The D*ck Pic

The Elf on the Shelf

Work is too busy for Ebony to even look at her phone the next day. She can see the notifications mounting, blinking in growing numbers throughout the day. She knows they will consume her when she reads them, and she isn't sure she is ready to hear yet what dick-pic guy has to say anyway.

Back home, a long bubble-bath is required to soothe her aching muscles and only when she is wrapped in a robe, drinking wine on her couch does she open her messages. There are notifications from both Amia and Janelle, but she zeroes in instead on the little white sailing ship at the top of the list.

I am sorry. I really stuffed that one up, didn't I?

Too far. I went too damned far. I though it was... you know... cool banter. Ebony snorts.

The final message is another image, a close-up shot of smooth white teeth, biting awkwardly down on asymmetrical lips. The universal sign for "I'm embarrassed" but looking so sexy that Ebony rolls her eyes and smiles despite herself. There is something familiar about that mouth, she thinks.

She considers the long empty evening ahead of her. This guy doesn't seem like the dirty Father Christmas from last night's dream at all. He seems... kind of nice.

Some people do the elf on the shelf thing every year, positioning those little toy elves to make them look like they have been up to all sorts of mischief while the children are asleep. Was this any different really? She tells herself. Then she goes to find her tripod and her props.

Fifteen minutes later she is ready.

Ok... she texts. She follows it with the image she has taken and added text to. She is squatting, wearing nothing but high heels and a baseball mitt on one hand which is positioned between her thighs. The image is black and white, cropped to show only the bottom of her breasts down. In hot pink letters across the mitt she has written: Let's play.

Ebony expects that dick-pic guy will send something explicit back. It's his job to get her horny, isn't it? So why has the act of making herself look so smoking hot done the job all on its own.

Her living room is strewn with objects: feather boas and lingerie, strings of pearls and fishnet tights and a vase full of peacock feathers she had standing in the corner of her bedroom. She struts over to the couch in her open robe and high heels, collapsing into the cushions and starting to stroke herself in anticipation of his response. She is super wet already.

His response comes in five minutes later.

What I want to do to you... He has written. In the photograph he has positioned two vintage, brown soccer balls on his bedclothes to resemble butt cheeks. The side of his body, clad in blue jeans and nothing else angles up to them, one hand is placed on one ball, the other holds a black leather spanking paddle.

Wait - he just happened to have a leather paddle lying around his house, ready for just such an occasion? Uuuuhhhhhhhaaaahhhh.... Ebony feels herself tipping over into a brain-shattering orgasm.

What are you doing now? His message pops up on the screen as she breathes heavily, recovering. It's like he somehow knew.

She is going to need a mood-board for this one.

She photographs her hand sliding over the bare skin of her abdomen, down towards her clit. She photographs her mouth holding a dripping maraschino cherry and her hand spraying a can-full of whipped cream across her rock-hard nipples. Then she photographs her mouth in a round, perfect ''O'' and copies it two, three, four times over in bigger and smaller sizes.

Send.

It takes a while for his return message, and she opens it with a smile on her face. It's an image of his naked ass and back, right up to the back of his head this time. He is wearing a navy butcher's apron and there is a string of sausages draped over his one shoulder, a stack of chops in his hands. A cardboard sign placed just above his butt-cheeks reads: Meat me?