I’m not begging
I’m politely requesting at best
Another picture: her grabbing a handful of one breast, nipple pinched between her fore and middle fingers.
Does feel good, though.
Shorts off. No more touching.
Does this count?
The picture: her, in panties and the tank top, kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, knees wide, her fingers digging into the flesh of her inner thigh.
Or this?
Now she’s got a thumb hooked under the waistband of her panties, which are skimpy and lacy and clearly chosen just to destroy me, pulling it down past her hipbone, making the other side dig into her hip.
Oh. She’s gotten waxed again since the last time we did this, maybe four days ago, andthatknowledge makes my breath catch in my throat. Not that she doesn’t have pubic hair—I’m absolutely delighted by any and all pubic arrangements—but because of what it means.
It means she thinks about me—about this—enough to make appointments and take time out of her day and grit her teeth through getting waxed, that she puts up with all that because she thinks it’s a better view and she likes it that way.
Video. Now.
She was obviously already set up because seconds later we’re on screen together: me, sitting up in bed, gym shorts tented up like the circus is in town, her sitting on the edge of her bed facing the camera, legs spread wide, panties still on.
No faces. Never faces, never microphones—the speech-to-text function on FaceTime’s chat isn’t perfect, but neither of us wants our voices possibly getting out there with what’s about to happen in this video, so we deal with it. I can’t risk identification because I teach eighth grade English in a small, conservative town, and whatever reason she’s got, I respect it.
Can I touch myself yet?
Anywhere but your clit.
That’s not fair.
I’m not interested in fairness.
Deliberately, I wrap a hand around my still-clothed dick and give it a long, slow stroke, making sure to rub my thumb over the tip and flex my hips into it, groaning with relief.
Feels pretty good
Fuck
She’s got one hand on a nipple, the other squeezing her inner thigh again, fingers teasing at the edge of her panties. I do not ask the pointless questionare you wet, because I know the answer.
Do that again
I still my hand at the base, move my other hand down to cup my balls.
Ask nicely
Just do it, I can tell you want to
I didn’t hear a please in there
You think now’s the time for manners?
In response, I lift my hips off the bed and pull the shorts off. The boxer-briefs underneath are green with little foxes on them, which is, okay, a choice, but I don't think either of us cares because I'm already leaking precum and it's making the fabric stick to the head of my cock in a very detailed way.
Foxes aside, it looks pretty good. From the way her fingers tangle in her panties, Lola thinks so too.
