And then a video pops up beneath mine. The preview image is of her breasts. Breasts that I spent so much time holding and stroking in high school that they are like dear, treasured friends. Extremely hot treasured friends.
I click on the video, and it’s Molly from the breasts down. She’s sitting on her bed propped against a mound of pillows and there is a pink vibrator beside her.
Jesus Christ.
She starts by playing with her breasts—stroking them, twisting her nipples. Her hands travel down to her thighs, which she brushes airily with her fingers, teasing herself.
I grab my cock, which is already obtrusively hard again, and begin working it as I watch her—but not too fast. I don’t want to finish before she does.
She spreads her legs to show me her pussy and rubs two fingers into it. I can hear her wetness. She reaches for the vibrator, presses a button, and it begins to whirr. It’s like sexual ASMR. I could get off on the audio alone.
But I don’t have to, because she puts the vibrator to her clit. I can hear it buzzing, hear her sigh of pleasure, hear her breath turn into little moans, hear her whispering “oh fuck yeah, ohfuck.”
Her hand reaches out and pulls her camera closer to her pussy, and I can see up close how swollen and red and wet it is and I want to taste it so bad I put my own finger in my mouth and pretend it’s her. I stop stroking my cock because I’m going to come if I don’t, and it throbs against my stomach, like it’s angry to be left alone.
This is an ache unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My groin is literally pulsing.
She grabs another toy from somewhere off camera—a dildo in the shape of a sparkly, purple, generously proportioned penis. Slowly, she eases it inside herself. I cannot believe what I’m seeing. She’s on her knees now, with the cock up between her legs, thrusting against it, and she puts the vibrator over her clit.
I can tell from the way her moans are coming, fast and high-pitched, that she’s about to come, so I grab my dick and start stroking myself in time with her. And then she cries out so loud it’s almost a scream—“oh Seth, oh God,fuckkkkk.” I close my eyes and explode all over my thighs and stomach.
I nearly black out with it.
I spend a full minute panting.
When I open my eyes I see that underneath the video in the message app she’s typed a single thing: a little whale emoji, water spewing out of its blowhole.
It makes me laugh.
But I’m still emotional.
I can’t believe she did this for me, shared this incredible, intimate, personal thing with me. I grab my underwear off the floor to wipe myself off, pick up my phone, and call her.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” she says. Her voice is barely more than a sigh.
“I’m…” My own voice is raspy, and for a moment, I’m at a loss for words.
“Me too,” she whispers.
“Thank you,” I say. For someone who uses his words for a living, I am wildly incoherent. “I’ve never…” I get out. “I’m, like,moved, Molly.”
She laughs softly. I can picture her lying in bed, naked and boneless from that orgasm, smiling up at the ceiling.
“I thought you might need a pick-me-up,” she says.
“That was a lot more than a pick-me-up.”
She laughs again. It sounds shy. A register I haven’t heard from her since we fooled around in high school.
“I’ve never sent anyone something so… explicit before,” she says. “Was it too much?”
“Toomuch?Baby, I want to fly across the country and fuck you so senseless you have to quit your job because you don’t have time to do anything but scream my name.”
“I don’t technically have a job at present,” she says. “But that just gives me more time for screaming.”
I can hear a smile in her voice.
