“Yep, see? There it goes,” I said in a tone that utterly belied my excitement. I knelt on the floor in front of my computer, completely mesmerized, and completely incapable of shutting down my babbling. “Like I said, buttressing. Who’s your engineer?” I licked my lips—literally licked them in anticipation, and I could feel my salivary glands kicking in like I was watching a late night burger commercial.
The Professor thumbed the front of his waist band and reached into his pants. I could see the outline of his fingers, fisting himself beneath the fabric. His free hand peeled the front of his pants away from his body and dropped them to the floor.
This time I said it out loud. “Oh. My. God.”
He stood there for a moment, his fist pumping the length of his cock with firm, languid strokes.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
“I must say,” he said, his voice deep, laced with restraint, and amusement, “the look on your face is immensely gratifying. The repeated appeals to a higher power are also flattering.”
My stomach clenched. In my eagerness to worship at the digital altar of the Professor’s cock, I’d forgotten he could see me. My cheeks caught fire and my palms raced to snuff the flames.
“I love that I can make you turn pink.”
His words only heightened my embarrassment, and my arousal. I felt my blood run cold at the same time a hot rush of moisture flooded my core. The pink of my cheeks traced down my neck, and over my chest to the tips of my breasts.
“Your move, darling,” I heard him say.
The moment of truth, I thought, thrilling at his voice, at the electricity that vibrated between us even when we didn’t occupy the same space. I removed my hands from my cheeks, stood and lowered them, to the hem of my nightie, then smiled right into the camera, even as my fingers trembled with anticipation. The Professor’s hand stopped mid-stroke and I heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Your smile slays me,” he said.
I smiled again, broader this time and I felt my embarrassment washing away. This was him, this was me, this was…us. He wanted me and goddamn I wanted him. I wanted him to see me, to hear him gasp like that again, to see the effect his desire for me had on his body, on his cock. I lifted my nightgown up and over my head, feeling my hair cascade down my back like a silk curtain as the fabric fell to the floor.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.
“So are you,” I said, and meant it. My eyes were transfixed on his cock, following the careful movements of his strong fingers as they pumped and slipped, pumped and slipped over that thick velvet rod. I saw a bead of moisture collect on the tip, and my tongue flicked out in automatic response. As if I could capture that drop, as if I could almost taste him, as if I just tried hard enough I might be able to imagine the feel of his cock slipping between my lips, deep and wide.
“God, I wish you were here,” I said. “If you were here I’d have my lips wrapped around that beautiful cock before you’d even made it in the door.” I heard him moan at my words and heard myself echo the sound. My hands caressed their way up my hips, to my breasts. I pressed them together, kneading the soft flesh, my fingers finding the tingling tips and rolling, pinching, pulling my nipples until they were aching, dark and swollen.
“If I were there right now,” he said, his voice gruff with strain, “I’d already be buried in your juicy cunt to the hilt, and you’d be well on your way to a matching set of rug burns.”
“Oh God.” I gasped and one hand flew to my *, my fingers breaching the slick seam to plunge inside. My hips writhed against my hand as I massaged my sex, circling my sensitive clit in time with the Professor’s strokes.
“Yes,” he said, his hand gliding in rhythm with mine up and down the hard steel of his cock. But then he stopped, and lowered into his chair, that laser blue gaze piercing my own. I could hear the soft sounds of his efforts in the quiet of the room, could tell from his movements on the camera that he was still stroking himself out of view. The image of his cock, that thick veined, glistening pole, was still burned into my mind, but now my eyes were filled only with his. An ocean just before a storm, his gaze held mine, controlled it, dared me to dive in and drown into the passion and the chaos I saw in those depths. I couldn’t have looked away even if I’d wanted to; I was bound to him in that moment, his to command. And then he spoke the words I’d heard him utter nearly a dozen times in our short acquaintance. Familiar, but still deliciously foreboding. “Show me,” he said.
And I was owned.
* * *
A spear of yellow light breached the perimeter of the draperies and stabbed at my eyelids. I threw my hair over my face, rolled over, and recruited the pillow into my plans for resistance. Comrades in cuddles, together we would hold the tyranny of morning at bay.
My nose caught the faintest scent of coffee. Morning was not playing fair.
Fuck you, coffee maker, I thought. You smell-good jerk.
No, fuck you, asshole. I love coffee, said my stomach.
So tired, hung over, my head answered.
Coffee soooo yum yum, my stomach insisted.
“Noooo,” I moaned out loud and pulled the covers over my head.