What Does Your Orgasm Sound Like

How phone-sex enhanced my auditive experiences

Octavia Morrison
Nov 30 · 8 min read
Source: Canva

There are some sexual encounters that disappear into oblivion, blur into the tapestry of nights and days and as life goes on you forget them, no matter how pleasurable or terrible they were.

And there are some that stay with you forever. Sometimes they are not even that good, or that bad — they just have a certain element that sticks with you, clinging to your brain, refusing to fade away.

I have yet to write about a lot of them, such as the very first time I got aroused and wet with a guy and it freaked me out, or the first time I had sex, or the first time I came hands-free.

The time I lost my phone-sex virginity was one of those rare occasions that haunt me — in a good way. I keep wandering back to it, and it never fails to make me blush and to send shivers down my spine.

The guy it happened with had a single consonant for a name: M. We matched on Tinder and it was on his profile and when we started to chat and I wanted to know his real name, he refused. Call me M. Ummm, okay. I never called his name.

We weren’t in the same country, but he was supposed to visit soon — so it was clear from the get-go that we are in for some virtual fun, which was both disappointing and exciting. He had tattoos all over his arms and that kind of hipster look with a full beard that I was swooning over his profile for quite some time. I have a thing for hipster bartenders or hipster designers or hipster anythings. Of course, as we never met I can’t be sure if I was falling in lust with a stock photo or it was really him — but I never cared too much, it was supposed to be virtual.

And his voice was real.

Nice, deep, manly, a little bit husky that got breathy when he got aroused, and it got very coarse a little later on.

He had a way with words — he was writing sensual short stories, more wordporn than porn but filled with sensual-sexual hints. Subtle enough not to be disturbing but direct enough to intrigue.

He was a weird one, too. He told me he was dangerous and if I am not up for an epic ride, I should tell him.

Our first serious virtual encounter was mindfuck at its best. It started with him sending me porn gifs and videos of various scenes — while I was sitting in a coffeeshop, getting wetter by the second. And it ended with him playing mindgames with me to get me off...

He was just really good — or I was just really susceptible for his mindfuckery, I volunteered and enjoyed every minute of it.

It was safe and adventurous at once — what else could you ask for?

I lost my phone sex virginity to him, and that night still comes back to haunt me.

It was after the mindfuck game he played. I knew he was good. I knew he could manipulate me into anything, and I wanted it too. We kept chatting and he occasionally called me in the middle of the day just to ask me what would it take to get me horny? Just the mere question in very random mundane situations was enough to make me tingle. I was speechless, I just giggled and told him I can’t speak now. He hung up and sent me something really NSFW.

This went on for a few days and he kept surprising me with different questions. How many fingers would make me feel uncomfortable now? Would I be okay to suck him off in a theater? Would I let a dog lick my pussy?

If I didn’t answer straight away — which I never did, he surprised and embarrassed me — he said I should think about it and then hung up. It was like his questions always started a tiny fire that later on turned my insides into a burning, hot mess, desperately horny and willing to do anything.

One evening he started to mock me about my no-answers, how I am not saying anything, how easy it is to embarrass me. He started to send me videos of women wearing ball gags, to show how he imagines me not talking.

Then he went into great detail texting me how he imagines fucking me when I am bound to stay completely silent. Anything that has some restraints to it is quite arousing for me — no matter if it’s about being blindfolded, gagged, tied or cuffed to the bedposts they are equally hot and sexy and after his full description — texting still — I was getting pretty much aroused.

He asked me if I was, and I told him I need to check and he should wait.

He stopped me and he said he had an idea.

‘I am going to call you in 7 minutes, don’t do anything until then.’

It was both a promise and a threat.

He had this thing about the time — that he told me he would call at a very specific time, never at 10 pm, it was always something like 10:17 or 11:03. It added another layer of weirdness to him, but my anticipation was palpable, I had 7 minutes to wait for god knows what. All I knew that it will be something sexy and until he calls I shouldn’t do anything.

In exactly 7 minutes he called.

I was embarrassed and giggly again. Not knowing what to expect. he started to tell me that he sees I am quite comfortable being the silent one, so he figured that we should have phone sex and he will do the talking — I don’t need to utter a word, until he tells me I can.

‘Tell me, if you are in. Say okay, or tell me no.’


‘Can you do this? You can’t talk but you have to do whatever I say. Say yes or say no.’


It was safe enough, he is far away, if I don’t want to do what he tells me, I simply don’t do it or hang up. He knew this too.

‘I am not going to make you do anything that you don’t want, don’t worry. But don’t answer now.’

I nodded. He obviously didn’t see me.

And so it began.

He told me to put him on speaker phone so I could have my hands free. He told me to get out of my clothes. He answered my silent question: yes, all of it. And no rush, just take your time. He listened to me shuffling out of my jeans, taking off my sweater. I hesitated for a while when I was standing in my panties and bra — after all, he doesn’t even see me naked, so why the hell. But then it was not just for him, it was for me too.

‘Sit on the bed.’

I did, and it creaked some. I was trying to listen to the sound clues I was giving — and I realised through imaging what he could be hearing how many different sounds can give me away.

‘Do you remember what I asked, before we started to talk (chuckle) on the phone?’

I was looking for a clue in my memories, but I didn’t have to answer anyway. I was told not to — at it was sexy AF.

‘I want to know how wet you got from all our little talks. Sit on the bed, spread your legs and put the phone close to your pussy so I can hear it as you touch yourself.’

Oh. My. God.

Okay. The bed was creaking a little and there was some shuffling and rustling on my side, as I tried to adjust the phone, mic close to my pussy. Challenge accepted. After all, no words are needed, let’s see what we have.

I reached between my legs and touched my labia — it was totally moist and I felt very hot. This guy surely knows something!

He ordered me to put one finger inside me — the squelching sound was clearly audible through the phone too, and it was suprisingly arousing to know that he can’t see me, but he can hear how I am touching myself.

‘Put one more finger in and start to move them slowly.’

I gasped as I heard my own sounds, it was arousing for me and I could only imagine how fucking proud he must have felt to make me this wet from that far.

“Oh, you are so wet, I can’t believe it. Are you sure you didn’t use lube?”

He laughed. He knew I had no time to do anyting apart from what he told me to. He was “watching” me closely.

He told me to touch my clit and he was giving perfectly clear instructions. By this time I was already lying on my back, the phone between my open thighs, I heard his instructions and I did accordingly, but I was way too horny to be worried about him.

He kept teasing me, make me slow down when I almost got there — and speed up to pick up the pace again. He made me stop and breath deeply and then he told me to imagine him between my legs, imagine him licking my clit instead of my fingers touching me.

I was giving in to it fully, I let go of everything else, it was just his voice, my fingers and my pleasure. And my mind that made up all the images what he told me to make up.

I started to breathe heavier and moan a little louder, I couldn’t focus anymore on what he might hear from me, and his voice started to get huskier — as he was getting more aroused together with me. He kept it together and kept encouraging me or holding me back.

He was just really very good at this. It wasn’t his first time for sure. But it was my first time and I wanted to really cum. I groaned out loudly in exasperation and he got that I can’t hold on any longer.

‘Will you give it to me now? Say yes!’

That was no question anymore. It was an order. I had barely the energy to utter yes, it rather bursted out of me together with my orgasm. I didn’t think he heard anything else but my heavy panting and hysterical attempts to calm my breathing.

‘I am going to come as well, do you want to listen? Say yes or no.’

Yes. I just whispered and listen to his voice telling me in a more and more shaky voice how he was touching himself, how hard he was, how he was moving his hand on his cock. And at some point he stopped talking and the heavy breathing was replaced by a low moan that turned into a roaring groan. I loved the sound. Excatly how I imagined he would come, something you would expect from a bearded hipster.

And he hung up on me.

I was lying in my bed, pulled the cover over me and I was wondering what just happened. He texted me shortly.

“You are the best. I didn’t think you would manage not to talk. Good girl.”

I was proud and satisfied. Not a phone-sex virgin anymore.

And I thought… I could used to this… and I hoped he was really that person I imagined him according to his images. But I let that go too, because I didn’t see him and he didn’t see me either — and just our sounds, not even our voices, were enough to push us to an orgasm.

Octavia Morrison

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