When I first discovered the messages on Joel’s phone I was heartbroken. They were intimate. Explicit.

Touching myself, thinking of you, you make me wet, playing with my nipples, wishing you were sucking them.

My cock’s so hard right now, I want to get it inside you, make you scream my name.

I threw the damn thing across the room, the dressing table mirror exploding into a shower of tiny shards. Then I collapsed onto the bed and cried.

When I heard the familiar beep beep of a new message, it was too much. I knew it was her, knew it in my very soul.

“Fucking bitch!” I screamed. “I’m going to kill her!”

I grabbed the phone, the screen was cracked but still operational. Her message: I know you’re at work. Thought I’d distract you.

I started typing a reply. Where are you right now? Find out who she is, where she is, go round there and tear her a fucking new one. I was about to hit send when beep beep.

My breath caught in my throat.

Her face was familiar, a girl Joel used to work with. She’d been to our house once. I struggled to remember her name. The selfie was taken in a bathroom mirror, a gown draped around her shoulders, open down the middle, showing cleavage, a little belly, white lace panties. Her hand was trailing down, fingers pushing under the waistband of her underwear, suggestive but teasing.

Jenna? Jade? Julia?

Jet! Her name was Jet. I remembered thinking it suited her, with that hair and those eyes. The last time I met her, she painted her nails black too, like some sort of rock chick. But they were pink in the photo.

I sat on the end of the bed and zoomed in on her face. She was younger than me by a few years, very pretty.

Beep beep: Well, what do you think? Are you masturbating?

I breathed a deep breath, shifted on the bed. Then I slipped a hand inside my pyjama bottoms, fingered myself gently. After all, why not? If Joel could play away, why shouldn’t I?

Beep beep: Are you in a meeting or something? Make an excuse! I need you!

Another photo appeared on the screen, panties pulled down, one breast on display, fingers spreading her lips. The look on her face was a good fake, but fake nonetheless. This was for him, not for her. I had a pang of guilt as my finger started to slide along my slit; moist, sticky. I took a breath, then in a moment of madness: I’m touching myself right now.

Beep beep: Touching yourself? Who is this?

Heat rose to my face and I pulled my hand out from my pyjamas. What the hell was I thinking?

Beep beep.

Jesus. She had a nipple pinched between her nails, two fingers from her other hand sunk deep inside her pussy. The look on her face was pure ecstasy, that black hair thrown back, throat exposed.

Beep beep: Cassy, right? Are you really touching yourself?

The fact that she even remembered my name made me blush. I hesitated, then: Yes. You’re beautiful.

Beep beep: I’m so wet right now, thinking of you.

I climbed back onto the bed, propped myself up with a pillow and wriggled out of my pyjamas. My pussy was slick with juice. I’m drenched.

Beep beep: I want to see!

My heart bounced around in my chest like it had come loose, my head felt so light I was afraid I might pass out. But I clicked the button and sent her the photo. My fingers slid inside me so easily, my palm rubbing against my swollen clit, a soft moan escaping from my lips.

Beep beep: Fuck, that’s hot.

The accompanying picture sent my pelvic muscles spasming. The moisture glistened on her hand, her back arched, her eyes pinched tight as she bit her lip.

As I played, we exchanged photos. The pleasure was obvious on her face, clear that she was enjoying this as much as I was. When I orgasmed, it was with a cry that came from somewhere deep inside and a release of tension that shook my whole body and left me trembling.

Beep beep: That was so much fun. Cassy, you’re beautiful.

I smiled, then copied Jet’s number into my phone and sent her a message from my own number. Want to meet up for coffee?

Beep beep: Sounds good! Know the Breakaway Cafe?

I didn’t know it, but I was sure I could find it. I left a message for Joel. Don’t contact me. Then I gathered up my things and left.

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Written for Masturbation Monday Week 159. If you’re not already reading the posts over on Kayla’s site, check it out!