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When I get home to the empty apartment, I take off my work clothes and slip on one of Mark's T-shirts that still smells of him. At the foot of the bed, I notice what looks like a black shoe box tied with a gold chiffon ribbon. I must have been in too much of a hurry to see it this morning. Mark often buys me gifts on his travels, but he's never left one behind before. Intrigued, I pluck the little gold card that's tucked into the bow. His elegant handwriting, a stark reminder of his physical presence, makes me ache for him.

"I've had this for a while now, darling," it reads. "I've just been waiting for the right time to give it to you. It should keep you from getting too lonely while I'm away."

In the box, wrapped up in gold tissue paper, is a sleek gold mobile phone. It's switched on but no one has called yet. But there's more to my gift than a new phone. I giggle and squeal with delight to find wrapped in even more layers of crinkly paper a life-size, gold-plated model of Mark's erect penis. I run my hands over it, marveling at the lifelike details. It's definitely him; I'd know it anywhere. That's the vein that runs in a little squiggle from the tip down the right side to his balls. Even that tiny triangle of skin under the head where he loves me to put my tongue is there. I press the tip to my lips, touch my teeth to it: it's cold and metallic and it makes me feel hot and horny. Automatically, I lift the hem of Mark's T-shirt and use the tip to prod my clitoris, shivering with delight as it becomes engorged and sensitive.

That's when the phone rings. It's a long number starting with the code for a country I don't recognize. I pick it up, and Mark's voice is there, crackly and intermittent, but it's him, calling me from the other side of the world.

"So you've found my present?" he says, his voice loaded with meaning.

"I love it!" I squeal excitedly. "But how did you…?"

"I had to stick it in a plaster mold in an artist's studio," he laughs. "Then they made a gold model of it."

I think of Mark slapping his dick into a tray of wet plaster just so that I might have a cast of him, and the mental image is touching and arousing.

"I thought of your pussy while I was jerking myself off," he continues, "and I got really big and hard. Then I stuck it in the plaster. The guys at the studio did the rest. Afterward, I went straight to the toilet because the thought of you with my golden dick in your pussy made me so hard I had to masturbate immediately."

Picturing the scene, I realize that I've been gently and rhythmically stroking and tapping the tip of the dildo on my clit, now hard and demanding stimulation. My flesh is hot and wet, and the cold metal feels delicious.

"So where are you now?" says Mark.

"On our bed," I say, sinking back into the pillows, phone in one hand, dildo tightly clasped in the other. The soles of my feet are pressed together, my legs making a diamond shape so that my trembling pussy is exposed. Looking down, I can see the tip of my clitoris protruding from between my cunt-lips. Gently, so gently, I press the tip of the dildo-Mark's dick-on my clit and rock it from side to side. I can't help it-I let out a little moan of pleasure.

"Tell me what you're doing," he orders me. "Put the phone on speaker." I flip a switch that casts his voice out so that it fills the whole room. The mobile is on my pillow, and Mark's there with me. He breathes like he's just been running, and I picture him in his hotel room, his hand working the shaft of his gorgeous penis in long, firm, hard strokes.

I fight the temptation to shove the dildo inside me right now, and instead I listen to Mark's voice on the phone, giving the orders.

"Lick the tip of it," he says. "Now draw it down your body, circling your tits."

I obey him, pressing the dildo to my lips and moistening it with saliva before dragging the smooth, slippery surface down onto my warm breasts. I tell Mark that this feels good, really fucking good. He makes me draw circles around my nipples, and I watch, fascinated, as they swell and darken the way they usually do under his hands. The gold dick, hard and shiny against the soft velvet of my skin, makes little dents in my tits, which spring back when I pull it away. We carry on like this for about five minutes until I'm so turned on I can hardly stand it. I notice my thighs beginning to tremble, a sure sign that all the tension in my body is building up and about to spill over soon.

"Please baby," I whimper, close to begging him. "I need you inside me."

"Well then," he replies, and I hear in the background the slap of his hand on his dick. I love the thought of him jerking and tugging his dick while its likeness penetrates my slit. "Talk me through it," he says.