Project Team Beta Smut University 2012
Dirty Talk
By IReenH

Assignment #6: Write a phone sex scene.

Because there is no seeing, no touching of each other. No scents, no scenery, no physical anything, except for speech and self-gratification. You can't cover the basic nature of sexual communication in clichés and cover-ups. It's a sensory deprivation chamber where the only thing you have is talk and emotion. It may be the hardest sex to write, because there is forced realism. No hiding.

You can write your phone-sex scene in whatever fashion you like. It can be squicky or silly or sexy. Just let your words and your characters set the mood. It can be purple or utilitarian, or poetic. Write what you are comfortable writing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight

What was that?

I can hear low murmurs and some giggling.

Stupid Mike.

"Fuck you, Mike," I yell. "Fuck you and your stupid bear story!"

More giggles and then he answers me, "Get over it Bella. A bear is not going to walk through our camp. Stop getting your panties in a bunch."

And more fucking giggles. Fucking Jessica.

Fucking Edward.

And that noise again. Am I even hearing it? Or am I listening so hard that I'm hearing noise from within myself. I stop breathing for a moment and strain to discern between the crickets, the slight breeze in the leaves and my racing heart. Was that a snapping twig?

I burrow down into my new double sleeping bag (bought especially for this weekend), imagining how much cosier my little two-man tent would be if Edward were here. With my head on his chest and my skin pressed up against his, I wouldn't be thinking about a bear ripping my tent to shreds. I'd be worried if I could stay quiet enough when he made me come. I push further down into the bag and hum lowly. My voice is deadened by the nylon and the fiberfill and I breathe a little easier when the sounds of the forest fade.

The false calm is shattered by the buzzing against my stomach. "Shit!" I hiss, scrambling to get my phone out of my pocket.

"Hello!" I don't really mean to snap. Not on purpose. But I feel taut—like a rubber band—ready to come apart or shoot across our campsite and back to my car.

"Hey, it's me." He sounds unsure, as if I might not really know that it's him calling.

"Hey." I know I don't sound happy to hear his voice. But the word fires out of me before I have time to think about it. I take a deep breath, inhaling the earthy, smoky smells from my clothes. "Hey," I say again, trying for pleased.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm alone in my tent … listening to Newton and Jessica go at it … waiting for a bear to come eat me." I never call Mike, Newton. Only Edward does. But somehow trying to sound harsh and angry abates my anxiety—a little.

Edward's low, chuckling response is at once soothing and arousing.

"What? It's not funny." I scrunch up a little more, squeezing my legs together. God, what he does to me. Even when I'm laying here terrified. "I'm not supposed to be alone in this tent. You're supposed to be here."

"Would my being there keep a bear from tearing it to shreds?"

"No." I smile. "But I'd die happy."

His rush of breath reaches me through the phone, down the back of my neck. "Oh, you would." It's a statement of fact:You would die happy. He would make sure of it.

"Guh! Edward. I want you here. Why aren't you here?"

"You know I want to be."

Silence dominates for a moment. I push back the sleeping bag and take in a breath of cool air. I can hear a rhythmic babble is coming from Mike and Jessica's tent and I groan.

"So, annoying."


"I can hear them."


"I can hear Mike and Jessica," I hiss.

"Oh, yeah? What are they doing?"

"Well, I can't say for sure, but they're clearly enjoying themselves." And then, as if to emphasize my statement, a grunting Fuuu-ck, Jess … and a keening Michael... waft through the air to my tent. "What I do know is, if you were here, I wouldn't be listening to them."

"Oh no? What would you be doing?" I can hear his smile—its crookedness. It's that smile, and I can feel it right between my legs.

"I would be focused ... elsewhere." I squirm. Shit. I walked right into this.

"Where, Bella? Where would you be focused?"
"Ummm …" He's not going to rescue me. I can tell. "On … you. On us." The last words come out in a whisper. I feel ridiculous. Phone sex—it's ridiculous. But at the same time the thought of it is making me breathless … and hot. I feel really hot. I sit up, pushing the sleeping bag further down.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm hot."

"Yeah. But what are you doing?" He's laughing.

"I'm … no, I'm hot. I have too many clothes on in this bag."

"Well take some of them off ... or, all of them." Again, with the smile in his voice. Again, I shift, taking the edge off with a little friction.

It's not like I don't know what he's going to say to me. Somehow, I'm unconsciously setting him up for all of this—or maybe setting myself up. I consider resisting. Playing the game and dragging this out, but truthfully all I want is for him to make me feel good. Just the thought of it has me swirling and clenching inside. God, I wish he was here.

"Okay, fine."

"Really?" He actually sounds shocked, though incredibly pleased. "I thought I was going to have to work a little harder."

"That's what she said." I giggle as I shimmy out of my shorts. My underwear goes with them and automatically I start to pull them back up, but then stop. Who am I kidding? So, I push everything off and kick it to the bottom of the sleeping bag. The sleek nylon slides against my bare skin and the sensation is … titillating. I sigh lightly.

"Are you naked?"

"No. I still have my top and my fleece on."

"Take all of it off."

Again, I hesitate, but only for a second. "Okay." I put my phone down and pull everything else over my head, throwing it across the tent. Every bit of my skin tingles against the night air and the thought of being naked, for him. "Okay," I whisper when I pick the phone back up.

Edward's voice drops low when he says, "Seriously?"

"Yes." I snuggle back down into the bag.

Silence. Nothing but the short in and out of his breath in my ear. Then a snapping and rustling somewhere outside.


"What?" he whispers.

"I heard something."

"Mike and Jess?"

"No … something outside."

"Ignore it. I'm sure it's nothing."

"Mike told a story about a bear."

"It's not a bear."

"How do you know?"

"It's not. There are all kinds of animals in the woods, Bella, but it's not a bear."


"If I were there would you be listening for a bear?"

I think for a moment. The story had freaked me out. As a kid, Mike had gone camping with his dad and a bear came into their camp and tore into their cooler. Seriously? This is the story he tells as we're cleaning up and about to go to our tents? When I'm going to my tent … alone?

But if Edward were here, he'd have made it all seem ridiculous, and when we got back to the tent he would have made me forget everything—everything except how much I wanted him.

"No," I answer softly. "I'd be thinking … about how good you make me feel. About your mouth … and your hands … and your … cock." I can't help giggling. But not because it's funny—well, maybe a little—but more than that, it's nervous laughter.

"You're not great at this, Bella."

"No," I laugh.

"What do you think phone sex is?"

"I don't know. It's you telling me what you're doing to me. Or me telling you what I'm doing to myself. It's … I don't know." I huff in frustration. It's not this.

"Close your eyes."

"Edward …"

"Just do it. Please?"

"Fine." I close my eyes and settle into the sleeping bag. I stretch out and rest my hand on my stomach. I take a deep breath.

"Imagine what would have happened if I was there." The forest noises surround me and Edward's voice is low and warm in my ear when he says, "When you went back to the tent tonight, I was with you."

"Mmmhmmm..." is all I can manage as a discordant montage of images rushes through my brain. Gentle kisses and caresses. Arching bodies. Laughter. Whispered words and panted pleas.

I slide my hand toward the unfinished ink that arcs up my torso. In my mind, my own soft touch easily becomes his more insistent. From hip to breast, the slow course of fingers shoots irregular pulses of heat to my stomach—and lower.

"Edward …" I mumble as I roll to my side. I can feel my arousal slick between my thighs as they scissor apart. Memories of how he has touched me with his hands, his mouth, even his nose project themselves into the present tense—into the tent.

"Your body fits mine … you make it so easy for me to make you feel good."


"When I'm near you, it's all I can think about …" His voice is hushed and breathless. "I wanna make you come."

"Hhhhhh …" is all I can manage as the touch brushes over my ribs, my stomach and downward. I clench again and am rewarded with a thrumming pulse between my legs.

"Can I make you come, Bella?"

"Please …"

Then he takes me there with his words. He knows exactly that to say; he's made it happen so many times.

My hands are his.

My teeth on my lips are his.

"What am I doing to you, Bella?"

"You, you … oh … I'm there … oh, oh … God."

My stuttering breath, hot on my skin, deep in the sleeping bag, is his.

Somewhere outside I can hear a rustling—a crackling, too. The bear? Some other animal?

"Shit." I push the edge of the sleeping bag down. The mixture of fear and release is intoxicating—heightening. I'm still shaking.

"I hear something," I pant, but the line is dead. He's not there.

Panic turns to a rushing thrill as the tent zipper peals open and Edward's wild head of hair pokes inside. His face turns to me and I can see a bloody scratch across his cheek and a smudge of dirt on his forehead. His eyes look wild in the low flashlight glow.

I flop onto my back. I can't take my hands away from myself, even though the ones I've been imagining are now grabbing my ankles through the bag. The clash of fantasy and reality makes me feel off balance. "What are you doing, Edward?"

He drops quickly to his knees, closing the tent flap behind him. Pulling his shirt over his head and crawling over the sleeping bag toward me, he says, "What we talked about just now ..." With a sure hand and that smile flooding his face, he pulls down the zipper of the sleeping bag. "... that's exactly what I'm doing. Again."