I’ve been thinking about you. Wondering about you really. You intrigue me, you arouse me, you make me wet knowing that you’re so close. Just a small distance away, only separated by this screen. It sends shivers through me to know you could be reading at the same time I am. That you could be masturbating with me as our eyes follow the words. That your hand is matching my rhythm as we touch ourselves.
Do you wonder about me? Do you feel the same way? It’s so vivid. I can imagine you there, your hand slowly stroking yourself, arousing yourself while you read. I do want to be there. I want to watch you… I want you to watch me. Voyeurs together. Would you want that? Do you want to see my fingers on my clit? My hand around my breast, pinching my nipple? Do you want to see the way my back arches? The look on my face when I cum? I want to look into your eyes to know you’re watching me. I want to watch your movements, your hand moving against yourself, the arching of your back, hear the small noises you make as you bring yourself closer.
Just thinking about this has me touching myself. I’ve slid my hand down into my panties letting my fingers drift over me softly. I’m already wet. You arouse me so very much. My fingers slide down my slit, god, spreading my wetness. I can’t believe how wet you have me, how aroused my body is. I’m sliding them back up, back and forth, rubbing my velvety lips with my fingertips. God, so wet. Pushing a finger slowly inside me… oh, god, I need this so much. Stroking myself with it, rubbing the way I like. I wish you could see me, hear me…
These jeans need to come off.
My panties are soaked. Should I take them off too? I think you’d rather like that. Maybe my shirt and bra as well….
I can see my reflection in the screen. It’s a sensual picture. I wish you could see me this way. I’ve put one foot up against the desk, spreading my thighs. I wish I could take a photo of myself like this for you, but I don’t want to stop. I need to keep touching myself. I want to cum for you… with you.
I’m pushing my fingers back down my slit, two fingers this time, sliding into me. My other fingers are on my nipple, pinching it hard, increasing my arousal. I can hear how wet I am… can you hear me? The sound of my fingers sliding in and out of my dripping wet cunt? God, I want that. I want you to be able to hear me. I want you to be able to hear everything, all of my sounds, my moans, my gasps. I’m stroking them faster, pushing against them, pausing to type this every now and then. I can feel my muscles tightening around them… so close…
Tell me, tell me you’re masturbating with me, tell me how good it feels, arouse me more, I need to hear you telling me that you’re close too, that you want to cum too. God, I need to touch my clit… I want to keep typing but I don’t know if I can. It’s too much, I want to cum for you. I want you to know how much I need that… god, so fucking close now, my breath is ragged… I need my vibe. I’m taking it out of the drawer, letting it rub against my wetness, coating it with my juices. Up and down, rubbing it against me. God, pushing it inside me… pushing you inside me… so thick and full, filling me. That’s what I needed, so close now. Pushing it deep inside me, thrusting into my cunt, fucking myself with it. My thumb on my clit, rubbing it hard, yes, circling it around and around… fuck, yes… thrusting it harder, faster, god, I need to cum. Tell me you want me to cum… please I need to hear it from you, to hear your voice telling me to cum for you…
Oh, god, that’s it, the heat’s moving through me, I can feel it between my thighs. A radiating heat growing in me, building, pulsing… I can feel it flushing up my neck, up to my face. Rubbing faster, that’s it, there, god, now, I’m going to cum now, cum with me, please, I want you to cum with me, oh god…
I’m still shaking a little. The first wave rolled through me hard, leaving my thighs trembling and my fingers slick. But I didn’t stop. I can’t stop. Not when I’m thinking about you on the other side of this screen, maybe still touching yourself, maybe already soft and spent, maybe still hard and waiting for more.
I pull the vibrator out slowly, feeling how empty I am without it, and set it on the desk beside the keyboard. My panties are around one ankle. My jeans are somewhere on the floor. My shirt is unbuttoned and hanging open. The bra is pushed up over my breasts so they’re free, nipples tight and dark from how hard I’ve been pinching them. I can see myself in the dark reflection of the monitor—lips parted, cheeks flushed, hair a little messy from tossing my head back. I look used. I look hungry.
I slide my hand back between my legs. Still so wet. The wetness has spread onto my inner thighs. I drag two fingers through it and bring them up to my mouth, tasting myself while I imagine you watching. Would you like that? Would you want me to lick my fingers clean and then push them back inside so I can do it again? I do it anyway. The taste is sharp and familiar and it makes my cunt clench.
I start slow this time. Just the pads of my fingers gliding over my outer lips, teasing, not going deeper yet. I want to build it again. I want to feel that slow climb with you. Tell me if you’re still with me. Tell me if your hand is moving again. Tell me if you’re hard or soft or somewhere in between. I want to know everything.
My other hand cups my left breast, thumb brushing back and forth across the nipple until it aches. Then I pinch it, roll it, pull a little. The sensation shoots straight down. My hips roll forward of their own accord. I push one finger inside, just to the first knuckle, and hold it there, feeling my walls flutter around it. Then a second finger. Deeper. Curling. Searching for that spot that makes my breath catch.
Found it.
I start a slow rhythm—in and out, curling on the way out so the pads of my fingers drag over that sensitive place. My thumb rests lightly on my clit but doesn’t move yet. I’m saving that. I want to edge myself for you. I want to stay right on the edge while I type, while I imagine you doing the same.
The room is quiet except for the soft wet sounds and the occasional soft sound that escapes my throat. I try to stay quiet but I can’t always. A little moan slips out when I push deeper. Another when I circle my clit once, just once, and then stop. My thighs are starting to shake again.
I keep thinking about what it would be like if the screen wasn’t between us. If you were sitting across from me. If I could see your eyes drop to the place where my fingers disappear. If I could watch your hand move on yourself in real time. The thought makes me push a third finger in. Stretching. Full. I rock my hips against my hand, fucking myself slowly, deliberately, making sure you can picture every detail.
My shirt slips further off one shoulder. I leave it. I want you to imagine the way it hangs, the way my breast is fully exposed on that side. I pinch that nipple harder, twist a little, and the sharp edge of pleasure-pain makes me gasp out loud.
I’m getting close again already. Too close. I slow down. Pull my fingers almost all the way out and just circle my entrance, spreading the wetness around. My clit is swollen and sensitive; even the lightest brush makes my stomach tighten. I force myself to wait. I force myself to type.
I want you to tell me what you’re doing. Are your pants open? Is your cock out, heavy in your hand? Are you stroking the full length or just the head? Are you using precum to make it slick? Are you slow like me or already faster, chasing it? I need to know. It makes everything sharper when I can picture you exactly.
My free hand leaves my breast and trails down my stomach, over the soft curve of my lower belly, until my fingertips rest just above my clit. I don’t touch it yet. I just rest them there, feeling the heat. Then I start again—two fingers sliding back inside, easy this time because I’m so open and wet. The heel of my hand presses against my clit with every thrust. Not deliberate pressure yet. Just the promise of it.
I rock my hips. The chair creaks softly. My foot is still up on the edge of the desk, knee bent, everything open and available. I imagine you leaning closer to the screen as if you could see better. I imagine the look on your face.
Faster now. The wet sounds are louder. My breathing is louder. Little “ah—ah—” sounds keep escaping every time my fingers drag over that spot inside. My thumb finally settles on my clit and starts to circle, light at first, then firmer, matching the rhythm of my fucking hand.
I’m going to cum again. I can feel it building in my lower back, in the backs of my thighs, in the tightening of my stomach. The heat is spreading. My toes curl against the desk. My free hand grips the edge of the desk hard enough that my knuckles are white.
Don’t stop. Please don’t stop touching yourself. Stay with me. I want us to finish together this time. I want to know that the moment my cunt starts pulsing around my fingers, you’re spilling over your hand, or onto your stomach, or wherever you like to finish. I want the thought of me coming apart to be what pushes you over.
Almost—
My hips jerk. My fingers slam in deep and stay there while my thumb works my clit hard and fast. The orgasm hits in a long, rolling wave. My whole body tightens, then releases in pulses. I can feel myself gripping my own fingers over and over. A broken sound leaves my throat—half moan, half sob. My eyes squeeze shut for a second, then open again so I can keep looking at the screen, as if I might catch a glimpse of you.
I keep moving through it, slower now, riding the aftershocks. Every little movement sends another flutter through me. I’m shaking. My thighs are wet. The chair beneath me is wet. I don’t care.
When the strongest pulses finally ease, I leave my fingers inside a little longer, just feeling the way my body keeps clenching around them in little after-tremors. Then I slowly pull them out. They’re shiny and coated. I bring them to my mouth again and clean them slowly, eyes on the screen the whole time, imagining you watching that too.
I’m not done.
I reach for the vibrator again. It’s still slick from earlier. I turn it on to a low, steady buzz and press the head against my oversensitive clit. The sensation is almost too much at first—sharp, electric—but I don’t pull away. I hold it there, breathing through the intensity, letting the overstimulation turn back into pleasure.
My free hand goes back to my breast, kneading, pinching, rolling the nipple between my fingers. I spread my legs wider. The vibrator moves lower, traces my entrance, then pushes inside. The buzz fills me. I turn it up one setting. Then another. The deeper vibrations make my eyes half-close.
I start fucking myself with it again—slow, deep strokes that make the base bump against my clit on every thrust. My hips lift to meet it. I’m already climbing again. It doesn’t take much when I’m this worked up and still thinking about you.
I talk to you in my head while I do it. I tell you how good it feels. I tell you I wish it was you. I tell you I want to feel your weight, your mouth, your cock, anything of yours instead of this toy. The fantasy makes the pleasure sharper. I turn the vibrator higher.
My free hand leaves my breast and reaches down so I can rub my clit with two fingers while the toy thrusts. The combination is overwhelming. My whole body is tight. My breath is coming in short, broken gasps. I can feel another orgasm building fast—bigger this time, the kind that starts deep and spreads until it takes everything.
I’m going to cum hard. I can already feel it. The first flutter hits and I cry out, not caring how loud it is. Then the full wave crashes through me. My cunt clamps down hard around the vibrator. My fingers keep working my clit even as my body tries to curl in on itself. My back arches off the chair. My mouth opens on a long, wordless sound. The pulses keep coming, one after another, until I’m shaking so hard the chair moves.
I don’t stop the vibrator right away. I keep it moving through the whole thing, drawing it out until the intensity becomes almost painful and I finally have to pull it free. The sudden emptiness makes me whimper. My clit is throbbing. My legs are weak.
I sit there for a long minute, just breathing, hand resting lightly between my thighs, feeling the aftershocks still rippling through me. The screen is still glowing. You’re still there, somewhere on the other side.
I don’t know if you’ve finished yet. I don’t know if you’re still touching yourself or if you’re lying back, spent, reading the last of this while your heart rate comes down. Either way, I want you to know what you did to me. How completely you got into my head and my body. How many times I came thinking about your hand moving in time with mine.
I slowly close my legs. My panties are still tangled around one ankle. I don’t bother fixing them yet. I just sit here, bare and wet and glowing, staring at the screen like I might see your face appear.
I’m still aroused. Softly, steadily aroused in that warm, satisfied way that still wants more if you’re willing. My fingers trail lazily over my inner thigh, not quite touching where I’m most sensitive, just reminding myself that I’m still open and ready.
If you’re still with me… if you still want more… tell me. Tell me what you need. Tell me how you want me to touch myself next. Or tell me what you’re going to do while you watch me do it.
I’m here. My legs are still spread. My body is still yours to imagine.
And I’m already starting to get wet again just thinking about continuing this with you.
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