I know I look like a sweet, innocent thing with my petite frame and my wide, curious eyes, but don’t let this cute face fool you into thinking I’m naive. My favorite caller, Mr. Bullard knows exactly what kind of monster hides behind my high pitched giggles. We engage in Accomplice Phone Sex every single night because he needs someone to hold the weight of the dark, filthy thoughts he can’t tell his wife. 

He whispers to me from the shadows of his bedroom the second her car pulls out of the driveway for her night shift. I’m the only one who knows about his obsession with Aubrey, the babysitter who lives right across the street. He’s become a total voyeur, a silent predator behind the glass, and I’m his willing partner in crime, cheering him on while he describes every illicit detail of his watch.

He tells me how he positions himself by the window, heart hammering against his ribs, waiting for Aubrey to start her nightly routine. My breath hitches as he describes her pulling her shirt over her head, completely unaware of the eyes boring into her skin from across the pavement. “Does Aubrey look at the window, Mr. Bullard?” I tease him, my voice dropping into a bratty, suggestive whisper.

 He moans into the receiver, telling me how he strokes his hard cock while she steps out of her jeans. He’s addicted to the risk, and I’m addicted to being the one he shares the filth with. I love knowing that while his wife is working hard, he’s at home turning into a complete pervert for a girl half her age. I encourage him to describe the curve of Aubrey’s ass and the way her nipples stiffen in the cool air of her room.

I’m his little secret keeper, his private vault for every addictive urge that crosses his mind. He tells me he imagines sneaking across the street, but for now, the view from the window and the sound of my voice are all he has. I make him tell me exactly how many times he cums to the sight of Aubrey’s naked body before he has to clean up and pretend to be the perfect husband again.

 I don’t care about the morality of it; I just want to hear the spit and the friction. I’m the perfect petite slut for a man with a heavy conscience and a dirty habit. He knows I’ll never judge him; I only want him to push the envelope further. I crave the details of his stalking, the way he tracks her movements, and the desperate way he handles himself while he watches. If you have a secret that would ruin your life, I’m the only one you should be calling to get it off your chest.

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