That Walk

That walk.  That saunter.  Jessica would know it a mile away, if she were able to see it.  Focused on the video conference that took up the entire real estate of one massive computer screen, she doesn’t notice the spectre in the background of her own feed until her wife is right behind her, and Sanneke leans down to murmur warm words against her ear.

“…where is your strap-on?”

She cups an elegant hand around the front of Jessica’s ear, blocking any curious onlookers — or viewers of later recordings — from reading her lips.  Every single syllable is full of promise, and word by word she paints them against Jessica’s skin.

“I want to blow you. I want to suck you off, run my lips over your shaft, suckle your tip, and trace my tongue over every single vein. I want to stare up at you while I edge you over and over again until you grab my head with both hands, pull my lips down to kiss leather, and you cum so deep down my throat that ‘spit or swallow’ isn’t even a question.”

Her other hand drags her manicured nails slow and firm across Jessica’s lower back, where the fabric of her designer button-up shirt is all that stops red lines from being etched into skin.

“And then I want you to hate-fuck me bent over your desk to teach me a very valuable lesson about interrupting you at work — just like old times.”

The sweet pain of her nails withdraws, and the tip of her tongue flicks a playful kiss against Jessica’s earlobe.

“Enjoy your meeting. I love you.”

She drops her shielding hand from her wife’s ear and casts a wink towards the watching webcam, before walking that walk out the door, and closing it behind her.

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