Hearing the bushes rustling, I again wondered whether Barry was wanking. The thought of his spunk shooting out of his purple knob exciting me, I had no control over my actions and slipped my hand between my thighs and massaged the swollen lip of my hairless pussy. I couldn’t help myself as I moved my panties aside and caressed the hot flesh of my sex-wet inner lips. Massaging the solid nub of my yearning clitoris, I felt my womb contract, my heart race. I must have been mad, I reflected. Toying with my inner lips and massaging my clitoris when I knew that Barry was watching me, I must have been crazy.
Crazy or not, I had to determine whether or not Barry was the culprit. This was my only chance, I knew as I parted my wet inner lips and exposed the creamy entrance to my tight vagina. I’d initially suspected Derek, I’d worried myself silly over my adultery, I’d pondered on Barry being the culprit . . . This was my chance to discover the identity of my secret admirer, and I wasn’t going to allow the opportunity to pass me by.
Sitting on the path with my legs wide apart and my gaping sex crack facing the fence, I slipped a finger deep into the wet heat of my pussy. As my vaginal muscles tightened, gripping my finger, I felt alive with sex. Could Barry see the swollen lips of my hairless vulva gripping my finger? What was he thinking? Hearing a slight rustling of the bushes behind the fence, I knew that he was there, lurking, watching me. My clitoris was solid, my creamy sex milk flowing over my finger as I massaged the hot inner flesh of my vagina. And I knew that I wasn’t far off reaching an orgasm. The sun, the birds singing, the warm breeze . . . This was reminiscent of my teenage years of masturbating in the garden. The days of old were returning to me.
As if I’d not gone far enough with my sluttish behaviour, wicked thoughts filled my mind and I grabbed the hand fork and ran my fingers over the smooth plastic handle. Did I want to shock Barry, I pondered, slipping my wet finger out of my contracting sex sheath. The smooth fork handle would make an ideal dildo. What the hell was I thinking of? I was a married woman, for God’s sake. This was blatant whoredom. Barry must have thought me a slut, and he’d be right. But I had no control over my feminine desires. I needed something hard and thick to appease my yearning vagina. Dave was away, and all I had was the fork handle.
Easing the plastic phallus deep into my tight vagina, I let out a rush of breath. The filling and stretching sensations were heavenly, and I again recalled my early days of masturbation when I used to take a candle behind the bushes and enjoy its hard smoothness. I’d lie on the grass with my panties by my side and my legs open wide and fuck myself silly with the candle. After I’d come several times, I’d scoop out my pussy cream and then suck my fingers. I’d loved the taste of my sex milk. Sometimes, in my bed at night, I’d suck the crotch of my knickers. Having worn them all day, they’d be heavily scented and very wet, and I’d go to sleep with the crotch in my mouth. My parents had been totally oblivious to my wanton self-loving. And now my husband was oblivious to my gratuitous exhibitionism. But I was only doing this to prove that Barry had sent me the emails. Or was I?
Reclining and resting my head on the soft grass, I moved the handle in and out of my spasming vagina and massaged the solid nub of my exposed clitoris with my free hand. I could hear the squelching sounds of my sex juices, and the rustling of the bushes, as I neared my desperately needed orgasm. One hand beneath my thigh, working the fork handle in and out of my hot vagina, the fingers of my free hand massaging the solid bulb of my sensitive clitoris, I closed my eyes and trembled uncontrollably as the birth of my orgasm stirred deep within my rhythmically contracting womb.
Strangely, all feelings of guilt and thoughts of wrongdoing faded as I repeatedly thrust the makeshift dildo into my sex-wet vaginal sheath. This was my body, I mused dreamily as my clitoris began to pulsate. When I was young, I used to masturbate regularly in the garden and enjoy massive orgasms. The only difference now was that my next-door neighbour was watching me. Was that so bad? My husband was away and he’d never discover the shocking truth about his sluttish wife, so what was the problem? The problem was that I’d been fucked by Derek. Dave didn’t know about it, but the memory would always haunt me. I’d committed adultery and was now masturbating in front of my next-door neighbour. But I had no control over the power of my arousal, the yearning of my neglected cunt.
My young body shaking uncontrollably, my breathing fast and shallow, my orgasm came with a gush of hot pussy milk. Shafting my contracting vagina with the plastic handle, massaging my pulsating clitoris, I sustained my beautiful climax as I imagined Barry wanking and shooting his spunk into the bushes. Again and again, waves of sexual bliss rolled throughout my quivering body as I gasped and writhed in the grip of my ecstasy. My clitoris pulsated wildly beneath my massaging fingertips, and I cried out beneath the summer sun as my orgasm peaked and shook me to the core.
I felt as though I’d been possessed by an unseen sex entity as crude images of Barry’s knob spunking in my mouth loomed in my mind. Whimpering and writhing in my sexual abandonment, I knew that I was behaving like this to shock Barry. But, why was I doing this? Why had my arousal soared to such frightening heights and forced me to use the fork handle as a dildo and behave like a common slut? I was an adult, I thought as I fucked myself with the plastic phallus. I was no longer a silly teenage girl who’d just discovered the delights of her femininity. I was a married woman.
As my orgasm began to subside, I slowed my thrusting rhythm, fucking my inflamed cunt slowly as I recovered from my self-abuse. A blackbird fluttered above me as I looked up at the blue sky. Had he been watching me? My vaginal muscles gripping the fork handle, my clitoris inflating, I moved the fork faster in and out of my sex-hungry cunt. I needed to come again, I thought, wondering whether Barry was still there. The bushes rustled again, and I quickened my thrusting and fucked myself hard as I panted and writhed beneath the summer sun. Barry would never forget the lewd sight, I knew as the plastic handle massaged my G-spot and my milk of desire flowed. And I’d never be able to forget what I’d done in front of my next-door neighbour.
My vaginal muscles spasming, my thighs twitching, I cried out in the grip of another massive climax. My cunt, I thought, my beautiful cunt. I’d never liked the word, but now it wouldn’t leave my dirty mind. I was fucking my tight little cunt with a plastic phallus, imagining another man’s cock spunking my hot cunt . . . ‘My cunt,’ I murmured, hoping that Barry could hear me as I sustained my heavenly orgasm. ‘God, my beautiful cunt.’ What did he think of me? The twee little housewife next door was a common slut.
When my second orgasm finally waned, I slipped the pussy-wet fork handle out of my inflamed vagina and sat upright. I could feel my face flushing as I came to my senses and stared at the fence. The bushes rustled, and I knew that Barry had witnessed my wanton act of masturbation. I’d accomplished my mission, and degraded myself totally in the process. As banging resumed in his kitchen, I leapt to my feet and dashed into the house. What the hell had I done, I thought anxiously as a stream of hot pussy milk flowed from the gaping entrance to my abused vagina and flowed down my inner thighs. Now two of my neighbours knew that I was a dirty slut.
Flooded with guilt and embarrassment, I pulled my panties across to conceal my swollen pussy lips and then flattened my short skirt with my palms. How was I going to face Barry? The next time I saw him over the fence or in the street, I’d flush with shame. But, hopefully, the next email would prove beyond all doubt that he was the culprit.
But what if he was the culprit? Then what would I do? Maybe I should have ignored the emails and . . . That’s what I’d intended to do when the first few emails had arrived. Had I ignored them, I’d never have fucked Derek or masturbated in the garden knowing that Barry was watching me . . . I couldn’t blame the emails, I reflected. The wrongdoing was mine, and I couldn’t blame anything or anyone else.
No emails arrived until six o’clock. Why had Barry waited so long? Maybe he’d had to get on with the kitchen. After deleting the junk mail, I noticed an
email from Dave. He loved me, he missed me, he was thinking about me . . . Little did he know that I was a slut. He’d probably been imagining me doing the washing and housework. Perhaps he’d thought that I’d been working in the garden. Never would he have dreamt that I’d been fucking my cunt with the fork handle while Barry was watching. Taking a deep breath, I finally opened the email from Brian. This was going to prove that Barry was my man, I was sure.
My lovely Sarah,
How nice it was to see you working in your back garden today. It was even nicer to see that you were wearing a very short skirt. But the best part was watching you fuck yourself with the fork handle. I wanked when I was watching you and I spunked all over the ground. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a very good view of you. Why don’t you go down to the end of the garden this evening? Masturbate again and, this time, give me a proper view of your cunt lips rolling back and forth along the handle as you fuck yourself senseless.
Brian.
He didn’t have a very good view of me? I was now one hundred per cent certain that Barry was my man. But why couldn’t he see me properly? The fence, I mused, my excitement rising as I wandered out into the back garden. He would have to have crawled into the bushes and spied through a small hole in the fence. The next time I used the fork handle, I’d position myself so that he could . . . What was I thinking? The next time? There would be no next time. I’d discovered who my secret admirer was, and that was the end of it.
I poured myself a glass of wine, walked to the end of the garden and pondered on the email. Why don’t you go down to the end of the garden this evening? What was it about the end of the garden? Looking around, I noticed that the fence had rotted and broken away from the post, leaving the bushes in Barry’s garden exposed. That’s where he planned to spy on me, I was sure. Was he there now, I wondered, peering into the thick foliage. Why the hell was I feeling so horny? Sipping my wine, I looked back at the houses to make sure that I couldn’t be seen by the neighbours. The windows in the houses either side of mine were obscured by tall bushes. I could sunbathe naked at the end of my garden, I could masturbate, and no one would see me. Apart from Barry.
Noticing the holly bush Dave and I had planted, I became confused about my feelings. I’d always been loyal and faithful to him, but he wasn’t there. Did I need him now? Had he been there, we’d probably have been watching television or going out for a walk. But he wasn’t there. Trustingly, he’d left me to my own devices. What had he expected me to do while he was away? The housework? Washing and ironing? I’d wanted to go with him to Morocco, but he’d not wanted me there. My going with him would eat into his profit. Would I have cramped his style? Would I have been in the way during his few days of freedom and fun? In the short time since he’d been away, I’d changed dramatically. Had he allowed me to go with him, had he wanted me . . . I’d never been a slut, but I was changing. Had I been a slut during my teens? Maybe, maybe not. I’d been innocently discovering sex during those heady years. I’d never considered myself a slut. Or had I?
Sitting on the soft grass and resting my back against the old apple tree, I downed my wine and relaxed. Was Barry watching me? I stared at the broken fence. Did I want him to be there, lurking in the bushes, watching me? Did I want to expose the most intimate part of my young body to his dark eyes? From the bushes, he’d be able to see up my skirt. Did he want to fuck me in the garden? Dave had never fucked me outside the marital bedroom. As my panties soaked up my juices of desire, I imaged Barry emerging from the bushes and taking me on the lawn. He’d sink his solid cock deep into my wet vagina, rock his hips, and fuck me senseless. Was that what I wanted? Why hadn’t Dave fucked me in the garden?
My clitoris called me. I lifted my buttocks and slipped my wet panties off. With my legs outstretched on the grass, parted wide, I had no control over my feminine needs as I tugged my short skirt up and gazed at the hairless lips of my pussy, my open sex crack. I felt like a sex-crazed teenage girl as I massaged the sensitive tip of my erect clitoris. Was Susie fucking her man on the side, I mused dreamily. Why had she said that Dave will have his fair share while he’s in Morocco? Was he screwing a tart in his hotel room? Why hadn’t Derek called round for sex?
Alive with sex, I unbuttoned my blouse and exposed my braless breasts to the evening sun. My nipples rose, standing proud from my areolae as my libido heightened. Was my voyeur watching me? Was he hiding in the bushes, gazing at my firm tits as he wanked? Did I want him to emerge from the bushes and suck on my ripe nipples? A facial, I mused wickedly. I needed a man to wank and shoot his creamy spunk over my face and long blonde hair. Lifting my leg as my arousal gripped me, I slipped my hand beneath my thigh and drove two fingers deep into the wetness of my tight pussy. Was he imagining driving his cock deep into my cunt and spunking me?
Hearing a noise in the bushes, I reckoned that Barry was there. Although I’d said that there wouldn’t be a next time, although I’d vowed to end the games, I couldn’t fight my arousal. I didn’t want to jeopardise my marriage, but I was hooked on the excitement and danger. After several years of playing the role of housewife, I felt free. I needed something extra in my life. Something extramarital? Was that my plan? I had no long-term plans, apart from enjoying myself while Dave was away. What the hell was I going to do when he returned to the marital home? Would I slip down the garden and fuck my sex-hungry cunt with the fork handle?
Nearing my orgasm as I fingered my contracting vagina and massaged my swollen clitoris, I moved away from the tree and lay on my back with my legs spread. What would I do when Dave returned? Would I fuck Derek while Dave was at work? Would I masturbate in the garden knowing that Barry was watching me? Recalling Derek’s huge cock gliding in and out of my pussy, I closed my eyes and breathed heavily as I teetered on the verge of my climax. There was no point in thinking about the future. All I could do was live for the moment, and enjoy my freedom while it lasted.
‘Yes,’ I gasped as my clitoris erupted in orgasm and my vaginal muscles spasmed. My half-naked body shaking violently, my thighs twitching uncontrollably, I massaged the hot inner flesh of my sex sheath and caressed the pulsating tip of my clitoris to sustain my incredible pleasure. My orgasms were becoming more intense and longer-lasting, and I knew that I could never give up my self-loving now that I’d rediscovered masturbation. Never again would I neglect my yearning pussy, my solid clitoris.
My eyes closed, I brought out the last tremors of sex from my receding clitoris and lay trembling on the grass beneath the apple tree. Dizzy in the aftermath of my orgasm, I was oblivious to my surroundings and had forgotten all about Barry, until I felt something brushing against my inner thighs. Propping myself up on my elbows, I let out a gasp as I stared in disbelief at Barry. He moved in and pressed his mouth hard against my swollen pussy lips before I’d had a chance to say or do anything. His tongue delving into my sex-dripping vaginal entrance, he eased my thighs further apart and lapped up my hot milk.
A thousand thoughts battered my aching mind as he reached up and squeezed the firm mounds of my petite breasts. What the hell did he think I was? Where was his wife? What on earth did he think he was doing? Trembling, swamped with embarrassment, I was unable to utter any words of protest or push him away as he licked and slurped between my hairless pussy lips. Did he think me a slut who’d allow him to . . . I was a slut, I knew as my clitoris swelled and my sex juices flowed in response to his intimate attention.
Reclining on the soft grass, I felt a mixture of guilt, shame and embarrassment. But I also felt aroused as never before. As Barry licked and sucked on my erect clitoris, I realised that no words had passed between us. It was as if this was meant to be, I mused, arching my back as he thrust a finger deep into my tight vagina. I’d fucked Derek, I’d shaved my pussy, I’d rediscovered masturbation, and now Barry was licking and sucking on my solid clitoris. Everything had fallen into place since Dave had left.
My clitoris exploding in orgasm, my vaginal muscles gripping Barry’s thrustin
g finger, I let out a cry of pleasure as a deluge of hot sex milk spewed from my bloated sex sheath. Writhing on the grass beneath the evening sun, I’d never known an orgasm of such strength and duration. Again and again, waves of orgasm rolled through my half-naked body, reaching every nerve ending and tightening every muscle. I could hear Barry slurping and sucking, his finger squelching my vaginal milk, his heavy breathing . . . And I could hear my phone ringing.
Was Dave calling me? My orgasm peaked and my sex milk again spewed in torrents from my inflamed sex duct. The phone continued to ring, and my orgasm began to fade. Why had Dave called now, I wondered, as Barry slipped his finger out of my sated pussy and gave my clitoris one last suck. Locking his lips to the wet flesh surrounding my vaginal entrance, he sucked out my hot cream as I lay quivering on the grass. He was good, I thought dreamily as the phone stopped ringing. He knew exactly how to pleasure a girl.
Confusion swamped me as the phone rang again and Barry positioned himself over my trembling body. His dark eyes gazing into mine, a smile furled his lips as he slipped the swollen head of his erect penis between the wet petals of my inner lips. Before I could protest, his cock had glided deep into my tightening vagina and impaled me completely. I’d not wanted this, I thought apprehensively. The phone rang and rang, and I knew that Dave would be wondering where I was. If he thought that I was down the garden, on my back on the lawn with Barry’s huge cock bloating my sex sheath . . . What the hell did I think I was doing?
Barry began his fucking motions, rocking his hips and repeatedly driving the entire length of his beautiful cock deep into my wet cunt. His swollen knob battering my ripe cervix, I could feel my lower stomach rising and falling, my womb rhythmically contracting, as I revelled in my adulterous act. I’d fucked two men in two days, I thought as the phone stopped ringing. Two men, two cocks . . . Dave had only been away for a couple of days, and I’d become a common whore.
Lust Call Page 6
