Orgasm in real time

I want to share with you an orgasm in real time - she said and I am certain that his penis leaped in his shorts if he was wearing shorts. If not he would have easily stroked that swelling thing between his legs in that frantic syncopated rhythm that some men favour.

Are you ready? Well it takes a while and so I would get comfortable if I were you. I have to build up to it. The blood comes to my clitorus slowly. The petals (she would use this kind of flowery metaphor) begin to swell up just a little as if you were sighing ever so slightly into a balloon. He would be thinking of her cunt then, although she would never use the word 'cunt'. Her performance is coy with an edge of brashness, although it is only a fine edge and it only comes out with him because he is so patient with her. He does not push her to think of sex. In fact he avoids it, and it is in his avoidance that she becomes bold.

I am a little bit damp now - and he thinks 'wet', because 'wet' is the word that makes him rock hard. He hates that the simple language of pornography has the power to stir him but he thinks 'wet' and 'cunt' and when he looks down into his lap he thinks 'cock' and he will come long before she does because she has settled into an orgasm in real time and perhaps she is pleasuring herself all the way over there on the other side of the internet, perhaps when she says she is touching it, she really is, or perhaps it is just a display to trap him. Still, he holds his 'cock' and thinks of her delicate little fingers parting the 'petals' of her 'cunt' and he makes sounds that he would not make if she were not all the way over there at her own house and he says:

Yeah?

Because she does all the talking anyway.

And she says - so it feels a little tingly down there in my flower and I can feel how moist it is.

He does not like the word moist.

And it is almost damp enough to put my little finger inside there. She has no word for the place but he has, 'cunt' he thinks, 'hole' 'mouth'. And it is the idea of her cunt as a mouth that sends him. The idea of her lips closing on her delicate little finger and spitting honey out to lubricate it's passage. He catches the jism in his hand which he hates to do but she caught him unprepared with her orgasm in real time conversation.

So he goes into the bathroom and pulls some toilet paper off the roll and cleans himself and washes his hands very carefully and checks his hair in the mirror and when he returns to his computer screen she has only just slipped a second finger inside her virtual cunt and so he clicks over to another screen and reads about some band or another and their album that they have just released and he flicks back to her orgasm every so often, adding a 'yeah?' at the appropriate places, and he waits, and wonders if she will ever come.