Widget
by Frustrated (frustratedfru@gmail.com)
Mesa sat, pushing a ball around half of the screen with two fingers dancing over the arrow keys. A dumb game. The other half of the screen showed a news program she was getting on podcast, a well-respected one. Mesa figured that as long as she was going to deaden her spirit playing flash games, she might as well pretend she was going to improve her mind a little while she did it. The wiggling snake on the screen took most of her visual attention, but almost none of her mental energy. She was good at it; this is what she did from the end of classes until dinner.
The anchor introduced a reporter, standing in some blasted-out war zone. Mesa sighed; the world was so depressing. She listened diligently to casualty reports, though, and her mood dipped as the faces of the unfortunate graced her screen. Her fingers kept tapping at the arrow keys, though, and the snake got longer.
Then, they cut to a report on the world financial situation. Grim. But Mesa, while worried, wasn’t horrified. She was living pretty well; she was still living on her parents. University was a safe place, a financially solvent place, and she would be there long enough, she expected, to last out the crisis without having to buy a home. Her fingers kept tapping; the snake got longer.
The program took a break to introduce their new widget, or something, just an ad she glazed over at every day, and then back to that smiling anchor, the face of news, a face one could trust. He spoke with a measured pace, not too slow, not too fast. He never missed a word or skipped a beat. He introduced another segment, a human interest story to make the people feel hopeful. It was a correspondent’s interview with a woman, a woman with shockingly green eyes.
Mesa practically choked. She froze. The snake hit a wall and tootled out a few disappointed notes. Game over. Mesa’s full lips fell open, and her left hand, shaking, grasped at her mouth, her arm, her knee. Her right hand, steady and adroit, pulled open the drawer of her desk, and took out her thick, smooth vibrator. Without hesitating, she turned it on, pushed it inside her loose shorts, and shoved it into her heating, dripping pussy.
Where...where had she seen those eyes before? The woman’s image left the screen and her right hand went limp, then regained control. She pulled the vibrator out with a squelching sound. How had that happened? She’d been watching this program on podcast every day for months, and nothing like this had ever happened. She tapped on her mousepad for a minute, and then grasped the mouse.
Mesa clicked the little window up on the side of her screen and dragged the selection bar back. The widget ad, the anchor...then the woman. Her hand went nuts, driving the vibrator in and out at a frantic pace for the three minutes the woman was onscreen, flashing those emerald eyes at Mesa, boring into Mesa, making Mesa groan, making Mesa...need to watch it again.
“Thank God for the internet,” she thought. She could back it up again, watch it again, and again...
She felt herself start warming up again at the widget commercial, and her little buzz stayed consistent through the intro (because she’d always found the anchor kind of cute), and then three minutes of blinding heat, pounding herself silly like a man should do, like anyone else should do. Then calm. But her pussy was still needy, whining and whimpering, crying out to cum.
Mesa watched again.
Mesa watched again.
Mesa watched again...