I’d been a teenage whore, I reflected. The boys had both asked me out, and I’d agreed to meet them on the common after college. They’d stripped me naked, run their hands over the petite mounds of my firm breasts, groped between my naked thighs and sent my arousal sky high. I’d knelt before them and sucked their cocks, tasted the saltiness of each purple knob in turn. I’d felt good, sexy, wicked. I was young, fresh, curvaceous, sexy . . . All I’d had to do was strip naked, and I could have had any boy I’d wanted.
The boys had knelt either side of me as I’d lain on the grass. I’d wanked their hard cocks, fondled their fresh balls, sucked fervently on their purple knobs, as they’d parted my sex lips wide and fingered my tight pussy. Three or four fingers stretched my vagina to capacity, inducing my teenage milk to flow, as their spunk shot out of their twitching cocks. I gobbled and slurped and repeatedly swallowed as my orgasm exploded within my swollen clitoris. The white liquid rained down over my face and splattered my blonde hair, and I’d loved it. I’d enjoyed my first facial, a double facial. I’d been a whore in those early days of sexual discovery. What was I now, I pondered as my clitoris swelled and pulsated in the beginnings of my orgasm. Once a whore, always a whore.
‘Yes,’ I gasped, writhing on the grass beneath the apple tree as my climax gripped me. Recalling the double facial, I could almost taste the boys’ spunk as I shook uncontrollably and sustained my incredible pleasure with my wet fingers. I couldn’t think of Dave, I couldn’t imagine him spunking over my face because he’d never done it. Derek had never given me a facial, but I was able to picture his rock-hard cock, his purple plum, his spunk raining down over my face and splattering my blonde hair, as I gasped and writhed in the grip of my climax. I had to try to think of my husband, I knew as my orgasm began to fade. Was I committing adultery? My mind was filling with secrets.
My climax waning, I looked up at the blue sky and smiled. Had I rediscovered my youth, I pondered as my sex milk seeped between the engorged petals of my inner lips. This was my secret, I decided. No one would ever discover my self-loving, my trips to the end of the garden, my beautiful orgasms. Dave was at work, and he’d know nothing of my illicit actions. I picked a marigold and ran the orange petals up and down my creamy-wet sex crack. My clitoris emerged from its hide, and I caressed the sensitive tip with the flower. I couldn’t come again, I mused as my womb contracted. Three orgasms in one day?
Discarding the flower, I ran my fingertip over the solid protrusion of my pleasure nub and breathed heavily as another orgasm stirred deep within my womb. Again fingering my tightening vaginal sheath, massaging my G-spot, I encircled the base of my erect clitoris with my fingertip. I was about to come again. My clitoris pulsating, my vaginal muscles tightening around my thrusting finger, I gasped as a deluge of hot milk spewed over my hand. Driving a second and third finger deep into the dank heat of my vagina, stretching my sex duct to capacity, I massaged my pleasure bud until I cried out in the grip of my third climax.
Tremors of pure sexual bliss rocking my hot body, I parted my legs wide and sustained my secret pleasure as the birds fluttered and finally fled the apple tree. I must have been a nymphomaniac, I thought as images of Derek’s cock shafting my tight pussy loomed in my mind. An old man fucking a young girl . . . The notion exciting me beyond belief, I pictured him on top of me, his cock repeatedly driving into my hot vagina, his spunk splattering my ripe cervix as I cried out in the grip of my adulterous climax. But I was a happily married woman, and that would never happen. Would it?
I finally staggered back to the house after my amazing climax, closed the kitchen door behind me and sat at the table. I was panting, out of breath, shaking wildly . . . I’d masturbated three times in one day, I thought guiltily. Three beautiful orgasms in one day and . . . and I’d not had one thought about my husband. But I was only fantasising about Derek, I tried to console myself. I was a flirt, I’d rediscovered the delights of masturbation, and my lewd thoughts about Derek and his hard cock were pure fantasy.
My thoughts at last turning to my husband, guilt gripping me, I seemed to wake from my fantasy. I couldn’t masturbate in the garden any more, and I certainly couldn’t think of an old man fucking me. I had to come to my senses before it was too late. If I became hooked on masturbating, if I continued to think of Derek fucking me . . . This had to stop, I decided. I had to put an end to this nonsense before Dave noticed a change in me. I wouldn’t read any more emails. I’d delete all emails from Brian without reading them and try to get my thinking back on track. The game was over.
Two
I’D NOT SWITCHED my computer on for two days because I couldn’t trust myself to delete the emails without reading them. I had no willpower, Dave was still quiet, and my arousal had reached frightening heights. I’d refrained from masturbating for fear of imagining sucking on Derek’s cock. I’d not gone out to the front garden and had kept well away from my bedroom window. But my intrigue and arousal were powerful, and I was losing the battle. Finally I switched on the computer and read the email from Brian.
My lovely Sarah,
I’ve not seen you around lately, not had the pleasure of gazing at your beautiful body. Have you been fingering your sweet cunt? Have you been frigging your clitty and enjoying multiple orgasms? You said that you wanted me to reveal my identity. Can’t you guess?
Brian.
My hands trembling, I grabbed the mouse but couldn’t bring myself to delete the email. I’d vowed to stop the game, I reflected. I should delete the email and get on with my life but . . . My panties wetting with my sex milk, my clitoris calling urgently for my intimate caress, I realised just how weak I was in my arousal. I tried to fight, tried to think of Dave and my marriage . . . And I finally clicked the reply button.
Brian,
You must stop emailing me. I’m a happily married woman and I don’t want you to contact me again. I have no idea who you are and I don’t want to know. Please, do not contact me again.
Sarah.
Sending the email, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was sure that he’d contact me again, but I’d made it perfectly clear that I didn’t want to know. He’d give up, eventually. He’d find some other girl to play his sex games with and leave me in peace. If he didn’t, then I’d change my email address and that would be the end of the affair. Affair, I mused guiltily. Had I had a cyber affair? This was crazy, I thought as I went into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. I’d not had an affair, I’d not committed adultery – and yet I felt as guilty as hell.
I rang Susie for a chat, but she was out. I drank more coffee and paced the lounge floor. I’d neglected the housework and forgotten about the shopping I’d planned to do that morning. My clitoris was swollen, my panties wet, my hair dishevelled . . . I was a mess. Finally I sat at my computer and checked the emails. There was one from Brian. I was about to delete it, but I just wanted to make sure that he’d got the message and had agreed to leave me alone.
My loveliest Sarah,
I’m looking at a photograph I have of you and imagining you naked. I’m also imagining licking your sweet crack, sucking your clitoris and taking you to orgasm. Would you like that, Sarah? Would you like me to suck your clitoris into my mouth and make you come? Are you feeling wet just thinking about it? My cock is as hard as rock and in need of your sweet mouth. No doubt you’ve sucked a cock before, but have you enjoyed a real mouth fuck? Slip your hand inside your panties and stroke your clitty. Is it hard? Is your cunt wet with desire? Come for me, Sarah. Masturbate and think of my cock in your mouth and come for me.
Brian.
Without thinking, I tugged my skirt up and slipped my hand down the front of my panties. My clitoris was hard, my cunt wet with desire . . . I left the desk and again paced the floor. Why couldn’t I simply delete the email and get on with my life? I felt as though this man was standing on my shadow and I couldn’t move away. He had me trapped and . . . I’d trapped myself, I mused, returning to the desk. I had to admit that
I enjoyed the emails, the dirty talk and the excitement. But I couldn’t go on like this. One way or another, I had to put an end to the fantasy.
Brian,
You obviously won’t go away, so I think we need to talk about this. I’m coming over to see you to make you understand that I don’t want to play these games. We’re both married and this can only lead to trouble. I’ll be with you in five minutes.
Sarah.
I grabbed my keys, closed the front door behind me and walked briskly across the road to Derek’s house. Ringing the bell, I wondered what to say to him. Should I threaten to tell his wife unless he leaves me alone? There’d be no need to threaten him with the police, but I had to make it clear that I wanted him to stop pestering me. Ringing the bell several times, I reckoned that he was in hiding. He was probably spying at me from his bedroom window, I thought as I went back to my house. He couldn’t hide for ever. I’d catch him in the street at some time or other, and confront him.
Checking my emails, I felt anger welling from the pit of my stomach as I noticed yet another one from Brian. He had a bloody nerve, I thought as I read his crude words. Is your cunt hot and wet and in need of a good fingering? Reading on, I realised that my anger was fading and my arousal soaring. It’s a very warm day so why don’t you take your panties off? It would really turn me on to think that you’re walking around naked beneath your miniskirt. You must be feeling really horny so why don’t you grab a banana and give your tight cunt a fruity fucking for me?
Sighing, I went into the kitchen and took a bottle of white wine from the fridge. I gulped down a tumblerful and tried to relax. I should have been shopping and doing the housework and . . . Refilling my glass, I felt a little easier. I slipped my panties off and went into the back garden and sat on a patio chair. This was only a game, I thought, chuckling inwardly. Derek was getting his kicks from emailing me and I was . . . I was enjoying it, I had to admit. . . . grab a banana and give your tight cunt a fruity fucking.
‘Hi,’ Dave called from the house.
‘Oh, er . . . Out here,’ I replied, wondering why he was home.
‘Wine?’ he breathed, joining me on the patio. ‘It’s a bit early to start drinking, isn’t it?’
‘Only one glass,’ I lied. ‘Diluted with lemonade. So, how come you’re home?’
‘I’m off to Morocco this afternoon. Short notice, I know. But I have no choice.’
‘This afternoon? Well . . . I’d better help you pack.’
‘No, it’s OK. I’ll just stuff a few things into a bag.’
‘Oh, right. This is all rather sudden. Before you go . . . As you’ll be away for a while, how about making love?’
‘I can’t, Sarah. There’s no time to . . .’
‘Just quickly,’ I persisted. ‘Here, on the patio.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he returned with a chuckle. ‘I’ll grab a few things and get away. I’ve got my kit in the car so . . . I’ll ring you from the hotel this evening, OK?’
‘OK,’ I sighed as he went back into the house.
He called out before leaving, but I didn’t go and see him off. I was feeling as horny as hell, and very angry. If he didn’t want to fuck me, he could have at least kissed me goodbye, I reflected dolefully. I refilled my glass, sat at the computer and checked my emails. Disappointingly, there was nothing new from Brian. A typical man, I thought. When I needed him, he wasn’t there. It wasn’t that I needed him physically, but I did need to read more of his dirty words. Shit, I thought, deciding to reply to his last email. I did need him physically.
Brian,
I know who you are so you might as well stop playing games. My husband is away for a few days and I’m feeling horny so why don’t you tell me what you’d like me to do to my cunt? How about a cucumber? Would you like me to fuck my cunt with a cool cucumber? I’m not wearing any panties, as you suggested, so you can imagine my naked cunt beneath my short skirt. My crack is dripping wet and my clitoris is . . .
The doorbell rang. I answered it and was amazed to find Derek hovering on the frontstep. ‘Hi,’ I said, my head spinning with the wine. ‘Come in.’
‘I just saw your husband,’ he said, closing the door and following me into the lounge. ‘He said he’s going away for a few days so I thought . . .’
‘I know what you thought, Derek.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Plonking myself on the sofa as he sat in the armchair opposite, I smiled. ‘I’m a married woman, Derek,’ I began. ‘I know that this is fun and . . .’
‘I love a little fun,’ he cut in, gazing up my skirt as I inadvertently parted my thighs. ‘Wow, no panties. I say, you really are a horny little angel.’
‘Derek, I . . . I mean . . .’ I stammered, pressing my thighs together. ‘Derek, I . . .’
‘There’s no need to explain,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I would imagine that a lot of girls don’t wear panties in the summer.’
‘Derek, listen to me. This game we’ve been playing. Don’t get me wrong, I find you very attractive and . . .’
‘And I find you very attractive. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked up a girl’s skirt to find that she’s not wearing panties. If I were your husband, I’d . . .’
‘Derek, you’re not my husband. Besides, you have a wife. These emails you’ve been sending. I know they’re exciting and I have to admit that I . . .’
‘Are you excited now?’
‘To be honest, yes, I am. All this stuff about not wearing panties and . . . It’s turned me on. But, I’m a married woman.’
‘And your husband is away. Make an old man happy, Sarah. Allow me to make you happy, and you’ll make me happy.’
‘Derek, I . . . Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘No, it’s too early for me.’
‘I think I’ll have one,’ I said, leaving the sofa. I grabbed my glass and the bottle and returned to the lounge. ‘The thing is . . .’ I began, filling the glass.
‘The thing is, you’re all alone for a few days, and I’m here to make you happy.’
‘Derek, you’re not listening to me.’
‘I’m listening to your innermost thoughts, Sarah. You might think me a silly old sod, but I know what a girl wants, what a girl needs. Husbands don’t always give their wives what they need, they don’t understand their desires. When did you last relax and allow a man to suck you to orgasm?’
‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know because you can’t remember.’
Knocking back my wine, I knew that he was right. But, as desperate as I was, I couldn’t allow him to lick my pussy and suck my clitoris to orgasm. My husband had only just left and . . . Why the hell hadn’t Dave satisfied me? The wine going to my head, I felt disorientated as I refilled my glass. Dave had annoyed me, Derek wanted to suck my clitoris, and the wine was affecting me. If I lost my inhibitions and allowed Derek to bring me to orgasm, I knew that I’d regret it. I had to be strong, I thought as he left the armchair and knelt at my feet.
Easing my knees apart, Derek kissed my inner thighs. I had to be strong. I could feel his hot breath against my skin as he moved dangerously close to my pussy. I felt dizzy, aroused, guilty . . . Parting my feet, he tugged my skirt up over my stomach and gazed at the blonde fleece veiling my sex crack. What the hell was I doing, I wondered apprehensively as he kissed the swollen lips of my vagina. I had to stop him, I had to be strong.
His wet tongue running up and down my opening sex crack, flicking the sensitive tip of my erect clitoris, he eased my thighs wide apart and pressed his lips hard against my engorged inner lips. I could hear him breathing in my scent, I could feel his tongue licking me, teasing me . . . As my clitoris sank into his hot mouth, I let out a gasp of pleasure and reclined on the sofa, my eyes closed. The marital sofa, I thought dreamily, guiltily. I had to be strong, but it was too late. I’d weakened, given into my feminine desires . . . And committed adultery.
‘Derek, no,’ I
breathed as he drove a finger deep into the hot sheath of my very wet vagina. He ignored me, massaging my inner flesh and sucking on my clitoris as I writhed and gasped on the sofa. ‘Please . . .’ I again breathed as my womb contracted and my pussy milk flowed from my contracting vaginal sheath. This was adultery, I shouldn’t be doing this, my friends wouldn’t do this, they wouldn’t cheat on their husbands, I should have been strong . . . I’d have to lie to Dave. I’d never lied to my husband, never been untruthful about where I’d been or what I’d been doing. I’d have to lie to him.
Licking, slurping, sucking, Derek took me higher, closer to my adulterous orgasm. This was wrong, but . . . My womb contracted, my nipples became erect, and my whole body was glowing, alive with sex. Losing myself in my arousal, I quivered uncontrollably as he repeatedly swept his tongue over the sensitive tip of my pleasure bud and massaged the hot inner flesh of my adulterous vagina. I couldn’t think straight, I had no control over my actions. More fingers penetrated my tight pussy, stretching my sex sheath open to capacity and inducing my lubricating milk to spew over his hand.
It had been so long since I’d enjoyed the intimate attention of boys on the common, I reflected. I hadn’t realised what I’d been missing until now. But, I wasn’t a whore. This was a fantasy, I tried to delude myself. This was a dark dream, a secret dream that would never emerge from the dark into the light of day. I’d wake up in my bed and recover from a self-induced orgasm and . . . Derek breathed words of sex as he sucked and licked between my swollen vaginal lips. Beautiful pussy, hot, wet. A horny little angel, heaven-sent . . . I tried not to listen. This was a dream, the words were in my head.
Lust Call Page 3
