Come Back To Me. Kimberly Terry Kaye

and forth, and ride those beads, baby. Pretend it’s my fingers, my tongue licking, stroking you, and tell me how good it feels.”

      Oh God, it felt so good.

      My body was humming; what he was doing to me — forcing me to do to myself — was the most incredibly erotic experience I’d ever had.

      Yet I was ashamed of myself, even as I slid my creaming pussy over and against the beads attached to the panties, not caring that anyone could walk in the studio and catch me in the act of pleasuring myself.

      “This is so wrong,” I sobbed, the words escaping of their own volition.

      “No, it’s okay, it’s okay, baby. You’re doing fine, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s just you and me, and this is good,” he murmured.

      It made no sense to me, but his words soothed me. He soothed me.

      The shame of what I was doing washed away.

      “Put me on speaker and hang up the phone. You’re going to need your hands, now.” His voice had grown increasingly rough, and I wondered if he would come with me this time. With shaky hands, I did as he instructed and pressed the speaker button and cradled the receiver.

      “Are you still there?”

      “Yes,” I answered, reluctantly.

      “Good. You’re doing real good, baby. Unbutton your blouse and undo your bra for me, can you do that?”