Chapter 1

"Wanker!"

Pearl swore, skinned three knuckles as she slammed down the phone, and swore again, long and loud with an intensity that would have made a lumberjack take a step or two back. She sucked them between pouty, red lips, and brusquely swept a thick lock of black hair away from eyes which blazed with indignant rage.

"Fuck-it," she muttered and ruefully examined the damage to her freshly manicured nails. He'd pay for that, too, she thought.

The irony that her partner paid for everything else didn't escape her but she ignored the fact as she paused in the hallway to pull herself together: Pearl had few likes or dislikes but the one thing she truly hated was to lose control and she was dangerously close to doing so right now. A deep breath. Another. Calm descended over her mind as a soothing mantra wove a spell of...

The phone rang. Again.

Paula's eyes opened like the jaws of striking snake, wide, feral and ready to envenom anyone or anything unwise enough to cross her path. Three quick strides brought her back to the phone. Her pale, slender hand snatched the shrill instrument from its cradle on the small table.

"Yes!" She snapped, in a rapier thin voice, cold enough to freeze the balls of most men. "What is it now?" Her hands clasped the plastic hard enough to whiten the knuckles and each word was spat with exquisite precision down the line. "Did you forget something, like, oh, I don't know; you love me; you're sorry for letting me down - again - you'll make it up to me; it'll never happen again. Bollox, Martin! I've had it with your limp excuses. If you're going to fuck that pretty secretary, have the balls to admit it. Be a man for once in your buttoned-up, settled-down excuse-for-a-life!"

Pearl took a moment to draw breath and was about to give her errant boyfriend another piece of her mind when she noticed something odd: he wasn't saying a word; in fact, he was breathing rather hard for a man supposedly sitting in a comfortable leather chair in a well furnished office in an exclusive part of the City. She thought for a moment that he had spitefully opened the line to let her listen to that pretty blonde working her nimble fingers over his rugged shaft, feeding the ripe plummy head in-between her perfect red lips, sucking more and... "you dirty bastard!" she hissed, letting the mental image of them fire her righteous fury to greater heights of ire. "You filthy fucking..."

A stream of invective flowed from her lips that would've stunned the ladies club to which she belonged; a modest coffee-clutch of local women whom she met every Thursday morning - to please her partner more than to keep up-to-date with the mundane tittle-tattle that passed for news in the hamlet where they'd lived for nearly three years now. Three short years filled with equal measures of frustration and pleasure which left her mind and body numb to think back upon them. Usually she drank to avoid the uncomfortable truth of her childless life and tonight was no exception: a half empty (ever the pessimist) tumbler of neat Scotch waited patiently for her in the elegant sitting room where she'd been absently watching a Soap spin out another implausible storyline before the phone rang and jolted her from the warm, fuzzy fumes of alcoholic immolation. She'd had a nice buzz going the first time it rang but this time it felt more like the sound an entire hive makes when it swarms into the sky: full of dark purpose and undeterred by any man-made obstruction.

A soft moan inserted itself into a gap between the obscene and vicious sarcasm pouring from her, giving her pause for further thought. Martin wouldn't do this to her. He could be kinky, yes, but not so sick-in-mind as to disrespect her in such a crass and boorish manner. It didn't even sound like him, she thought, and felt an ice-cold trickle of fear scurry up her spine like the fingers of a fresh corpse, tickling her deeper insecurities into a cowering knot, just between the third and fourth vertebra at the nape of her neck. She caught her breath and felt it calm her down enough to make sense of what was happening: some pervert, probably in a call-box, had the effrontery to breathe silent innuendo into her ear. Yes, now she listened more carefully, she could hear traffic go by, faintly, in the background, beyond the harsh rasp of his lungs which rose and fell with varying degrees of intensity, shaking slightly at each exhalation as though he was... her mind recoiled from the image - then went back for a closer look and showed her there was nothing to fear. What could he do to her from there? Nothing! He was just a sad old man panting at random, like a dog chasing cars in the road, threatening much but promising very little other than a cheap thrill.

Pearl laughed.

Gently but firmly her mirth rose in volume, and the harder her would-be tormentor breathed the louder she laughed. It felt like a catharsis as each peal of laughter drove the black clouds away, leaving her mood light, playful... and very mischievous. She switched the phone onto speaker and went back into the sitting room, knocked back her drink with élan, poured another and went back into the hall thinking; 'two can play that game, ' and told her cold-caller to breathe louder. To her considerable amusement, he did, and she pondered what he looked like as she poured more Scotch (Glenfiddich - only the best, for her). Probably wears one of those awful Macs, she mused, and has a rough-and-rugged face, weather-beaten and speckled with grey stubble, she went on, drinking slowly, eyes closed, picturing the man rubbing himself under the Mac as he panted hard... probably imagining what she looked like too, no doubt. Pearl chuckled and let her hand slide down her skirt, between her thighs - "why not," she murmured, kitty hasn't played for a long time.

A long time for Pearl could be anything from a day to a week; depending on her mood and menstrual cycle. It had been three long days, two whole nights since Martin had shown her any affection, and a rush of heat deep inside her body swept a lingering reservation aside.

She licked her lips, took a swift sip of the biting spirit and lit a cigarette, blowing thick smoke back down the line in a vigorous exhalation, challenging the unseen obscene caller to come along with her for the ride - or get off the line.

He chose to stay - his erection was so hard it made leaving the phone booth impossible, anyway. It wasn't every day (or night) that his victim chose to hang on - let alone join in the fun. This was going to be a memorable evening, he felt and, although he usually didn't say a word, as tonight was going to be different from the run-of-the-mill he cleared his throat and rasped out a statement which always shocked them:

"I've got a ten inch cock."

Pearl gave a derisive snort and took another drink.

"I just bet you have," she said sarcastically, and asked a question of her own to regain the initiative. "Most women have put the phone down by now," she purred, "haven't they?"

A guttural moan indicated this was true.

Pearl's eyes glittered with malice and she took another sip, undid two buttons on her cream silk blouse to leave her bra exposed to the warm air and blew her caller a kiss with a little giggle. She hadn't felt so coquettish for years, since her early teens when teasing the local boys to mindless distraction with flashes of her cotton knickers and thick tights, with unspoken promises for more that never were fulfilled - until a larger youth from the next town had overcame her delicate teasing with an ardent passion that blew her virginity away with savage desire. She'd wanted it, of course, but the way he took what was freely given left deep wounds which suppurated and spilled fresh torment through her psyche from time-to-time that caused much anguish in her relationships. Martin's refusal to marry her didn't ease the anxiety, either, and every passing year brought the failure (as she saw it) of her life into sharper focus: The expensive car in the driveway; the jewellry; the designer clothes; the first-class lifestyle he bought for her no longer assuaged the fundamental flaw within her very soul: she needed love - she deserved love and craved it with all of her heart.

The irony was, the more she craved it the less she seemed to receive. Martin had begun to find more and more reasons to stay at the office or the golf club in recent months, and this latest excuse was simply the final straw. Pearl would simply take out her frustrations on this nameless, faceless entity and damn the consequences.

"Don't you want to know what I'm wearing?" Pearl said. "Isn't that what men like you always want to know?"

The word 'men' slipped out with cold contempt and Pearl was surprised at the sudden rush through her whole body as she realised how the tables had turned. She could sense the hesitation in his breathing, the way it faded and stuttered uncertainly at this unexpected assault from what should've been the victim.

"Well, I'll tell you what I'm wearing - and listen to you stroking your... cock while I do so - and, if you please me, I might take them off, understood?" Pearl said, and went on without waiting for, or expecting, a reply. Just saying the word, 'cock' out loud gave her a vicarious thrill and she felt a moist spot seep into the gusset of her pale blue panties (a thoughtful present from Martin - he knew how much she loved Victoria's Secret lingerie) "You mustn't stop stroking yourself until I tell you to, and you most definitely must not cum before me, either, understood?"

A long, deep groan told her he understood perfectly and she smiled, like a cat that's just spotted a mouse has come one step too far into the kitchen. She knocked back her drink, set the tumbler upon the small, ornate table by the front door and stood up to begin unzipping her skirt, allowing it to fall into a deep blue pool around her slim ankles.

"Oh my!" She simpered. "My skirt fell off!"

Her cut-glass vowels were slightly slurred but her caller didn't appear to notice. His breath rasped past her ear with an eager intensity to hear more and she didn't disappoint him, feeling her own arousal rise higher at the sound of him panting to get at her, inside her. A thrill of terror cavorted on her nervous system with the abandon of a tap-dancer on acid. 'What if he's just down the road, in the call-box on the corner?' She wondered. It would only take a minute for him to close the distance and come crashing through her front door, taking her in his arms and... 'oh dear, get hold of yourself, girl, ' she scolded herself, 'as long as you hear him on the line, what's to worry about?' Pearl ran a finger along her elegant thigh and didn't feel worried at all, actually, she felt warm (too warm!) and drunk enough to feel carefree and merry without feeling self-conscious of the fact she was half-naked in her own home with a complete stranger panting like a dog with a bone, on her phone.

"Well, it is getting far too warm in here to wear that, anyway," she declared, smiling broadly around her cigarette. "I might as well take off this blouse, too, before it gets all sweaty and sticky."

Another loud groan burst from the speaker and Pearl giggled as she plucked the tiny buttons free. The blouse fell like snow upon her skirt and settled softly into a fragrant pool around her feet.

"Now all I'm wearing are my bra, panties and stockings," she said, and chuckled softly at the sound of his breathing coupled with an image of him hanging on to his penis with a grip like death. "I'll take my bra off... if you tell me how big it really is."

A loud gasp burst on her eardrum and echoed deep into her mind, stimulating a fresh flow of juices between her parted thighs. Pearl placed her moist lips to the phone and added that her nipples were popping out of her bra, for his benefit. Another loud groan rang through the aether and was followed by a series of faster breaths, like a man trying to extract oxygen from high altitude.

Pearl wondered if the pervert was telling the truth about his penis and licked her lips at the thought of her partner's full length: a very handsome eight inches, when aroused, and a commanding tool to take on, too. A flash of cold fury gripped her heart at the thought of his secretary getting the pleasure of him and she snapped angrily at the heavy breather:

"Come on, come on! Tell me, now, or I put the phone down and call the police!"

A sharp intake of breath followed by a silence so sudden it shocked them both into a moment of reason.

"Okay, okay," the man said, "eight inches."

Pearl's eyes widened "Liar!"

"It's the truth."

"Truth!" She scoffed. "You wouldn't know truth if it bit your scabby arse!"

Pearl knew men liked to exaggerate but this was ridiculous. "Tell me the truth." She quietly demanded after several seconds where the man got back into a regular heavy rhythm. In through the mouth and out through the nose, by the sound of it - in-out, in-out, hypnotic, alluring, a measured heartbeat of sound which made Pearl's heart beat faster each time the breath rolled over her eardrum, rapping out a rhythm that inflamed her desire and soaked her flesh without putting out the fire therein: in fact, building up to a higher level of sexual awareness, if anything.

"Tell me," she repeated and absently twirled her nipple through the gossamer-thin material of her bra. "Now!"

A stubborn silence punctuated with small gasps drifted down the line, and Pearl was on the verge of hanging up when he boldly told her that it was true. He repeated it when Pearl said nothing in response and coughed nervously as her silence stretched his nerve to breaking point. Pearl took another sip and smiled, not really caring if it was true or not; the thought of this pervert wanking himself silly as she egged him on was too delicious to miss - and provided her with a wonderful opportunity to hit back at her partner without actually hurting anyone in the process. Perfect! She eased her breasts up from the lacy cups of her bra and ran a moist finger around her nipples, gasping at the way each one crinkled in response to her tender caress, imagining a man's lips, his mouth, sucking each fleshy bud on to a moist, rugged tongue, licking them into hard points of pleasure, teeth tenderly raising her awareness of how sensitive they could get when she was in the mood: as she most definitely was, now.

The initiative was firmly in her hand - even more firmly than he held his cock (however big) - and she wasn't about to relinquish it. Pearl's smile spread down her body to the soft center where her thighs opened wide, her slit split round the sodden gusset. Her fingers danced between them, pulling the wet silk away from the hot flesh, dabbling her magic touch knowingly over the most sensitive spots - there, there and, oh yes, there!

"I know what you want," she groaned, tenderly pulling the tiny bud between finger and thumb, "but I want to hear it from your own lips."

Her groan echoed back, amplified by the man's response, sending a deep resonance through her body.