For months since the conference they had played on email. Coyly at first, but the attraction between them was too strong for coy. Within days? Hours? It seemed like seconds, they had been sharing compliments and then fantasies, and then descriptions of ripping each other's clothes off and fucking like wild animals, the emails flying back and forth, simultaneous multiple threads of burning passion degenerating into one-handed typing, the fingers of their left hands transcribing the moans and cries yanked forth by the fingers of their rights, inspired by each other's typing to new heights of ecstasy. As she read of him coming, as she came herself, she would picture him slumped in his study chair, head back, legs out, pants down, wife elsewhere, pumping furiously, spurting gloriously. All of her life she had wanted to watch a man masturbate. She knew they masturbated thinking about her, but she never got to share in the experience. Since the electronic affair had begun that image of him in the chair was etched into her brain, the final moment, an arc of white, frozen in midair.

Sitting in his study, on the couch, watching him work, at the computer, the same computer, in the chair, the same chair, his wife elsewhere, she was completely turned on. Had been turned on since they had arranged the details of her visit. Just sat, soaking it all in, idlely pinching her nipples.

Until he turned, swiveling the chair, staring deeply at her. "I want" he said. She waited. Wanted what? Right now she would do anything, could do anything. Was on fire. "I want" he repeated, unzipping his pants, "to masturbate for you."

Time stopped.

"Your wife?" she stammered. From deep in the bowels of the house came the sound of a sitcom and his wife's laughter.

He grinned, and freed his cock, rigid and straining. She stared, intensified her nipple pinching, as his fist moved languidly, squeezing almost imperceptibly, up and down the hard shaft. Heels up on the couch, right hand between her legs, eyes half lidded, blood pounding in her head, left hand squeezing her breasts, squeezing them hard, she watched him. Faster and faster, leaning back as she had imagined, leaning forward, into his cock, which she had not imagined, his forehead almost touching it, his face a raw grimace as though his brain needed to be one with it, his left hand fondling his balls, and then one great spasm, back arched, hips bucking, spurting and, as in her imagination, the great arc of white froze as she came biting her hand to muffle the scream, leaning forward herself, feeling incredibly beautiful in her own dishevelment.

She recovered, looked at him, one hand around his still erect cock, sticky with his own semen, sitting up now, staring at her, grinning wildly. She rose. Felt the look of lust in her own eyes. Stepped across the room in two quick steps, leaned over, her long hair cascading over his lap, sucked his cock into her mouth, and licked him clean.