I Distracted Him While He Was Playing With the Mic Open

There are nights when the body can’t find rest. I lie down, turn off the light, and instead of falling asleep I end up staring at the ceiling with my mind lit up, going over memories that still hold too much heat to simply let go. This is one of those nights. The sheets are warm against my naked skin, the cracked-open window lets in a little cool air, and I think of you. Of that night a few weeks ago that the two of us kept as something our own.

My fingers brush distractedly along the curve of my hip while I let memory drag me under. It’s not yet a deliberate gesture, more like the body following the mind without my deciding it. The recollection is exact in the details that matter: the glow of the monitor, the sound of the keys, the open microphone, the taste of your cock at the back of my throat.

***

You came home from work loaded with silence. That kind of silence I know well, the kind that doesn’t ask for company but for space. You ate something standing at the kitchen counter, gave me a brief kiss on the forehead without saying anything, and then disappeared into the next room. I heard you turn on the equipment, the startup sounds, and then your altered voice, lighter, greeting the guys on the other side of the mic.

Rodrigo and Damián. Always Rodrigo and Damián on Friday nights. I know them by the tone you use with them, by the way you laugh differently, with more body, as if with them you could strip the week of its weight without effort. I’m glad you have that.

I stayed for a while on the living room sofa with a book I couldn’t keep hold of. The words passed before my eyes and left nothing behind. From the room came the tapping of keys, some short exclamation, the instructions you gave Rodrigo about some move that wasn’t quite working out. Familiar sounds of an ordinary night.

I don’t know when the idea started. Things like that don’t have an exact moment; they take shape little by little while you’re doing something else. At first it was just a fleeting thought I brushed aside — imagining myself on my knees under the desk, your cock in my mouth while you spoke into the microphone —. Then it became more concrete, more insistent. By the time I let it finish forming in my head, it was too late to ignore it. My cunt was wet just from thinking about it.

I took off my T-shirt slowly. Then the bra. I stood in the middle of the living room with the fan’s air hardening my nipples, and I made the decision. I pulled my panties down too, let them fall to the floor, and kicked them aside. I was going to walk into the room completely naked.

I went in barefoot, walking on the tips of my toes so the floor wouldn’t creak. You had your back to me, completely absorbed by the screen. The monitor’s light lit you from behind, casting shadows over your neck, over the headphones, over your hands moving quickly across the keyboard. You were only wearing your underwear, and from where I stood a hard bulge was already outlined against the fabric. I heard Rodrigo explaining something about how much time they had left before the next objective.

I came closer little by little. When I put my palms on your shoulders, your body tensed for a second, instinctively, before recognizing my touch and loosening. You didn’t say anything. You just kept your eyes fixed on the screen while I started massaging your shoulders slowly, letting my tits brush the back of your neck every time I leaned in a little more.

—I’m still listening —you told Rodrigo, in a completely neutral voice.

I started kissing your neck. First just grazing the skin, almost no pressure, feeling your temperature. Then slower, with more weight, letting my lips part a little and the tip of my tongue leave a wet trail beneath your ear. I pressed myself against your back and felt your breathing change, even if you didn’t show it. My nipples hardened even more against your shoulder blades.

I slowly turned around the side of your chair until I was facing you. I bent down. I knelt in the space between the chair and the desk, my palms on your thighs, looking up at you from below. You returned a quick glance — just that, a fraction of a second — before turning back to the screen.

That control of yours always challenged me.

I leaned in and started nibbling at your stomach. Slowly, unhurried, following the line just above the waistband. I felt you involuntarily tighten your abdomen, that reflex that gives away what the rest of the body is trying to hide. Your left hand slowly came down to my head and stayed there, without pressing, barely touching my hair. Your cock was already completely hard beneath the fabric and it outlined the exact shape of it — the length, the thickness, the vein running along the side — an inch from my mouth.

I pulled down your underwear. Your cock sprang free, hard, the tip already shining with a thick drop that stuck to my lower lip the moment I brushed it.

I heard the click of the microphone being muted exactly one second before any sound could slip out of you. That detail struck me as exhausting and adorable at the same time: the determination you put into keeping control while I did what I wanted to do to you. A game within the game.

I took you with my lips slowly. First just the head, sucking it like a candy, moving my tongue in circles around the crown, tasting the pre-cum that wouldn’t stop coming. Then I went down little by little, swallowing you whole, letting the heat settle between us until the tip hit the back of my throat. I stayed there for a moment, with my nose pressed against your pubic mound, feeling your cock pulse inside my mouth. Your body responded immediately. I felt the change, the response you couldn’t control even if you controlled everything else. On the desk, the screen kept showing the match in progress. Rodrigo had just made a joke and Damián was laughing.

You reactivated the microphone and said two words. Two perfectly normal words that had nothing to do with any of the thoughts you were having at that moment. That talent for compartmentalizing that sometimes infuriates me and other times seems like the most erotic game there is.

I started moving to a rhythm. Slowly at first, going up to the tip and back down to the base, alternating pressure, leaving space between each movement so that anticipating the next became part of what you were feeling. Saliva started running from the corner of my mouth, falling in thick drops onto your balls, and I used it to massage them with one hand while the other wrapped around you and worked up and down at the same time as my mouth. I looked up at you every so often while I did it. Sometimes you gave those moments back to me with your eyes, other times you used them to focus on the screen and recover the thread of the game.

—Right flank —you said at one point, with admirably steady voice.

I increased the pressure at that exact instant. I took you all at once, until my chin hit your balls, and stayed there, choking for a second with tears in my eyes. Your hand on my head squeezed just a little, without meaning to, then loosened again as if nothing had happened. From the other side of the mic, Rodrigo confirmed the move without noticing anything.

I lowered one hand between my own legs. My cunt was dripping, the inside of my thighs completely wet. I started touching myself while I kept going, two fingers sliding in and out with ease, my thumb drawing tight circles over the clit. I found the spot I knew well and held it, letting the heat build in slow waves. There was something about that shared secret — the microphone as the only boundary between what was private and what the others heard — that turned me on almost more than anything else. While I sucked your cock and finger-fucked myself, I could feel my cunt tightening around my own knuckles.

My moans were still small, just sounds escaping muffled around your cock and controlled by me pressing my lips against your flesh. Yours were nonexistent on the outside, but I felt them in the tension of your muscles, in the way your hip moved slightly without you deciding it, thrusting just a little into my mouth, in the changing pressure of your hand in my hair.

I picked up the pace. My fingers found the exact spot and held it with circular motions that became more precise as pleasure grew. I closed my eyes for a moment and opened them again. I looked up at you from below, mouth full, lips stretched around your cock, spit dripping down my chin. You were looking at me. In that fraction of a second something wordless happened that was worth more than any conversation.

The orgasm came earlier than expected. I had to brace my free hand on your thigh so I wouldn’t fall forward, because the fingers buried in my cunt clenched so hard my legs almost stopped responding. A sound came out of my throat and went straight into your headphones, a guttural moan that bounced against your cock, but you’d already muted the microphone in time. My knees shook against the floor. I closed my eyes and let it pass, biting my lip against one side of your cock, letting the waves run through me completely. I felt a thread of my own wetness slide down the inside of my thigh to the floor.

When I opened them, the headphones were already on the desk.

—Guys, I’m jumping in —you said to the screen, and closed the chat without waiting for a response.

***

What came after had nothing quiet about it anymore.

Your hands took my head with a different firmness. Not rough, but unquestionably so. The control passed from me to you and I yielded it without resistance, which was exactly what I’d wanted from the start. You dug your fingers into my hair, closed your fist, and started fucking my mouth to your rhythm. You pushed your hips forward while pulling my head toward you, shoving me down to the root every time, not giving me a breath between thrusts. I could feel the tip slamming into my throat, cutting off my air for seconds, and every time you let go just enough for me to catch my breath you were already pushing back in again.

The rhythm you set was different now, more direct, without the anticipation games I’d been managing until then. My eyes filled with tears, saliva dripped in sticky streams between my tits, and I opened my mouth as wide as I could so you could enter without obstacles. The sound of the game still came from the speakers, left abandoned on the start screen, but no one was paying attention anymore.

I let you do whatever you wanted with me. There’s something in that surrender that can sometimes be more intense than anything else: doing nothing, deciding nothing, only receiving what you’re giving me and letting the body respond on its own. Being a hole for your cock until you decided to finish. Your breathing filled the room, unfiltered, without microphones, with nobody listening. The growls that escaped you with each thrust, the “like that, baby, suck me like that” said through clenched teeth, were sounds that belonged to you, only to you, that you wouldn’t have been able to hide even if you’d wanted to.

When you reached the edge, you did it without warning. Your voice broke into something that wasn’t a word, a guttural sound from deep inside, and I felt your cock swell a fraction more between my lips before it burst. I stayed completely still receiving all of it. The first spurt slammed into the back of my throat with force, thick and hot, and I swallowed reflexively. The second I held on my tongue to taste it, dense and salty, before swallowing it too. Then I pulled the tip only slightly from my mouth and let the last threads paint my lips, my chin, my neck, until a long one slid slowly down the center of my chest and hung from a nipple. I didn’t move until I felt you were completely done, until the last contraction of your cock had emptied itself against my tongue.

Then, silence. Your breathing coming back. The screen still on, the match abandoned, the cursor blinking over the start menu.

I pulled away slowly and took my time cleaning you. I ran my tongue from bottom to top along the full length of your cock, unhurried, gathering every last drop that remained, sucking each ball one by one until I’d cleaned you off. While you looked down at me from the chair with your elbows on your knees and an expression that mixed exhaustion with something warmer. I brought my fingers to my chest, where the still-warm cum was dripping between my tits, gathered it with two fingers and took them to my mouth. I sucked them while holding your gaze. Then that same hand went back down between my legs and I sank my fingers into my cunt, smearing the rest of your load over my clit.

I stayed seated on the floor in front of you, legs spread wide so you could see everything. I didn’t move toward the bed. I didn’t say anything. I just started again, slowly at first, two fingers in and out, thumb pressed against the swollen clit, letting you keep watching. Letting you observe every movement without looking away. Letting you aim at nothing but my cunt open for you.

I slipped in a third finger. The wet, obscene sound could be heard every time I pulled them out and pushed them back in. I lifted my hips off the floor so you’d have a better view. I pinched one nipple with my other hand, yanking hard, while I buried my fingers deep. That was what set off the second orgasm, more than anything else: your fixed gaze, following each gesture of my hands, each contraction of the cunt around my fingers. Pleasure growing because you knew exactly what I was feeling and said nothing, just watched. I came with a cry I no longer cared to control, folding forward with my palms on the floor, cunt dripping onto the parquet, letting the tremor run all the way to my toes. I pulled my soaked fingers out and ran them over your lips so you’d suck them. You opened them without hesitation and licked me clean to the last trace.

When I straightened up, there was a slow smile on your mouth.

—How long had you planned it? —you said. It wasn’t a question.

—Since nine —I answered.

You turned your eyes to the dark screen for a moment, as if doing the math.

—Two hours —you said.

—And worth every minute.

***

I return to the present. I’m in our bed and the memory has left my body lit up again, my cunt soaked, my nipples hard against the sheet. My fingers move on their own, following the same path as that night: two inside, the thumb pressing the clit in circles, and memory does the rest. I imagine your cock instead of my fingers, going in all the way, and I squeeze harder. I close my eyes and let go without resisting: the orgasm sweeps through me completely, my legs moving without control, a tremor that starts at the center and spreads outward until the body exhausts everything it had stored up. I feel the wetness gush over my hand and drip onto the sheet beneath me, making a dark, warm stain.

When I come back, I notice the sheets are wet beneath me. I smile to myself in the darkness of the room.

I know that at some point you’re going to get here. You’re going to open the door, turn on the hallway light, come into the room. And when you see the sheets, when you smell my cunt in the air, you’ll understand exactly what I was doing while I waited for you.

Maybe, if I’m lucky, you’ll decide that deserves consequences. That you’ll flip me face down, lift my ass up, and fuck me until I can’t walk tomorrow.