Chapter 2 — Ripe Flesh (Part 1) (2)

Since the moment she had taken David Suinaga's semen into her mouth, something inside Julia had shifted.

His presence now lived in a quiet corner of her heart, persistent and undeniable.

Julia worked as a jewelry saleswoman only three days a week.
The rest of the time, she was free—free to do nothing, free to drift.

On her days off, she usually spent the hours blankly at home.
Sometimes knitting, often listening to music—long stretches of silence broken only by melodies.

It was on one such afternoon, in the stillness of her apartment, that the phone rang.

"Hello? Julia? It's you, isn't it?"

"Yes, that's me."

"It's David Suinaga. Have you forgotten about us?"

"I remember."

Julia answered honestly.

"I haven't forgotten you for a single day since then," he said, letting out a deep sigh.

Hearing that sigh, her body responded instantly.

The thin panties clinging to her sex began to dampen, her pussy twitching as it recalled the sensation of his tongue.
A restless itch of lust crept through her limbs.

"I want to see you," he said.

"So do I."

"Do you want to meet me… and fall into my arms?"

"Yes."

She found it strange—how easily she submitted, how naturally the word slipped out.

"I can't see you right now, but we can still enjoy each other like this… over the phone."

She knew of phone sex—had read about it in weekly magazines, once dismissing it as perverse.
But now, the idea didn't repulse her.
Now, she wanted it.

"I've taken my cock out of my pants. I'm holding it in my right hand, stroking it. It's hard—fully erect."

Instantly, she remembered:
The thick shaft forcing its way between her lips.
The relentless thrusting inside her mouth.
The slippery pre-cum oozing from the swollen tip onto her tongue.
The violent shudder when he came.

And then—his cry at the very end.
Calling out his daughter's name.

"Julia… you're just like our daughter. So beautiful…"

Those words, gasped in the throes of ecstasy, now echoed in her mind.

"Ahh… it feels so good. Getting thicker, harder…"

His ragged breathing—Ah… ha… ah—poured into her ear, continuous, urgent.

She could feel it: her soft pussy, wrapped in the thin fabric, growing wetter by the second, too soaked to stay still.

"Ahh… I feel good too."

She whispered the words as her hand slipped beneath the silk blouse, kneading her breast.

"Julia, do what I'm doing. Touch yourself."

"I am."

"Where? How?"

"My chest…"

"Your chest—how?"

"I'm… squeezing my breasts."

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes."

"Take off your panties. Now. Keep your legs spread wide!"

Under her long skirt, she wore only a bikini panty.
She never wore a bra when alone.

"I'm… embarrassed."

"Show me the pussy I licked. Your pretty little shell. Your dewy slit…"

The memory of his tongue—warm, probing, relentless—flashed through her.
She couldn't resist.

Lifting her hips, she slid the bikini panties down and off.
Her fingers traced the damp curls of her pubic hair, then slipped between the folds of her pussy.

Since her husband's death, she'd touched herself only once or twice a month.
She never enjoyed it much—afterward came a bitter sweetness, a guilt that lingered like smoke.
But lately, she'd begun to believe: the pleasure from her own fingers wasn't so bad after all.

Holding the receiver with her left hand, she gently moved her fingers deep within her groin.

A sweet heat surged upward.

"Ahh… ahhn."

She let the moan escape—let him hear it.

"Tell me—what are you doing?"

"Just… touching myself."

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Where are you touching?"

"There… my pussy."

She said it—and then suddenly:

"I can't help but cry out."

"Scream. Don't hold back that cute little panting. No one else is listening. Have you ever masturbated before?"

"Not… often."

"So you do it sometimes."

"I… yes."

"Does it feel good, touching yourself alone?"

"Yes. Yes."

"Is honey flowing out?"

"Yes… it is."

"Plenty of it, I bet."

It was true. From the deepest, most sensitive spot, the spring of love gushed freely.

At that moment, Julia plunged two fingers deep into her drenched slit, slick with her own juices.
She began to move them rhythmically, almost triumphantly.

Her hips started to twitch on their own.

"Ahh… ahhnn!"

"Are you sliding your fingers in and out? Tell me the truth."

"Yes… in and out… like that…"

On the end, his voice grew coarse, feverish—on the verge of release.

"Stop… I feel like I'm going crazy."

"Where does it feel good?"

"I… can't say."

"You're almost thirty and can't even say it? Come on—tell me in plain words. Where are you touching? Where does it feel best?"

"I can't… say such things."

"I'm… I'm at the end now. Ahh…"

As she heard his groan of climax, her own body seized with tremors.
A wave of ecstasy crashed over her—her entire being convulsing as she plummeted into an endless abyss, lost in the peak of pleasure.