Wicked Wednesday: Craving

Her Skype status read "In the mood..."

In the mood for what, exactly?  Love?  I knew the old standard, famously performed by "Alfalfa" Switzer in a Little Rascals short from the 1930s.  But I suspected that her status was not in reference to this.  In the mood for ice cream, perhaps?  Definitely appealing, but again, this was probably not what she craved.

I clicked on her name and began typing.

In the mood for ice cream?

She replied with a smiley face, and then the following:

You know what I'm in the mood for.

I smiled in spite of myself.  Want a show?

She wrote back quickly.  Yes, baby.  I was hoping you'd offer.

I clicked the "Video Call" button and in seconds I was looking at her beautiful brown eyes.  Admittedly I would have preferred to be gazing at her full breasts or her perfect ass, but I wasn't complaining.  We had plenty of time.

She spoke first, a simple hello.  I returned the greeting, and we exchanged a moment's worth of small talk, both of us making no attempt to hide the eagerness we felt.

"So," she said before long, "Do you have something you'd like to show me?"

My cock bulged against the inside of my jeans.  I unbuckled my belt and opened my pants, setting it free.  As I dropped my jeans to the floor I stood up, revealing to her my throbbing member.

She licked her lips.  She sighed, purred even.  "You look delicious."

I kicked off my jeans and sat back down in front of my laptop.  I began to stroke my hardness as I gazed at her.  I imagined taking off her top and nuzzling her breasts as I lowered my hand to part her damp petals.  I imagined slipping a finger inside of her while I caressed her clit with another.  And I would have imagined much more had she not interrupted.

"I like what you're doing, baby," she said, "but I can't see."

I tilted the screen of my laptop downward in the hopes of giving her a better angle.  As I did I realized that in doing so I would be unable to see whatever she might do.  I tilted it back up.

"How about if I stand?"  She nodded her approval of my suggestion and I rose from my chair even as she began to unbutton her blouse, revealing a silky black bra that could barely contain her assets.  I stroked faster, as though demonstrating my appreciation.  She caressed her breasts, eventually freeing them from their constraints.  As she rolled her hands over her hardening nipples I felt orgasm drawing near and I slowed down.

Her hands drifted down her body and out of frame.  It looked like she was trying to tuck one inside of her waistband.  Her arm began to move slowly, and there was no mistaking what she was doing.  "No fair!" I said.  "Now I can't see!"

"Is this better?" she asked as she stood up.  She was naked from her waist down, her every inch a tantalizing pleasure.  Her fingers strummed her pussy, dancing erotically over her lips and her clit.  The sight inspired me to stroke faster than I had before, and I could see the edge approaching.  I wanted to slow down again.  But I watched as she began to work her fingers in and out, and I knew that it was too late.

My moans were loud, uncharacteristically so.  It was the sort of release I don't always allow myself when I masturbate.  Sometimes I just can't.  But she made it easy.  I came without concern or inhibition, erupting much like a volcano might.  The first bursts of my ejaculation arced high, fortunately missing my laptop.  I wondered how it looked on her end.

The rest of it ran down my hand and over my fingers, thick and sticky.  When my orgasm subsided and my noises ceased, I used a tissue to clean up as I caught my breath.

"Fucking hot!" she said with a smile as she sat down.  I could tell that she was still playing with her clit.

"So," I said.  "What are you in the mood for, exactly?

"An orgasm!  It's my turn now."