Lust Call (12 page)

I clicked on the attachment and let out a gasp. I was sitting on the sofa in the dining room, Barry was kneeling on the floor between my feet . . . The patio doors were open and the photograph had been taken from the garden. How the hell had the bastard done it? He'd walked into my garden and taken a photo . . . This was getting worse by the minute. I wondered how many more photos he had of my adultery. I was sure that he didn't want money from me. He wanted my body, he wanted to fuck me.

I wandered through the patio doors, down the garden and looked about. How the hell had he got in? I eyed the bushes and high fence running along the back of the garden. He'd stolen my panties, taken photographs . . . Would he get into the house? I closed and locked the patio doors and returned to the dining room. There'd be no way he could get in at night, I was sure. What if he forced a window or . . . He wasn't stupid, I reflected. He was clever, and a clever man wouldn't break into my house. Would he?

Staring at the photo on the computer screen, I couldn't believe the mess I'd got myself into. My face was clearly in view, but Barry's head was turned.
Perhaps the attached photograph will persuade you to meet me
. The blackmail had begun.

THE WINE HAD
helped me to sleep, but dreams had haunted me through the night. Dreams of Dave thrusting printed copies of the photographs under my nose, dreams of tears and divorce, nightmares of a man coming into my bedroom at night and . . . I woke with a start, thinking that my blackmailer was in my bedroom with his camera. My thighs were starched with dried sperm, reminding me of Barry's cock fucking me. I couldn't meet Barry again. I daren't carry on with my adulterous affair. Blackmail. What the hell was I going to do?

I felt small curled up beneath my quilt. I felt small and vulnerable in the big nasty world, and I wanted to hide. I recalled my weeding in the front garden, my thighs apart, my panties displayed, Derek coming over and chatting to me . . . Why the hell had I allowed myself to be sucked into the mire? I should have ignored the emails, deleted them and got on with the housework. Blackmail.

After a shower, I attempted to eat a bowl of cereal. I drank coffee, strong coffee. Was Dave on a plane heading for Gatwick? Was Derek spying through his window? Was Barry waiting for me by the fence? More to the point, was my blackmailer lurking in the garden? I found myself wondering whether to meet
him and fuck him in return for his silence. At least, that way, I'd know who he was. Why hadn't Dave phoned?

Checking my emails, I felt my heart race as I noticed another one from Brian. Why the hell couldn't he leave me alone? Who was he? Why was he doing this to me?
I want to taste your cunt, I want to suck your clitoris
. . . I knew that I couldn't fight an unseen enemy. But, if I agreed to meet him, if I managed to lure him out into the open, I'd find out who he was. I had to reply, I decided. I also had to be strong and take no nonsense. If he thought me weak, he'd have me where he wanted me. I had to be strong.

I changed into my bikini, wandered into the garden and sat on a patio chair. This was my only chance to identify my blackmailer before Dave came home, I mused uneasily. Once I knew who he was . . . What the hell would I do then? Discovering that it was Joe Bloggs from number twenty-two wouldn't help me. There again, if he was a married man, I could threaten to tell his wife. Stalemate.

I could hear Barry working in his kitchen, so I knew that I'd be safe enough if my man did turn up and get nasty. Wondering whether I should tell Barry of my plan as I scanned the bushes surrounding the garden, I had a feeling that I was being watched.
Leaving my chair, I knew that I was becoming paranoid, a nervous wreck. I hadn't done the housework or the ironing . . . I hadn't even done the food shopping. All I'd done since Dave had gone was think about sex – and have sex with two men.

Walking slowly to the end of the garden, I heard a tapping noise, and looked about me. It was coming from the fence at the end of the garden, and I knew that my man was in the alleyway. Barry was still banging about in his kitchen, working on his marital home to keep his twee wife happy. His betrayed wife, I mused as I neared the fence. This was definitely my man, I thought, my hands trembling as I waited for him to appear. Would he climb over the fence? How the hell did he intend to get into the garden?

‘Sarah.' A whisper came from the other side of the fence.

‘I'm here,' I replied shakily.

‘Come into the bushes.'

‘OK,' I breathed. The rough leaves scraped my bikini-clad body as I slipped between the bushes. I didn't recognise his voice. ‘I'm here.'

‘Look down at the fence.'

‘No,' I gasped, gazing at an erect penis sticking through a hole in the wooden planking.

‘Like it?'

‘No, I . . . What do you want? Who are you?'

‘Wank it, Sarah.'

‘No, I can't.'

‘Wank it, or there'll be trouble.'

Taking the warm shaft in my hand, I knew that I had no choice. This was the last thing I'd expected, I thought, looking down at a pile of fresh sawdust on the ground below the hole. Whoever this man was, he'd planned this meticulously. There were no cracks or knotholes in the fence, so there was no way I could
see his face. I should have told Barry, I reflected as I ran my hand back and forth along the veined shaft. He could have slipped into the alleyway and caught the bastard. He could have threatened him and got the photographs and . . . But, it was too late now.

Wanking the man's solid cock, I pondered on snapping a branch off a bush and beating the thing red raw. That would teach him a lesson, but it would also land me in deeper trouble. He had me where he wanted me, and there was nothing I could do other than comply with his crude demands. I could hear my phone ringing as I quickened my wanking motions. Was Dave calling from Gatwick? Praying that he was still in Morocco, I gazed at the solid penis in my hand. It was big, I observed, rolling the fleshy foreskin back and forth over the bulbous knob. Who the hell did it belong to?

‘Kneel down and suck it,' the unseen man instructed me.

‘No,' I returned.

‘Suck it, Sarah. Or would you rather I send the photos to Dave?'

He knew my husband's name. That was a clue. ‘No, I won't.'

‘OK, have it your way.'

‘Come into the garden, and I'll do whatever you want.'

‘We will meet soon, Sarah. But, first, I want you to suck my cock.'

I had to go along with him if I was ever going to discover his identity. Kneeling on the rough ground, I retracted his foreskin and exposed the purple globe of his swollen knob. Parting my full lips and moving my head forward, I finally licked the silky-smooth surface of the salty globe. Strangely, I felt aroused as I took the ripe plum into my wet mouth and closed
my red lips around the hard shaft. I was a slut, I thought as I savoured the salty taste of the unseen man's bulbous knob. How the hell could I be enjoying this? He was blackmailing me and I was enjoying giving him a blow job. What was wrong with me?

Sucking and licking, gobbling on the man's cock-head, I realised that I was desperate for the taste of fresh spunk. My bikini soaking up my flowing juices of desire, my clitoris waking, emerging from beneath its fleshy hood, I couldn't believe how aroused I was. The knob swelled and the shaft twitched and my mouth flooded with creamy sperm. And I gobbled and swallowed fervently like a sex-crazed teenage girl as a low moan of male pleasure drifted through the still summer air. Gripping the hard shaft, hanging on to my prize, I sucked and swallowed until the flow of spunk stemmed and the beautiful cock began to deflate in my hand. I was thirsty for more spunk, but the cock slipped out of my hand and disappeared through the hole.

‘You were good,' he whispered.

‘Who are you?' I asked him, pressing my eyes to the hole. All I could see was his trousers. ‘We can have sex every day, if you show yourself.'

‘Be here this evening at seven o'clock.'

‘I can't, my husband will be here.'

‘Be here, Sarah.'

Gazing through the hole at the bushes the other side of the fence, I didn't even glimpse the man as he made off. The whole thing was over so quickly, I mused, licking my sperm-glossed lips as I emerged from the bushes and walked back to the patio. Had I recognised his voice, had I glimpsed his face . . . He was clever, I thought as I filled the kettle and made myself another strong cup of coffee. Again licking my
full lips, I couldn't believe what I'd done. Although I'd had no choice, I couldn't believe that I'd sucked a stranger's cock through a hole in the fence and swallowed his spunk. And I'd enjoyed it.

I'd be sucking his cock again at seven o'clock, I mused, coming up with an idea. If I drilled a small spy hole in the fence, about eye level, I'd find out who this bastard was. He wouldn't be watching me all day, giving me plenty of time to slip into the bushes and drill a small hole without being seen. Pleased with my plan, I dashed into the lounge and grabbed the ringing phone. My heart sank as the line went dead. Was Dave trying to contact me? I dialled 1471, but the caller had withheld the number. Was it Brian? Had he got my phone number as well as my email address?

I returned to the kitchen to sip my coffee and wash away the taste of sperm. It would help if I knew where Dave was, I thought anxiously. Was he in Morocco, or would he turn up at any minute? How was I going to explain my shaved pussy? This was the first time in my marriage that I wasn't looking forward to my husband coming home. Shit, this was the first time I'd fucked two men and sucked another man's cock since I'd been married. What the hell had happened to my secure little world? Until a few days previously, I'd been a happy little wife. Now, I was at the mercy of a blackmailer.

Sitting on the patio with my coffee, I tried to fit together the few clues I had. The blackmailer knew my husband's name. He knew my email address and he'd been able to see me in the front garden as well as the back. He had to live nearby, I mused. He was around during the day, so he might be retired. Unless he had time off work, I thought. Noises emanated from Barry's kitchen. Barry couldn't have taken the
photographs, so that ruled him out. Derek? He didn't have to sneak around in the alleyway to have sex with me. He'd already fucked me . . . so why hadn't he been back for more?

I then pondered on Barry's words.
I'm sure Dave's put it about. He's a photographer, so I'm sure he's met beautiful girls
. . . Was Dave in Morocco? He wouldn't go to all the trouble of lying about Morocco just to sneak around and . . . Unless he was getting a kick out of watching another man fuck me. It wasn't unheard of, I mused. I'd read about men who got their kicks from watching other men fuck their wives. But, Dave wouldn't have known that I'd end up going with Derek and Barry. He wouldn't have lied about going to Morocco on the off chance that I'd fuck other men while he was away. For all he knew, I might have ignored the emails from Brian.

It was time to complete stage one of my plan. I drilled the hole in the fence and then grabbed a length of nylon rope from the shed. I took a pair of steps from the shed and placed them by the fence. I was ready to catch my man, I was sure. I'd tie the rope around his cock and trap him. If that didn't work, I'd climb the steps and peer over the fence. I also had my spy-hole. I'd soon discover who my blackmailer was. What I'd do when I'd discovered his identity, I had no idea. First things first, I mused, making my way back to the house.

‘Hi, sexy,' Barry called over the fence as I neared the patio. ‘Any developments?'

‘Er . . . No, nothing,' I lied.

‘No more emails or photographs?'

‘Nothing at all.'

‘That's good. Perhaps he's given up. Heard from Dave yet?'

‘He's not phoned so I have no idea where he is.'

‘If he's not back today, shall we meet in the garden this evening? I'll bring my own beers this time.'

‘I think I have a friend coming round this evening. I'll let you know, OK?'

‘This afternoon, then?' he persisted.

‘Wait until I've heard from Dave. I don't want him walking in when we're . . . Well, you know what I mean.'

‘You look good in that bikini, Sarah. Good enough to eat.'

‘Later,' I returned with a giggle. ‘I have things to do. And you'd better get on with the kitchen.'

‘Yes, you're right. OK, I'll see you later.'

I liked Barry, I mused as I went into the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee. He was good company, and a good lover. ‘God,' I breathed as the phone rang again. ‘I've got a lover.' Heading for the lounge, I hoped that it was Dave this time. I had to find out where he was, what he was doing and when he'd be home. Lifting the receiver, I trembled as I heard his voice. My heart banging hard against my chest, I knew that I had to come across as relaxed.

‘Hi,' I trilled. ‘Where are you?'

‘I'm still in Morocco. I think I'll be another day or two.'

‘Oh, right,' I breathed, trying not to sound pleased. ‘I mean, that's a shame.'

‘Sorry, but it can't be helped. Mind you, the money's good. How are things with you?'

‘I'm fine. I'm missing you, but I'm fine.'

‘Hopefully, I'll be home by the weekend. We'll have a barbecue and invite Barry and Jilly round.'

‘Oh, er . . . Yes, that sounds good.'

‘I'll tell you what. I'm really looking forward to those beers I left in the fridge. Decent English food and beer, that's what I need.'