It started like any other lonely night.
Just me, my bed, and my thoughts — all twisted, dirty, and a little dangerous.
The city was quiet.
Only the hum of my ceiling fan and the occasional moan from the neighbors.
And then... buzz
1:03 AM.
A message from her.
> “You up?”
“I can’t sleep… been thinking of your voice. Wanna hear me?”
I stared at my screen, heart racing.
We hadn’t talked in days.
But tonight, her timing was perfect — or deadly.
I replied:
> “I’m listening.”
“Prove it.”
Seconds later, she called.
And her voice...
Soft, raspy, dripping with heat.
> “I’m not wearing anything. I want you to hear me… touch myself.”
“Close your eyes. Pretend I’m lying next to you.”
She moaned — low, real, and raw.
She told me where her hands were.
How her thighs were already wet.
How she was whispering my name with every breath.
And I listened.
And imagined.
And lost control.
We didn’t need a camera.
Her voice alone made me explode like never before.
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