‘God,’ I breathed, beginning to drift down slowly from my sexual elation. I’d wet the sofa, my vagina was on fire, my inflamed rectal duct was spasming . . . Unable to move for several minutes, I finally slipped my fingers out of my sore bottom-hole and lay quivering on the sofa. Panting for breath, I felt drunk on sex, dizzy in the aftermath of my rectal pleasure. Completely exhausted, I drifted off to sleep and dreamed my dreams of two men attending my feminine needs, two cocks fucking me senseless and drowning me in spunk.
Coming to as the phone rang, I checked the time. I must have been out for half an hour, I thought, leaping up from the sofa and dashing into the lounge. Barry would be back by now, I thought, wondering whether I was in a fit condition to take his cock. How much sex and how many orgasms could I take in one day? Flopping into the armchair and grabbing the receiver, I hoped that this wasn’t Dave. My thighs were sticky, my anal hole sore, my blouse hanging open, my long blonde hair dishevelled . . .
‘It’s only me,’ Dave said. ‘I’m going to be late home this evening.’
‘Oh, OK,’ I murmured. ‘What time?’
‘I don’t know. Around eight, I reckon. I have a client to see about a shoot. If this one works out, it’ll open the door to more work. I’ll tell you about it later.’
‘That sounds good, Dave,’ I trilled, trying to sound excited. ‘You’re doing well.’
‘Yes, it’s going very well. By the way, when I had a shower this morning, I noticed that we’re almost out of shampoo. Have you been shopping yet?’
‘Er . . . No, I . . .’
‘And the milk has gone off. I don’t know how long it’s been in the fridge but . . .’
‘It was fine in my coffee earlier.’
‘I had cereal, and it tasted off to me.’
‘OK, I’ll get some more.’
‘Great. What’s for dinner tonight?’
‘I don’t know yet. I’ll sort something out.’
‘OK, I’ll see you later.’
Hanging up, I realised that I’d not been shopping for days. The fridge was as good as empty and there was nothing in the freezer. The last thing I needed was to drag myself around the supermarket when I was looking forward to fucking Barry at the end of the garden. Looking around the lounge, I bit my lip and sighed. I’d not vacuumed or dusted for over a week. The washing was piling up, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d have to make an effort, I mused dolefully. If I didn’t, then Dave would become suspicious. Tomorrow, I decided, heading for the patio. I’d do the shopping and housework tomorrow.
I was going to have to get my act together, I knew as I stepped out on to the patio. I needed time to spend in the house, and time to fuck in the woods and the garden. Work and pleasure don’t mix, I reflected. Ambling across the lawn with the sun warming my back, I again wondered how Keith had got into the garden. He’d either come in from Barry’s side, or Rob’s side, I mused as I neared the fence.
‘You want more?’ I said with a giggle, walking into the bushes as I heard a tapping sound.
‘Have you seen the hole?’ he whispered.
‘No, I haven’t.’ Looking down, I saw that the hole was now about six inches across. ‘Why have you done that?’ I asked him.
‘Put your hand through the hole and you’ll find out.’
Tentatively slipping my hand through the hole, I felt naked flesh. I assumed that Keith wanted me to wank him as I moved my hand up and groped about for his solid cock. He must have some sort of fetish about using the hole, I thought as I groped about. Strangely, his inner thighs felt soft and smooth. Frowning, I couldn’t make out which part of his body I was touching until I moved further up. Retracting my hand, I gasped. He wanted me to touch a girl? I’d felt pussy lips, a girl’s crack . . . My mind filling with a thousand thoughts, I couldn’t believe this.
‘Finger her,’ he instructed me. ‘Finger her wet cunt.’
‘No,’ I gasped. ‘I won’t.’
‘Do it, Sarah. You wouldn’t want Dave to see the photographs, would you?’
‘You can’t make me touch . . . I’m not going to touch another girl. After meeting in the woods, I thought . . .’
‘The choice is yours, Sarah. Finger the girl, or else.’
Swamped by confusion, I not only wondered who the girl was but why the hell was Keith doing this? More threats over the photographs? Surely that had come to an end now that we’d met in the woods and . . . But, we hadn’t met, the thought suddenly struck me. The man behind the fence wasn’t Keith. He again ordered me to finger the girl’s cunt and threatened to send the photographs to Dave if I didn’t do as I was told. This was a bloody nightmare. What choice did I have?
Kneeling on the ground and slipping my hand through the hole, I ran my fingers up the girl’s inner thighs to her sex crack. Her outer lips were smooth and soft, devoid of hairs. Slipping my middle finger between her inner lips, I pushed into the wet heat of her tight vagina. I’d never dreamed of touching another girl. The very idea of lesbianism had always revolted me, but now I had no choice. She was very wet, creamy-wet and hot, and I knew that she’d want to slip her hand through the hole and finger me.
My thoughts turning to Rob, I wondered whether he’d slipped into the alleyway with his daughter. I didn’t know them that well, but I couldn’t imagine Rachel getting involved in something like this. No man would involve his teenage daughter in blackmail and crude lesbian sex, would he? Recalling the day when two men had been behind the fence, I wondered who the hell these people were. Barry, Derek, Keith . . . And some unknown man with a girl. What the hell was going on, I wondered as the man ordered me to drive two fingers into the girl’s tightening vagina. How many more people were waiting to have sex with me?
The girl gyrated her hips, gasping and whimpering softly behind the fence as I drove a second finger deep into her tight pussy and massaged her wet inner flesh. I could feel her hand above mine, and I knew that she was caressing her clitoris as her gasps became louder and her sex milk flowed over my fingers. How old was she? Was she my blackmailer’s wife? This wasn’t Rachel, surely?
My finger slipped out of her hot vagina as she moved back. I retrieved my hand and looked through the hole in the fence. I could see her slender thighs, the hairless lips of her pussy, but I couldn’t see her face. As she peeled her vaginal lips apart and pressed her wet flesh against the hole, I gazed wide-eyed at the solid protrusion of her pink clitoris. I’d never seen another girl’s pussy, let alone as close as this. With her inner lips stretched wide open, the pink flesh surrounding her erect clitoris was creamy-wet, glistening in the light.
As the man ordered me to lick her cunt, I stared at the gaping entrance to her wet vagina and held my hand to my mouth. I couldn’t lick another woman. What the hell did he think I was? I wasn’t a lesbian, I thought anxiously as a globule of opaque fluid trickled from her open sex hole. I was a nymphomaniac, but I wasn’t a lesbian. There was no way I was going to . . .
‘Do it,’ the man said softly. ‘She needs to come. Lick and suck her clitoris.’
‘I’m not a bloody lesbian,’ I returned.
‘Think about the photographs, Sarah.’
I had no choice, I knew as I imagined Dave gazing at the photographic evidence of my adulterous debauchery. Moving forward, I pushed my tongue out and tentatively licked the swollen tip of the girl’s solid clitoris. She tasted salty, not at all unpleasant. Pressing my full lips to the pink flesh surrounding her clitoris, I sucked gently and repeatedly swept my tongue over her pleasure bud. She gasped and forced herself harder against the fence as I worked on the sensitive bulb of her clitoris. She was going to reach her orgasm quickly, I knew as my own juices of arousal seeped between the swelling petals of my inner lips. I wasn’t enjoying the lesbian coupling, I tried to convince myself as my clitoris swelled and called for my intimate attention. I wasn’t a lesbian, I was being blackmailed into lesbian sex.
The girl cried out as her orgasm came. Her vagina pumped out her sex m
ilk, and she breathed her crude words of lesbian sex. I want you, I want your body, I want your sweet cunt . . . Did I recognise her voice, I mused as I sucked on her pulsating clitoris. She sounded young. With her orgasmic milk splattering my chin as I sucked on her pulsating clitoris, I reckoned that she was in her teens. Her vagina had been very tight, I thought as she again breathed her words of lesbian sex. Sarah, I want you. I want your cunt, I want your clitoris in my mouth.
Sucking the last ripples of her orgasm from her pulsing clitoris, I licked my girl-wet lips as she finally moved away. Again, I spied through the hole in the fence but I could only see the girl’s milk-wet naked thighs. Just one glimpse of her face was all I needed, I thought, but I could see no higher that the smooth plateau of her stomach. The taste of female sex milk lingering on my tongue, I tried to deny the immense pleasure I’d derived from the lesbian coupling. I was heterosexual, I reflected. Never had I dreamed that I’d lick another girl’s open sex valley and suck a swollen clitoris to orgasm. What was happening to me?
Following my blackmailer’s orders, I climbed to my feet and lifted my short skirt up over my stomach. Pressing my vaginal crack against the hole, I knew that the girl was going to lick me as fingers peeled my hairless outer lips wide apart. My clitoris was solid, my juices of desire seeping from my sex sheath. This was a first, I thought apprehensively as I felt a wet tongue sweep over the sensitive tip of my clitoris. The first time I’d ever had oral sex with another girl.
My arousal soaring, I began to tremble as she sucked my erect clitoris into her hot mouth. I instinctively knew that this was a female mouth, a female tongue, attending my most feminine needs. There was a subtle difference, I mused. Soft, gentle, loving . . . Her tongue lapped at my open sex hole, repeatedly moving up and snaking over the tip of my sensitive clitoris. She certainly knew how to please a girl. But I wasn’t a lesbian, I again tried to convince myself. I wasn’t enjoying this, I didn’t want this, I was heterosexual, I was being forced . . .
‘Yes,’ I breathed, my legs sagging beneath my trembling body as my orgasm erupted within the swollen bulb of my pulsating clitoris. My face pressed against the fence, my breathing fast and shallow, I whimpered helplessly as the unseen girl sustained my incredible pleasure with her hot mouth and wet tongue. I wasn’t a lesbian, but . . . No man had been this good, I reflected. Maybe only a girl knew how to pleasure another girl.
I could hear Barry calling me from his garden. He’d be leaning on the fence, looking for me, wanting me, craving my cunt. My orgasm receded as my mind flooded with worrying thoughts of lesbian sex, and I imagined Barry catching me with another girl. What the hell had I become, I wondered apprehensively as the girl mouthed and sucked on my deflating clitoris. I was enjoying oral sex with a female and . . . I couldn’t go down that road. No matter how much pleasure the girl’s tongue had brought me, I couldn’t indulge in lesbian sex.
I moved back and leaned against the fence to steady my trembling body. I pulled my skirt down to conceal my adulterous pussy, my lesbian pussy, and I breathed deeply as I recovered from my girl-induced climax. I felt dizzy with sex, confused, anxious . . . What the hell had I done? More to the point, who were these people? As the man murmured something and the girl giggled, I headed back towards the house. I needed to think, I needed to work things out.
‘Hi, sexy,’ Barry said as I reached the patio. ‘Are you all right? You look very . . .’
‘I’m hot,’ I cut in.
‘You’re telling me,’ he quipped. ‘How about you and me . . .’
‘Not now, Barry,’ I sighed, wondering whether to tell him the truth.
‘Later, then?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ he persisted.
‘I’m hot, that’s all. I’m going to have a rest.’
‘Oh, OK. I might see you later.’
I closed the back door behind me and went into the lounge to flop on to the sofa. I could still taste the girl’s orgasmic milk as I pictured her solid clitoris. She’d want more, I reflected. She’d want me to lick and suck and finger and . . . What the hell was I going to do? I leapt to my feet as the front doorbell rang and spied through the net curtains. Derek was standing on the step with a slight grin furling his lips. Shit, I thought, realising that he’d called round for sex. Where the hell was all this going to end?
Eight
RIDDLED WITH GUILT and confusion, I spent several hours doing the housework. The phone had rung three times and Derek had tapped on the front door and called through the letter box, but I’d got on with the washing and ironing. After a shower, I dressed in jeans and drove to the supermarket. I was trying to get my life back to some sort of normality. I’d fucked half the neighbours, I’d had oral sex with another girl . . . I had to get my life back on track.
I’d just finished putting the shopping away when the phone rang. This time, I decided to answer it. If it was my blackmailer, I’d tell him to go to hell and hang up. If it was Dave, I’d come across as happy and normal and tell him that I’d been out shopping and I was planning on making him a nice meal. Everything was back to normal, apart from the threat of the photographs.
‘Sarah, it’s Jane,’ my friend said.
‘Hi, how are you?’ I asked her. ‘I’ve been meaning to call you.’
‘I’m fine. I haven’t seen you for ages. It’s amazing how the weeks just fly past. Listen, do you want to come over this evening?’
‘Yes, I’d love to come over. As it happens, Dave is going to be late tonight.’
‘That’s great. Come and have something to eat with us. I have to go out, but I should be back by six.’
‘I’ll be there at six. Oh, and I’ll bring some wine.’
‘We’ll get tipsy and have a laugh,’ she said with a giggle. ‘Actually, it was Sam’s idea to invite you over.’
‘Really?’
‘He decided to order a takeaway this evening and suggested you join us.’
‘I could do with getting out,’ I sighed. ‘That’s great, Jane. Thank you.’
‘OK, I’ll see you later.’
This was just what I needed, I thought happily. Get out of the house for a while, spend some time with Jane and relax and catch up on the gossip . . . Things were getting back to normal. My only concern was the photographic evidence of my adultery. Would my blackmailer email the photos to Dave? Would he print them and send them by post? There was no point in speculating, I knew as I changed into a short summer dress. As far as I was concerned, all that had happened with Barry, Keith and Derek was history. And the unseen girl? I again pictured the solid protrusion of her clitoris. I’d been confused, I thought. Confused and blackmailed, that’s why I’d had oral sex with her. I certainly wasn’t a bloody lesbian.
The short walk to Jane’s house only took me ten minutes. It was so nice to feel relaxed, I mused as I rang the doorbell. I’d not eaten properly for a while, so it would be nice to enjoy a decent meal and a few glasses of wine. I wouldn’t have to worry about my phone ringing or Derek pestering me for sex. The house was pristine and I’d be home by eight and cook something really nice for Dave. We might even have sex, I thought, wondering how to explain my shaved pussy. I was going to have to cross that bridge at some stage.
‘Hi, Sarah,’ Jane’s husband greeted me as he opened the door. ‘Come in, come in. Jane’s not back yet, but she shouldn’t be too long.’
‘Thanks, Sam,’ I said, passing him the bottle of wine and following him into the lounge.
‘So, how are things?’ he asked me. ‘Er . . . Wine or . . .’
‘Wine, please. Things are fine. Dave’s been working away in Morocco.’
‘Morocco? I’ll use this bottle, it’s straight out of the fridge. He’s keeping busy, then?’
‘Yes, he’s doing very well at the moment.’
‘There you go.’ He passed me a glass of wine as I sat on the sofa, and plonked himself in the armchair opposite. ‘It’s great to see you, Sarah. I was say
ing to Jane that we must all get together some time and have a barbecue.’
‘Yes, I’d like that. So, how’s your job going? Did you get your promotion?’
‘Yes, I did. I have a couple of weeks off but I’m now working with a couple of great guys who . . .’
As he rambled on, I noticed him eyeing my naked legs. My stomach somersaulting, I nodded or shook my head appropriately as he talked about his job. But my mind was filling with thoughts of crude sex, fucking orgasms, licking, sucking, spunking . . . What the hell was wrong with me, I wondered anxiously as my clitoris swelled and my pussy milk seeped into the tight crotch of my panties. Had I no control over my desires for debauched sex?
Sam was in his forties, and extremely good looking. But I didn’t want to look upon him as a sexual conquest. Jane was a good friend of mine, and the last thing I wanted was to screw her husband. She was also in her forties, and it seemed that they’d been married forever. They had a lovely home and, as far as I knew, a great relationship. I couldn’t destroy that.
Sam and I drank wine and talked and joked, and my desire to have him grew with every passing minute. His dark hair swept back from his rugged face, his smile displaying a perfect row of white teeth, he was quite a catch. But he belonged to Jane, I reminded myself. There again, Barry belonged to Jilly and Derek was married and . . . My womb contracting as Sam focused on my naked thighs, I took a deep breath and tried to control myself. A quick blowjob, I mused wickedly. It would only take a few minutes to suck his purple knob into my wet mouth and wank his hard shaft and bring out his spunk. God, why was I so thirsty for fresh spunk? Control yourself, Sarah, I thought inwardly. Control your bloody self.
Losing the battle, I parted my thighs and displayed the tight crotch of my white panties to his wide eyes. I didn’t want to do this, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d thought that I’d moved on, got back to normality. I’d vowed to be faithful to my husband, start afresh and . . . But the nymphomaniac in me wouldn’t rest. The very notion of being alone in a room with another man sent quivers through my womb. My outer lips swelling, my vagina contracting, I wanted Sam.
Lust Call Page 15
