Weaver sits up straighter, leaning forward. Her hands have abandoned the dildo, and now she’s just sitting on it, buried inside her, and bouncing softly. Her hands are erratic and frenzied, moving so quickly over her clit they’re just a blur on my computer screen. Her groans are growing lower, coming from deep inside her, and her lips fall open. Panting, she starts saying my name. “Chris, Chris, fuck Chris, I’m going to come.” She’s hypnotizing. Every inch of her is erotic and electrifying, and my hand is moving on its own. My eyes are glued to her, watching her hair fall in her face and her little body bounce, up and down, up and down, as her shoulders hunch up and her eyes squeeze shut. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out, and I see a jolt of pleasure, electricity, shake her whole body. She sits up straight, riding it out, her back arched and her tits thrust forward. I’ve never seen her come this hard before. She falls backward, twitching with the aftershocks of her orgasm, and I stare at her pussy where the black dildo has slipped out of her, the sheen on it showing me how wet she is. And the feeling in my balls in now spreading through my body, and I can’t hear, and I can barely see, and I switch hands, hold her panties in front of my cock, and watch as ropes of cum spurt out onto the lace. I grunt, over and over again, until the last drops are spent, and then I lean back, completely exhausted and satisfied.
After a minute, I’m afraid she’s fallen asleep. “Hey, Weaver,” I say gently.
She opens her eyes and gives me a lazy smile and a laugh. “That was different and very…Shit!” She lurches forward and I see her squinting at the screen. “Damn it.”
“What’s the matter?” I ask, completely baffled by how she could worry about anything right now after what we just did.
“I forgot we were on the server. I’m going to have to pay them and that wasn’t, well that wasn’t something I’m going to charge for because…well because!” She’s completely flustered and says, “Text me,” before the screen goes black.
My phone dings immediately.
Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I guess we could have just FaceTimed :)
There it is again. Fucking money. She’s freaking out over owing Sugar Girl money for that session, but she isn’t going to charge me. I open the app quickly and send enough to cover the session plus a generous tip. It must go through instantly because she texts me back,
Why’d you do that?
Why? Because I can’t stand to see her anxious? Because I have more money than I’ll spend in a lifetime? Because watching her fuck herself and come was worth every penny? I settle on,
Because it’s not a big deal to me and it was my mistake as much as yours.
The little dialogue bubbles appear and then go away. I’m tense waiting to see her response; not wanting the same argument we had this morning to happen again. The bubbles appear again and the message is simple.
Thanks, Chris. I owe you one.
You don’t owe me anything, I type. Then I reconsider. Actually, I know how you can pay me back. Let me take you out for a real date.
I’m holding my breath as the bubbles appear, and when I read her reply, I exhale.
Tomorrow at 8?
I type back, It’s a date.
11
Weaver
“Calm your tits, Kate!” I yell, stomping down the hall toward my bedroom. I’m putting on my make-up for my date with Chris. I expect he’ll be here any minute, and I don’t want him to have to linger very long around Kate.
“Tits are calm, Weaver, thank you,” she snaps back. “And my head is a little clearer than yours. I think you’re crazy.”
Kate’s having a major meltdown over my date tonight with Chris. She follows me into my bathroom and stares at me in the mirror as I blend my foundation.
“What happened to my perfectly supportive best friend from the Staten Island ferry yesterday?” I ask.
“She was drunk, Weaver. You got her drunk,” she says. “And I meant what I said last night. It’s two thousand and fucking nineteen. I can’t believe you even hesitated to tell me about Sugar Girl. When I said I didn’t care, no judgement, I meant it. Get yours, girl. Make money. This world revolves around it. Fuck, I’d pay to watch you shake your tits; they’re really nice. But Chris, Weaver…I just think…”
“Stop thinking,” I say lightly and playfully shimmy at her. “Can I offer you a glass of chianti, amica?” I blot my lips and head out of the bathroom, searching for my shoes in the mess on my floor. Kate follows. She hasn’t been more than a couple of feet behind me ever since I told her about my date with Chris.