35 A Game Video Call #3
The machine skidded across the duvet, tipped over the edge of the bed, and landed on the plush rug with a muted thud.
The video feed on Ansh's screen went black for a second, then flickered back to life, the image now skewed and disorienting.
The camera, no longer on its stable base, was angled sharply upward, its lens pointed directly at the space between Niyati's trembling thighs.
Ansh's own climax hit him at the sight. A guttural groan ripped from his chest as his cock pulsed in his grip, thick ropes of cum striping his stomach and chest. His hips bucked into his fist, his eyes glued to the new, intimate view on his screen.
He watched Niyati's chest heave, her body slowly unclenching from the peak of her release.
Her fingers, still pressed against her flesh, glistened in the dim light of her room.
The image was raw, unplanned, and devastatingly erotic.
It was a secret view, a consequence of her loss of control, and it sent a fresh jolt of heat through his already-spent body.
On her end, Niyati's breaths came in ragged, panting gasps. The aftershocks of her orgasm still fluttered through her. A moment of dazed confusion passed before she realized what had happened. "Oh, shit," she mumbled, her voice thick and husky.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, her muscles protesting, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The cool air of the room felt good against her overheated skin. She leaned down, her movements still a little unsteady, and picked up the laptop.
As she brought it back onto the bed, she saw the new angle on her own screen: a stark, unflinching close-up of her pussy, still flushed and swollen from her orgasm, her folds slick with her own arousal.
A wave of self-consciousness washed over her, hot and sharp. Her first instinct was to tilt it back, to restore the more composed, full-body view they had established.
"Don't move it," Ansh's voice came through the speakers, low and firm, cutting through her hesitation. It wasn't a request; it was a command, laced with a new, darker intensity.
Niyati froze, her hand hovering over the laptop. She looked from the screen to her own body, then back again. The vulnerability of the position was staggering. He could see everything. Every detail, every glistening crease.
"Leave it right there," he continued, his voice a hypnotic rumble. "Just like that."
She slowly lowered her hand, her heart hammering against her ribs. She settled back against the pillows, pulling her knees up slightly, a gesture of instinctive modesty that did nothing to hide what the camera was now focused on.
"Good girl," Ansh praised, the words sending a strange mix of shame and excitement through her.
He was quiet for a long moment, and she could almost feel his gaze, a physical weight on her most intimate place.
"If I were there," he began, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "the first thing I would do is taste you."
Niyati's breath hitched. Her fingers, which had been resting limply on her thigh, twitched.
"I wouldn't be gentle," he elaborated, painting the picture with his words.
"I'd spread you open with my thumbs and bury my face in that perfect, wet cunt. I'd lick you clean, tasting every drop of your cum. I'd find that little, sensitive clit of mine and I'd suck on it, hard, until you were squirming and begging me to stop, even though we both know you wouldn't mean it."
A soft whimper escaped her lips. The fantasy was so vivid, so visceral, that she could almost feel the phantom pressure of his mouth on her. Her body, which she thought was completely sated, began to stir again, a slow, deep thrumming starting in her core.
"Then, when you were right on the edge again," Ansh went on, his own voice growing thicker with renewed arousal, "I'd stop. I'd flip you over onto your hands and knees. I'd run my hands all over that gorgeous ass of yours, feeling you tremble. And then I'd slide my dick into you,
so slowly you'd feel every single inch as I stretch you open."
He paused, letting the image hang in the air between them, thick and heavy. Niyati squeezed her eyes shut, her hips giving an involuntary little rock. She could feel herself growing wet again, her body responding to his dirty, explicit narrative as if he were in the room with her.
"I'd grab your hips," he said, his voice now a rough, urgent growl, "and I'd fuck you. Hard. Deep. The way you need to be fucked. I'd watch my cock disappear into that tight little hole over and over, listen to the sound of my skin slapping against yours.
I'd make you scream my name until your voice was hoarse."
The line between virtual and real had completely dissolved. He wasn't just watching her anymore; he was inside her head, inside her body, his words a stand-in for his touch. Her hand drifted down her stomach, her fingers finding the slick heat he was describing.
She was no longer just following his commands; she was an active participant in their shared fantasy, her touch guided by his voice, her pleasure building under his remote, intoxicating control.