Over Your Shoulder

Sitting in a second chair, I roll up behind you, out of your sight unless you turn your head completely. "So, my love, you said things are awkward when someone looks over your shoulder." You start to turn to look, but I rest a hand on your shoulder, lifting your hair with the other, kissing the back of your neck, and as always you are quickly distracted. "What if it's me that wants to watch over your shoulder?"

You groan as I flick my tongue against your neck, putty in my hands. I coax you to standing, removing your usual chair and replacing it with a padded stool, no back to separate us. For now I leave your boxers in place, though already they do little to hide your anticipation, letting you sit back down as I slide closer. My nipples brush your back and you gasp as you realize you likely wear more than I do right now.

I lean a chin forward as my arms circle you, palms flattening on your skin, heat increasing between already. "Well, sweet man, what are you working on so industriously?" Your hands, sliding away from the keyboard, spring back, one pointing to the IM window as you breathlessly start to read and explain the conversation you're in, words collapsing in a rush as my hands move lower to your lap.

"... and that other window, the minimized browser there ... why don't you show me what you were looking at on the internet?" My cheek resting against yours can feel the sudden rush of heated blood, the blush coloring your skin brightly. "Would that be too awkward to share with me?" I can feel the tiny twitches of your skin, your head trying to both negate and confirm, as I wait, knowing you won't be able to deny me for long. Sure enough, the mouse is moving and there it is, one of the pictures you really love.

For what seems an eternity I wait, feeling your shallow breaths, the continued flush on your cheeks, the shivers as you deny yourself the touch that you are used to when you gaze upon this. Then you feel my hands in motion, slipping into the waistband of your boxers, grazing the flesh that leaps in joy at my touch, straining for more. With a quick tug, the boxers drop, you lifting off the stool briefly without thought, and your swollen member stands bare and proud.

I tilt my head, my lips near your ear as I admire both the image and your body's natural reaction to it. "Is it normal for both hands to stil be on the keyboard and mouse?" You take the suggestion, grabbing yourself as I pull your legs open, my fingers stroking your inner thighs.

"That's right. Wrapped around you like my pussy would be, tight and hot ... oh, but I wouldn't be dry." One hand leaves your leg, and the next thing you see is the small bottle of lubricant, the cool oil dribbling over the tip and sliding around the rim, down to your hand, coating it as you stroke yourself.

"There, that's the way I'd be. All wet and slick as you penetrated me over and over." You're gone in the sensations now, the first droplet of precum falling away and more taking its place, any thoughts of this being awkward gone. "Faster you're stroking, feeling it tighter around you, maybe tight enough to tug a little as you pull back for the next thrust. Deeper you go, feeling your ball sac slap against my pussy lips, harder and harder as you expand, almost there, almost ready ..."

I watch as my words guide your hand's rhythm, hearing the slap of your palm against your balls, feeling you lifting slightly off the stool in the effort to thrust within your hand. Your staff is deeply shaded now, the blood filling it to near-bursting, veins standing out in stark contrast. Your panting is loud and strangled as you buck in my arms, gasping as the first spurt leaves you. White cum sprays the monitor and keyboard, ropy strings bursting forth as your cock jerks in your hand with the force of your release.

As you finally ease back against me, no longer rigid from the exertions of your climax, I offer you a long skinny box – the new keyboard and mouse you'll need after spilling your milk all over the old ones. "Happy Cum-Day, my love."