Offline Joy

Cybill hunches over her laptop again, eyes glued to the screen while she hunts for clips to send Gloria. Gloria sits on the edge of the bed, legs bare, patience thinning. She watches the glow from the monitor wash over Cybill's pale face. Enough. She stands, crosses the room, and shuts the laptop without ceremony. The silence hits like cold water. Before Cybill can protest, Gloria pushes her back against the sheets and climbs over her, knees pinning Cybill's hips in place. Cybill's hands are still half-curled like she might reach for the keyboard, but Gloria grabs both wrists and presses them above her head. Gloria lowers herself until their stomachs meet, her thighs spreading wider. The denim of her shorts brushes the thin cotton covering Cybill's cunt; she rocks once, slow and deliberate, until the seam drags across Cybill's clit. A tiny, helpless sound slips out of Cybill. Gloria leans down, mouth brushing Cybill's ear, breath hot. 'No more clicking,' she says. She slides one hand down Cybill's stomach, under the waistband, finds the already slick folds and pushes two fingers inside without warning. Cybill's hips jerk. Gloria fucks her steady, deep, thumb circling her swollen clit while she keeps Cybill's wrists pinned with the other hand. Cybill's legs open wider, heels digging into the mattress. Gloria curls her fingers, hits that spot that makes Cybill's breath hitch and her cunt grip hard. The computer stays dark. The only sounds now are the wet push of Gloria's fingers, Cybill's broken gasps, and the headboard tapping the wall with each thrust.