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Good. That was sexy.

I held my breath and sent him the picture fast, before I lost my nerve.

Fuck yeah baby. I love that.

Then I thought of something.

Are you . . . you know? Hard?

Yeah. Thinking of you and those gorgeous tits of yours.

Put your finger on your clit and the others in your pussy. I wanna see a picture of your fingers glistening with how wet you are.

I slipped my hand down and felt how wet I was. Indeed, how wet my hunky roommate made me with words alone. With text alone. Without his presence, his scent, his warmth.

Stroke yourself.

An errant push-back thought bubbled up. Don’t tell me what to do, Mister. I childishly texted,You stroke it.

I am.

What did that mean? Was he doing this with me, not just ordering me around? Oh, if so, this was even hotter than I thought.

Where are you?

Bathroom at work.

Not sexy

I’m plenty sexy

And then he sent me a selfie.

Chin back, beautiful bare chest, pierced nipples hard, hand gripping the top of his cock, which I could barely see. His scrubs were pulled down.

It was so damn erotic.

I stared at that picture and started to rub myself.

I’d have to text left-handed, I thought. But sweet Jesus, if I wasn’t going to make myself come.

The picture of him, the orders, the commands. I wanted him so badly. And I needed to hurry, this was so inappropriate.

I felt myself quickly tense up, keep going, keep going, get faster and faster, the need greater, the inevitable march to orgasm, and then with a moan, I came, my body twitched, and twitched again, and then I relaxed, gasping at my desk.

Wondering what I just did. Our office walls weren’t that thick. My hands were going to smell like me. And I was going to have to walk past all the cubicles to the bathroom to wash my hands. Ugh.

But carefully I unlocked my phone with one hand and I snapped a picture of my wet finger, slick, showing how much I was turned on by him.

And then for good measure, I sent him one of my face, with my makeup smeary.

Good girl.

Beautiful.

I came too.

See you tonight.