It doesn't seem to matter when or where or how we talk, I always want the same thing. I close the instant message window, your "Talk to you later" sign off ghosting in my head. My hands return to the keyboard.
Sitting here now at my desk, I imagine your hand trailing down my leg, following the seam in my black silk skirt until you reach the hem at my knee. Then your fingers slip beneath, caressing my thigh, gently pushing the hem upwards. You swivel my chair to face you, both hands firm on my thighs now, pushing the smooth fabric higher and higher. "Lift…" you say quietly, looking down at my tanned, muscular legs. I obey, rising up off the leather seat. You push the skirt up over my hips then, your hands sliding behind to caress my ass. I feel your fingers slip into my crack, the tips grazing my shaved lips through the satin panties.
Your hands travel up and outward over my thighs and then around and down the back of my legs. When you reach the back of my knees, you pull them apart roughly. I breathe out slowly, beginning to feel vulnerably exposed. Your hands slide around to my kneecaps and you press me even wider open. I suck my breath in as you lean into it, your hands pushing me, making my legs spread to their limit.
Looking up at me, you lean forward, so close to my panties that I feel your breath on me, warming the satin. Wetness floods me as you press your lips against the fabric. I moan softly and close my eyes, tilting my head back.
"Come forward," you command softly. I open my eyes and look down at you. Your eyes are dark and glittering. I know you mean business, so I slide forward, slouching into the chair. Your fingers slip past the narrow elastic leg band and push inside the panty. Your fingertips slide over my swollen lips. You smile at their fresh shaven smoothness. Your smile widens as you push your hand up on my mound, feeling the familiar soft, neatly trimmed pubic hair that covers me modestly with a natural sweetheart shape. You are always so damned worried I'll shave it all off without warning. You pull the panties off me and drop them on the floor.
Pressing your palm hard against me, you grind on my clit briefly as you rotate your hand. I feel your fingertips brush my lips once again. A rush of blood further engorges them. Then, I feel the tip of your index finger push inside the lips, inside my crease. You fingertip wiggles its way inside, causing me to lift my bottom even higher off the leather seat, to tilt my hips toward you. "O god..." I whisper. I feel your finger slowly entering me, stroking the sides of my vagina in a circular motion. I lift myself completely off the seat. I want to feel more. I want to feel more…
Your finger is now fully inserted. The tip wiggling against that wrinkled skin deep inside me. As you stroke that spot, juice begins to flow. A low groan escapes my parted lips. My eyes, half closed, see you watching me. I close them completely and whisper, "Please, baby…" And you freeze. Both of us perfectly still, I am waiting.
