She found herself starring at the screen unable to concentrate. Thoughts of her lover had invaded her mind again and began to resonate through her flesh. She sat, her tall frame slouched, twisting her long auburn hair round her fingers, her deep brown eyes, with a spherical hint of green, sparkled with delight. It wouldn’t be hard for him to read them right now she mused.
The moments seem to come with more frequency now a days and she feared they may be affecting her work. Still she couldn't fight them nor did she find she wanted to, the happiness she felt when she thought of him was welcome, even needed these days.
They always seemed to come on the same way, it would start with the scent of him, something would trigger the memory of his sweet flesh and the fresh smell of his tempting cologne. She inhaled deeply and released a desperate sigh as it began to wash over her. All her other senses could not help but be persuaded to join in. The sight of his boy next door features, defined cheeks, sweet perfection for lips, how she loved to kiss his lips and those eyes, those clear blue eyes that begged her to swim in them. He keeps his chestnut hair short, a well tailored crew cut, and she loves the way it feels in her hands. His form screaming with masculinity, not one of those tiny fellows, broad shoulders, safe inviting muscular arms, every ounce of tall dark and handsome, six feet of perfection.
At this point she broke; no longer able to fight it she called her lover. The sound of his voice on the other line, melodious smooth and deep, sending her weak at the knees. The conversation started simple as they always do, hi baby how are you today and other small talk.
They’d begin to reminisce how all of this started with an innocent kiss. How he’d placed a single finger just inside her sweater, using the top button to pull her curvaceous body to him. “I blame you,” he said “your sweet artful seduction, as if you weren’t aware of what you were doing.” “Me sir, seduce you, never.”
He must hear it, the want in her voice, how desperately she misses him, because the playfulness comes out in him. “Do you miss me?” “Are you thinking of me?” Confessing that the sound of her voice is warming him. The pattern of her breathing is bringing him to a sweet level of arousal. She lets out a gentle whimper, a result of the surge of power that the knowledge of what she’s doing to him brings on. “I love hearing you make that noise,” he says “it’s adorable.” Coyly they play with one another, knowing just what to say, strategically placing their words one step in front of the other.
“Are you touching yourself?” The question catches her off guard. Is she, no, does she feel the urge to, absolutely.
His disposition slowly transforms from playful to sinful as he tells her his manhood has become rigid and how swollen it is in his grip, knowing the thought of his hard cock will cause her to salivate and drive her to touch herself. She has never hidden her absolute adoration for his manliness; she has admitted to craving his long thick smooth shaft and even used the word beautiful to describe it in past conversations.
Once again the question comes, “are you touching yourself?” Her reply this time a weak breathful “yes.”
With a trace of her lips and a teasing touch to the tip of her tongue she’s lost in it, her eyes close.
She slides her hands down across her breasts, tugging at her erect nipples moving down across her ribs, abdomen and hips, then bringing them to the inside of her thighs. Her heated flesh inviting her to come closer, each word from him daring her to. Should she, asking herself if this is the place. The question alone seems to arouse her as the mere thought of being caught adds to the intense need to try.
His quiet deep voice explaining the details of how and where he wants to touch her. “Can you feel my hands,” he asks. “Gently caressing your soft porcelain skin, my lips and tongue following the path they lay, warm breath against dampened flesh.”
Finally her fingers surrender tenderly tracing the line of her pretty pink panties threatening to slip beneath them. Her garden now radiating heat and moist with expectation. The thought of his throbbing manhood entering her is more than she can bare.
The temptation is too much. Two fingers make a pass at her pulsing clit and slip passed the wet opening. Her body trembles, her fingers slightly chilled. She slides down in her chair, just enough to allow her more access. Bringing her fingers to her mouth she moistens the tip of them, gliding them delicately across her inflamed erectile organ, stealthily sinking to penetrate her burning passage. A subdued moan confesses to him that she is putty in his hands. He paints visions of his body upon hers, reminding her with an occasional groan that as he is taking her to the utmost level of pleasure he himself is going there. Their own hands playing the role of the other.
“Mmmm do you like that,” he asks, almost begging to hear how it feels. Her replies weak and tender as the back and forth motion brings her closer, “yes,” pleading to him, “harder, deeper, faster.” Their panting breath in unison. His hand clutching his firmness stroking with vigor. Her fingers fondling her perky clit. “I want to hear you cum,” she announces, “to hear the moment when you break, when the idea of us sets you aquiver.”
As if on cue, her low seductive voice beseeching him to cum is all it takes and in response to the sound of the incremental moans as he releases his creamy nectar, she too finds her self overflowing.
In a heavy breathed joy filled voice he asks “are you okay,” his tenderness ever present. She sighs a trembling, “couldn't be better.”
