His webcam

He had a webcam; I did not. I could see him sitting comfortably in his chair in his tidy office. He flashed his smile numerous times while we were discussing this and that. It was a relaxed and enjoyable conversation. I could spend hours and hours just talking to him. My curiosity and need to know all I can about anything and everything is neverending.
 
He stuck out his rolled tongue and held up his fingers. An excited shiver jolted my body. He wanted inside of my panties, which aside from a shirt was all I had on. He had little privacy at the time. Neither did I. There would be no shedding of clothing. Discretion was necessary.
 
His words spoke of his fingers rubbing my clit while his mouth made its way up my thighs, leaving behind wet trails of saliva. I was already squirming in my seat. Shifting my body from excitement. Touching myself. My legs were spread wide apart, and moisture was gathering at the crotch of my panties, darkening the satin panel. My stiffened nipples were aching and pushing hard against the tightly fitted top I was wearing.
 
He said he needed to touch my pussy. With his lips. Instantly, my body reacted. My breathing suddenly grew more shallow, each breath held a bit longer. The fingers he displayed in front of his camera were now inside of me feeling my wetness. He licked my quivering quim. I shuddered the shudder of pleasure. Deeper into my pussy he went. Faster. All the while demanding that I cum for him. My fingers were busily and vigorously fucking myself. The deeper he went inside of me, the deeper I went. I fought the overwhelming urge to cry out. I had to. The lack of privacy necessitated it. Oh, how difficult it was not to cry out during the strong contractions of my cunt walls around thrusting fingers. I held my breath. He grabbed my inner lips, and I rocked and quaked during an explosion of creaming delight. His tongue licked up the tangy sweet liquid.
 
More. He wanted more from me.  
 
He asked me to rub my fingers over the top of my soaking wet panties. To think of him telling me to bend over, so he could spread my ass cheeks with his strong hands. Displayed on my monitor was him with those hands mirroring the words he had just typed. I trembled. I was to feel him pressing his palm under my pussy, with his fingers strumming my clit. His lips busy with my ass. I was finding it increasingly hard to find my breath. My insides were coiled up like a tightly wound spring ready to unwind. He wanted to fingerfuck me. Push, he demanded. Push against the length of his digits. My body pushed, and his lips kissed around my ass. I twitched and jerked from his determined fingerfucking. I bit into my lip to halt the scream that was trying to escape. I shook like a leaf, and my wetness dripped from my incredibly excited pussy hole.
 
Then the bastard said I was not getting his cock, because it was time for him to cook dinner. I continued to be hit with little aftershocks from my orgasm. I was disappointed that we could not continue, but not too disappointed to tell him that he could use straightening hair products on himself. After all, he was being the mommy cooking dinner, right? He called me a wet slutitude. Bah!

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