Chapter 1 — A True Story That Happened a Few Days Ago

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination. All characters are adults aged 18 or over.

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There's a small delivery-based supermarket near my place—not as big as the regular mart nearby.

I went out around four just to pick up some cold cuts, when I saw her—a stunning woman with a child in tow, shopping quietly.

That kind of woman who just radiates something—you can't quite put your finger on it, but you feel it deep in your gut.

She exudes this primal, instinctive sensuality, dripping off her with every step.

And yet, her face looks aloof—almost icy, the kind that kills your mood with its coldness.

But then again, just looking at what she was wearing told me everything.

She had on these loose shorts—maybe not even proper shorts, more like something between shorts and a mini skirt—flapping open enough to clearly show the curve of her ass. Comfortable, sure, but damn provocative.

Over her chest, she wore two layers—was it a tank top or was she half-naked? Hard to tell. She'd just draped them loosely, covering only what absolutely needed covering.

And between those bright neon straps, her dark skin peeked through—especially her upper lip. Full, slightly pouty.

And that ass. God, I've never seen such a tempting ass before. So high and tight it looked like it was pressing against the small of her back.

Why the hell did her lips look so damn arousing? Every time they moved, whispering to her kid, I felt a jolt.

But it wasn't just how she dressed. It was the vibe she gave off—something intense, unmistakable.

I ended up following her around the store, pretending to shop while keeping pace.

She didn't seem to care much about how much cleavage she was showing.

Whenever she squatted down to grab something from a lower shelf, the gap in her shorts opened wide—I could see deep inside. No sign of underwear at all. It was almost suspicious.

My dick, which usually doesn't get hard easily, was fully erect today—pissed off and demanding attention.

I kept following her.

Staring at her tits, her ass… My gaze must've been scorching hot. Half the people in that store probably knew what I was doing.

And there was even slight contact. As I passed behind her, I casually brushed the back of my hand against her ass—subtle, unnoticeable.

Man, both my hand and my cock celebrated like they'd finally found their purpose.

Now, here's the main part.

We ended up checking out together.

And that's when I heard it.

“Apartment building, unit number…”

“Give me your phone number.”

“It's XX-XX-XX.”

I memorized it instantly. Every digit burned into my brain.

Oh, one thing I forgot to mention—when I walked past her, I briefly pressed close behind her.

Holy shit.

I was stunned.

I could feel that valley—the crack of her ass—so vividly. Just a split second of contact, barely touching,

but the depth of that slit, the way it separated—it hit me like a punch. I felt it. All of it.

Even now, the sensation is crystal clear.

Back to the point.

Her phone number, the one she gave for delivery, was stuck in my head.

So what do you think I did?

Got home, quickly washed up—(even stepping out briefly, it was sweltering), then lay down on the bed in just my boxers.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Her pouty expression. Those thick, luscious lips.

Every time she spoke, I imagined shoving my cock between them—craving it with a violent hunger.

Just imagining it felt incredible. Those lips looked like they were made for sucking.

I wanted to slide my hand under her arm, cool and stretched out, and touch her breasts—medium-sized, firm, perfect in my palms.

Her legs—toned, well-shaped—and the glimpse I got of her thighs between those shorts.

And then, the image of coarse pubic hair nestled between her legs… fuck…

My dick shot straight up, throbbing, impossible to ignore.

Should I call? Shouldn't I?

But nowadays, caller ID exists. She'd know it was me.

I agonized over it—then finally thought, Screw it. Whatever happens, happens. I'll make up some excuse.

I grabbed the phone.

It rang a few times.

Honestly, I was nervous as hell.

What would I say when she answered?

“Hey, it's me—the guy who stared at you like a creep at the supermarket earlier. Were you disgusted? But… you knew I was watching, didn't you? Honestly, I kinda want to meet you.”

Before I could finish that thought—

"Hello?"

Shit.

A child answered.

I froze.

I kept saying “Hello? Hello?” into the phone, until the kid yelled, “Mom! The phone isn't working!”

I heard a distant voice—muffled, but clear enough.

Something like “Hang up!”

Click.

Damn it. I let out a sharp breath and lit a cigarette.

If the kid can't hear me, why doesn't she pick up? Why tell her to hang up?

Finished the smoke, calmed down a little—then picked up the phone again.

Same number.

The kid answered again.

This time, I stayed silent. Eventually, she handed it over.

"Hello? Hello? This phone's acting weird."

Click.

I figured maybe she just couldn't answer before—probably busy.

Most likely, she was showering. Just like I had.

So I called again.

"Hello? Hello? If you're calling, say something! Hello?!!"

I wanted to speak. Of course I did. But my mind went completely blank.

This time, I hung up first. She didn't—she just kept listening.

Ah. Fuck.

I had no excuse. What could I say? “Hey, it's that guy from earlier?” Even saying that felt impossible.

But I'm a determined man, right?

"Hello?"

No response. Just silence. She was listening.

I stayed quiet too. For about two or three minutes—just breathing, neither of us speaking.

Click.

Getting annoying, huh?

Yeah, I was annoyed too. But I told myself—this is the last try.

"Hello?"

A moment later, another voice—same kid—“Hello?”

“○○, hang up. It's Mom's phone.”

Click. The kid put it down.

Hah. Look at that!!

Suddenly, I got it. That wasn't a rejection, was it?

And thinking back—she'd definitely moved rooms.

Earlier, I heard kids' TV shows. That sounded like the living room.

Now? This feels like… the bedroom??

Ah. Coward. Say something. But not a single word came out.

I just stayed silent.

And so did she. No sound.

I just listened to her breathing.

Then it hit me—what was she wearing after her shower?

Damn, my dick twitched again.

She must've just gotten out of the shower, right? Most women throw on panties and a thin dress—or maybe just panties?

Or… nothing at all?

God, I want to see her tits.

As the thought crossed my mind, my hand slowly slid down.

Into my boxers. I gripped myself, stroking slowly, firmly.

Still listening to her breath. Remembering her lips. The pale flesh I glimpsed between her shorts.

I'm sure my breathing started getting heavier—just a bit. But not loud enough to be obvious.

She kept listening.

Now, emboldened, I stopped holding back. Let my breath come through—soft, steady.

Wait—holy shit.

Definitely a bed. I heard rustling—sheets or blankets shifting. Like someone turning over.

And still, she listens.

That sound alone gave me full courage. I yanked my boxers down and started jerking off in earnest.

With soft breaths, growing steadily.

Yes!

I caught it—just now.

A sound—like someone licking their lips. A faint wet noise, like her tongue brushing across them.

Incredibly stimulating.

I pressed the phone so hard against my ear I thought my ear would hurt.

Now, I didn't hold back. I let out quiet moans, syncing my breathing with my strokes.

Again—rustling. And then, very faintly, I heard her breathing too.

Not loud. Barely there. But definitely present.

I kept going, picturing her body—the same woman I saw earlier—now doing this.

Her breathing, once steady, began to break—slightly uneven.

Not loud. She was trying to suppress it, I could tell.

Where was her other hand—the one not holding the phone?

Was it just resting? Or already slipping into her panties?

The thought made my blood boil.

I kept going.

Slowed down—didn't want to finish too fast. Calm down, calm down. I wanted to stretch this pleasure.

Again—more rustling. Occasional low breaths. A soft “huh” or “ah”—barely audible syllables.

Ah. I heard leg movement too. Not sure, but it felt like she shifted her legs.

By now, my imagination ran wild.

I pictured replacing the phone in her hand with my cock.

Shoving it straight into her mouth. Imagining the curve of her ass—the same one I touched from behind at the store.

Midway, I moved the phone down toward my stomach.

I wanted her to hear it directly—the sound of me stroking.

She had to have heard it. The friction of pubic hair. Skin sliding against skin.

The wet thwap-thwap of flesh.

Then, I brought the phone back to my ear.

And this time—low, soft, but unmistakable—she let out a tiny moan.

Now, I pictured her lying in bed.

The sounds coming through the phone—yeah, now it's almost certain.

Just like I'm using one hand to jerk off while holding the phone…

She's using her other hand—right now—to rub herself between those wet, deep thighs.

I don't have proof. But I know.

I can feel it—her fingers moving rhythmically, matching my breathing.

Is she imagining my body too? Does she think I'm jerking off? Or does she picture me riding her?

No way to know. But the repeating breaths, the shifting sounds, the soft rustle-rustle—

I could see her movements perfectly.

So wet. So damn slick. That's what it must feel like.

Now, imagining her pleasuring herself, I raced toward my climax.

Honestly, even now, remembering that day—I keep getting hard.

Our breaths intertwined—mingling through the line.

Then suddenly, her breathing grew ragged. Sharp. Paused between gasps.

And then—click.

She hung up.

I was disappointed. I still needed a little more time. But clearly, she'd already reached the end.

Once she hung up, shame crashed over me. Embarrassment. Regret.

Total call time? Maybe 10 to 20 minutes. Honestly, I lost track.

I didn't call back. Finished myself off alone.

But what was she thinking when she answered my call?

What exactly was she doing?

Let me be honest—I'm 100% sure she was masturbating. Anyone with half a brain would've known.

And now, thinking back—her outfit, that sharp nose, her cold, haughty face, those lips—

the idea that I shared that fantasy with such a woman… yeah, that makes me proud.

But honestly? Best damn phone sex I've ever had.

That afternoon, I couldn't resist—I called again.

The kid answered.

I just hung up.

And that's the end of the story.