After coming in, putting the groceries down on the counter. At the end of the hall, the sound of tapping of keys.
Piece by piece, can by can, each finding its’ spot. All the time, listening, hearing the clicks and soft murmurs.
Quietly I trod, reaching the doorway, half open, and the sounds grown louder and more frequent. Peering in, not making a sound, I spy my baby clad in one of my shirts, at my desk, fingers busy on the keyboard.
Enjoying my view, not sure if she knows I’m here or not. One foot on the floor, the other on the chair, knee pointing up. Her body movement shifting every so often, unaware that it allows me to see the shirt isn’t quite buttoned all the way.
One hand now typing, the other resting in her lap. Moving the mouse over, clicking on the files. Pulling up the list of stories I have written. Most she has read some she hasn’t. Watching her scroll down the ones she knows, pausing every so often at a passage, taking the time to reread something she liked.
Leaning now against the door jam. Seeing her click on some of the new stuff, things I had yet to present to her. As her eyes followed the lines on the screen, one after another, I began to blush, knowing the content. The only movement in the room was one hand on the mouse, scrolling, the other, fingers pressed against, with determination, her powder blue panties.
As they glide, back and forth, back and forth, her eyes pursuing each word. A gasp. At first I know not if it was the story or her touch, but I come to realize it was both.
Moaning again as she leans back further, her eyes half closed. Her hand leaves the mouse to take hold of the edge of the table. Her smile changes, looking as someone going from pleasure to bliss. Noting how hard she is stroking, seeing the spot she is touching, a slightly darker shade of blue.
Part of me wonders. Wonders if she knows, knows that I’m here. Knows that I am watching, and knows how turned on I am by her actions.
Lazily her head rolls towards me. The smile leaves that perfect mouth for a moment, as our eyes meet, then her lips pucker to a kiss, never slowing her fingers.
Assuming that this is an invitation, I cross the room, loving her body, the way she moves. Walking behind, peering at her progress over her shoulders.
She watches me, aware where my eyes are fixed by my expression. Her own eyes sparkling and glittering, her lips moist and full, down the neckline, plunging to the open shirt, her breasts shaking from the motion of her hand, still atop of the blue cotton, down her long luscious legs to toes outstretched and spread.
Realizing it’s more fun to be a participant than a voyeur. Leaning, hands over the shoulder, down the front of the shirt, careful not to actually reach inside. Caressing the roundness, the fullness in my palms. Gently squeezing. Loving how she looks up at me, how she gasps at my forwardness, loving that now she moves her hand faster and harder. Kneeling now, behind her, she tilts her head against the rest.
With one hand still cupping, nurturing budding nipples, tugging and teasing through the material. The other slips beneath her very busy fingers. Whispering in her ear” ….I like to play too…” she purrs back at me like a big cat wanting her fur stroked.
Deft fingertips push over the panty, and the texture of the neatly trimmed soft hair beneath reveals itself through touch. Pressing down further, the heat, the soaked cotton. Searching carefully, following the contours, the lines. Finding out what she likes and what she really likes.
Tips going along the edges of the cloth, sliding over the silky smoothness spilling out. Gliding now, feeling through the fabric, over the lips, to the tiny hood and then finally the clit. Hearing her yelp, not even trying to think of my own excitement as I play with her.
Stroking again and again over the swelling. Letting go of her bosom, only to grip the edge the top brim of the panty. Pulling back slowly, she moans softly. Knowing she loves this, then sharply yanking back, the tautness actually lifting her back a bit, as she cries, “YES!”. Rubbing her sex now easily outlined by her underwear pressed. Drawing the tip of my middle finger over her button. Pressing circles in, over, and around. All the while my other hand continues to pull tightly then release only to tug again.
Between her cries and gasps I can actually hear the saturated cloth, sopping with her excitement. Loving the heat, licking her ear before whispering “ …want more?” My answer was more of a grunt than a word, but I got the point.
