The Webcam

Among the holiday gifts I received from Nimue was a new webcam.  The one that came with my home computer was lost or broken long ago.  When we began our relationship I bought a new one for video chats, but the picture and sound quality were, to say the most, less than exceptional, and I gave up on it.

Meanwhile, Nimue had invested in a new laptop with a camera built into the screen.  She merrily displayed herself to me whenever she was alone.  I can see why she was frustrated looking back at a blank picture.

Hence, the webcam.  Nimue’s intent was for me to plug it into the laptop I use for work so we could see each other every day.  However, I couldn’t just plug it in; a CD-full of software must be installed first.  When I tried to do that, I got the on-screen warning that I needed approval from the company’s network administrator.

That would be an interesting phone call:  “Hello, this is Merlin.  I need your OK to put webcam software on my company computer.”

“Why do you need it?”

“So I can have video chats with my girlfriend.”

Needless to say, that call was never made.

Fortunately, I could load the software on the desktop computer I have at my home.  Unfortunately, that one is too public for communications with my lover when any member of my family is there.  So the webcam hides in a locked drawer except on those rare occasions when both Nimue and I are at home, alone, and eager for some long-distance play.

“Fuck. I look awful,” Nimue said when we simultaneously turned on our cameras.  It must be instinctive for women to say something like that when greeting their lovers early in the morning.

“I see you, in all your glory,” I respond.

I’m wearing a terrycloth bathrobe.  I stand up and slowly, teasingly strip it off to reveal an old red Lycra man-thong with tearaway Velcro fasteners on the sides.

“Red.  Nice,” Nimue remarks.  “Cute thing.  Show me that cock.”

Turning to my side, I undo one of the Velcro strips, then rotate 180 degrees and show myself tearing off the other, dropping the fabric on the floor.

“Tee hee, you look great,” my lover says at her first glimpse of my manhood.

“Your turn,” I tell her.   She sheds her top and trousers, reclining on the bed in a red bra and panties and positioning her laptop between her legs.

Quickly her hand slips beneath the elastic of her panties, revealing her swollen cunt.  She enthusiastically fingers herself for my enjoyment.

Instinctively, I begin to stroke my cock, making sure Nimue gets a good view.  Wordlessly, we masturbate for each other, separated by hundreds of miles but united by this fabulous technology that lets us share a few intimate moments together despite the separation.

Nimue is first to cum, her juices soaking the crotch of her garment.  She raises her fingers to her mouth, sensuously licking them for me.

My hand is a blur on my erection, and shortly I spray a load of cum into my hand, to my lover’s happy amusement.

“You look so hot today, baby,” I tell her.  “Wear that for me.”

If she can cum like that looking through the webcam, imagine how she would react if I pulled those red panties aside and licked her in person.