I like watching his breathing quicken and his neck flush. I like watching my head bob up and down while my spanked bum jiggles with the effort I’m putting in.
Back on the sofa, the flesh-and-blood Lloyd moves the hand that has been resting flat on my stomach down, gliding over the cotton knickers until he reaches my crotch.
‘Oh, these are damp,’ he says. ‘Oh dear.’
‘Can we watch something else? Antiques Roadshow, perhaps.’
‘No way, it’s just getting to the good part.’ He slides his fingers inside my knicker elastic, planting them firmly inside my pussy lips.
That’s where they stay for the rest of the tape.
TV-Lloyd removes my mouth from his cock while it’s still hard and lets me hide my face in the duvet, presenting my thighs, bum and cunt to the viewer instead. He gives the invisible audience a guided tour of these, spreading lips and cheeks, pointing out little crevices and areas of interest. Chief among these is my vagina, which he then pushes some fingers inside, coating them in juices, which he smears over my thighs.
‘What do you think?’ Lloyd whispers into my ear.
‘The lighting could be better.’
‘No, what do you think is going to happen to her?’
‘Shall we make a bet?’
‘I think you’d win. Come on. What?’
‘Well, at an outside guess, I’d say you stick your cock inside her.’
‘Inside her what?’
‘Ah. Good point. I seem to remember a sore pussy the next day, so …’
‘Well, look, you win.’
TV-him has inserted his cock into the correct orifice. I feel like a winner. I also feel like an enormously sexually frustrated person, watching the way he bangs into me. Because of my self-imposed restriction on shots of my face, all we get to see is Lloyd’s back view, but the way his gluteal muscles tense and flex is a sight I feel privileged to behold.
/> I start circling my hips, very subtly, hoping he won’t register my sly efforts to press my clit into his resting fingers. It occurs to me that I could sneak an orgasm without him knowing it – would that be possible? If he doesn’t know about it, do I have to declare it?
But that wouldn’t be in the spirit of the challenge. After all, there’s nothing to stop me hiding away in the toilets at work and seeing to myself. He’d never know. All the same, the daring naughtiness of doing it right under his nose appeals to me. So I work the hips in infinitesimal rotation, increasing the clitoral pressure in tiny degrees.
‘You want to come, don’t you?’ he says, just as his TV incarnation collapses on my back.
‘No,’ I say, but my breath is all weird and catchy.
‘You’re such a liar. I know what you’re doing. Well, you can come if you want. Be my guest. I’ll finger you if you like. But it just means a fail.’
‘You think you’re such an evil mastermind, don’t you? This is nothing.’ I try to wriggle away from the hand planted in my pants, but I can’t.
‘I’ll have to up the ante then.’ He starts kissing me again in that full-blooded Lloyd way. I try harder to elude him but it’s useless. My pulse is hammering, my blood raging around my body in a race to get to my cunt. I start to feel light-headed and desperate.
When he breaks the kiss, I gasp as if I’ve just run a marathon.
He takes pity on me, removes his hand.
‘You passed that one. OK. Well done. But I’m not finished. Not by a long way.’
***
I have to spend the next day at work without any underwear.
In the morning, Lloyd lays out my silkiest shirt, my shortest, tightest skirt, a pair of lace-topped hold-ups and nothing else.