I quietly open the office door. You are so engrossed you don’t hear me. I’m home an hour early and you are busy. The joys of working from home, I think. I watch you typing.

I see your hand drop between your legs as you type one-handed. You squirm in the wooden armchair. I step closer in stockinged feet, breath held, trying not to make a sound until I am close enough to read.

You spin round when my foot presses down on the creaky floorboard. You blush red, trying to close the laptop lid and pull up your trackie bottoms at the same time.

I sit on the desk, pushing the laptop to one side, staring down at you. I place my feet on the arms of the chair, my skirt riding up, revealing my panties to you. I know you can see them as you lick your lips as your eyes dart between my face and my panties and back again.

“What’s wrong, couldn’t you wait?” 

Rhetorical questions were never your strong point and I look into your eyes as you try to fumble for an answer.

I turn to the laptop, quickly reading back through the conversation. 

“Did it excite you telling her to masturbate for you?” I ask, turning my head slightly to look at you.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“When you told her to slide her fingers over her knickers, did you mean like this?”

I pull my skirt up higher as I spread my legs wider. The pink triangle of cotton stretched across my mound. Slowly I run the middle finger of my left hand along my slit, dragging the nail from perineum to clit, pressing on it through the material.

Your eyes widen, your tongue flickers, licking your top lip.

I turn to the laptop again.

“Yes, I can feel my knickers getting damp. Can you see the damp patch?” I ask. “That is what you wanted to know, isn’t it?”

I run my eyes over you. You are gripping the arms of the chair. Your eyes are full of lust. I suck my finger into my mouth, my full red lips wrapped around it as I suck, tasting the hint of my flavour.

My hand drops between my legs again. Fingernail dragged across the knicker elastic. I continue reading the chat transcript.

“Mmmm, yes, I can feel my curls as I run my fingers through them.”

I turn and look at you, letting you see my expression change as I slide my finger over my clit, smearing my juices over it, doing just what you asked the little slut in the chat room. I bite my bottom lip as I begin to squirm on the desk. I can feel my juices oozing out of me, the triangle of pink cotton becoming damp and I know you can see the damp patch forming.

You sit there, rigid. Fingernails gripping the arms of the chair as I reread the lines from your chat to you.

“Fuckkkk, I’m curling my fingers inside me, feeling them fill me as the knuckles stretch my pussy walls. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

I masturbate as you watch.

“Is this what you wanted?” I whisper. “Did it turn you on making her fuck herself for you? Could you imagine the squelch as her fingers thrust in and out of her sopping wet pussy?”

My fingers move faster now. My thumb strumming against my clit. One hand thrust out behind me, pressing on the desk, holding me up as my fingers and thumb send me closer with every thrust. My breathing becomes ragged. My nipples are hard inside my bra. I think about unbuttoning my blouse and rolling my nipple between finger and thumb.

I glance again at the chat window then back to you, one eyebrow raised.

“My knickers are soaked, aren’t they?” I pant. Pulling my fingers out of me, I hold them up to you. Letting you see my juices glistening on my fingers.

I glance at the screen and read the text out loud.

“Yes, I’m so fucking wet.”

I push my fingers into my mouth and suck and slurp noisily.

“Mmmmmm, I taste so fucking good. She’s wrong though. It’s not like honey. I’d say it’s more like licking a coin pressed into the crook of my elbow, salty with a metallic undertone.. or is that too much information?”

I look into your eyes. You look confused, scared maybe. Like you're not sure where this is going. To be honest, neither am I. 

I glance back to the screen. I arch my back, pressing my hips out and curl two fingers inside again, tapping my fingertips on my g spot. My fingers hooked inside as the heel of my palm rubs against my clit.

My knickers are soaked. I can feel my orgasm building deep inside my core as you sit there, your mouth slightly open, your tongue licking your lips, your eyes fixed on me. 

I press the toes of my stockinged feet on your hands, reminding you not to move them, not to touch yourself, not to move.

I move my fingers faster, pressing them in deeper, fucking myself harder with every thrust. I consider holding back, but then, my back arches and I bury my fingers deep inside, spasming on them. I freeze, my pussy muscles gripping my fingers as I hold them there.

Finally, I slump onto the desk. You sit there, watching, lust and desire blazing in your eyes.

I let my legs drop to the floor and slide off the desk. I look into your eyes as I slowly suck my fingers clean, my tongue swirling over the knuckles, cleaning my own mess. I tug my skirt back down one-handed and walk towards the bedroom.

“I’m going to finish myself off. I’ll leave you to your fucking whores.”

As I go to close the door, I see you lean forward and type something on the screen.