried to remember how it used to feel to be that slim, and as she sat down in front of the television, while Mark punched the remote control in search of something to still his now-whirling mind, she tried to remember how a lot of other things felt.

Oh, the quiet joys of motherhood, as the Richard Farina song almost said, and then "hey, why don't we listen to music?" Mark had just spent considerably more than Sarah deemed necessary on a new turntable, speakers and amplifier, and then a weekend hauling crates of old vinyl out of his parents' basement.

He was on his feet in a moment, proselytizing like a born again record buyer. "This is how music ought to sound," he announced as he put the first disc on, and gently lowered the stylus to the spinning disc. Which, she was shocked that he hadn't noticed, was so badly warped that it flicked the tone arm up into the air, to land again with a hideous screech.

"Really?" She laughed and left the room, but even from their own basement, where she was pulling the week's wash out of the dryer, she could hear the music, and Mark singing along, and that sent her remembering, too....

"Dammit, is this what middle-age is?" she asked herself. "Remembering your own youth, and envying everyone else's?"

Next time she called her daughter, she resolved, she'd do it via Skype. Just to see what was happening....

"Stones? Floyd? Bruce?" Mark was flicking through the vinyl, arranged on the shelves he'd picked up from Ikea (and which almost cost more than their couch, for heaven's sake), but Sarah demurred. "Depeche? Duran? Nick Cave?"

He grimaced. She'd always liked the arty stuff, even when they were first dating, and he remembered how hard he'd had to fight to resist teasing her over her appalling taste. Since then... well, he still didn't like it, but he'd gotten used to it, and she'd been so good about him transforming their living room into a music pad that he grabbed Black Celebration, and cranked up the volume.

She curled up alongside him on the couch, her feet tucked under her ass. "It's a shame they went so downhill from here," she murmured in between snatches of lyric, and Mark kissed the top of her head. "At least we won't have to listen to that godawful stuff Zoe likes," he said, and Sarah snorted. "Until she brings something even worse back at Christmas."

Mark closed his eyes. Sarah thought he was so naive, sometimes, where Zoe was concerned at any rate. Like he had spent forty years growing up in middle America, and was still convinced that his daughter was the one who'd buck however many centuries of human evolution, and however many light years of sexual revolution, so that she might pump out the grandchildren she knew he really wanted, while remaining the virgin he was convinced she still was.

And it suited him to let her think that, because all the while she thought that she was Zoe's number one confidante, then she wasn't eating herself up inside about where they'd gone wrong raising their child. But he knew Zoe was no longer a virgin, and he suspected he'd known it a lot longer than Sarah. He knew, too, that she had discovered other pleasures, because he'd overheard her discussing one on the telephone one night, as he passed by her room on his way to the bathroom, and she was sitting on her bed with the door wide open.

Stealthily he closed it, and continued on his way. But unless "my boyfriend's cum tastes really yum" was a lyric from a pop song that he'd never heard (and probably didn't want to)... well, despite his own feelings, and yes, a little fury, good for her. If she knew what she liked when she was young enough to enjoy it, then it would save her a lot of problems later on in life.

And he also had a damned good idea what she'd been doing when they were on the phone, because he and her mother had done much the same thing to Sarah's parents when they were young. With an old-style rotary phone as well, which he'd ended up holding because she needed both hands. One to hold his cock, and the other to stick a finger up his ass.

Sarah's head had slipped from his shoulder to his chest, and her hand traced lines along the crease in his pants.

"Do you remember..." she began, and he wondered if they'd been sharing the same thought. That happens a lot when you're together a long time. Or maybe she'd sensed his body responding to the memory that he'd just conjured up.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, but her finger continued its gentle maneuvers, only further up his leg now, almost teasing his groin with its absent-minded wanderings.

"No, come on. Do I remember..."

"Really, nothing." She brushed his balls, so lightly that it could have been the fabric of his own clothing settling, but so deliberately that his cock gave a twitch, and he cursed as the record came to an end. That was one thing you had to say for CDs. You didn't have to stop whatever you're doing, in order to turn them over.

"It's okay, won't it just eject itself?" she asked, but he got to his feet. "No, ‘fraid not. For some reason, it's only the cheap ones that do that nowadays."

"So much for technology," she answered, and then, again echoing the sentiments that had just flashed through his mind, "well maybe you should put on a CD."

He crouched, pulled out a Bryan Ferry compilation. Put together in the days when you'd want to listen to one. Then back onto the couch alongside her, hoping she'd remember where she'd left off, and disappointed for a moment as she seemed to have forgotten. He draped an arm around her, not quite pulling her to his body, but certainly making the invitation clear, and - as though she first had to give it a moment's thought - she remained still for some seconds, then toppled over, her head on his lap, her face in his tummy.

"Pull the thingy," she said, and he almost smirked, "I thought that's what you were going to do," but he didn't, and she continued her thought. "The recliner."

He reached down and tugged the wooden handle, and his side of the couch clunked out, back and flat. She shifted herself, too; raising herself, and one hand lay itself on his no longer soft cock. "Yeah, you remember," she said, as though to herself, but if she'd intended saying anything else, she'd clearly changed her mind, as she rolled over to kiss him through his pants.

"Are these your new Dockers?"

He nodded, then grunted a bemused "yes, they are."

"Cockers," she giggled. "They ought to rename them cockers." He was really stiff now, and his dick rose enough to tent the fabric, as though demanding the attention she was so close to giving it. She kissed it again, and if he'd analyzed the sensation, it was the pressure that he was responding to, rather than the sensation. The pressure, and the thought of what she was doing... and what she might do. 

Sometimes, he'd found as he grew older, it wasn't necessarily the act that turned him on the most. It was the thought of the act, the promise of the act, and he knew from all those early mornings, when he awakened feeling so pleasantly horny, that the last thing he wanted was for her to turn over and fuck him. But if her still sleepy hand should fall onto his stiffness, and stroke it while her warm breath tickled the hairs of his neck... that was something else entirely. That was a turn-on.

She bit his shaft, and looked up at him, her eyes dancing full of mischief. Then his cock head was pushing through cloth towards her mouth, and her lips became a perfect O, as though urging it to slide on him. Of course his trousers refused to comply, and she teased him for a few more minutes, then slipped open the button that bound his waistband.

She tugged and his pants were around his knees, his cock now straining against his far thinner briefs. She was still, a hungry "mmmm" on her lips, and then she enfolded him between her lips, Fruit of the Loom and the fruit of his loins, sucking at the tip so hard that for a moment, it almost hurt.

Almost.

He watched, spellbound. She was pushing down now - down with her fingers against his briefs, on either side of his cock, and down with her head, stretching the cloth tight against his thick shaft, all but deep throating him, underpants and all. And stopping only when she was forced to admit that the cotton really wasn't going to stretch any further.

Now she released him, now she held him free, and she giggled as she picked a few strands of cotton off the sticky flesh. His dick was streaming pre-cum... he didn't think he'd ever produced so much in his life, but Sarah wasn't complaining as she wiped his helmet across her cheeks, chin and lips - he could see it glisten in the gentle lamplight, sticky on her face, and she was purring, literally purring, as her mouth almost snapped at his hot purple cock head, her lips tight around the shaft before releasing with a plop.

His hands were in her hair, twisting it, tugging it. She didn't like him to push, said it put her off her stroke. But if he wanted to hurt her, just enough to make her squeak a little, that was fine - so he did, curling locks and feeling the resistance as her roots fought back against his fists, and that was when her head would start bobbing, her mouth so tight around his fat cock that it felt like the greatest pussy in the world. Only better than that, because pussies don't have tongues, to roll and lol across his flesh, to tickle and torment and delve into the eye, as though searching for the first burst of the cum that's surely building within.

His eyes were closed; and he was close to exploding. So close. And she knew it. So even when he thought he heard the beep-beep-beep of iPhone buttons, he didn't actually wonder what she was doing. Even as her movements ceased for a moment, as though she was listening for someone to speak, he didn't suspect a thing.

And then...

"Oh Zoe, one thing I forgot..."

Slurp

"No, I wanted to remind you, it's grandma's birthday next Wednesday."

Lick

"No, nothing, we're just listening to music..."

Gobble

"Of course I'm sure. It's your father's Bryan..."

Suck

"...Ferry. Oh, and I think he wants to say something... hold on, he's just coming."

And he did, all over her face and blouse.

Two thousand miles, and two time zones away, Zoe held the phone away from ear and stared incredulously at her boyfriend.

"I think they know what we were doing. Because, oh my god, they're pretending to be doing it back. Parents are so embarrassing! Listen...."

She switched on the speaker phone, but the line had gone dead. There was so much come, still pumping out of Mark's twitching cock, and Sarah didn't want to waste a drop.