The Sex Whisperer: Book 1 in the Whisperer Trilogy (3 page)

Your eyes are closed, your brow knitted, and I feel a deep shudder move through your body. I’m going faster now, faster and harder than I’ve ever had sex with my wife. And you begin to moan. That sound flips a switch in me, something that makes me start moaning, too. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe I’ve found you
.

Your moaning
grows more intense, and you open your mouth wide as if you’re about to scream. Instead, you reach back and grasp my ass to pull me deeper inside you. I can feel that I’m touching the very back of you, that I can’t go any deeper, and we stay locked like while you finish. Your body quivers and shudders, and then you lay back. I desperately need to finish now. I withdraw from you, and sit atop your stomach, my manhood hanging above your breasts.

I guide both of your hands onto my body, and direct you to start stroking me with one
hand while squeezing the head of my cock with the other. It almost pushes me over the top, but I hold out, moaning loudly, not caring that someone might discover us in the park. I want this to last forever.

I’m
practically standing above you now, my manhood a deep red color I’ve never seen before. When the moment comes, I finish with a loud, primal cry and everything that’s inside me comes gushing forth. Most of it is stopped by your hand, but some finds its way to your breasts.

I collapse beside you breathing hard. Both of us are breathing hard. And we are looking directly into one another’s eyes.
I can’t believe I found you
. Staring into your eyes I know that we are two parts of the same soul. I know that we’d been seeking each other, and now, I know that we are whole.

Olivia didn’t know what to make of the recor
ding. Perhaps it’s safer to say she didn’t want to
admit
how she felt about the recording. Thomas’s voice and the story he’d created had her worked up. She could feel the moisture between her legs, and she thought about going to the bedroom to do something about it.

But that felt wrong. She wanted to channel her desire into her husband. She
wanted
to be with him the way the characters had been with one another. She
needed
to be with him that way.

The fight wasn’t an issue anymore, a
nd Charlotte’s words were echoing in her head: “I’m guessing there won’t even be any talking. Just a bunch of carnal sex like it’s your wedding night.”

That sounded
exactly
like what she needed, and Olivia was sure it would help Mike’s mood, too. She jogged up the stairs to pick out some negligee. When she saw the pink and black one-piece Mike had bought her at Victoria’s Secret, she threw off her clothes and slipped into it. It was his favorite after all, leaving hardly anything to the imagination. She was looking at herself in the mirror when she heard the garage door open.

Mike was home.

She needed him to be okay. And she needed him to want her. So, she did something out of character. She ripped off the negligee and walked out of the bedroom naked. She headed for the stairs.

She was halfway down the staircase when
Mike looked up, startled.

“Wow,”
he said. “I wasn’t expecting this sort of welcome.”

Olivia held her finger to her lips to shush
him, then she turned him around and sat him down on the stairs. She unzipped his pants, and reached inside to feel him. He was soft and small at first, but he quickly hardened at her touch.

“I’m sorry,” he
said quietly.

She
didn’t respond, just squeezed him harder and started kissing him.

Mike
unbuckled his pants. He pulled them down quickly, and Olivia noticed with satisfaction how hard he’d gotten. She kissed his inner thighs noting how his breathing grew deeper. He grabbed the back of her head and positioned her over his manhood.

She kissed him there first, using a free hand to squeeze and massage his balls.
Soon he was inside her mouth, moaning and moving his hips back and forth.

She stood up, turned around, and sat on Mike’s lap. He used a hand to guide himself inside her, and they started. There was no slow introduction. This was just hard, aggressive sex. With her back to him, she reached around, grabbed his hands and pulled them to her breasts.

“Squeeze them,” she said softly. “Squeeze them.”

He groped hard at her breasts, grabbing them with open palms, then working his way toward her nipples. He pinched her nipples gently, but she squeezed his fingers, encouraging him to do it harder. As he did, she could feel waves of warmth in her chest, her stomach and her sex. Her thighs began burning as she worked herself up and down on top of him. Now, Mike took his right hand and moved it between her legs. He touched her sex, rubbing it harder and harder with his fingertips until Olivia began to moan.

Her moans grew closer together and soon she let out a raw scream. She was coming and it was harder, better, stronger than anything she’d ever felt. It was so intense she needed to stand up. Mike slipped out of her, and squeezed her hips to his chest, her ass in his face. She felt her muscles spasm. When they finally stopped, her legs were heavy and warm. She draped herself over the balcony.

Mike positioned himself behind her. Without a word, he entered her. She closed her eyes and drew in a big breath.
He’s never taken me so freely,
she thought.

He was moving in and out of her fast now, faster than he ever had. And he was getting vocal.
Oh, Liv,
he yelled,
Oh, God.

Olivia broke away. Just as in the recording, she wanted him to finish in her hands. She sat on a step and he stood in front of her, his manhood even with her eyes. With one hand, she strok
ed him hard. With the other, she grabbed the top of his balls and squeezed so that they bulged lower.

As she stroked him, he
moved his hips back and forth faster and faster.

Yes,
he cried out,
Yes.

He was on his tiptoes when he finished. And she could see everything as it shot forth. His come went onto the steps, onto her chest
, even her thighs. Mike collapsed, his head resting on her legs and the rest of him splayed out on the stairs beneath. “We needed that,” he said.

Olivia smiled. She needed to send Thomas a thank you letter.

∞

“So you didn’t talk about the fight at all?” Charlotte asked.

“Not a word,” Olivia said, sliding out of her tight black yoga pants.

“And you had really wild makeup sex?”

“Yeah,” Olivia said. “It was exactly like you predicted. Except … maybe I had a little help from my sex whisperer.”

“What?!”
Charlotte asked. “You actually went through with that? I thought that’d be one of the infamous things you always talk about doing but never follow through on.”

“Oh yeah,” Olivia said, “because there are
so many
things in my life like that.”

Charlotte smiled.
“What was the recording like?”

“Oh
, God,” Olivia said. “It was vile, X-rated, scandalous and absolutely perfect. Thomas — that’s what he says his name is — asked me all these questions about my fantasy encounter with a man. Then, he wrote a story around it. I literally closed my eyes while I listened to it, and I felt like it was happening. I almost finished without touching myself.”

“
Wow,” Charlotte said. “You’ve got to let me listen to it.”

“Not a chance,” Olivia said. “I just told you I revealed all my secret fantasies to the guy. I can’t have you
eavesdropping on them.”

“I’d share mine with you,” Charlotte said.

“That’s easy to say until you listen to one of these recordings,” Olivia said.

“Are you going to
have another one made?” Charlotte asked.

“I’m not sure
. At the very least, I feel like I owe this guy a thank you. He’s literally responsible for the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Well, you’ve got to send me his email address,” Charlotte said.

“Of course,” Olivia said. There was a part of her, though, that didn’t want to share Thomas with anyone. She felt like she had a connection with him, and she liked to think she was the only woman who had that connection.
I wonder if he’s really married?
He sure seemed to know a lot about extramarital desire.

“Should we carpool to the ball on Friday?” Olivia asked. By the grace of God,
they had both talked their husbands into dressing up with them for a Superhero Ball and fundraiser at the Dayton Art Institute the following night.

“Absolutely,” Charlotte said. “Meet at your place at 8?

Olivia nodded.

“I can’t wait to see your husband in tights,” Charlotte said.

“Ditto,” Olivia said. “It’ll be a first for both of us.”

∞

Dear Thomas,

Thank you so much for the recording. It came at the perfect time, and it certainly livened up my recreational activities with my husband. I’d love to talk terms for a second recording.

xoxo,

Hawaii Girl

∞

Dear Hawaii Girl,

I’m happy to hear that you liked the first recording and are interested in a second. My hourly rate is $50 and each whisper takes me about two hours to write and record. If that’s acceptable, do you have any fantasies you’d like to address in Whisper No. 2?

Your faithful servant,

Thomas

∞

Dear Thomas,

Yes. I think that rate is more than fair. As far as fantasies go, I happen to be attending a Superhero Ball
tomorrow. Perhaps we could continue your original storyline in costumes at a fancy ball?

xoxo,

Hawaii Girl

∞

Dear Hawaii Girl,

I’m
glad you didn’t tell me what costume you’re planning to wear. This is strange, but I’m planning to attend a Superhero Ball tomorrow, too. It’s at the Art Institute. Writing this new script should be easy!

Your faithful servant,

Thomas

P.S. I promise I won’t try to figure out who you are. Or at least, I won’t
do
anything to figure it out. I can’t honestly say I won’t be
thinking
about it! :)

Olivia gaped at the message. She’d assumed their paths would never cross. Now, one week after her first correspondence with Thomas, they were going to be in the same room?

She wondered if she could talk her husband out of going, but she knew it was too late. It’d been too hard to talk him into it, and she’d mentioned it too often. Besides, Charlotte would never forgive her for backing out.

Olivia
was half-scared, half-excited. Things were getting dangerous, and she knew she needed to put on the brakes or risk getting caught by Mike. She just wasn’t sure if some small part of her
needed
the excitement, no matter what the cost.

I have to limit the number of strangers we talk to,
Olivia thought. If she heard Thomas speak just one word in public, she’d recognize his voice. His enunciation and tone were imprinted in her mind. She couldn’t separate that voice from the rather intimate things he’d said, either. And that’s what worried her the most.

Dear Thomas,

It looks like we’re going to the same Superhero Ball. I’ve got to admit that makes me nervous. Perhaps, you’d consider not going? Kidding, of course. Or not :)

I agree that
we shouldn’t seek each other out. It’s a little early for that, isn’t it? And now, I have to ask: are you really married? I’m anxious to get your next whisper!

xoxo,

Hawaii Girl

∞

Thomas’s whisper arrived the next afternoon, hours before the Ball.

Dear H
awaii Girl,

If you must know, I’m an eligible bachelor. I made up that bit about having a wife. A sex whisperer should be allowed some artistic license, should he not? I’ll do my best
not
to see you tonight. I’ll just imagine that the attached sex whisper is true. :) Until we speak again.

Your faithful servant,

Thomas

P.S. For the record,
this whisper is free, and I’m
not
dressing up as Superman tonight. I thought you might assume that I was. :)

I know I shouldn’t do this,
the recording begins. Just hearing Thomas’s voice sent a wave of excitement through Olivia’s body.

Still, I pick up the phone and dial your number
,
Thomas continues.

“It’s me,” I say.

There’s a very long pause on the other end of the line.

“Please don’t hang up
. I know I shouldn’t have done it, but after I dropped you off at Books & Company, I followed you home. Once I had your address, I was able to look up your phone number.”

“You’re kidding, right?” you say. “
Isn’t that stalking?”

“
Probably,” I say. “But I feel … I felt like I had to. I haven’t been able to think of anything but you.”

You’re quiet
on the other end of the line.

“I haven’t been able to write,” I say. “I canceled two book signings.”

More silence.

“I won’t blame you if you end up hating me for this call. You have every right to, but I need to see you once more. I
want
to see you at least. I know that’s entirely your choice, though, so I’m leaving it up to you. I’m going to a Superhero Ball at the Art Institute on Friday. I’ll be dressed up as Superman. If you come, dress up as Lois Lane, and I’ll find you. No one will think it’s strange if Superman is talking to Lois Lane.”

You’re still silent on the other end. I hear an exhale, then a click. You’ve hung up.

I sit back, stunned. I thought you would have needed to see me as badly as I need to see you. I consider not going to the Superhero Ball at all, but so long as there’s the smallest chance I might see you, I have to go.

I arrive with my wife and a large group of friends, many of them writers. I’m astonished by the number of other guys dressed up as Superman at the ball. There are
10 of them at least, and most of them are there with a woman dressed up as Lois Lane.

I tell my wife I’m going for drinks
, and I do a complete circuit of the ballroom floor. Of the 20 Lois Lanes I see, none of them are you. I grab three glasses of champagne from a server dressed as Thor.

I hand my wife a glass to drink and keep the other two for myself. I’m almost finished with both
of them when I see you enter. All the air goes out of my lungs, and I feel unsteady on my feet. I reach for a third glass of champagne.

You’re here, dressed up as Lois Lane to my Superman. You wear a black wig exploding with thick, voluptuous hair. It looks remarkable against your skin. Thick-rimmed glasses frame your eyes, and you wear an impossibly dark lipstick. You look better than any Lois Lane has a right to look. All of the men around you have noticed.

Your husband walks in behind you. He’s uncomfortable in his costume — as if he’d rather be reading reports or addressing a room full of analysts. He’s too serious for costume balls.

I pull my phone from my pocket, and tap my wife on the arm.
“I just missed a call from my agent,” I say. “I’ll be back in a few.”

My wife nods, and soon I’m walking toward you. I pull out my phone again, and type in a message: “Meet me by the elevator in three minutes.”

When I pass you, I bump your arm with my phone, dropping it on my shoe. It comes to rest at your feet.

“I’m so sorry,” I say.

You reach down to grab my phone, glance at the screen and hand it back to me. You’re calm and graceful.

“No problem,” you say.

Three minutes later, I stand anxiously near the elevator. I’ve finished my third glass of champagne. When you come around the corner, my heart flutters. I try to act composed, just another Superman waiting for the elevator.

I press the down button, and we stand there
waiting together. When the bell dings, a couple dressed as Tarzan and Jane walk out.

“
Don’t you two make the perfect couple?” Jane says as she walks by.

We smile.

Inside the elevator, I hit the button for the basement.

“This is preposterous,” you say. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to call me.”

“Hmm,” I say, moving closer to you. “Let’s pretend I didn’t then. Let’s forget about what’s going on upstairs.”

When the elevator doors open, I lead you to the family restroom
, knock quietly and try the handle. Thankfully, it’s unlocked, and we slip inside.

When the door’s closed, you lean your back against the wood and sigh. The look of distress on your face makes me ashamed. I never want to cause you pain.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“You’re right,” you say. “And I sure as hell shouldn’t have come.”

I move in to kiss you, and you turn your cheek.

“You’re a stalker,” you say. “You’re repulsive.”

“Shhh,” I say. “You know that’s not true.”

You
push me away with a palm planted on the “S” on my chest.

“Promise me you’ll never call again,” you say. “Promise me. Promise me this instant, and I need you to mean it.”

“I won’t call you,” I say, “unless you ask me to.”

The smallest, briefest smile breaks out on your face
. It’s quickly hidden by a scowl, but I’ve started kissing your neck.

“My husband’s
expecting me,” you say. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

“My wife’s
looking for me, too,” I whisper. “We need to be quick.”

You look down at my costume and can see I’ve already
gotten hard. You take in a quick, deep breath. I turn you around so that your hands are on the sink, and I lift your skirt over your bottom. With one hand, you’re reaching behind yourself, tugging down my tights and underwear, exposing all of me.

I don’t bother
stripping off your clothes. We don’t have time for that. I slip the crotch of your underwear to one side, then grab my manhood at the base and use it to slap you gently between your legs. I rub myself there until we’re both wet. Then, I slide inside.

Just as we get started, there’s a knock at the door.

“Give me a minute,” I call out. “I’ve had something of a costume malfunction. Can you use another bathroom?” There’s no answer from the other side. Quickly, I move in and out of you. I reach around and slip my hands inside your blouse, massaging your breasts from behind.

In the mirror, I can see you’re biting your lower lip as you strain to stay quiet. Your eyes are squeezed shut.

“Tell me you like it,” I whisper in your ear.

You shake your head back and forth.

“Tell me you like it,” I say.

You start moaning instead, your eyes closed as if you’re concentrating on a very difficult problem.

“Do you like my cock?” I whisper.

You nod.

“Do you like it inside you?” I ask.

You start moaning again, louder this time. You use one hand to grab my
ass and pull me deeper inside you.

That’s all it takes. I start going faster. I pull your breas
ts from your blouse and squeeze. I use them, too, to pull myself deeper into you.

“Fuck,” I hear you say. “I like it.”

Then, your legs are shaking. You pull your knees together, clamping down so hard on my manhood that I almost finish inside of you. You’re trembling — the movements travel up your back and into your shoulders.

You stop for just a moment, and then start trembling again, softer and not as long this time.

After you’ve finished, you stand, and my hardness slips out of you. You switch places with me, so I’m the one with my hands on the sink with my back to you. I can see my manhood throbbing in the mirror in front of me. Then, I see your hands wrap around my hips and lock down tightly on my cock. You start stroking aggressively. I can see you staring at my cock in the mirror. It’s almost like you’re studying it, trying to burn it into your mind. I love the look of your delicate hands around my shaft. You move faster and faster until your hands are a blur.

My cock begins to pulse and turn a deeper shade of purple. And now it’s my turn to start trembling. I spread my legs apart and feel each of your strokes deep down into my thighs.

With your left hand stroking me up and down, you use your other hand to pinch the moist tip of my cock between your thumb and forefingers. You smash it down, and it swells back up again, faster and faster. The sensation is so intense that I nearly pull myself away from you. It’s almost more than I can take.

And when the finish comes, I’m breathless. You watch as come shoots into the sink. I love the fact that you’re watching. I want to show all of myself to you. I could never hide any of it.

I turn to kiss you passionately, my manhood hard between your thighs.

There’s nothing left for us to say. You glance at yourself in the mirror, straighten your wig and reapply your makeup. Then, you look at me, and I think how lucky I am to be in the presence of such an
incredible woman. Even if I never see you again, I’ve had this moment.
You have my soul,
I think, but I don’t speak. Instead, I watch as you wash your hands. When they’re dry, you run them through my hair, kiss me on the cheek and say, “Don’t call me.”

“Unless you ask me to,” I say.

“Unless I ask you to.”