And, bang, there it was, beaming right out of the screen at her, a large full-face photo of Bill Atkinson, on page 17 of the Log Cabin Democrat, his local newspaper, dressed in blue overalls and clutching on to the runner-up plaque he had received three years previously in the regional local business awards.
It was him, yes, and he was everything he had said, but… and here her mind stalled before completing the thought, like a soap opera slap across the face… she didn’t fancy him. Not one bit. Trying not to take that thought further, she gagged down the idea of him masturbating to those shots it had so turned her on to send.
Bill Aktinson, 57, who scooped one of the three runner-up prizes, said he was “delighted” at the honour and thanked everyone who had voted for him.
“I’m very proud to say that my shop has been serving the community for almost 17 years now and I hope we’ll do so for a good time to come,” he said.
“Mrs Right never did come knocking on my door and so the loyalty of my customers means the world to me. They are more like family to me and I hope to continue to offer them the same excellent service for many years.”
There was no Mrs Boyd_Cooper.
As Megan gradually isolated herself from the Scrabble community, she was grateful for Bill’s equally waning interest. She upbraided herself about her priorities and, within less than a week, launched herself back into total domesticity with a staunch vigour that lasted a month and a half, maybe two.
But inevitably, as the zeal and shine of the newly clean began to tarnish, she found herself, once again, like a cigarette addict clinging desperately to a nicotine patch, aching for the rush of an expected message to relieve the fucking tedium of it all.
********************
KUM4U 37 M Aberdeen United Kingdom: Hello. U ok?
SwapPix? 26 M Gwynedd United Kingdom: mmmmm. Wow. I love older women.
Londoner 51 M London United Kingdom: Good evening slUtty. And has the day treated you kindly, Miss?
ANY1Real 43 M Manchester United Kingdom: Does any1 ever reply on this…
Magic_Man 34 M Quebec, CA: Hi slUtty, how’s you?
arrhjc 18 F, from Bamako, M: hi dear, iinvit you to w ww.tchattalk. com 2872 chatters online, to be sure type it in google .
C UmaLOT 24 M Enfield United Kingdom: Skype? Wanna c me c um?
Soso201 20 F California US: hi hun, looking for better than this? if u want another new chat, just type in google-search (many friends) and enter it’s 100% free
MorningGlory 47 M London United Kingdom: hi. U ok.
Snaketongue 34 M Somerset United Kingdom: hi great name
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: Hey, babe. Back again? How’s you?
xxstockingfan 49 M Bedfordshire United Kingdom: do you like stockings?
Balamusa 29 M Adana, TR: U Skype? C my thikdikspunk 4 u
Nawty-Plumber 52 M Warwickshire United Kingdom: Why are middle aged woman so dam s exy?
Sandrita22 F 22 Aberdeen United Kingdom: hey dear, iinvit you to w ww.tchatalk. com 2247 chatters online, to be sure type it in google
GF Upstairs 34 M Hartlepool United Kingdom: My GF is aslepp. Wann c um 4 me when she doesn’t know about it? Fone me.
WantsaMilf 20 M London United Kingdom: Add me to s kypeand watch me w@nk? Im handsome
Darlo 36 M Darlington United Kingdom: hi hows u?
Rentapest 54 M Milton Keynes United Kingdom: evenin. How’s you?
OlderPerv 69 M Aberdeen United Kingdom: well hello young lady
Reis90 26 M Baden-Württemberg, DE: So for what are you searching on here? You like to watch or to chat?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: hey lancs! Good to see you, sorry… just spent ten minutes deleting before I could pause and catch my breath. I was looking out for you. Good week?
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: yeah. I’m okay. Same old. How’s you? X
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: Yeah, cool. Long week, weekend here… can’t complain. Kids this weekend?
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: Yep. Tomorrow morning, early bells.
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: ah nice. Been out?
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: does it show? Yeah, babe. Few mates after work, few drinks, you know how it goes.
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: yeah, yeah, I know. So… how are you?
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: you really dont want to know. So, having any success on here tonight? And anyway, I thought things were going great with the guy you met on the other site last week…?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: they are, they are, but, aw hell, it’s complicated – he’s f ucking complicated. Lovely. But I cant see it going anywhere.
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: dont give up yet, you. Trust me. I’ve got a good feeling for you on this one. And here? Tonight?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: aw hell. Same old. What I need is...
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: come on then… what DO u need?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: Well, whatever it is, I’m unlikely to find it here. Right now though, right this minute I’d settle for
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: ...
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: oh, come on, you know me
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: say it. What DO you want slUtty-fUckgal?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: I want to find someone with enough of a brain to help me and p out!
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: ??
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: B loody censorship on this b loody site!!! C um and pa ss out>
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: that sounds about right. And if you found this person… what would you do? Hmmmm?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: do? I’d send him a few p os… argh! Ph ot os… and probably get off just on the thought of his reaction when he saw them. Maybe head for a private message server.
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: hmmm.
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: hmmmm? What’s with the hmmmming?
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: just wondering what it would take to get to be the guy on the receiving end of those pix?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: Oh come on, lancashire… we’re way past that stage, you and me... we’re friends not d irty f ilthy online random f uc k partners… it’s just not what we do>;)
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: so, how did that happen? And mean if what you want is someone to j erk off to yerpix and send you a few in return… erm, pick me, please, Miss!
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: email?
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: s**** @ g mail . Com
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: cool. You sure? I mean, this could entirely change the cool friendship thing we got going on here...
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: no teasing. Send babe!
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: OMG… thats beautiful, babe… you sure you don’t want me to call… I’m so h o r ny for u right now...
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: Aw lancs… I’m so f u cking tempted, but it’s not something I’ve done before and, aw hell, you know how nervous I am...
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: worst case scenario you giggle and hang up. Buuuuut, somehow I don’t think that gonna happen… it’ssooo beautiful babe… w et… just so l I ckable...
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: I could just stay quiet...
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: whatever makes you comfortable, Slutty… no pressure, ever.
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: 07778989773728723
lancashire 43 M Lancashire United Kingdom: now?
slUtty-fUckgal 43 F London United Kingdom: Now.
>
********************
Megan lay on her back in the queen-sized double bed she increasingly rarely shared with her husband, eyes wide and staring into the darkness, and she ran her fingers idly through her brown hair. She had fallen asleep immediately after he’d hung up, and woken up with a start 56 minutes later, iPhone still in hand.
She snuck across the landing, pausing to appreciate the gentle sounds of sleeping youth coming from the other two bedrooms and to note, from the silence downstairs, that Rich was not yet home. In the bathroom, she pissed and took a quick schluck from the cold tap, then returned to her room and crawled back under the duvet, as awake as if none of it had ever happened.
It would have seemed rude to log back into the chatroom, Chateazy. If lancashire were already back there, the etiquette was clear… she needed to avoid him; and anyway, for either of them to be back so soon after what had been a delightful phone experience would have struck Megan as inconsiderate, even in a world where shallow was king. So avoiding the chatroom entirely seemed the best option.
However, the reality was that another climax was her best hope of returning to sleep, so Megan slUtty-fUckgal O’Hare scrabbled under the covers for the six-inch pink vibrator she had passed out clutching, found it and lay back down on her back. Pressing the bullet-shaped dildo firmly to what was still a very wet area, she reached for the phone and began to browse for suitable inspiration, at precisely the moment when the battery – phone, not buzzer – gave up, leaving her arousal at the sole mercy of her inventiveness.
Megan reached for the memory of the recent conversation, her first ever attempt at phone sex, which had been intense beyond any prediction. No preamble, the voice of a man she’d casually spoken to via a keyboard for months but whose face she had never seen, had told her quite specifically and with total precision what he would like to do with the subject of the photo she had just sent, and what he was doing now, as he spoke to her, while looking at her glistening pinkness on his laptop.
And, no thought or doubt in her mind that this was what she too wanted beyond all things in this universe right at that moment, slUtty-fUckgal had experienced everything he had said like it was happening in a world as real as any she had ever felt. When he asked her where she wanted his cum, she knew exactly where, she was right there, and when he heard her breath catch and a series of slight gasps, followed by the low rumble of a giggle, he joined her, and it was to this thought, once again, that she sighed and fell back into a deeper sleep than before.
9. LittleGirlLost
There was no missing Tamsin as she boarded the 11.30 East Coast service from Kings Cross to Edinburgh that Thursday morning.
Her sassy bob newly dyed a vivid turquoise, she wore those same lace-up platform boots he had first seen on PhetX, an ankle-sweeping black velvet coat, bought specifically for this encounter, the collar he’d sent before the previous visit, and an electric-blue lipstick. Inside her duffel bag, along with the jeans, T-shirts and trainers she planned to wear in Newcastle, she had squirrelled a dog collar and chain lead, photos of which she had already sent him.
Anything else they might require, he had told her, they could find in the wooden treasure chest at the foot of his bed.
It was a fresh spring day and, although the journey was long, at more than four hours, she kept her coat firmly fastened throughout. Underneath, as requested, the purple and black corset dress was tightly laced, something which, after much practice, she had done herself that morning.
The chats they’d had, the questions Alasdair had answered, in those weeks after meeting him, were the reason she was sitting there now. She liked him, trusted him. What he said, she listened to, but she knew he listened to her too.
Unused as she was to following her instincts, Tamsin was more inclined to need hard facts for reassurance, and as he had listened, he had answered her specific questions with a humility and matching meticulousness she appreciated.
His self-control and patience had been evident on many occasions, and their previous encounter had shown her a man who both put her welfare first and judged beautifully when it was time to assert his own authority. His honesty, too, was impeccable, and not once had he pretended that she was his only option, or coerced her to meet before she was ready; everything had been on her terms. There was a place she wanted to go, and she believed he was the perfect person to mentor her on the journey.
And yet despite this, as she stared at her reflection in the train window, chewing nervously on her bottom lip, she was only marginally less jittery than last time, and to protest otherwise would be a lie.
However, as the train pulled into Edinburgh Waverley station, Tamsin gathered her thoughts and her belongings and was almost in role as she stepped on to the platform. The timid girl of their last rendezvous was locked in her box; Tamsin pushed her shoulders back and felt the stirrings of a welcome smile tickle the corners of her mouth. This was a night she intended to own.
She walked the full length of the platform, seeing him only at the last moment, standing by the exit into the main station hall. Suited but with no backpack or flowers this time, he carried a newspaper under one arm and an umbrella in his hand, and on his face that same benevolent smile greeted her own.
“You made it,” he said, kissing her on both cheeks, so she smelt the fading alcohol of a recently applied woody aftershave. “And I’m so glad you did. You look a real sight to brighten up these weary old eyes.”
“Now,” he continued, all practical, “let’s get ourselves into a taxi before the rain that’s been threatening us all day pushes its way out.”
Again, she was grateful for the matter-of-fact nature of his chatter, which, alongside his warm reception, made everything just feel right. Taking her bag from her, he opened the taxi door, letting her in first, before sliding next to her and giving the driver instructions on where they were heading. Along the way, he calmly pointed out various landmarks and architectural features to his visitor. It really didn’t matter what he said; the soothing tone was everything.
Alasdair paid the cab driver and, resting his arm very lightly around her back, he steered Tamsin into the block of flats, the clutter piled behind his front door barely fazing her. She followed him through the small living area into his neatly organised kitchen, where he offered her a drink.
“But only if you promise to stop me when I start pouring my own,” she smiled, accepting a glass of Cabernet, and going back into the lounge, where two high-backed armchairs faced each other in front of the 1980s-style gas heater.
“Surely you feel comfortable taking off that coat now, my dear, or are you still a bit chilly?” he asked.
“I think… Not quite. I think maybe later,” she said, lowering her eyes. A vaguely puzzled look flitted briefly across his face, but he nodded his agreement, placed his half-filled glass down on the table between them, and sat opposite her.
He noticed that she was listening carefully to the slightly discordant yet darkly beautiful folk music playing gently in the background. “RM Hubbert,” he said. “One of the current heroes of the Scottish scene.” She nodded her appreciation, and then, smoothly and naturally, their conversation drifted into an almost academic chat about PhetX, the people they knew, the experiences they had had, and – slowly, slowly, slowly – around to Tamsin’s burgeoning interest in the world of BDSM.
“But ultimately, I mean, what do I know?” she said, taking a sip from her second glass. “I sneak around the outskirts of that whole world, soaking up the photos and the words, and, hell, you know how I’ve agonised over even the smallest of steps… Why would a woman choose to be dominated by a man when we’ve only recently earned the right to avoid such situations?
“But… I just connect, you know, sometimes I feel like I just totally connect with some of the writings. I was reading a piece last night, lying in bed, after we’d finished chatting. I don’t even know the woman, but I ended up on her page, after following link after link after link, and what she’s w
riting about, it’s just her totally letting go and how everything else vanishes and she’s simply there, in that moment, with her guy, giving over every little bit of herself and tipping over into... into… what? I have no idea, but I want to experience something like that.
“But I can’t see me doing that, just flowing with it, you know? Giving up control and succumbing. I’m just… I feel like I’m so… and I’m not used to feeling so… like I am...”
“Out of your depth?”
“Out of my depth, Meister…” The word slipped out so easily in this context. “Totally and utterly fucking out of my depth.”
“Uh huh,” he said, raising himself and moving the two-and-a-half steps it took him to be standing in front of her.
“It’s time you took off that coat, LittleGirl. I think you know that, don’t you?”
Those wide dark eyes gazed up at him between her long lashes, and then, again, lowered a little, this time in obvious deference to his request. Standing in front of her, he leant down and rested the fingers of his left hand lightly underneath her chin, tilting her head gently to look into those eyes a moment and more.
Unable, at first, to look directly at him, her pupils focused on something and nothing in the corner to the left. Lifting his hand from her chin, he softly moved his index finger underneath her right lower lashes, forcing her both look at him and smile a bit.
“Take off the coat, Girl, and let’s see what you’ve brought here to please your master,” he murmured, tender, yes, but with the presumption of obedience in his tone, and he stepped back a little as she fumbled with the velvet-covered buttons, letting the coat fall open before slipping it off her shoulders and allowing it to drop to the carpet.
She was small-waisted to begin with, but the boned upper corset, with its steel hook and eye front closing, pulled her into a pronounced hourglass shape, knocking, he guessed, maybe three inches from her middle and forcing her almost glowingly white-skinned breasts so tightly together that all he could think about was how she would feel when he unlaced her back and set them loose.
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