Ms. Tease Act 06

The phone rings, startling me and stifling my oncoming orgasm. I'm on-call and can't ignore the shrill sound as much as I'd like to.

"Shit," I say, wiping my hand on my leg and moving across the room to answer it, my penis pointing the way as I walk.

"This is Brian," I say.

"Hey."

"Hey," I say, surprised to hear her voice again, thinking we'd pushed things about as far as was prudent, and probably more so.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

There's a pause as I consider how to answer.

"That's a dangerous question," I tell her finally, chuckling a little.

"Oh yeah?"

"Ohhhh yeah..."

"Haven't you taken care of your little problem yet?"

"I'm working on it. And it isn't polite to be calling it a little problem you know."

"You're working on it now?" she asks, sounding incongruously surprised.

"Well, not at this exact moment, but I can keep going if you want."

She tells me I'm lying, but it's an unconvincing sounding proclamation.

"You think so?"

"You're doing it now?"

"Yes," I say, taking up the rhythm again, feeling like an obscene phone caller for doing so while holding a conversation with her.

"I don't believe it," she tells me again.

"Hold on a minute," I say, holding the phone down by my crotch. I know she won't be able to hear me stroking, so I take my cock and slap it several times against the flesh of my thigh. "Do you hear that?"

"That could be anything."

"No, it's my cock," I tell her, feeling like a naughty boy for saying the word aloud, but unable to control myself.

"You can't prove it though."

The thing swells even more in my hand. Damned if she isn't asking for definitive proof of my sexual arousal.

"Yes I can," I say after thinking it over for a moment.

"How?" she asks, sounding both doubtful and curious all at once.

"Give me ten minutes and then check your email," I say. "And then call me back."

She agrees, and after we hang up, I turn the lights down low and get to work setting up the digital camera on its tripod. When everything's in place, I stroke myself a little to regain what stiffness I've lost and then pull on the underwear, snapping off several shots of my erection as it strains obscenely at the fabric -- like the center poll of a circus Big Top. I take another series of shots with the underwear off, getting fifteen or so pictures of my cock from different angles, making sure I get close-ups of both the big vein snaking along the top of my shaft, and full ball sack.

But once I've downloaded the photos to my computer and view them larger than life, I begin to have second thoughts. A little harmless flirting is one thing, sending cock shots quite another. I know once I hit send, the cat will officially be out of the bag. For all I know she could be setting me up, the photos winding up as wallpaper on the office computer.

It's a classic case of mind versus body, and it's clear which side of the fence my still-hard dick is coming down on. In the end, I decide to throw caution to the wind. Sort of. I send along a couple of the tamer shots of my penis straining against the briefs, titling the email 'proof positive'. There's no skin, but the outline of my erection is unmistakable.

My anxiety builds as I wait for the phone to ring, making me pace the room some more. My penis is deflated somewhat now, but still begging for attention. I'm aware that she's got me in a compromising position, and I curse my cock for his haste. She could stop now and simply approach our boss with the photos, my penis effectively framed. If she claimed I'd sent them unsolicited, I'd be screwed.

"That bitch," I say.

The phone rings, startling me again, even worse than before. Perhaps it's the police I think, letting it ring until I can no longer take the suspense.

"Hello," I say, disguising my voice the best I can as I wait for the hammer to fall.

"I was expecting something a little less tame," she tells me, flooding me with relief.

"Oh yeah?" I ask, grateful for her sense of fair play. Silently I take back the bitch comment, feeling genuinely remorseful for having thought it.

"Yeah. I mean for all I know you just shoved something down your pants. Where's the fun in that?"

Her insinuation that I'm trying to perpetrate some sort of elaborate penile subterfuge is an irksome one.

"Are you still at the computer?" I ask her, my pride somewhat bruised.

"Yes," she says.

I tell her to sit tight as I attach the filthiest of the shots and then hit send. In it, my penis is standing tall, framed against my black t-shirt, white and gruesome looking in the flash, like a grub startled out from the earth.

"Refresh the page," I tell her, waiting until she does so. My heart is pounding in my ears.

"Oh, another one, eh?" she asks, something in her voice gone playful and naughty.

"Yup," I tell her. "Open it."

I wish I were there with her, but can only imagine the emotions playing across her face. I know that penises are essentially ridiculous looking appendages, except when viewed through a veil of lust and pheromones. I strain to hear any mirth in her voice, but all she says is "Wow, I guess that was your penis."

"Risqué enough?" I ask her, strangely proud at having elicited such a reaction, as if years of toil and individual effort had gone into the making of this particular erection.

"It's handsome. Is that the only one you took?" she asks me.

I admit it's not, sending her the remainder of the shots at her urging. She comments on all of them individually as they come through, stroking my dick's ego. From time to time I reach down and give him a pat on the head just to make sure he doesn't think I'm neglecting him. It's difficult now to hold up my end of the conversation, to keep my tone of voice level as I grit my teeth and imagine all the things I want to do to her.

"It's too bad you didn't take any of you um...finishing," she tells me. "That would be kind of sexy."

Her comment catches me unaware. I'd assumed she knew that I hadn't.

"That's because I haven't come yet," I admit.

She's quiet a moment, as if needing time to digest this peculiar piece of information.

"You poor thing," she says, sounding genuinely concerned for my predicament. "You must be dying for it."

"It's not so bad," I tell her with a verbal shrug, ever the trooper.

"But it looks so hard," she goes on. "I can see your balls all pulled up tight to your body. The head's all shiny looking, and the little eye's open too. See that big vein? Go back to the second picture you sent me. See how it's so full of blood that it looks like it's going to burst?"

"I see it," I tell her.

It feels good to have her going over the finer points of my genitals as one might a work of art -- a painting perhaps, or a bottle of good wine. My dick is pounding in my lap now. With each beat of my heart, it seems to be nodding, agreeing with her every word.

"See picture number six?" she says.

"I don't need to look at the picture," I interrupt, my face growing hot. "I've got the real thing right here."

"You bad boy," she laughs at me. "Have you been hard the whole time you've been talking to me?"

It doesn't sound like a criticism, so I admit it's true.

"Poor baby."

I make a sound meant to convey that it's no biggee.

"What will you do?"

I laugh. "I'll give you one guess."

"You know what I would do if I were you?"

"What?"

"I'd put that video function on your camera to good use and film myself coming all over the place and then email it to me..."

"You think?"

"Definitely."

"You don't think it'd be too much? That it'd come across as being a little over-the-top or crude?"

"Not at all. If I were you, I'd send me the little video clip and imagine me watching it over and over, my nipples getting hard, the panties I kept showing you getting wetter and wetter, as if they'd been hit with a spray bottle. Watching it until I couldn't stand it anymore and had to reach down into them and rub my clit in little circles, increasing the pressure, starting the clip time and time again, two fingers going inside me now, strumming hard and fast until I started coming all over the office chair, until I was sitting in a little warm pool of girlcum.

"Wow," I say when she finishes.

"Yup."

"You know what I would do if I were YOU?"

"What?"

"I'd go into the top right drawer of the desk right now and pull out the camera we use to take pictures of the kids. Then I'd pull my shirt and bra up over my tits and hike my skirt around my waist, pulling my wet panties off to one side. Then I'd hold the camera down low so that it was pointed up with my pussy right in the foreground, my face peeking out from behind the slope of my tits. If I were feeling really nasty, I might even stick a finger or two inside me. Then I'd send that photo to you so that I could imagine you jerking that hard cock of yours and coming all over it."

"You think?"

"Definitely."

Neither of us speaks for a minute.

"Give me ten minutes and then check your inbox," she tells me, laughing and hanging up on me before I can respond.

There is no fucking way, I think, checking the clock and reaching down to squeeze my dick down at the base, making him flush. But even as my brain tells me it's impossible, my dick is goading her on. When I check the clock again, the damned thing hasn't budged. I figure she'll call back any second to laugh and say the jokes on me. But a minute ticks by, and then miraculously, a second. I hit the refresh button, but there's nothing and so I try it again.

What if the damned internet goes down? I say to myself and groan. The work connection is a tenuous one, and I berate myself for not getting on the powers-that-be to have it fixed properly. After five minutes there's still nothing, and I begin to think she's gotten cold feet. All in all, I probably hit the refresh button seventy-five times over the course of ten minutes.

My phone lights up as I'm about to try it again. I curse, figuring this is the point where she tells me I've been had. But when I open the message, there's just a single word staring back at me from the tiny screen: 'enjoy'.

I hurry to refresh the page again. It's there, the bolded script denoting a new message in my inbox. I've got something for someone's inbox, my penis pipes up in his usual vulgar manner. I tell him to hush, quickly clicking on the attachment. But it seems to take forever and a day to load. I want more than anything to get a glimpse of her tits, but I'm trying not to get my hopes up. After all, I've barely even seen the shadows of her nipples, and nipple shadows are worlds away from the suggestions I've tried planting in her head.

The photo loads from the top down. I can't take my eyes off of it as I give myself a tug or two. The angle looks exactly as I've directed it, with her head peering down at the camera. Her face is mostly in shadows, but still I can make out the mischievous smile and the smoky look in her eyes -- as if she's lost in thought, or perhaps drank too much wine. More of the photo loads, and I can see that the shirt and bra have indeed been rucked up over her tits. There's a hitch in the loading that makes me groan, but then the top of her breasts are in the frame, pushed together, corralled and gathered close by the positioning of her arms down by her waist. I'm holding my breath. Lord help me, the things are huge. They load and load.

But when her nipples come into the frame, they're covered with yellow smiley face stickers, the kind we give the children when they've been particularly helpful or polite. She's teasing me still damn it, but I console myself that when her pussy comes into the frame it won't matter. Her bellybutton loads next, along with the toned muscles covered in peach fuzz lower down. Lower. And then lower still. The skirt's up around her waist, and I'm unable to blink or breathe as I wait for the beginnings of her pubic hair, the single tree that indicates that the forest is not far off. I wonder if she'll have a full head. But no, I picture her as more of a 'landing strip' type of woman.

The hair never comes, just more skin. Shaved, the whole thing. Damned if I haven't started salivating as I wait for her slit to appear, the incurving lines drawing down invariably on pink flesh. The picture loads some more.

And...it's yellow, more stickers all in a line where her pussy proper should be.

"Shit," I groan again, pulling on myself harder, as if that will make it not be so. But when the file finishes loading completely, I'm pleased to see that she's got the index finger of her right hand lodged deep inside her body.

I save the photo to my desktop and then open it again, using the magnifying tool to blow up various sectors. Her throat looks flushed, and up close I can see that the flesh of her tits is riddled with gooseflesh, as if tinged by chill or by lust. Her nipples are hard, and I examine the way the stickers are plastered to the tips of the erect buds, the beginnings of her areolas showing around the edges.

I save her pussy for last, moving in, hoping for even the slightest glimpse of pink. There's nothing, but when I inspect the pudgy outer lip that traps her underwear up against where her thigh meets her pelvis, it's clearly wet with arousal. For several minutes I'm unable to peel my eyes away. The lip looks as if it's been brushed with sugar-water, slathered with some type of cooking glaze. Lower down, the bit of finger shows outside her body. It too looks wet. I'm jerking harder now, amazed that she could get the stickers to adhere to such slippery skin.

Blowing up the photo some more, I can make out the stubble where the natural margins of her bush would be if she hadn't mowed it down. It's too much, such an intimate thing somehow to know the layout of her pubic hair, a miraculous gift. I don't know that we've said five thousand words to each other outside of work, and yet here we find ourselves. When I look down at myself, my dick is throbbing once more in anticipation. I know that I could touch him once and send my load flying, snapping at it with my teeth to try and snatch the gobs of cum from out of the air, getting the stuff in my beard, and on the keyboard, and on the floor.

It's time. I know I could do myself an injury if I don't get some relief soon. I click on 'print' and hurry to set up the camera so that it's pointing at my bed, checking through the viewfinder to make sure it'll capture the action, and not a clenched thigh, or a quivering bedsheet. The picture of her finishes printing, and I shake it a time or two to ensure it's completely dry before taking it along with me to the bedroom. The photo seems even naughtier made whole, something solid that I could tack to my wall if I didn't have to concern myself with visiting coworkers spotting it. She could always do the same, my traitor-of-a-brain tries whispering to me. But I push the thought away before it can take root.

Without further ado, I peel off all my clothes and start the camera, lying down on the bed with the photo as I resume stroking myself. At times I hold my dick down low at the base and shake it for the benefit of the camera, so she'll be able to see how fucking stiff she's gotten me. I lick the picture a time or two, paying close attention to low down where her pussy is, as if I could suck her juices right off the shiny photo paper. Already the sperm is churning in my balls, the familiar tingle running up and down the length of my cock. It doesn't take long before I begin making noises -- grunting at first and then calling out for her, saying, "Fuck me! Please fuck me Patty!"

At the moment of climax, I lock eyes with the camera, turning the photo away from me on my chest so that it's facing my dick. I want her to see my face when I orgasm, but it's a struggle to keep my eyes open as I begin to ejaculate, seven or eight strong blasts flying through the air, calling her name still over the patter of my sperm smacking wetly against the photo.

It seems as if it'll never end, but finally the flood dries up. When I can move, I sit up and bring the photo up close to the camera, holding it there as ropes of semen hang from it and fall to the floor, still breathing hard as I reach over to switch the thing off.

Barely able to stand, I stumble out to my computer and download the AVI clip. Already a wave of sleep is descending down on me as I send the clip to her inbox, tagging it with the title 'enjoy' before stumbling back to bed. For a while I just lay there, still wondering how that shiny little lip of hers would feel in my mouth, thinking as I drift off that I should sit and write it all down, maybe post it somewhere online and send her a card with a link to it.

And so I do.