Author's Notes: This story is a sequel to "Thirteen Days, Seven Hours, Thirty-Six Minutes." Or I should say, I started out writing just a sequel, and this was going to be just a few paragraphs, and then all of a sudden I had 10 pages, so I made it it's own little story. So there will be one more story about Brenda and Fritz's separation, reunion, and beginning their new life together. For some reason this story wrote itself (I don't write stories, stories are written through me) in 3rd person POV. I guess that was just the way it was meant to be told, just like when you look at a picture, you do so from the outside, objective perspective.

I want to thank all the wonderful people who reviewed "Thirteen Days." Seriously, I can't tell you how much it means to me to get a review, even if it's just a few words. Knowing I'm making someone happy, and knowing there are other Brenda/Fritz fans out there who want them to live on, means the world to me.

Photograph

Captain Raydor's voice had a hypnotic quality to it, Fritz was finding it hard to stay focused on her briefing. His mind drifted, as it did a thousand times a day, to Brenda, still in Atlanta with her father. Surreptitiously he took his iPhone out of his jacket pocket and pulled up a picture Brenda had texted him the other day. She was standing at the stove, wearing a ruffled, 1960's looking apron in a hideous floral pattern, and she had a oven mitt on her right hand. She was looking at the camera (or phone) but was obviously in the process of supervising whatever green amorphous blobs were frying in the cast iron skillet she was standing over. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, tendrils curling around her face, and she wore a large, if not slightly exasperated, grin. She was adorable.

With Brenda was gone for a month, they got into the habit of texting pictures of each other almost every day. They were just scenes from their daily lives: Brenda dressed in her running clothes stretching out, Fritz sitting in his office chair, Brenda eating breakfast, mundane moments in an ordinary day. At first, Brenda reported, when she asked Clay to take pictures of her doing nothing particularly exciting to send to Fritz, he grumbled up a storm. "He said he hated the way my camera phone worked, why couldn't I at least use a real camera instead of something you were supposed to talk on, doesn't Fritz remember what I look like anyways, and on and on," she said, during one of their late-night conversations. But after a few days, Clay got into it, and saw it as a game to grab Brenda's phone and take pictures of her when she wasn't expecting it. "Now it's like livin' with the paparazzi," she grumbled. "I have created a monster." Fritz encouraged her to send any and all photos Clay took, so his phone was filled with silly shots such as the one of Brenda brushing her teeth, taking a nap on the couch, and, one of his favorites, clearly in mid-rant with a red face, squinty eyes, and blurred hands. He wondered what Brenda was lecturing Clay about and how she reacted to him grabbing the phone from her and snapping a picture. But Clay also managed to capture an few poignant shots too. Fritz's favorite was taken from the back window of the Johnsons' kitchen. Brenda was sitting amidst the branches of the large gnarly pecan tree that grows in the backyard. She had climbed up the tree and was ten feet or so off the ground, something Fritz knew she did as a child but was surprised to see she still could, and she rested her arms flat against a large tree trunk with her fingers entwined, and laid her cheek on her arm, her head turned sideways. She looked so forlorn, like a lost child or a heartbroken dryad, that Fritz couldn't help but pull his phone out all day long and stare at he image. His old partner Jerry tried to pull he iPhone out of Fritz's hand, saying, "man, what are you starin' at? Brenda sendin' you naked pictures?" but Fritz was too fast. He didn't want anyone else to see this picture that revealed so much sadness in Brenda's soul. It even hurt his eyes to look.

Whereas Brenda had Clay and her brothers and their children to act as photographers, Fritz wasn't so lucky. Thinking about Major Crimes was too painful for Brenda, so snapshots at the LAPD taken by, and with, her squad were right out. Jerry took several of him at his desk, but those got boring, and the FBI frowned on photos taken of their confidential areas. In the duplex, he did his best taking pictures of himself with his arm extended, trying to include Joel in as many as he could, but those always turned out crooked and sloppy-looking. So he got really good at asking complete strangers to take his picture doing really boring things. He stopped a fellow jogger one morning and begged for a quick shot. A woman raised her eyebrows and said nothing when she took Fritz's phone from his hand and snapped a few pictures of him with his grocery cart in the frozen foods section. He did, however, get a very good shot of himself courtesy of his barber, or, as they say in LA, his stylist. He just had his hair cut, he had shaved that morning, and he was looking pretty spiffy. His stylist, a young gay man named Michael, insisted on putting product in Fritz's hair and posing him for several shots once he heard the reason for the pictures. Fritz had to admit he looked pretty damn good, and so he chose the best 5 and texted them to Brenda, one at a time, throughout the day. After each one, he received a brief but provocative reply, "oh my, you are better looking than when I left;" "you are tormenting me!;" "these pics sure beat the one in he grocery store, you sexy thing;" "good god Fritz, you are killing me here, I didn't bring my vibrator;" and "I can hardly wait to get my hands all over you."

Her last comment gave Fritz an idea. That night, during their long chat, he proposed some phone sex, and she was more than happy to comply. Brenda was being honest when she said she didn't bring her vibrator with her; she left the garishly decorated item, purple and covered in garish flowers known as her "little Hawaiian friend," at home, too afraid of TSA searches to pack it. But she confessed to Fritz that she went to a sex store in downtown Atlanta a week after being there and bought another one because she was so desperate. Fritz instructed her to use it on herself while he pretended she was there with him, and he was sucking her breasts, touching her wet pussy and feeling her juices, spreading her legs and delving deep into her warmth. Her moans got louder and louder and the hum of the vibrator took Brenda to all the places Fritz described; meanwhile, he had his hand wrapped around his cock and was rubbing it furiously, thinking of how heavenly Brenda's tight pussy felt as she begged him to go harder, faster, deeper. He was too close and stopped talking when Brenda breathlessly said, "oh god, I'm coming," and he let go, wishing his hot cum was going into her instead of his palm. Afterwards they lay panting for several minutes until Fritz got his breath back and spoke.

"Honey, I have an idea. It's a little naughty and I hope you'll be up for it."

Brenda laughed, soft and low, sounding tired and sated. "I think I'm up for naughty, Fritz. I'm here in my Daddy's house with a vibrator between my legs. What's up?"

"Well, you know all those pictures we've been sending to each other?"

"Yeeeesss," she answered cautiously, probably aware where this was going.

"I was thinking how great it would be if I got a few from you that were a little more…suggestive."

Silence on the other end. "Like sexting," she finally said.

He didn't know she knew the term. "That's what the kids call it. I just miss you so much honey, I miss your body and I'm desperate to see it again. Just a few pictures, pretty please. And I'll reciprocate, if you want me to."

"Let me get this straight. You want me to send dirty pictures of myself, ones that obviously I'm not gonna have my Daddy take, by the way, and send them to you? So they can live on your phone, where anyone can pick it up and see them? Fritz, are you nuts?"

"I wouldn't look at them at work or in public, I promise. In fact, they can just go on the laptop at home if that would make you feel safer." Or convince you to send me pictures of your tits, he thought.

If I send you somethin,' you promise it wouldn't pop up in places it shouldn't, like you wouldn't be showin' someone a picture I send of you with, say, me and Charlie and a naked one of me would pop up by accident?"

Fritz couldn't believe she was even remotely considering this. He knew he had to choose his words carefully. "I promise, honey. In fact, you can just e-mail the pictures to my G-mail account, you know, fritzhowardgman and bypass the phone all together. And then I would save them onto the laptop, again, in a special file, delete the e-mail, you would delete the pic on your end, and I could…enjoy them in private."

She sighed. Asking her post-orgasm was a good idea, he thought. Any other time and this would have been shot down immediately. "I'll sleep on it," she said. "And what did you say about reciprocatin'?"

What Fritz failed to mention, and he felt guilty about this, was that he had set up his iPhone so that he could check both his work and home e-mail accounts on it. Two days later, during a quiet moment at the LAPD when he was enjoying a coffee and a muffin, he quickly opened his Gmail account to see if anyone had sent him anything interesting, or if it was all spam. He almost dropped the phone in the break room when he saw an e-mail from Brenda entitled, "for my sexy FBI man," with an attachment.

She didn't, he thought. No way. He put down his coffee and looked around furtively, making sure no one could possibly see the tiny screen of his phone that he clutched to his chest. The squad had rolled out to a crime scene, so he was alone, but if he was about to unveil what he thought he was about to unveil, he wanted to make damn sure no one could see. Slowly he scrolled down her e-mail, and there it was. A photo of Brenda's breasts. She had taken it herself, of course, and did an excellent job centering her chest just right. And her breasts…those luscious mounds of flesh that made Fritz's mouth water. God, maybe he was a pig, or just a huge cliché, but he was a breast man, and Brenda's were perfect. She had very large breasts for such a tiny woman, and he couldn't get enough of them when they made love (and even when they weren't). The nipples hardened with the barest brush of his thumbs, and when he took one in his mouth, Brenda wove her hands though his hair and urged him on, begging him to suck harder and not to stop. When she went down on him she often took him between her breasts, licking the tip of him each time he slid up toward her mouth. And sometimes he asked to come on her tits, and she always said yes. And other times she asked him, telling Fritz she was desperate to feel his hot cum on her nipples. When she talked like that it took all his control not to explode there and then.

As he sat in the break room staring at the picture of Brenda's beautiful breasts, he felt himself grow extremely hard extremely fast. Shit, he thought. The bathrooms at the LAPD were not private enough to go whack off, and someone could walk into the break room at any minute and see how aroused he was. He forced himself to close the e-mail and put his phone away, trying to think of anything but sex and Brenda. Brenda and sex. Brenda's breasts. Coming on Brenda's breasts. Brenda's hard nipples dragging against his naked chest. Oh fuck, he thought, this isn't working. He decided to try another diversion. He took his phone out and, using much willpower, went directly to the Keyboard and dialed his boss's direct line. He had some bad news to deliver about an FBI/LAPD Joint Gang Task Force project that had gone awry, and he might as well get it over with. As Fritz had suspected, being the messenger and getting shot for it was a terrific erection-killer. By the time he got off the phone with his ASAC, his mood, and his penis, were quite flaccid.

Even though he knew he shouldn't let his mind even skirt the idea of the picture, he did want to thank Brenda immediately for such a wonderful surprise. He began to compose a text and stopped himself, groaning when he thought how close he came to getting into serious hot water. He told Brenda he would only open the photos at home and nowhere else. If he texted her in the middle of the day, she would know he looked at them somewhere besides at home, which is the last thing she wanted him to do. He had to pretend he saw it for the first time later on this evening when he got home. Well, he thought, the new visual should make for some great phone sex tonight.

Whereas Fritz was shocked to have received the picture of Brenda's breasts, he was flabbergasted when another e-mail with attachments appeared in his Gmail three days later. This time he was with a couple of other agents heading out to lunch and was just idly checking his phone as they waited for the elevator. As soon as he saw the e-mail with the Subject line of "a little something else to get you hot" he turned off his phone and shoved it into his jacket pocket. Jerry looked at him strangely, but Fritz kept a poker face, and would not, could not, think about what that e-mail might contain if he was going to make it through the rest of the day. And oh, what a slow day it was. He was sure every time he looked at his watch it was five minutes earlier than it was before. At exactly 5pm he gathered his things and headed for the door, eager to get to the privacy of his apartment to see what Brenda had sent him. He resisted the urge to pull out his phone and get a sneak peak when in the privacy of his car, instead savoring the knowledge that something deliciously erotic was waiting for him on his 18 inch laptop, a mere 20 minutes away.

Joel was lucky Fritz took the time to feed him before he grabbed the laptop off the coffee table dining room table and sat down on the couch, making himself comfortable. He quickly accessed his home e-mail account and found Brenda's message amongst the new ones that had arrived that afternoon, with two .jpeg files. The attachments took forever to open, for some strange reason, and Fritz was sure the computer had it out for him.

Both shots were taken in her old bedroom, which he recognized from accompanying her home to Atlanta. She had a small double bed across the room from a long, low dresser topped with a large curved antique mirror that was attached and spanned the length of the dresser, decorated with carved wooden swirls. The bed reflected perfectly in the large, ornate mirror, and Brenda had taken a picture of her reflection lying on the bed, face down, naked. There was a flash reflected in the mirror where her face should have showed, and he could only make out an unruly mop of blonde curls around it. But oh, Brenda captured everything else perfectly. The mirror reflected the soft white glow of her skin—Fritz could practically feel it sliding, satin-like-underneath his fingers—and the perfect curves of her body. Her legs were bent slightly with her knees spread, crossed demurely a the ankles, the way women who lay on the beach on their stomachs often look. His eyes moved up and feasted on her perfect, round ass, just the right size for his hands, and to the gentle slope down to Brenda's lower back. Ahh, he loved her lower back. Years ago he read in a men's magazine that there were nerves that ran from a woman's lower back to her sex organs, so it was a very arousing thing for women to be touched there. So he made excuses to do so whenever he could, whether it was a gentlemanly guiding hand as he opened the door for her, or hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses in bed until she squirmed. He took in her impossibly tiny waist, wondering for the millionth time where all those Ho-Ho's went, and up her strong back. And then back down again, over and over again. Until he remembered he had a second picture to look at.

In this one, Brenda is flipped over. Sweet mother of god, Fritz swore to himself. She is on her side in order to aim the phone at the mirror, and again, her face is obliterated by the flash off of the mirror. She is propped up on one elbow, phone in one hand, the other arm draped lazily along her torso. Her bottom leg is straight and scissored out slightly, and her top leg—oh, that top leg—is bent at a 45 degree angle and leaned backwards, exposing Brenda's pussy. It wasn't completely pornographic—he could see her beautiful waxed mound, those pouting lips he loved so much, but just a little bit of the pink of her hidden secrets. He opened the picture in Photoshop and enlarged it to get a better view, knowing he was being completely juvenile, but all he could see was a glimpse of her inner lips. By now his hands were sweaty and he could barely hold the computer, and his new trousers could barely hold his erection. He had to call Brenda. Now.

The phone rang several times before a gruff male voice answered. "Hello?" Clay said, sounding suspicious. "Fritz, is this you, calling again?"

What the hell was Clay doing with Brenda's cell? "Hi Mr. Johnson, I'm looking for Brenda. Is she around?" He hoped he didn't sound as desperately aroused as he felt.

"No, no, she went to Stone Mountain with some of the grandkids this afternoon for a picnic. I was supposed to go but I didn't get much sleep last night and its terrible hot here," Clay explained. "Brenda wanted to stay behind and be with me, but I'll catch up with her at dinner tonight at Bobby's house." He did sound worn down, Fritz thought. "Miracle is, she left this darn thing behind. She never leaves the house without her cell phone, but she had it chargin' on the kitchen counter, and she was late pickin' up the kids, so I guess she forgot."

"Oh, that's too bad," was all he could think to say. Fritz wanted nothing more than to go into the bedroom with those pics and bring himself to a couple delicious orgasms, but being a recovering alcoholic, he had learned a few things about delayed gratification.

"But that gives us a chance to talk. How have you been doing, Mr. Johnson?"

"I just realized you can't reciprocate," Brenda whined, after listening to Fritz speak in awe of the sexy pics she had sent him for more than 20 minutes. "It's kinda unfair. Do you know how long it takes to get those shots just right so they reflect in the mirror perfectly? I must have taken a hundred."

"But oh honey, they are so worth the effort. Works of art…" she interrupted him.

"You're repeatin' yourself," she said, laughing. "Glad you liked them. "But I was hoping for some pictures of you, scantily clad. I miss your beautiful body."

"I could take some of those, using the mirror trick," Fritz answered. "Why can't I send you some?"

Brenda sighed, like she was talking to an imbecile. "And where exactly am I supposed to put them so no one will see them? I don't have that Cloud thing you do. And I don't want Daddy pickin' up my phone for a sneak shot and seeing a picture of you naked. You'll give the man a heart attack. And I don't have my laptop here so you can e-mail them to me either." Fritz heard her lean back on the bed. "It's just all so unfair."

Fritz had an idea. "Honey, since your dad is fast asleep, why don't you tell me exactly what you want to see of me and what you would do if you saw it?"

"Only if you tell me one thing. And it's got to be the truth."

"Anything." Anything for a little phone sex with you, he thought.

"Tell me how many times have you, uh, enjoyed yourself while lookin' at those pictures?" Fritz laughed at her choice of words.

"If you are asking me how many times I masturbated to those incredible shots of you, not even once. I called you right after I looked at them the first time, very hot and bothered, and got your father instead, which pretty much cooled my ardor. Besides, it's a long night without you here." He paused. "And you changed the subject. I asked you what you would like a picture of, what parts of me turn you on and what you would like to do with them." Fritz was eager to get a little sexual attention from her, even if it was long distance.

Silence, and then Brenda said, "I think I can do that. But I need you to help me picture you in my mind better. I want you to take off all your clothes for me and lay back on the bed." Fritz could hear the smile in her voice.

"Seriously?" he asked. He could reach everything he needed to pretty much fully clothed.

"I'm serious," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave. "Put the phone down, put me on speaker, and strip, baby."

"Your wish is my command." He lay the phone down on the bed and quickly shed his clothes, throwing them on the floor. Joel watched from a nearby chair, his head cocked, looking puzzled. When Fritz was naked, he lay back on the bed and put the phone on Speaker and placed it on the pillow next to him. "OK, I don't have a stitch on. Can you see me clearly with your mind's eye, oh psychic one?"

Brenda let out a low, deep breath. "Oh yea, I certainly can, and you look delicious. I'm lickin' my lips just starin' at you." Fritz's cock jumped at the idea of Brenda eying him voraciously. "Now, if I was there, I'd run my hands up and down your arms, feelin' your biceps. You have incredible arms, Fritz. You are in amazin' shape. You have the body of a 20 year old. I might even be tempted to lean over and bite one of your biceps." Fritz didn't know why, but Brenda bit him in certain places in the throws of passion, his upper arms and chest being two of her favorite places.

"And I'd take two fingers and drag them down to both your wrists. I have this thing for your wrists, Fritz. And I would move my lips and suck on the soft skin there, feelin' the pulse with my tongue." Fritz could feel the skin of his inner wrists tingle, as if her lips were there, licking and sucking. His breath grew faster.

"And I'd run my hands back up your arms, the outside this time, feelin' all the muscles there too, and think what a perfect body you have, and you're all mine," she whispered into the phone. "And I'd be tempted, oh so tempted, to go for your chest, but I want to run my hands through your hair first." Again, Fritz felt tiny ghost hands caress his scalp. "I want to look in your eyes and tell you how much I love you. I'm gonna kiss your forehead, than your eyelids, and then your nose, and finally that sexy mouth of yours. And it's gonna start out a slow kiss, light and gentle, but whenever I kiss you I get hit with this wave of passion and I start achin' for you bad, and you feel that way too, so you open your mouth and I kiss you deep, and you taste wonderful. And you have such a talented mouth, Fritz, I just can't get enough, and I hold your head even tighter as our kisses get hotter."

Fritz was as speechless as he would be if her lips were pressed to his. He reached down and grabbed his rapidly hardening cock and gave it a few strokes.

"Finally I come up for air and I look into your eyes again, and they are almost glazed over, just like mine must look, I imagine," she continued in the same hypnotic, sultry voice. "And I just have to taste more of you. I kiss your jaw, little light kisses, down to your ear, and take your earlobe in my mouth and suck, nibblin' just a little."

Fritz groaned. He stroked his fully erect cock harder.

"Then I take my tongue and very slowly drag it down your neck, pausin' every once in awhile for open-mouthed, slow, wet kisses. When I get to your collarbone, I run my tongue along it too, nice and slow, cuz I know this drives you wild."

"Oh yes," Fritz moaned.

"And since I don't want to be unfair, I go to the other side of your neck and do the same thing in reverse, startin' with licks and kisses at the bottom of your neck and endin' with nibblin' on your ear. And Fritzy, you taste sooo good."

Brenda's invisible mouth was all over his sensitive neck, and his silently urged it lower as his strokes grew more insistent.

"And now, finally, I get to play with my favorite part of you." She paused. "Or second favorite. That beautiful, perfect, manly, sexy chest of yours. I scooch down so I can take it all in. You're all hard muscle and tight abs, just the right amount of chest hair for me to run my fingers through, perfect brown nipples beggin' to be sucked on. I run both my hands slowly down your chest, makin' big circles so I don't miss any flesh. Your skin is so warm and I can feel all that muscle contract as your grab onto me. I go back up and slowly, and lightly, scratch my nails over your nipples—" She was interrupted by a loud moan from Fritz—"and take one into my mouth. I swirl my tongue over it and flick at the nipple, feelin' it get rock hard, and then I switch to the other one. I go back and forth for awhile and then run my fingers through your chest hair, tuggin' lightly."

Fritz had to force himself to slow down, or he knew he would come before Brenda got to the really good stuff. "Brenda?" he rasped. "Are you touching yourself?"

"Of course I am," she said in her "duh" voice. 'I'm havin' my way with you, how could I not be incredibly turned on?"

"I know what's on your mind," she continued, and Fritz noticed that she was sounding winded too. He pictured her lying on her childhood bed in Atlanta, her eyes closed, her hands between her legs, rubbing her clit as she pictured touching him. The thought got him more turned on, defeating his attempt to slow down. "You are lying there, lovin' bein' touched by me, lovin' the kisses, but you really want my hands on your cock. Oh, but good things come to those who wait." She laughed evilly. "I scoot to the end of the bed and take in your legs. Again, so muscular from all that runnin' and workin' out, I am in awe of how handsome you are. I press my hands into your ankles and slowly move up the inside of your legs, feeling the soft hair and strong muscles, until I get to the insides of your thighs."

"Oh baby," Fritz said. "Touch me."

"Oh, I'm touchin' you all right," Brenda said, "but I want more than that. I want to kiss that soft skin. I plant feather kisses, like the kind I planted on your jaw, on your inner thighs, and oh my, you start moanin'! I need to taste you, so I open my mouth and suck in some skin, runnin' my tongue all around it. And then I move up. When I run out of thigh, I go to the other side."

"Brenda, please…" Fritz begged.

He heard her moan and knew she was also very turned on. "I know what you're asking for, just like you always do. I see your cock, as hard as can be, the tip all wet, and I take you in both of my hands. Ahhh Fritz, you feel just perfect." So big, I wonder how you fit inside me. And so hard, and yet so soft. I pump my hand down you, and you buck up your hips."

Fritz's actions mimicked her words. God, he was close.

"And I run my thumb around your wet tip, around and around. You are so warm, so I move my hand up and down, up and down, and you get even harder, even wetter. I rub your cock against my cheek and you feel like velvet."

"Gah," Fritz let out an unintelligible word, and he heard Brenda snicker.

"Oh," she gasped, and he pictured her rubbing her clit even harder, knowing they were both so close. "But like so much of you, I'm greedy. I'm not just content to touch, I have to taste. I think I have an oral thing. It would explain my chocolate fixation." She paused for a few seconds as if she was struggling for control. "I wrap both my hands around you, tight, and lick the very tip of you, where it's wet. You taste salty, yet sweet. You taste like my Fritzy. I take your tip in your mouth and swirl my tongue around, catchin' all the precum I can. You feel so good in my mouth, Fritzy."

"Oh honey, I'm about to come," he moaned in desperation. He needed release, now.

"Oh no you're not," she said sharply. "Slow down. I'm not done with you yet."

With great difficulty Fritz loosened the death grip on his cock and took several breaths to bring him back from the precipice. When his breathing slowed a bit, Brenda resumed.

"I pull you out of my mouth and lick you, from the root to the tip, once, twice, three times. I run my tongue all over your cock, my tongue hot and wet, like you are an ice cream cone. I pump my hand up and down a few times more, your cock slick with my saliva."

"Oh yea," Fritz whispered.

"And then I take all of you in, all at once. I open my throat and swallow you. You feel hard and delicious and I could suck on you all day. I slowly pull you out as far as the tip, where I lightly run my teeth along the edges, and take you all the way in again."

Fritz never forgot his surprise the first time he and Brenda made love that she could deep throat, being as tiny as she was. It was something he never expected, or would ask of any women, because it seems like it would choke them. But Brenda has an amazing gift and can indeed take him in completely without any trouble, doing incredible things with lips and tongue and throat that no woman had ever done to him before. And better yet, she loved to do it. He really was the luckiest man in the world.

"I love feelin' you so deep inside me, and I love doin' things I know will make you shudder. So I swallow, hard." Fritz's hand disappeared from his cock and was replaced by Brenda's contracting throat muscles. "I pull you all the way out and run my teeth up your entire shaft, and then lightly blow on you." Fritz was beyond distinguishing between fantasy and reality and his own hand and Brenda's sexy mesmerizing voice. They all became a vortex of pleasure he was falling into. He screwed his eyes up tighter and let himself be carried away.

"I take you in deep again and begin to hum," said Brenda, her words becoming erratic as she started to pant. And I can feel the vibrations go from my throat right into your cock, and I can tell you are so close, Fritz, so close. I want you to come for me, come in my mouth, so I can taste your sweet cum. I reach down with my free hand and rub that sweet spot, just above your ass. The one that always sends you over the edge."

He was at the point of no return. He couldn't stop his approaching orgasm now for all the money in the world. "Fuck Brenda!" he yelled.

"I got you deep in my throat, I''m hummin', I'm rubbin' your sweet spot, and I feel your balls tighten. I know you're right there. Suddenly you jerk and I feel you hot cum in my mouth, but I don't stop what I'm doin.' You're yellin' and your orgasm seems to go on forever, I don't stop what I'm doin' until your body goes limp. Then I swallow your cum, every sweet drop of it, and pull you out of my mouth slowly, licking every bit of skin to clean you up. And—ohhhhh." Fritz recognized the telltale signs of Brenda reaching her peak, but he couldn't say anything to encourage her. For right when she told him she felt him cum in her mouth, he exploded. And like her narration, this orgasm seemed to go on forever. He fell back on the pillow, covered in a sheen of sweat.

He lay there for awhile, unable to move, crushed under the weight of his orgasm. He lifted the phone off the pillow, and said, "Brenda, you there?"

"Yep. Just afterglowin'." He smiled.

"Glad to know you found that pleasurable too. You are really, really good at phone sex, did I ever tell you that? I could feel your hands all over me."

"Well, I guess I have another career option as a 1-900 operator if this DA thing doesn't work out," she quipped. "But I wish I could see you right now, all flushed and sexy and worn out. And I wish you could hold me." Her voice held such a note of sadness and Fritz's heart ached for her. For them.

"Wait a second, I have an idea," Fritz said. Before she could answer, he put her on hold, switched over to the Camera app on his iPhone, and turned the phone around to take a picture of himself. Before he snapped the shot, he extended his curved right arm over Brenda's pillow. He had gotten pretty good at taking solo shots over the past few weeks, and when he turned the camera around to see his handiwork, he saw he captured what he wanted to perfectly. He then switched the Text app and shot Brenda the pic.

"Fritzy, what are you doin? Oh hey wait a minute, I just got a text. Oh, I an read it later."

"Open it now," he said, and explained to her, for the hundredth time, how to do something on her smart phone without hanging up on your caller.

"Fritz! I told you not to send any dirty pictures to my phone! Daddy could see them! And—oh my, you look really hot. Your arm, why is it extended?"

"I'm holding you," he said simply. "And you can enjoy that picture tonight and just delete it before tomorrow morning."

Brenda was quiet. Fritz hoped she wasn't mad at him. "Your holdin' me?" she said softly.

"Yea, I am. Like I do after we make love. Like I do every night."

"Oh Fritzy, I miss you so much," she sniffed. "How much longer?"

He looked over at the clock. "Eight days, sixteen hours, and sixteen minutes."

"Gettin' close," she said, forlornly. "But please don't stop sendin' pictures to me. They feel like my lifeline."

"I won't," he said, his voice catching, the loneliness of the past three weeks bearing down on him. "You know the old saying, don't you? 'A picture's worth a thousand words."

"So?"

"Each one of those words is a different way to say 'I love you.'"

THE END

17