Lust Call (3 page)

My pleasure finally subsiding, leaving me quivering on my bed, I slipped my fingers into my mouth and tasted the wetness of my pussy. Savouring the lubricious cream, I toyed with my erect nipples and kneaded the fullness of my firm breasts as I relaxed. I felt alive with sex in the aftermath of my heavenly orgasm, but I also felt a little sad. Sex with Dave had always been wonderful and I'd never needed to masturbate. But, now, after my self-loving, I realised just how much more satisfying masturbation could be. Especially when fantasising about another man.

As I left my bed to stand by the window, I knew that the excitement of showing my panties to Derek had fired my arousal and driven me to masturbation. But there was more to it than that. There'd been a change in me, something that I didn't understand. Although I'd flirted throughout my marriage, my sexual thoughts had always centred on Dave. Not once had I thought of another man in a sexual way,
until now. What the hell was happening to me? I'd masturbated, thought of Derek watching me, imagined his erect cock, his spunk jetting . . . Had I lost my senses?

Gazing across the road at his bedroom window, I again wondered whether he was there. Had he known that I'd masturbated and thought about him as I'd enjoyed a beautiful orgasm? . . . It was a shame that he couldn't see my bed through the window, I reflected. What the hell was I thinking of? He was an old man, for God's sake. And I was happily married with a good sex life. I decided not to masturbate again, although I knew that I would. After my incredible orgasm, I'd be masturbating daily. Masturbation was fine, as long as I didn't think of another man during my orgasms.

I dressed, straightened the bed and went downstairs trying not to think about sex. I'd always spent my days cleaning the house, washing and ironing Dave's shirts, going shopping and cooking nice meals . . . . Now, I had other things on my mind. Naughty things, dirty thoughts about cocks and spunk. My imaginings were fine, I decided. They were pure fantasy, and would never become reality. Dreams were dreamed in the dark, and would never see the light of day.

Wandering into the dining room and gazing at the computer, I couldn't resist the temptation to check my emails. My panties were becoming wet, my clitoris stirring, as I moved the mouse with my trembling hand. I'd just enjoyed a beautiful orgasm, I reflected. I didn't need another one, surely? I had to snap out of this. I had to forget about masturbation and Derek and orgasms. I didn't want any more emails, I didn't want this game to go any further . . . There was one email in the inbox – from Brian.

Although he'd not mentioned my blue miniskirt, I was now one hundred per cent sure that Derek was the culprit. Dave would never talk about facials and spunking over my tongue. He just wasn't like that. Derek, on the other hand, was a dirty old man who enjoyed cyber sex with young girls. Now that I knew the identity of my admirer, what was I going to do? Reply to his email and keep the sex games going? Go over to his house and confront him? One thing was certain, I couldn't allow Dave to see the emails. He trusted me and would probably laugh about it, but I couldn't be sure. The mouse cursor hovering over the delete button, I hesitated. This was only flirting, I tried to convince myself. There'd be no harm in replying, but . . .

I clicked the send button, went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. I shouldn't have replied, I reflected as
I spooned coffee into a cup. My hands still trembling, my heart pounding against my chest, I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. When would he reply? What if he did identify himself and invite me over for a facial? What if he came knocking on my door? Taking my coffee into the back garden, I sat on a patio chair beneath the summer sun and tied to relax.

This was only a silly game, I thought. I was perfectly innocent, simply enjoying flirting with someone online. If I was innocent, then why had I gone to Derek's house and displayed my panties? Why had my arousal shot through the roof and forced me to masturbate? Why had the last email induced my pussy milk to flow in torrents? My fingers instinctively slipping between my naked thighs, pressing into the wet crotch of my panties, I realised that I needed another orgasm. This was ridiculous, I thought, leaving the chair and wandering across the lawn. Normally, I'd be getting on with the housework or having a coffee and a chat with my best friend, Susie. What the hell was happening to me?

Sitting on the grass in the shade of the old apple tree, I recalled my teens, my early sexual encounters. The excitement of going out with a boy, slipping behind the bushes on the common and experimenting with sex, had been enthralling. They were heady, carefree days. I used to love pulling my knickers down and allowing a boy to grope between my slender thighs and push a finger into my virgin pussy. I also loved wanking boys and watching their spunk shoot out. But I'd married Dave and had thought that I'd found happiness and contentment. I'd moved on in life, until I'd received the emails.

Recalling the last email, I felt my womb contract with excitement.
Imagine my knob in your mouth,
pumping fresh spunk over your tongue
. Sex with Dave was satisfying, but not varied. We'd enjoyed various positions when we'd first met but, now, we only used the missionary. I used to love oral sex, giving and receiving, but that was something we'd not indulged in for some time. Had Dave lost his sex drive, or had I changed? Neither of us had changed, I mused. The flame of passion had burned low, and we'd settled down into our marital routine.

The emails had revitalised my need for sex, I concluded. Sex, masturbation, orgasms . . . I'd lost the need over the years. The problem was that my craving for the feel of a knob bloating my mouth and spunk flooding my cheeks had been rekindled, and Dave knew nothing about it. I wanted sex, crude sex, oral sex, spunk-swallowing and pussy-licking and . . . I could tell him, of course. I could dive beneath the quilt and take his cock into my mouth and suck him to orgasm. But he'd wonder why I'd changed. Besides, I'd feel guilty because another man had fired my libido. If I sucked Dave's cock and swallowed his spunk, I'd imagine that I was with Derek. Confusion was swallowing me up, I couldn't think straight.

Soft blades of grass tickling my inner thighs, my arousal soaring, I knew that I needed to masturbate again. I couldn't keep doing this, I thought anxiously, slipping my panties off and resting my back against the apple tree. Parting my legs wide, feeling the wetness of my sex valley, the hardness of my clitoris beneath my fingertip, I closed my eyes and relaxed. If Dave could see me now, I mused dreamily as my clitoris responded to my intimate caress. What would he think? What would he say? Would he want to fuck me?

The birds singing, the air cooling my swollen pussy lips as I massaged the sensitive tip of my clitoris, I
was again reminded of my teenage years of discovery. I used to slip into the garden while my parents were watching television and sit on the grass behind the hedge. I'd slip my panties off and stroke the swollen lips of my pussy with a flower. Many times, I'd peel the fleshy lips of my pussy wide open and tickle my erect clitoris with daisies. Taking myself closer to orgasm, I'd pull my top up and rub my elongated nipples against the soft grass. Finally massaging my clitoris, I'd writhe and gasp behind the hedge as I was gripped by a massive climax.

There was something far more exciting about masturbating in the garden rather than the comfort and privacy of my bedroom. I used to think that the birds were watching me as I writhed half-naked on the grass. My pussy milk would flow and colour the grass white. I'd finger my virgin vagina and massage my clitoris, enjoying several massive orgasms under cover of my secret garden. Before going back to the house, I'd fill my knickers with soft flowers and they'd caress my love lips and tickle me and induce my milk to seep from my tight little hole . . . They were crazy, heady teenage years of self-loving. And I was beginning to miss them.

Recalling those beautiful teenage years as I slipped a finger deep into the hot wetness of my tightening vagina, I breathed heavily as my womb contracted. My thoughts then turned to Derek, his cock, his purple knob, his jetting spunk. I mustn't think of Derek, I mused as I imagined his solid cock shooting spunk over my face. I had to think of my husband, not the old man over the road. Again, images of Derek's cock loomed in my mind, his purple knob pumping fresh spunk into my thirsty mouth. Dave had never given me a facial, I reflected dolefully. I'd sucked his knob and swallowed his spunk, but he'd
never given me a facial. Dave had never been adventurous in bed, and I wondered whether he knew what a facial was. Nearing my orgasm, I recalled the time I'd been with two boys on the common.

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.