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Talk Dirty to Me	By : ravenwoman Category: Individual Celebrities > Johnny Depp Views: 5370 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Johnny Depp. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Talk Dirty to Me
- 1
Talk Dirty to Me

The phone rang at 3:13 am and I reached for it absently, marking my place in the book I was reading with one finger.
"Hello", I said huskily. Sometimes the person on the other end would hang up at this point and I would go back to my reading until the next call. This time, someone replied. "Hi". Low and deep, sounding already highly aroused. This shouldn’t take long, I thought. I set my book aside and curled my legs under me on the couch.
"How’s it going, baby?" I asked, twirling a lock of my dark hair with a finger.
"Not too good, " the man murmured. "I’ve got a little problem here." He paused then added, "Actually, it’s a pretty big problem. Big and very hard. Do you think you could help me with it?"
His voice sounded vaguely familiar, the rather corny dialogue even more so, but I didn’t think I’d chatted with this caller before. I recognized my regulars, the guys who called me on a weekly or even more frequent basis. And I seldom forgot a caller’s speech patterns; I was very good at recognizing their voices and remembering what it was they liked. It was an essential component of the job. So where HAD I heard this voice before?
I dismissed the question after only a second or two, knowing I’d never find out and that it was moot anyway. The central operating principle of a sex chat line was anonymity, his AND mine.
"Oh, I think I can help you with THAT, baby," I played along.. "Tell me all about it."
Only breathing for a moment, then, whispering, "It’s SO hard. It almost hurts. When I squeeze it, like this, " a small gasp, "it feels SO good. And when I move my hand up and down…" His respiration came harder and rougher, perfectly descriptive of the sensations he was feeling.
"Would it help if I kissed it?" I asked, a small smile forming on my lips, my voice slow and quiet. "If I took it into my hot, wet mouth and licked it all over with my slippery tongue?" Only heavy breathing, listening. "If I sucked it all the way in, deep into my throat, all the way down to the thick, pulsing root and then pulled back up, so slow, until only the swollen, hot head was between my lips? If I sucked there until it was oozing hot cum and then slid all the way back down again? Would that help, baby?"
He voiced a hoarse groan and said, "Oh, God, yes that would help." More ragged breaths preceded his next remark. "Then what would you do? Tell me, baby."
I shifted in my seat. I was getting wet, which happened from time to time. I enjoyed my work; I set my own schedule, worked from home, made pretty decent money, and sometimes even got off on it. Like I was doing now. Usually, I was an actress, merely playing a role, no more aroused by my lines or what was transpiring than if I was doing the dishes or clipping my toenails. In fact, sometimes I DID clip or paint my toenails while on the line. Now, however, the words I was speaking, the acts I was describing, and the thought of this man jerking himself off to the sound of my voice and the images I was creating was really turning me on. I went with it. One of the perks of the job, I figured.
I stretched out on the pillows and slid my free hand into the waistband of the silk boxer shorts I was wearing. My cunt was slick and hot. I began fingering it.
"Well, then I’d take off my lacey panties and show you my wet, tight pussy. Would you like that?" I inserted a finger into myself and moved it slowly in the close, oily heat.
"Yeah." Hoarse and unsteady, like it was all he could manage. So close now.
"Then," I purred, matching my volume and tone to his, "I’d slide myself onto your big, hard cock, pushing it all the way in to my pussy, my hot lips squeezing it so tight, sliding up and down, up and down your long, stiff shaft."
My own breath was coming faster, I was coming faster, my fingers expertly rubbing and pressing me closer and closer to climax. On the other end of the line, my caller was panting and moaning with his own approaching orgasm, his sounds driving me toward total release. I could picture him, picture his cock and how he was touching it and the expression on his face as he surged toward orgasm, imagine how his hot, white cum would spurt out any moment now. Oh God, I was on the very verge!
"Don’t stop talking," he begged breathlessly.
"I’d fuck you hard with my slippery cunt, baby," I gasped out, "fuck you… until… you shoot your hot load… deep… inside me." My voice rose then trailed off as I was shaken by wave after wave of pleasure. Dimly, I heard him crying out as he came.
We were both silent for several long moments, catching our breath, coming back to reality. I was just about to ask if he wanted anything else (rule number one: never break the connection, keep them on the line as long as possible) when he spoke again. "Thanks, baby. Talk to you later." And a click.
His next call came about a month later at 2:27 am. I’d been waiting, eventually deciding with some disappointment that he’d been a one-time customer. This time, he took the lead.
"Hey baby. Did you miss me?"
"Yeah, I missed you." A thrill went through me at the sound of him "I’ve got something I’ve been saving for you."
He laughed softly. That feeling of familiarity niggled at me again. I knew I’d heard this voice somewhere, in some other context, damn it!
"You do? Is it something hot and sweet and juicy? Can I taste it?." He spoke slowly and calmly; no breathless desperation this time. Not yet, anyway. "I want to taste it."
"I’d like you to taste it, " I said, already feeling myself respond.
"Ok, then, I will," he breathed into my ear. "I’ll spread your legs wide open and taste it, lick it with my tongue. Suck it like candy. Would you like that?"
"Yes," I sighed. "I’d like it so much I’d come in your mouth."
"Mmmmm, I’d like THAT. Are your legs open now? Is your pussy wet for me?"
"Yes." It was the truth. I hadn’t touched myself yet, but I was open, aching, and dripping for him. I’d never reacted so strongly to a caller before. Maybe it was time to find a new line of work.
"Good. Can you feel my mouth on you?" So deep and soft and smooth. Like he was fucking me with his vocal cords. Aww, shit, was I going crazy, or what? I felt as if I should be paying HIM.
I ran my hand over myself, spreading my outer lips and then sliding up to circle my clit softly, imagining lips, tongue, his warm breath. "Yes. Ohhhh, it feels so good."
"Mmmmm, you smell so good. You TASTE so good, baby. I’m going to eat you like ice cream." His voice was low and steady, serious and deliberate, controlled. If he was touching himself, he wasn’t very far along the path of arousal. "Do you like that? Do you like it when I suck on your sweet little clitoris like it’s a cherry? Suck on it until it swells like a cherry? Oh, FUCK, I do." The first tones of excitement crept into his voice, and it acted like an electric shock on me. I wanted him to be excited, wanted him to come with me, or at least BECAUSE of me.
"Oh, Jesus, I love it when you do that to me, baby. Please don’t stop."
"I won’t. Not until you beg me to, baby." I could hear the smile in his voice, also the heat. I imagined his cock and how it was reacting to our exchange.
I groaned and circled faster, harder, thinking I would NEVER beg him to stop, no.
"Uhhh, you’re so sweet, I love to hear you loving it. I could come just from making YOU come, you know?"
I slowed my pace, giving him a chance to catch up to me if he chose to. "I WANT you to come. Are you hard for me, baby? Are you coming for me?"
A pause. "Yes."
A lie, I thought. Oh, he was hard, all right, but he was nowhere near coming. I didn’t care. And it didn’t seem to matter to him. What he wanted tonight was to hear ME coming. He would come later, with memories of these moments echoing in his mind. I was more than glad to oblige. It was his dime, after all.
"Let me hear you. Tell me how it feels when I do it to you. Talk dirty to me, baby."
I moaned and moved my fingertips over and around my engorged clit. "Oh, fuck! Yes, suck me like that, eat me like ice cream, like candy, OOHHHH!" My orgasm was rising, peaking, and I found myself at a loss for words. I struggled on, knowing it was what he wanted, needed. "Oh CHRIST! I’m coming! Oh, God, ohhhh…"
"Yeah, come baby, just like that, yeah, oh yeah." He was getting off, alright, just not in the typical way. He was not, I could tell, jerking off (you get to know the sound of that pretty quickly in this business) but was, instead, storing it all up, reveling in his power over me, getting off on ME getting off.
When I had recovered, I said, "Now, what can I do for you?"
"Nothing else, not tonight. I’m good." But he didn’t hang up. "Wait," he added finally, "maybe there is something else you could do for me." He lowered his voice until I could barely hear him and said, "I want to see you coming."
Still dazed, I countered, "But I just came, baby. You were here."
"No. I want to SEE you coming. I want to watch your face while I give you an orgasm."
Uh- oh. This was a huge red flag. Rule number one of the trade, even before never hang up first, now that I thought of it, was never, ever reveal personal information or become involved with the customers. Nonetheless, I felt differently about this. I was interested in the possibility of a meeting, thought it could be done safely. Thought it might be a good idea in this case. I was, I knew, thinking with my cunt, but I didn’t care.
"Well, maybe we could get together sometime. In a public place, of course."
"Yeah, I’d like that", he said. "Wait a second." He left the line briefly then came back on and said, "Could you meet me in Los Angeles this weekend? Is that at all possible? I would reimburse you for your travel costs, of course."
I hesitated. I COULD get to LA this weekend, but did I want to? Would it be wise to? Was I nuts? Maybe. One thing I knew for sure, I didn’t want his money should I choose to.
"Sure, I could do that. But I don’t need you to reimburse me. I’m not a whore. I want to make that much clear." I half expected him to hang up, and I half dreaded it. Maybe I WAS a whore.
He sighed and I could hear his smile when he spoke. "Great. Perfect. I don’t want a whore. Meet me at..." and he proceeded to name a club and a time the following Saturday night.
"How will I know you?" I asked, still not really believing I was doing this, thinking I probably wouldn’t do this, after thinking it over between now and then.
"I’ll let them know you’re coming," he said. "Ask for Johnny."
"O.k." I added the name to my notes, thinking it sounded like a pseudonym if I’d ever heard one.
"What’s your name?" he asked, and I quickly considered my options. The truth or a lie? What harm could it possibly do for him to know my first name, I decided, and gave it to him.
"I’m Janice"
"Alright, Janice, pretty name. Let me give you a number. If you have any problems or questions, call me, o.k.?" He gave it to me and I wrote it down beside his name on my paper.
"I’m excited about meeting you, Janice," he said, just before we hung up. "I hope you come."
"I think I will, " I replied, honestly. And I did, not without some serious doubts and hesitations, but I did.

The club was loud, dark, and crowded. A classy place, I noted approvingly. If it hadn’t been, had been some seedy dive, I think I would have turned around and left. I was nervous and excited, eager but ready to bolt at the first sign of danger or doubt.
I presented myself at the door and the doorman, a big, muscled man in a club t-shirt and jeans, waved someone over to take his place at the entrance. He escorted me through the room, past plush, tall booths and scattered tables, past a massive bar, past a stage, empty at the moment. The music now was recorded and frenetic, pumping at dance, have- to- scream- to- be- heard volume.
We wove our way through milling patrons and dancing couples towards the back of the club. Then, down a short hallway, past the restrooms, and to a black, padded door at the end.
The man pressed a button and announced himself into an intercom I hadn’t noticed, black as it was, like the door itself. There was a brief buzz, and he pushed the heavy door inward, moving aside to let me enter.
I hesitated. This was not exactly the public place agreed upon. The room was large and dim and obviously private. Still, I felt safe enough, in my gut, and I tended to trust my gut. I moved forward. The door closed behind me with a solid, final sound, startling me. The sound of loud music from without was cut off as if with a knife, and I felt a burst of trepidation; I could scream my head off in here and no-one would be the wiser. This room was almost completely soundproofed; even if the club beyond were as silent as a church, which it certainly wasn’t, a bomb could go off in here without attracting attention.
I smelled candles burning and saw flickering shadows playing across the walls ahead of me. There was, I now noticed, slow, exotic music playing softly.
"Come in, please." The voice came from off to my right. HIS voice. My heart raced.
I walked in and saw him, seated on a large, plush couch directly ahead of me, a glass of red wine in one hand. He rose and met me halfway, smiling.
I immediately realized why his voice had seemed so familiar. I HAD heard it before, more than once. Johnny Depp stood before me, still smiling but also watching my face closely for reaction. While not a serious devote, I was a fan, having seen most of his films and generally admiring him.
"Oh, God, it’s you. I thought I knew your voice." A furious blush raced to my cheeks. I suddenly felt terribly self-conscious. When I recalled our conversations, I wanted to sink into the floor. Movies I’d seen him in flashed across my mind; scenes I’d found arousing.
"What’s the matter?" he asked, placing his free hand on my elbow.
"I’m so...embarrassed." I said, looking at the floor.
"Why?" He placed his fingertips underneath my chin, gently raising my face to his. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about, Janice. And I’m just a man. A man with a weird job, that’s all."
I laughed and the tension broke. "My job’s not exactly…normal, either"
"So, here we are, just a man and a woman with weird jobs." He ran his hand through his hair and turned aside, grinning broadly. "Come one, have some wine with me." He waved me toward the couch and poured me a glass from a bottle on a nearby table.
I sat and sipped it and looked around nervously, at the dark woods and shining surfaces, at the shadows thrown on the walls by the candles, at anything but him.
"Janice," he whispered. I met his eyes and he held me with his gaze, steady, penetrating, intense. I felt my awkwardness melt away under the heat of that stare, felt myself relax into the moment, felt a sudden, racing excitement in my loins. Just a man, yes.
My nipples hardened and I shifted slightly, rubbing them against the silk of my shirt. His eyes flickered downward to my breasts for a second, then rose to mine again. He reached out and took a nipple between his fingers and gently rolled it, his expression solemn and probing. I closed my eyes and moaned, arching toward his touch, wanting more, harder.
He leaned over, set his wine aside, then took mine from me.
"Do you like that, baby?" he asked softly.
"Oh, yes, " I sighed.
"I like it that you didn’t fake it on the phone. Most of the girls do, you know."
He moved his hand to my other breast, keeping his touch soft, slow.
"Ohhh, mmmmm. I usually fake it, too, "
"But not with me." It wasn’t a question. I answered it anyway.
"No, not with you."
In the silence that followed I heard our mixed breathing. Like on the phone.
"Tell me how it feels, Janice. Can you feel it in your pussy when I do this?" He rubbed the ball of his thumb firmly over my silk-covered nipple.
"Ahhhh, yes. I can feel it in my cunt. In my clit." I was trembling with desire, weak with it.
"Are you wet for me? Because I am SO hard for you. You’ll need to be VERY wet." His breath quickened and mine raced to catch up to it.
I moved toward him and took hold of his unoccupied hand, guiding it under my short skirt and to the silky crux of my upper thigh. He bent over me, kissing me, his tongue finding mine. A bolt of lust shot through me at the contact, and I had to restrain myself from forcing him back onto the couch and climbing on top of him. Instead, I groped for his crotch, finding his upper leg. He let go of my breast and moved my hand firmly to his erection. He was huge and stony through the denim. I massaged his cock through his jeans and he pressed himself hard into my hand, groaning deep in his throat.
He stroked my upper inner thigh softly, barely touching the edge of my panties. I rose under him, craving his touch, and he slipped his fingers under the lace, over my labia, into me. I gasped and opened myself wider.
"God, you’re so tight, so wet," he whispered, his breath warm in my ear. "Just like I imagined."
"Oh, Johnny, I want you inside me." I was aching, suffering.
"You want my hard cock deep inside your tight pussy, baby? Say it."
"Yes, yes, I want your big, hard cock deep inside my wet, tight pussy, please." I nuzzled his neck and pushed my pelvis upward toward him, wanting it more than I think I’ve ever wanted anything before, ever will again.
He drew his hand away and pulled back, looking me in the eyes. "But I haven’t tasted it yet." His look was both petulant and teasing.
My excitement was vast, black. Hearing the words and knowing that this time, we would actually DO these things to one another had taken me to an unprecedented level of arousal. I moved my hand on him urgently, fumbling for the buttons, undoing them one by one, until his hot hard-on sprang out into my hand.
"I want to taste it, too," I said, slipping out of my panties. "Lie down." He leaned back compliantly into the soft couch and I lay down next to him, my head at his hips, his head at mine.
I wrapped my hand around the base of his cock and began licking it. He seized my ass, pushed my skirt up, and spread me by lifting my leg over his shoulder. He kissed me softly then probed my folds carefully with his tongue, exploring. I took him into my mouth, moving my head back and forth, sucking eagerly and wetly, not being careful at all. It was not in me at this point.
"Ohhhh, Janice," he murmured, then fell silent, finding my clit with his lips and sucking it devoutly. I tasted the first drops of cum in my throat and felt myself beginning to fall, to crest. I raised my leg higher and pressed myself more firmly into his mouth. Suddenly, his tongue and lips were gone, and when I opened my own mouth to protest, he pulled his cock free and sat up.
"Wha…" I sat up, my head spinning, confused.
He sat there, head in hands, eyes closed, breathing hard for a moment, then reached out for me.
"Lie down, now," he ordered gruffly, pushing me. I did, opening myself to him, letting my legs fall weakly aside, surrendering, offering, begging.
He moved on top of me, rubbing the head of his cock in the swollen, wet opening of my cunt, his eyes on mine.
"I said I wanted to watch you, Janice. I can’t see your face that way. I’m going to make you come like this, baby." He began penetrating me slowly until he was completely inside me, the base of his cock pressing on my clit. He began moving, grinding against me with an exquisite pressure and frequency, his cock remaining deep, spreading me to the quick.
"Oh! Uhhh, yes, oh baby, yes, like that." I thrust toward him, carried away by both sensations, wanting him, it, them.
Holding himself up on one arm, he unbuttoned my shirt, tossed it open almost angrily, and lowered his face to my breasts, licking and sucking my erect nipples. Still he watched me, raptly, eyes moving over my face, as if awaiting an important verdict, or the result of some vital experiment.
What he was doing to me quickly brought me to the brink. His close attention pushed me over the edge. Oh God, the way he’s LOOKING at me!
We didn’t speak this time. The only sounds we made were those of respiration and animal pleasure. Still, it was a good thing the room was soundproofed. I began to come and, though my half -open eyes, saw his face change, a dark, almost dangerous passion suffusing it. He pulled back for the first time and drove into me forcefully, again and again as I orgasmed, until I felt him releasing himself into me, spasming and pumping, his eyes finally closed.
We dressed and finished off the wine in silence. There was really nothing more to be said, and neither of us felt any need to pretend there was. It was nice.
"I’ll call you," he said, as I was leaving.
"I’ll look forward to it," I replied, not really believing I would ever hear from him again. Not really caring. Both of us wanting to say more and not daring to.
"Janice," he called as I reached the door.
"Yes, Johnny?"
" Have a safe trip home. And don’t change your number."
I smiled and smoothed my skirt. "I won’t. And I’ll keep yours, just in case."
He swept his hair back, laughing quietly. "Ok, I’ll make sure it stays active. Just for you, baby."
I still have that number, though I doubt it is still active. I’ve never used it, never had to. He calls ME, you see, regularly, and I always look forward to it. Oh yeah, baby.
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Talk Dirty to Me