It was so obvious that I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of this before! Her cell phone—it’s small, it’s discreet, it vibrates…

It only took ten minutes of begging and pleading to get her to slip it into her panties. (Actually, she wore two pair of panties and slipped the phone in between.) In return, I took her to the opening of a gallery she’d been bugging me to attend. It was a fair trade.

I was good for the first twenty minutes. She was already so nervous and on edge that it was fun just to watch her jump every time someone laughed or cleared their throat, thinking I’d hit the switch. I waited till her guard was down and she was talking to some academic type over by a big, pink painting that looked like a vulva, and then I gave her a call. Is Pussy home?

Oh my! All in all she took it pretty well. She jumped, but she didn’t spill her drink. I just gave her one buzz and cut it off and she excused herself and wobbled over to me with a weird expression on her face—part shock, part lust—but I quickly turned and started talking to some other people as if I didn’t know her from Picasso, leaving her standing there..

That’s how we played the game—two apparent strangers invisibly connected finger to clit by the wonders of modern technology. I had her on speed dial of course, so all I had do to was reach in my pocket and hit a button to send a series of deep, maddening vibrations thrumming against her pussy and make her jerk and gasp and try to control herself as her companions did their best to politely ignore the strange behavior of this attractive but obviously deranged young woman. It was just too delicious.

No sooner did we leave the gallery and get into the car then she was all over me, feverish with need. Her public humiliation worked like an aphrodisiac, as it always did with her and I kept on calling her all the way back to our place. She never did pick up.