Lust Call

by Lust Call [Nexus] (retail) (epub)

  My thoughts about Dave began to fade as Derek drove two fingers deep into the yearning cavern of my neglected vagina. All I could think about was my beautiful cunt, the incredible pleasure another man was bringing me, my imminent orgasm. No one would ever discover my adultery, I mused as my vaginal muscles tightened around his thrusting fingers. I wouldn’t even tell Susie of my adulterous act. I could get away with it, I thought. Derek was a neighbour, so no one would think it odd if he came to my house now and then. Besides, he was an old man, so no one would ever suspect that we were having sex.

  Lost in my arousal, I didn’t realise what Derek was doing as he moved about. He slipped his fingers out of my hot pussy and, before I could open my eyes, he rammed the entire length of his huge cock deep into my sex-drenched cunt and impaled me fully on his solid organ. Staring at the outer lips of my vagina stretched tautly around the broad base of his cock, my clitoris forced out from its pink hood, I let out a gasp. I’d not wanted this, I thought apprehensively as he withdrew slowly and then rammed into me. This was adultery, full-blown adultery . . .

  ‘All right?’ he whispered, holding my hips as he fucked me.

  ‘Derek, no . . .’ I breathed, watching his pussy-slimed cock gliding in and out of my spasming vagina. ‘Derek, I . . .’

  ‘Just relax,’ he said softly. ‘Relax and let yourself go.’

  I didn’t think that I’d be able to relax but, as my orgasm approached and his cock swelled, I found that I was drifting and swirling in clouds of lust. He was breathing heavily, letting out gasps with each thrust of his beautiful cock, and I knew that he was about to fill my hot vagina with spunk. There was no holding back, I had no thoughts about Dave or adultery . . . My eyes closed, my head lolling from side to side, I dug my fingernails into the sofa cushion and arched my back as my pleasure came.

  My clitoris exploding in orgasm, I could feel his creamy sperm pumping deep into my contracting vagina as he fucked me. It had been years since I’d felt this way, since I’d been fucked properly, and I knew that I’d be seeing Derek regularly as his swinging balls battered my naked buttocks and his orgasming knob pummelled my ripe cervix. Adultery, lies, deceit . . . In the grip of a beautiful orgasm, such words meant nothing to me. My thoughts centred on my clitoris, my cunt, Derek’s rock-hard cock . . . I couldn’t live without real sex. I couldn’t survive without regular orgasms. Could I survive without Dave?

  Derek finally slowed his fucking-rhythm as his sperm-flow ceased and his cock began to deflate. I could hear the squelching of our orgasmic juices, our heavy breathing and gasping in the wake of our illicit fucking. Sperm running down between the rounded cheeks of my naked buttocks, my clitoris retreating beneath its pink hood, I lay quivering on the sofa in the aftermath of my illicit pleasure. I’d done it, I thought as the last ripples of sex left my clitoris and rippled throughout my trembling body. I’d been fucked by another man. I’d committed adultery.

  The phone rang as Derek slipped his cock out of my sperm-flooded vagina and pulled his trousers up. He rose to his feet, his eyes darting between the phone and me, then he took my hand and pulled me up from the sofa. I couldn’t answer the phone with him there. With a cocktail of sperm and girl-cream running down my inner thighs, my hands trembling, my breathing unsteady, I couldn’t speak to my husband.

  ‘Was that all right?’ Derek asked as the phone stopped ringing.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied softly. ‘Derek, I can’t do this . . .’

  ‘Don’t say anything,’ he interrupted me. ‘I know what you want to say, but don’t say it. Live for the moment, Sarah. Don’t start thinking and evaluating and . . . Live for the moment, OK?’

  ‘Yes, OK.’

  ‘I’ll go now. That was probably your husband and I’m sure that he’ll ring again, so I’ll go now.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said stupidly, seeing him to the front door.

  ‘Thank you, Sarah. I might see you tomorrow, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Er . . . Yes, I think so. Will you send me an email?’

  ‘I will if you want me to. Write the address down for me.’

  ‘You know the address.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘But . . . Derek, you’ve sent me several emails. You must have the address.’

  ‘I’ve never sent you an email, Sarah. As I said, give me the address and I’ll . . .’

  ‘But, you’re Brian,’ I breathed.

  ‘Brian?’ He chuckled and kissed my cheek. ‘You’re confusing me with someone else.’

  ‘No, I . . .’

  ‘Sarah, I’ve never sent you an email. Look, I’d better get back before the wife gets home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Staring at him as he walked along the path to the front gate, I thought that he must have been joking. He was Brian, my secret admirer, I was sure of it. He’d said that he’d emailed me and . . . No, he hadn’t, I reflected. I’d talked about the emails and he must have thought that I’d meant the teenage girls he’d been in touch with. The stark reality of the situation hitting me as I closed the front door, I held my trembling hand to my head. If Derek wasn’t the one who’d been watching me, sending me sexually explicit emails, then who had?

  The telephone rang and I dashed into the lounge to answer it.

  ‘Hello,’ I breathed.

  ‘Hi,’ Dave said. ‘Well, I’ve arrived.’

  ‘Oh, er . . . Right,’ I said shakily.

  ‘I rang earlier but you didn’t answer.’

  ‘I’ve been in the garden. I didn’t hear the phone.’

  ‘Is everything all right, Sarah?’

  ‘Yes, everything’s fine. Is the hotel all right?’

  ‘It’s great. I’ll tell you what, it’s bloody hot here.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it would be. Will you be able to email me?’

  ‘Yes, if there’s an internet connection here. I’ve got my laptop . . . Why do you want me to email you?’

  ‘Well, just to keep in touch.’

  ‘OK. Are you sure you’re all right? You sound different.’

  ‘I’m a little tired, that’s all.’

  ‘Have an early night.’

  ‘Yes, yes I think I will.’

  ‘I’ll ring tomorrow.’

  ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘OK, love. Sleep well.’

  ‘Yes, and you.’

  I replaced the receiver, flopped on to the sofa and cried. Tears streaming down my cheeks, sperm spewing from my adulterous vagina, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I’d been fucked by the old man over the road. I’d opened my legs and allowed him to lick me and fuck me and . . . Again recalling the boys I used to meet on the common, I thought that I’d left those sluttish days behind me. One afternoon, I’d had two boys. They’d taken turns to fuck me and spunk my tight little pussy. They’d sucked on my tits, fingered me, fucked me senseless and . . . Those dirty days were over, weren’t they?

  Clearing my head of thoughts of crude sex, I took a deep breath. If Derek wasn’t the culprit then, who was? I’d fucked the wrong man, I reflected anxiously. Shit, I’d not intended to fuck any man. What the hell had I done? Reclining on the sofa, I decided not to check my emails. I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to read the filthy words about shaving my pussy. Curling up into a ball, I just wanted to hide behind my eyelids and never wake up.

  Three

  I WOKE TO find myself in bed, although I had no recollection of climbing the stairs the previous evening. As sleep left me and memories of Derek filled my mind, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. I’d fucked the old man from over the road and . . . Had Dave slept with some tart or other in his hotel room? He’d never betray me the way I’d betrayed him, I knew as I looked around the marital bedroom. His dressing gown was hanging on the back of the door, a pair of his trousers were folded over the chair. He was away earning money, and I’d betrayed him. I hauled myself out of bed and gazed out of the window. The sun was shining, the birds singing . . . And guilt was swamping me.

/>   Apart from the guilt of my betrayal, I was worried silly over the identity of my secret admirer. The alcohol had left me and I felt refreshed after sleeping, making my thinking clearer. Whoever was spying on me could obviously see me when I was in the front garden. There were probably a dozen houses with a view of my garden, which narrowed things down a little. But there was also the question of my email address. No one could have guessed it, and I’d certainly not given it to anyone. But, someone knew what it was.

  To make myself feel better, I showered and dressed in a miniskirt and blouse and then went down to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. All I could think about was Derek and my adulterous act as I switched the computer on. I’d been stupid, I reflected dolefully. I’d got the wrong man, I’d opened my legs to Derek and . . . There was an email from Brian. Taking a deep breath, I opened it and started reading.

  Hello, my horny little angel,

  Have you shaved your pussy for me? It’s a lovely day so why don’t you slip into a short skirt and do a little gardening? Don’t wear knickers beneath your skirt because I’d like to see your sweet crack as you squat down in the garden. I’ll be watching you, and wanking like mad.

  Brian.

  After deleting the email, I took my coffee out to the back garden and sat on a patio chair beneath the summer sun. The situation was ridiculous, I thought anxiously. Someone was watching me, spying on me, and I felt as though I was being hounded by a stalker. At least I was safe on the patio. The garden was surrounded by bushes and trees, so there was no way anyone could spy on me. Whoever it was could only see the front of the house, and they had to be watching me from a window. All I had to do was devise a plan to trap them and . . .

  ‘Morning, Sarah,’ the man from next door called over the fence.

  ‘Hi, Barry,’ I said, realising that he might be the culprit. He was in his forties and married, and had always been friendly. He could easily spy on me from an upstairs front window, I mused. ‘How are you?’ I asked him, placing my coffee cup on the table and wandering over to the fence.

  ‘I’m fine. I have a couple of weeks off so I’m doing some DIY. It’s too hot to be working inside, but Jilly wants the kitchen decorated.’

  ‘I’ve not seen her for a while, how is she?’

  ‘She’s OK. Her mother isn’t too good so she spends her days helping her out. What are you up to? Anything exciting?’

  ‘No, not really. Dave’s on a photo shoot in Morocco, so I’ve been tidying up the front garden to keep myself busy. Looking at the weeds, I think I’ll have a go at the back garden.’

  ‘It’s that rain we had a couple of weeks back,’ he said, eyeing the cleavage of my firm breasts. ‘Now the sun’s out, the weeds have gone mad.’

  ‘I’ve got nothing else to do so I’ll make a start now,’ I said as he looked down at my short skirt, my naked thighs.

  ‘You’ll get quite a suntan working out here. Anyway, I’d better get on.’

  ‘OK, Barry. Don’t get too hot indoors.’

  ‘I won’t. And you be a good girl while Dave’s away,’ he said with a chuckle. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  Be a good girl? I mused as he went back into his house. Why had he said that? What had he meant? I was becoming paranoid, I thought as I grabbed a hand fork from the shed. There was no point suspecting anyone and everyone. There again, Barry had two weeks off work, and he could easily see my front garden from his house. Maybe Dave had inadvertently given him my email address, I reflected. They got on well together and, although it was unlikely, my email address might have come up in conversation. Barry was now a prime suspect.

  I could hear Barry banging about in his kitchen as I squatted by the flower border and began digging up the weeds. Perhaps I should have confronted him about the emails, I reflected. But he’d only have denied it. I doubted that my secret admirer seriously wanted to have sex with me. It was more of a fun thing, a turn-on, a way to get kicks. I should never have gone over to Derek’s house, I mused as I pulled up a particularly large weed. I should have deleted the emails and waited until my voyeur became bored and gave up.

  Wondering whether to change my email address, I looked up as I heard the bushes rustling the other side of the wooden fence. Was Barry there? Was he spying through a hole in the fence? I couldn’t hear him banging about in his kitchen, and I wondered whether he’d gone out into the garden for some fresh air. Again, the bushes rustled. It might have been a cat or birds fluttering. It might have been Barry pressing his eye to a hole in the fence and gazing up my skirt at my tight panties. Pressing my thighs together, I carried on weeding. If the next email mentioned my weeding in the back garden, I could be certain that Barry was the culprit.

  There was definitely someone or something moving about behind the fence. I was about to forget the garden and go back into the house, but I came up with an idea. If I parted my thighs and the next email mentioned that I was wearing pink panties, I’d be one hundred per cent sure that Barry was my man. Brushing my long blonde hair away from my face, I gazed at the fence from the corner of my eye as I parted my thighs wide and forked over the border. There were several knot-holes and cracks in the fence, but I couldn’t see an eye watching me. There was no banging coming from the kitchen and no rustling behind the fence, and I wondered where Barry was.

  Parting my thighs further, I realised that my arousal was soaring and my panties were becoming wet with my juices of desire. I could feel the lips of my pussy swelling, my clitoris emerging from beneath its protective hood. Initially, I’d felt apprehensive about showing my panties to my next door neighbour. But I realised that he’d believe me innocent. It was a beautiful summer day, I was wearing a short skirt, I was working in the garden, I had no idea that I was being watched, I had no idea that a man was gazing up my skirt at my panties . . . I was innocent.

  The sun was beating down on me and, after half an hour, I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of orange juice. Coincidentally, the banging resumed in Barry’s kitchen. That was no coincidence, I knew as I gulped down my drink. I wandered into the dining room and checked my emails – nothing. Barry wouldn’t have dashed to his computer and mailed me, I reflected. He’d probably send me an email later in the day. After he’d had another look at my panties? After he’d wanked and thought about sinking his cock deep into my hot pussy?

  Sitting on a patio chair, I pondered on the situation. I was no psychologist, but I tried to analyse Barry’s thinking. If this went on for several weeks, he’d become bored and frustrated. His frustration would reach the stage where he’d begin to make mistakes and, hopefully, reveal his identity. I had to trap him, I decided. I had to do something that he’d be bound to mention in an email. But, what?

  There was only one thing to do, I concluded, climbing the stairs to the bathroom. I slipped my panties off, grabbed Dave’s shaving foam from the shelf and sat on the edge of the bath with my legs wide open. This was crazy, I knew as I lifted my skirt and squirted the foam over my mons and pussy lips. As I grabbed the razor, I had no idea what Dave would say when he saw my hairless pussy. I doubted that he’d suspect that I had a secret lover, but he’d question me. Why shave? Where did I get the idea from? What prompted me? The hairs would take weeks to grow back, but I’d got it in my mind that this had to be done. My secret admirer had asked me to shave. If Barry was my man and he saw my hairless vulva, he’d be bound to mention it in his next email.

  Repeatedly dragging the razor over the sensitive flesh of my vulva, I shaved off my blonde fleece. Wiping the foam and curls away from my fleshy lips, my sex crack, I finally gazed at my reflection in the mirror and gasped. I’d stripped years away along with the curls, and I couldn’t image what Dave would say. Free from their veil of blonde hair, my outer lips appeared bigger, fuller and more pronounced. The pink petals of my inner lips protruded invitingly from my sex valley, I felt my clitoris swell as my arousal heightened. Stroking the smooth flesh of my outer lips, I breathed heavily, deeply. I needed to come,
I thought as my juices of desire seeped from my yearning vagina. But I had to put my plan into action first.

  Tugging my panties up my long legs, I moved the crotch to the side so that one hairless outer lip bulged out like a balloon. Making sure that the elastic of the leg hole was embedded deep within my sex crack, I lowered my skirt and went back to the garden. I was ready, I thought, taking a deep breath. I was ready to expose my hairless pussy lip to my neighbour, and trap him. Squatting by the flower border with my thighs apart, my pussy lip blatantly displayed, I grabbed the fork and carried on with the weeding.

  I’d shaved and plucked up the courage to expose my hairless pussy lip, but there were no sounds emanating from Barry’s kitchen and no rustling behind the fence. Had I wasted my time? Had he gone out? I was about to give up when I heard a noise behind the fence. Someone was there, I was sure as I parted my knees further and exposed the smooth flesh of my bulging pussy lip. Was he watching me? What was he thinking? Was his cock stiff? More to the point, would he email me?

  The notion of someone looking up my skirt at my swollen pussy lip was sending my arousal rocketing. I’d enjoyed the thrill of flashing my panties when I’d been a college girl. I’d loved sitting at the bus stop with my thighs parted, watching the old men gazing at me as they passed by. My panties had always been soaked with my pussy milk by the time I’d got home and I’d sneak down to the end of the garden and masturbate behind the hedge. My orgasms heightened by the thought of the old men ogling my panties, I’d lie on the grass masturbating for what seemed like hours. They had been heady days, I mused. But this was completely different. This was sexually stimulating, exciting, and dangerous.

  My clitoris was solid and in dire need of my caressing fingertip, but I couldn’t go into the house and masturbate until I was sure that Barry had taken a good look at me. The longer he gazed at my bulging pussy lip, the more his arousal would heighten and the more likely he’d be to mention it in his next email. Was he wanking in the bushes? My panties were soaked with my juices of desire, and I knew that I couldn’t wait much longer for the relief of orgasm. But I daren’t masturbate knowing that he was watching me. He’d think me a dirty slut if I brought myself off in the garden.