"Touch yourself."

Your voice: a murmur inaudible to those around you, but I easily hear it. You've called me during your break from all-day meetings.

I slip a hand into my panties. You listen to my quickened breaths as I rub my clit. You know I'm close when my faint moans turn to cries.

"Stop."

Your command clips the wings of my bliss, and I whine in protest.

"Please let me come!"

The teasing grin in your reply is maddening, for I am now precariously balanced on a tightrope taut with need.

"Wait for me, love. I'll be home soon."