Watching

I’m watching you. Head tipped back against the sofa cushions, eyes shut. Long fingers teasing one nipple under the fabric of your top, the other vanishing into your pj bottoms.

You’re self-concious to start with, I can see that; your movements are stiff and awkward. But then you start to relax, and as you shift position your breasts strain against your top. Your skin’s pale and smooth, and I really want to reach through the screen to stroke it, tracing the line of your shoulder down across your collarbone and down to your nipples, straining against the fabric…

Then your eyes open, fasten on mine for a moment, and lazily close again as you lick your lips, your hand still moving under the fabric. I get to watch as you stretch slightly, exposing more pale skin, and then your teeth bite your lip again and you sigh.

I know I make a noise as I shift, and when I look up again, you’ve opened your eyes. There’s an expression on your face that I don’t see often, lustful and hungry; but then I can’t blame you. I don’t often give you the show that I’m giving right now. You watch for a few seconds as my hand strokes, and I can’t help smiling at you. “You like?” I type.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your voice is faintly husky. “I like.”

And then your eyes shut again, your hand starts to move faster, and I see your teeth catch your lower lip. You’re breathing faster, too, and your mouth opens in a faint gasp.

I love watching you.

Leave a Reply