I'm standing alone. Another hotel room, another day away from you, courtesy of this fucking job. Tonight of all nights I loathe the dinner-for-one lifestyle and glass of Chablis. Well alright, half a bottle now: needs must. No, I want to be celebrating day three-hundred-and-sixty-five since we met, lost in your kisses, your hardness sawing inside me as passion engulfs our bodies and nothing else exists for those cherished moments of connectedness. Instead, the unblinking red dot on the video camera is my only link to you, albeit not real time.

We talked earlier. A racy conversation full of loaded imagery about what we'd do to one another upon my return. It was brilliant to fantasise, your baritone cadences in my ear conducting my free hand across my electrified body, first above my clothes, then under them as you brought me release. But an hour later I'm still horny. You have that effect on me.

With the meetings and false promises of clients forgotten, my thoughts once more settle entirely with you. Our times together. In bed. On the living room rug in front of the fire. Over the kitchen table while dinner burned. Latent imprints in my memory of your stubble in the crook of my neck, your thick erection pressing against me, your warm hands massaging my breasts just like I'm doing through the thin, grey pullover. I want to show you what's going through my head. How much I need you. How much I miss you tonight. This is my way.

I've flipped the camera's LCD back on itself, jutting from the side of the machine. I can see the room's front door framing me, the master light switch to the right. But I'm filling the display from the waist up, moving my hands across my chest, deforming the sparse, pink cat silhouettes that comprise the pattern of the jumper as I squeeze and knead. My mouth opens involuntarily before I catch the left side of my lower lip between my teeth, the pleasure zipping my body, invisibly connecting internal and external erogenous zones. I'm tingling. It feels so naughty to be making a video for you. New territory, my love. Experimenting, like I promised. Like you asked.

Steel-framed glasses accentuate my cinnamon irises set in dusty eye shadow. A dirty blonde lock sways to the left of my parted fringe, escaped from the loop of the scrunchie. I pout, lips forming the shape of an acorn as I stare into the lens. Into you.

A condition of accepting the job was no budget hotels, confirmed when my toes curl into the pile of the carpet as a wave of excitement grips me. My eyes drift shut for a moment, hands on autopilot, pinching, squeezing through the layers of clothes.

Biting and releasing my lip, breathing hard through an open mouth, already I need more. I can't resist slithering one hand down to my hip, then up under the sweater to grasp a breast, the neckline of the garment revealing a pale shoulder bisected by the black band of the bra strap. The taut line of my throat that you love kissing is displayed when my head tilts back and slightly left. Echoes of your past caresses light my mind, the recollection of brushes against my vulnerable neck making me shiver.

Need burns. I reach forward and adjust the camera angle down slightly, then step back half a pace so you can see me from the thighs up. The narrowest strip of belly shows, asymmetrical between the hem of the jumper and the wide, dark waistband of my slate joggers. The gap widens as my hand continues to grope a breast through my bra, unveiling the deep oval belly button nestled in the gentle swell of my tummy.

I'm no supermodel. My waist doesn't taper like they do, but you never object to my unrefined curves. Quite the contrary. You adore kissing my naked skin regardless of its elasticity and the extra inch or two that spills above the waistband. You call me your 'girl next door' who happens to have moved in. You celebrate my shape, and from this viewpoint I see you have good cause. I give clothes definition; a purpose.

Fuck I'm horny. One hand drops to rub over the vee between my legs as the other squeezes through my bra. Feels so good. I planned for this video to tease you as well as excite you, to represent my rising lust as our bodies become one in my head, but I want to come so badly I don't know how long I'll last. If I'm pleased with the way this video turns out I might have to make another later. I'm sure you won't complain.

Inner heat flushes my skin. I draw my hands to the hem of the jumper and lift the front above my T-shirt bra, leaning forward slightly to accentuate my modest charms as I massage my sensitive breasts. A good handful, the flesh swells above the smooth black material as I press them up and together. One finger dips inside a cup to brush the chiselled, encased nipple and I draw breath. You need to see more. Hell, I need to feel more.

Crossing my arms I grasp and lift the sweater's hem fully, discarding the garment. Pale skin contrasts the cups through which I pinch my nipples as I observe my chest rising and falling with my deepening breaths. I sweep the bra and its contents upwards, lean to the camera and jiggle them, the undulating flesh so alluring it brings a gentle smile to my lips. I imagine you'll be stroking your hard cock by this point, dying to see my firm tits in all their naked glory. And I want you to see them. Just not quite yet.

The beads in my thick bracelet spin and clack against each other as I scoop and caress my breasts, wishing they were in your strong hands. Lifting my chest, I dare to extend my tongue and lick the upper slopes of flesh. Faint salt dances on my palate alongside the drifting sweetness of perfume in my nose. One bra strap drops from my shoulder to catch on my bicep. I assist the other, giving a cheeky sideways glance to the lens.

As my body writhes to the touch of my breasts I feel myself getting wet. I want your tongue so badly. Your excited breath across my splayed pussy. Teasing. Touching, your kisses down there becoming coated with my silvery secretions before you trail your lips to my mouth so I can taste my desire.

Fuck it, you've been patient enough. I reach behind to unclasp the bra with practised fluidity and catch the front before it reveals my mounds, massaging and licking them one final time before letting the underwear drop away.

Is this exhibitionism? If so, I'm a convert. It makes me shudder as the cool air graces my proud nipples, and a white heat snakes through my body to counter it. You adore the curvature of my breasts, rose tinted nipples usually crinkled, now very erect as I roll them between my fingertips and sigh. Working my way to the edges, I ladle the pliant flesh, again leaning forward to treat you to the sight of jiggling them in turn. I then form the cleavage into which you love to slide your rigid cock. Pouting and licking my lips, I lift each globe, letting it bounce and sway back to rest, nipples pointing slightly off-axis towards the narrow walls of the entrance hall, the orbs full yet many decades from sag.

An urge so powerful overcomes me that I crook my arm to support my chest, pinching and squeezing one of my mini mountains as my other hand digs below the waistband of my joggers. I roll my head and gasp, switching breasts, gripping, squeezing, mouth agape, turning my head to profile for you and diddling fingers through my underwear.

I lose sight of myself as my head inclines back a little and I sigh deeply, impure thoughts blinding my conscience. Dropping my chin to my chest, I fix a stare into the camera. A mask of want paints my face. Fuck I need you inside me. Thrusting. Panting.

Clutching my body. I can only simulate so much of the times we're together with my own hands, but it'll have to do for now. I rub the wet patch in my knickers, grab at my engorged breasts, stroke my damp skin, and think of your sculpted body sliding alongside mine, slick with perspiration.

Desire escalates to the point I can no longer deny you the sight of more of my body.

Or maybe I'm doing it for me, so consumed with desire to orgasm. Either way, my thumbs slither to the waistband of the joggers at my midriff and I ease them down with what I hope are seductive wiggles of my hips.

While bending at the waist to step out of the legs, my breasts hang free just for that moment before I straighten, clad only in panties. They're the sexy black and white ones with the ties on the sides. The ones you bought me that you love to remove with your teeth. I tease you, pulling the front elastic out and down, flashing a mere inch of trimmed pubic hair before letting the band snap home.

Once again I massage my tits, harder now, and lean forward to show them off. I expect you'll be sitting at the desk mesmerised by my performance, fly open, stroking the thick length pointing straight up, spreading warm pre-come over the flanged head of your delicious cock. The cock I love to lick. To ride. To feel hammering inside my wet cunt.

The thought of you desiring me and pleasuring yourself in response to my actions sets my body alight. Sliding my fingertips into my mouth I wet them seductively then draw them down my abdomen. I fumble beneath the elastic, more clumsily than I hope, causing an involuntary jolt of my body as I brush my clit on the way to slither a finger between my soaking folds.

My mouth opens and I pant, tipping my head back again, thrusting my chest forward. One hand alternately grabs and releases each breast, palm crushing the electric points as a finger of my other hand explores the pink slit that you crave to eat. I'm imagining it's you. Your fingers and tongue bringing me closer to the edge. I can barely wait until we're together again and you can kiss and lick and fuck me for real.

One finger's not enough. I dig two in my sodden panties. Then three, cupping the wet heat, rubbing furiously, palm mashing my clit. I've never watched myself come before. There's a sexy concentration etched over my face as I feel the pressure build inside my body. A tingle starts behind my inflamed clit, growing in intensity like a lit sparkler that throws orange-white flares into the surrounding tissue, rapidly passing the heat to each neighbouring cell. An exponential chain reaction spreads to every fibre of my being and means I never get to see my actual 'come face', because my head tips upwards again as my body convulses and I climax.

You'll see it though. You'll witness every powerful, brain-bending, gut-wrenching second of my orgasm and I bet you can't contain yourself. You'll pump your steely shaft and shoot that delicious sticky load into your lap, spurt after hot spurt because the sight of my curvy body wracked with pleasure will be too much to bear.

I wish I could be there to swallow it all. To kneel between your legs and suck your rock hard dick of the salty, slithering, milky residue I love. The thought of it pooling in my mouth and gliding down my throat gives me goosebumps as my body shudders and spasms with wave upon wave of delicious heat.

My orgasm both numbs and energises my senses; a temporary paralysis with unending clarity. Stars stretch away to infinity, the sea cascades in my ears, my mouth is slack yet no sound escapes. I'm suspended. Weightless. Centred. And then in an instant it all tumbles away as the aftershock hits, the contractions begin and patrons in adjacent hotel rooms are left in no doubt over what I'm doing. My groans ring out. My breasts feel as if they're both fire and ice. I feel my pussy twitching beneath my cupped palm. My knickers are saturated and all I can think of is you wrapping your arms around me, telling me you love me, that the job isn't forever, that we'll figure something out so we can be together more often. And I know you're right as my body and mind float and swirl on an oxytocin high.

As the room eventually takes shape again I begin to focus on the LCD and the red dot signifying the recorded show. My hand is still wedged between my clamped thighs, chest is dusted pink, eyes are glazed, and my scrunchie's given way a little more, but I have this satisfied all-you-can-eat smile on my face. More sort of crooked, exhausted contentment, I guess. Sated. At least for now.

Plucking my fingers from their wet hiding place I bring them close to the lens and part them so you can see the thick grool that coats their surface. Strings of my come stretch and break between the digits as I scissor them. Making sure to capture every moment on video, I bend and bring my fingers to my mouth, sucking and lapping my sweet come from them. You once likened it to liquid marzipan and tonight I agree. If you've not ejaculated already, the sight of me savouring my own juices will tip you over the edge for sure.

With my fingers clean and glistening, I know I should say something to the camera but can't think of any words. Can't think of much beyond the tsunami still raging inside my body. The only thing that makes sense in my head is to blow you a kiss and follow up by reaching for the machine, the last shot my voluptuous breasts filling the frame as I click Stop.

I stand recovering for a few moments before fetching a hotel bathrobe. Glass of wine on the bedstand I settle on the king size bed to review the tape. Can't help covering my mouth with my free hand and giggling at how utterly dirty parts of it are. I'm sure you'll love it, even if it doesn't reveal my curvy rear or the prize between my legs. This time, at least. But the video bug has bitten me. Creating it made me feel closer to you, so I know I shall be repeating the act at some point. You're certainly in for some treats.

Hooking up the camera to the laptop I download the video, compress it and attach it to an email, which takes an age over the shitty free Wi-Fi. For one heart-stopping moment when I start typing your name into the recipient box, the top result is 'Mum'. Jesus, that'd be difficult to explain, and the thought of the video falling into the wrong hands casts doubt on my actions, albeit momentarily. No, the risk is worth it. You're worth it. With heart hammering I triple-check your email address, type “Miss you this much, xoxo” and hit Send, watching the animation spin as the file zips across the Internet. No backing out.

A pang of excitement knots my belly at the thought of your reaction. Maybe in just a few minutes, you'll see it and feel the need to free your heavenly cock, all because of me.

I squirm. Wish I could package up my knickers and send them to you to enjoy while they're still wet and warm. But I'll keep them aside in the suitcase so you can reanimate the juicy crotch with your tongue upon my return. I love just sitting, naked, watching your excitement rise and thicken as your tongue explores the cotton infused with my stickiness, your willpower fading until you can't take any more. At that moment, consumed by lust, you'll shove me to the bed, stuff the panties in my mouth and fuck me, calling me every filthy name under the sun as you stretch my hungry insides. And I'll take every inch of you.

We'll buck. We'll grind. We'll come together loudly, my love. You and me, lost in a sea of our own making, hot and perspiring, our sex permeating the air and hanging thick, enclosing us in a private bubble of togetherness.

It's only two more days apart to endure. In the meantime I suppose I have my imagination, my fingers, and my vibrator. And the camera. My hand slithers beneath the robe and hovers over my drenched knickers. I can feel the heat still radiating from within.

Eyeing the now dormant lens, my mind wanders with thoughts of what I could show you. So many possibilities lie ahead. Two more days. Two more videos; maybe more.

I sit. I touch myself and wonder. What would you like to see?