The challenge was to write a sexy story in ten pages or less. I blew it. But I had great fun trying. Hello, it’s X rated, so you’d better be over 18 to read it!

Dezyrah's Talk Dirty To Me

By Jennifer Stevenson

            Dezyrah's Talk Dirty To Me, How can I help you honey?

            Um, is, is this Dezyrah?

            Nobody but, honey.

            Hi, uh, my name is Wayne, and I'd like to, to....

            Spit it out, loverboy.  You shy?  This your first time with Dezyrah?

            It's my first time with any pho—I mean, yeah.

            Good!  I mean, I want to be your first, Wayne.  I want to set the standard...high for you.

            Thank you.  I guess.

            You sound very sexy, Wayne.  I can tell we're going to have a good time.  Now give me your big, loong credit card number and we'll start rocking.

            Um, okay.  Uh, Discover Card, expires June 2010, 1212-3434-5656-0000.

            I do love a man who ends it with lots of Ooohs.  And what do you know, Wayne?  Your credit checks out hot!  We can talk all night if you want.

            That's nice.  I mean, I like your voice, Dezyrah.  You sound sort of familiar and homey...and sexy.

            I'm so glad to hear it.  Now tell me what you like.  For the next ten minute minimum, Dezyrah belongs to you.

            Um, well.  Uh.

            Y-e-e-s?

            Uh.

            Shy, hm?  Okay, let's do a little intake.  Costs another dollar but you'll be glad we did.

            Intake?

            Tell me about the best time you ever had, ever, Wayne.  Who you were with, what truck you were driving—

            How did you know I have a truck?

            Oops.  Doesn't every macho guy have a truck, loverboy?

            Actually I was on my bike.

            On your bike.

            Yeah.  I met this incredible waitress and, but, like, no way I was doing it on my Harley, and my buddy lent me his Chevy.

            Oh.  Whew.  For a minute there I thought you were going to tell me you were on your ten speed.  You sound like an early developer, Wayne.

            Do I?

            I bet you were a demon at spin-the-bottle.

            I was.  I mean, was I?  I guess.

            Wayne, I don't want to make this hard for you—well, I do, but in the best way.  But Dezyrah's Talk Dirty To Me has a kind of thing about guys who won't meet her halfway, talkwise, know what I mean?  I mean, dirty talk is my specialty.  Dezyrah talks dirty, and then you have to talk back.

            Funny, my wife used to complain about that.  We're not divorced.  Separated.  That is, I'm sort of single.

            Whatever, honey.  You want to just sit there and breathe heavy, I can give you a referral to a girlfriend of mine, very discreet, you don't even say your credit card number, just beep it right into the phone.  Want her number?

            Nno—no, thanks.  I mean, you got a heavy-duty referral from my buddy—

            The one with the Chevy Bonneville?

            That's the one.  He said you were the greatest.

            That's sweet of him.  I'll be sure to give him a discount next time.  But if you don't feel good about this—

            No!  I'm—well, I like your voice, Dezyrah.  You've got me—I mean, I'm feeling sort of up for it.

            That's what I like to hear!  Oh, Wayne, talk dirty to me!

            Um.

            C'mon, you had a great start there.  How have I got you feeling?  Are you hangin' loose, or are you a little...stiff?

            I'm very stiff, if you must know.

            I must.  Oh, I must!  I wish I could see how stiff you are!  We'll climb into the back of your buddy's 68 Bonneville and do naughty, naughty things.  Shall I tell you how you're making me feel?

            Uh, if you have to.

            Wayne, you're new to this, aren't you?

            Dezyrah, I don't know if this is a good idea.  Me talking back.

            Oh, come on.  You said you didn't want to beep for my girlfriend.

            I'm just no good at it.  My wife walked out on me because I wouldn't talk during sex.

            Are you sure that's all it was?

            Well, I guess I said she was kind of pudgy. 

            Did you.

            I mean it was just a remark.  I mean, she is.  You know, a little chubby.  Not much of a turn-on.

            So you're trying phone sex.  Very sensible, Wayne.  When a man is very, very sensitive to the way a girl looks, it's probably best not to look.  You can't let the weasel die in his briefcase when you look at her and realize she's a little—what are you laughing at?

            Nothing, nothing.  I guess it was kind of a two-way street.  I don't happen to get turned on by fat girls, and she don't like it if a guy doesn't blather all the time while he's doing it.

            Mmmm, you know, Wayne, I think you came to the right place after all.

            Why's that?

            A lot of girls—I mean, really hot waitresses and them—like guys to talk during sex.  I see myself as kind of a therapist.  Stick it out with me tonight.  I can coach you.  So you can hang onto the next waitress a little longer.

            Oh gosh.  Aw jeez, I suppose that's true.  They all like that stuff?

            Trust me.

            Do you think I can learn enough?

            Honey, every one of my customers learns enough.  I see to it.  If their wives only knew about me, they'd thank me.  It's my job and my passion.

            Never mind my wife.  Let's talk about your passion.

            Oh, yes, let's!  Now where were we?  I think we were getting into the back of a powder-blue 68 Chevy Bonneville—were we a little drunk?

            We were.  Not too much, mind you.

            Of course not. It was the best time ever.  What made it so good for you?

            Oh, boy, everything.  She was wearing—

            I was wearing.  I'll be her for you tonight, Wayne.  Only better.

            You were wearing a skimpy sequinned bra thing and this skirt that had to be ten inches long.

            If that.

            Yeah, if that.  And your skin was incredible.  And your legs were great.  And you had to kneel down to crawl into the back seat and I could see right up to your—your pantyhose.

            Was that really all you could see?  No euphemisms tonight, Wayne.  Not with me.

            Well—okay, well, I could see you were, well, a natural blonde.  I thought they had panties in pantyhose.  Boy was I surprised!

            It's those teeny skirts.  Real underwear shows a line.

            Is that it?  Well it blew my mind.  I remember I wondered if you did this with all the guys, or what.

            No, Wayne, it was just you.  I went without panties for the job, but I crawled into that Chevy with you.  You made me tingle, Wayne.  The way you looked at me when you ordered.  And you got so red!  When I looked in your eyes, my nipples got tight.

            Wow!  I didn't know that.

            See?  There's something to be said for talking about sex.  Shall I tell you what I felt, when you put your hand on my top in the car?

            Yeah.

            I felt tight all over, and nervous, and my knees didn't want to go together.

            Why not?

            'Cause I was all swollen up and slippery.  —Wayne?  Still with me?

            Yeah.  Yeah, I'm with you all right.

            Now tell me what you wanted to do when you looked at me in my little black waitress outfit.

            Jeez, I wanted to get my hands all over you.  I wanted to pull that bra thing down around your waist and see if your tits stuck up like that by themselves, or were you strapped into some kind of high-tech wonderthing.  I wanted to see you smile.  —Are you sure this is the kind of thing my wife would li—my wife would have liked?

            Oh, positive, Wayne!  I'm as runny as a hot brie!

            Are you really?

            Don't be so skeptical.  Yes, really.

            You really enjoy this work?

            I love it.

            I just can't believe—

            —That a woman likes to be talked dirty to?  Oh, Wayne!

            Gosh, you sounded just like my wife for a second there.

            I'm sorry, that was unprofessional of me.  But honestly!  You ask if I like it!  Why do you think I'm Dezyrah's Talk Dirty To Me?  I could take just the heavy breathers like all the other girls, if I wanted more money.  But I'm looking for the special man.  The one who can talk back.  Like you did just now.

            Gee.

            When I went into this business I made up my mind that I would never settle for less.  And I haven't.  I've achieved satisfaction for myself with every one of my customers.

            Wow.  Every one?

            Every one.  I'm well on my way to it with you, Wayne.

            Really?  Gosh, I'm sorry, I kind of got us off on a tangent, didn't I?

            That's all right, Wayne.  We're here to do it right if it takes all night.  That's my slogan.

            Catchy.

            Isn't it?  And true.  And you'll find, Wayne, when you get out there in the big bad biker bar world again, that every waitress out there will hang on aall night if you can talk dirty.

            My wife was an all-nighter.

            Was she?

            Oh yeah.  When we first got married she was an ever-ready bunny, and so was I.

            Sounds perfect.  What happened?

            Oh, honeymoon wore off I guess.  I worked too much.  My buddy sold me a share in the bar, see.

            That guy's a troublemaker.

            And I guess she didn't like us having all those waitresses running around the joint half-naked.  She knew what it led to.

            What did it lead to?

            Well for one thing it led to me to comparing her figure to those hot little mamas.

            Ah.  Yes.

            Not that she's really fat.  I mean, I shouldn't have said that.

            Probably not.

            You know, Dezyrah, this isn't getting us any further.

            No.  No, you're right.  Where were we?

            I was remembering her—remembering your smile.  Very nice smile.  Uh, Dezyrah?  You still with me?

            You had a nice smile, too, Wayne.

            You said that.  I mean, she said that.  And I couldn't stop wondering what on God's green earth would make a girl like her—like you have anything to do with a guy like me.

            Shall I tell you what I was thinking?

            You can't.  You weren't there—Dezyrah.

            I'm going to be better, Wayne.  This isn't just a memory.  We're going to go one better tonight.

            Oh, right.  If you think you can.

            Oh, I can.  So if you wanted to know what I was thinking, I was thinking how sweet you looked.  Not like the usual macho biker bums I saw.

            Really?

            Really.

            The tattoo on my ear didn't put you off?

            Nope.  I thought it was kind of cute, in a dumb way.  I did wonder if you were tattooed anywhere else.  The number of times a guy's been arrested is often closely related to the number of his visible tattoos.

            No kidding?  I was busted once for failing to use my turn signal.

            See?  I knew you were a sweetie.  Of course later on I found out—found out about your—about you and tattoos.

            You mean getting drunk with my buddy and daring each other to get our ears done like Darth Maul.

            I mean, I loved your naked skin, Wayne.

            Oh.  Yeah.  Uh.

            You're resisting again, Wayne.  You getting shy on me?

            No.  Nope.  Not at all.

            Stay with me.  The crazy guy who got his right ear tattooed like Darth Maul is the same guy who smiled at me—who looked at me like that—who sweet-talked me into the back seat of his troublemaker buddy's car.  I was a nice girl, Wayne.  I had to look naughty to make a living, but you were the first guy who made me want to be naughty.

            Man, you fooled me.  I thought you were going to bite me in half.

            But I didn't, did I?

            You tortured me, you wildcat.

            How did I torture you, Wayne?

            You took my hand and rubbed it all over you, real slow.  I'd never been so close to a beautiful woman in my life.  I can still feel how rough your pantyhose were.  The silk of your breasts.  I dream about that.

            You do?  Um—I mean, what part of the rubbing did you like best?

            All of it.

            What part, Wayne?  I want to do it to you again tonight.

            Does it matter what part?  I loved it.

            I won't say another word until you tell me.

            C'mon.  It's embarrassing.

            Mmm-mm.  Mmm mm-mm mmmm.

            I—I loved—when you put my hand inside your pantyhose.

            What did it feel like, Wayne?

            Oh, god.  It felt hot.  And slippery.  I was afraid my fingers were too big, but you kept moving around and I got—I guess I got the idea.  You twisted and rolled all over that back seat.  I tried to keep up with you.  I was afraid I'd sprain myself, or you.  And then you gasped and I thought I'd hurt you, so I tried to take my hand back.  But you squeezed my hand between your legs so hard I thought I'd faint.  It felt secret and special.  I looked in your eyes.  You were crying.  I thought I'd die.  But then you said, Thank you.

            You're really gentle, Wayne.  It makes you special.

            Me?

            You. 

            Listen, Dee, do you want to keep doing this?

            Yes.  I do.  I've got your credit card number, honey.  And I'm taking you for a ride.  —Are you laughing at me again?

            No, baby.  I'm laughing at me.

            Let's go back to the part where you're putting your hand in my pantyhose.

            Okay.

            Can you close your eyes and see it?

            Sort of.  Mostly I was seeing the top of your head.  You're so short.

            Well, we're going one better tonight.  With your eyes shut, you can still see me in my black sequins.  You can feel me lying under you on the back seat of the Chevy.  I'm pulling the shirt out of the back of your jeans, and you're fiddling with the zipper on my top.

            I'm getting my thumb stuck in that darned wonderthang, is what I'm doing.  I'm thinking they'll have to amputate to get me loose.

            You're funny and sweet.  I'm fighting with your monster belt buckle.  I'd laugh, but I figure it must hurt you more than it does me.

            It does.  There's no room left in my jeans a-tall.

            I'll say!  My goodness!  Where am I going to put all that?

            In your hand.

            To start with.  Then I put it in my mouth, but I don't bite.  You may feel my teeth a little, but not hard.  And I squeeze with my lips, and run my tongue around the top.

            I think I'm gonna die.

            I slide it down along my tongue and suck on it a little.

            I think I'm gonna die.

            And just when things get interesting, you push me off and roll over on top of me and rip my skirt off—do you have any idea how long it takes to sew the sequins on that darned skirt?—and I'm finally naked and you push my knees up in the air and you lay down between them—

            And you look fabulous.  Your eyes are full of light.  You put your arms lightly around my neck and you ask me—ask me—

            Yes?  What do I ask you?

            Oh gosh—I thought I was going to die—you can't just say things like that!

            But I do.  And you do.  You know how excited I am right now?  The way you talk, Wayne, I could—I could just cry.

            You really like it.

            I really like it. Tell me. Tell me what to say.  —Wayne? Still with me?

            Just swallowing.  Say—say, Wayne, will you please put your hand on my breast?

            Wayne?  Will you please put your hand on my breast?

            Louder.  You said it—you say it louder tonight.

            Wayne!  Will you please put your hand on my breast?  Please?  —Wayne?

            Still here.  Just taking time out for a little heavy breathing.

            In this business we think of heavy breathing as applause.  I can wait.  Not very long, mind.

            Okay, I'm under control.  My turn.  I mean, your turn.  Tell me what to say, coach.

            —Oh, Wayne, I—this is—I feel shy.

            Am I speaking to Dezyrah Talk Dirty To Me?  Make it better than it was, Dee-Anne.  Coach me.

            Wayne, I want you to say—I want you to say, I'm going to fuck you, Dee.

            That's pretty strong language.

            Wayne, am I the coach or not?

            You're the coach.

            Say, I'm going to do it all to you.  Tell me everything you did—everything you're going to do.  Tell me before you do it.  Tell me first, and then do it, just like you promise.  Say, I'm going to rub my hand all over you.  Say, I'm going to make you come so hard your heart skips a beat.  Say—

            I get it.  I'm—I'm going to fuck you.  But first I'm going to rub your silky tits with my fingertips until you beg me to suck on them.  And I will.  And I'm going to flick 'em with my tongue til they get tight and hard.  And I'm going to bite on them and rub my two-o'clock shadow on 'em until you arch your back and scream and scratch me on the butt so bad I have to put merthiolate on it next day.

            Oh, Wayne, I'm sorry!  Did it hurt?

            Like sin.  Worth every minute.  Hush up, now, I'm going to tell you dirty things until you beg me to stop talking and just do it.

            Oh!  Oh, Wayne!

            I'm going to bite the insides of your thighs and make you moan.  I'm going to lift you up on my lap—if I'm strong enough—

            —I've been on a diet, Wayne, I lost ten pounds!

            Thank god—and I'm going to pull you down over my lap until I'm buried in your beautiful blonde—um—

            Say—say it!  Say pussy!  —Wayne?  You okay?

            Just—just a little standing ovation.

            You're welcome.

            I never realized how much I would like hearing you say those words.  —Dee?  You okay?  You with me, Dee?

            Do—doing a little—heavy breathing—of my—own— Um, Wayne?

            Yeah, honey?

            Say, I love you?

            I love you, Dee-Anne.

            —Thank you!

oOo

Copyright © 2008 by Jennifer Stevenson

www.jenniferstevenson.com