‘You saw me earlier?’ I breathed.
‘Oh, yes. I don’t miss a thing, Sarah. My computer is by the bedroom window so I can look out on to the street.’
‘You have a computer?’
‘Doesn’t everyone these days? You’ve got one, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I have,’ I replied, wondering how to broach the subject of emails. ‘I get a lot of junk mail. It’s so annoying.’
‘And me, I’m afraid.’ He focused on my cleavage. ‘As if I need Viagra,’ he said, chuckling wickedly. ‘I may be getting on in years, but I have no problems in that department.’
‘Yes, well . . .’
‘With a pretty little thing like you to gaze at, I don’t need pills.’
‘I’d better get on,’ I said before things went too far.
‘Come over for a coffee when you’ve finished,’ he invited me, his gaze fixed on my cleavage. ‘I could do with some company.’
‘Well, I might.’
‘I’ll show you my etchings,’ he quipped. ‘I’ll put the kettle on and you come over when you’re ready.’
‘Yes, yes I will.’
What the hell was I playing at, I wondered anxiously as he crossed the road. He was obviously a dirty old man and I knew that I shouldn’t encourage him. There again, maybe he was a normal man. Just because he was in his fifties, why shouldn’t he appreciate young girls? I knew that he’d ogle me and talk dirty if I went over for a coffee, but I had to discover whether or not he’d sent the emails. Dave wouldn’t be home from work until five and, besides, he wouldn’t mind if I went over to Derek’s house. I grabbed my bag from the hall table, closed the front door and crossed the road. This probably wasn’t a good idea, I mused, ringing the bell. But I was curious.
‘Come in, come in,’ Derek trilled like an excited schoolboy.
‘Thanks.’ I followed him into the lounge and sat on the sofa. ‘I can’t stay long,’ I said. ‘I have things to do.’
‘That’s a shame. Would you like some coffee?’
‘I haven’t really got the time. I have to go to the bank and . . . So, what do you do on your computer?’
‘Surf the net looking for pretty girlies,’ he replied, winking at me as he sat in the armchair opposite. ‘I went into an adult chat room a few weeks ago and got to know a teenage girl. We email each other most days and have some sexy fun. She’s in Australia and I’m too old for her, so we’ll never meet up.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ I breathed.
‘It is. We have cyber sex,’ he informed me proudly. ‘Do you know what that is?’
‘No, but I can imagine. Doesn’t your wife mind?’
‘She doesn’t know.’
‘No, I suppose she doesn’t. Do you email many girls?’
‘I have a few on my list. A couple of them have sent me photographs, but I’m sure they’re not genuine. I spend most of my time sitting in the bedroom on the computer.’
I giggled and smiled at him. ‘I’ll have to be careful not to look out of my bedroom window in case I catch you doing something,’ I said.
‘Now, there’s a thought.’ He chuckled and raised his eyebrows. ‘Our bedroom windows are opposite each other, so I might catch you doing something while your husband is at work.’
‘No, I . . . How many girls are you in touch with?’
‘Around a dozen. Most of them don’t want to know me when they discover my age. I could lie, of course, but I like the idea of a teenage girl chasing after an old man like me. It’s all fantasy, you understand. I wouldn’t be surprised to discover that the Australian girl I have cyber sex with turned out to be an old man. I met a girl online last year and she . . .’
He was the culprit, I thought as he rambled on. In his fifties, chatting up teenage girls on the internet, eyeing girls in the street . . . Guilty as charged. But, what was his plan? Send me emails, chat me up, and then what? Did he think that I’d have sex with him? Or had he hoped that I’d become another of his cyber sex partners? After the emails I’d received, I could easily imagine getting kicks from an online relationship. Telling each other dirty secrets, talking about sex and orgasms . . . It would certainly brighten up my days.
I parted my thighs as he gazed at me. I knew that this was a big mistake, but I couldn’t help myself. I was gripped by intrigue and my libido was rising fast. My tight panties displayed to his wide eyes, he must have thought that I was giving him the come on. Is that what I was doing? I was only flirting, I decided as he stared between my naked thighs. This was perfectly harmless and . . . There was no point in deluding myself. This was blatant exhibitionism. My plan had been to determine whether or not he’d sent me the emails, and this wasn’t the way to do it. I knew that he was guilty, I’d accomplished my mission, so why didn’t I leave? I nodded appropriately as he talked about the girls he’d met on the internet, but my thoughts were centred on my pussy lips swelling beneath the tight material of my panties.
‘I’d better go,’ I finally interrupted him, closing my thighs.
‘Oh, so soon?’
‘As I said, I have things to do. Thanks for inviting me over.’
‘Any time, Sarah. You really are a beautiful little thing. I’d love to . . .’
‘I really must be going.’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll give you a wave when I next see you at your bedroom window.’
‘Er . . . Yes, right. I’ll see myself out.’
‘It’s been an experience,’ he said, leaping to his feet as I left the sofa.
‘What has?’
‘Gazing at your . . . at you. Early twenties, long blonde hair, a body to die for . . . You’re stunning.’
‘Well, that’s very nice of you.’
‘You will come over again, won’t you? And stay a little longer next time.’
‘Yes, I will.’
Leaving his house, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. Opening my legs and displaying my panties like that, I’d behaved like a slut. I was lucky that he hadn’t made a move towards me, I mused as I reached the safety of my house and closed the front door behind me. Checking the computer for emails, I wasn’t surprised to discover that my secret admirer hadn’t sent anything. It all pointed to Derek, I thought as I climbed the stairs. How he’d got my email address, I had no idea. But he had to be the culprit.
In my bedroom, I wondered whether he’d be sitting at his computer and gazing out of his window. The notion excited me as I imagined him staring at the firm mounds of my naked breasts as I took my top off. I was feeling extremely sexy, horny, and was gripped by a desire to show off my young breasts. This wasn’t a good idea, I knew as I pulled my top over my head and stood close to the window. I must be mad, I thought, my stomach somersaulting as I wondered whether he could see me though the net curtains. I’d been to his house and flashed my wet panties, and was now parading by the window in my bra. I loved flirting, but not like this. What the hell had come over me?
Unhooking my bra, allowing the cups to fall away from the firm mounds of my petite breasts, I knew that I’d lost control of my senses. This was madness, but I couldn’t fight my arousal. Slipping my skirt down my long legs, I stood before the window in my panties and imagined Derek spying at me through binoculars. The windowsill was low enough to allow him to see my panties, but I reckoned that the net curtains would obscure his view. Just as well, I thought as I lay on my bed and relaxed.
Slipping my hand down the front of my panties, I felt the wetness within my sex valley, stroked the hardness of my yearning clitoris. I’d indulged heavily in masturbation during my teens, but had had no need since I’d married Dave. Why was there a need now, I wondered, closing my eyes as my womb contracted and my love juices flowed. I had Dave to satisfy me, but it was the notion that someone was watching me, admiring me, having crude thoughts about my body, that had fired my libido.
It was a shame that Derek couldn’t see me on my bed, I mused dreamily as my clitoris responded to my intimate caress. He’d gaze at me, have
his lewd thoughts, and wank himself silly. Was that what I wanted? I’d been flattered by the emails, and yet, disgusted by the vulgar comments. It was my disgust that had thrilled me. Did I want an old man to gaze at me, have dirty thoughts about my young body and wank himself off?
Slipping my hand beneath my thighs, I drove a finger deep into the wet heat of my tight vagina and massaged my inner flesh. This was the marital bedroom, I mused dreamily as my vaginal muscles hugged my finger lovingly. I’d never masturbated during my marriage, and I’d certainly never had crude sexual thoughts about another man. My pussy milk flowing over my finger, I massaged the sensitive tip of my clitoris and imagined Derek watching me. Would he lick me, I wondered excitedly. Would he push his tongue deep into my vaginal hole and lap up my sex milk?
My clitoris pulsating, exploding in orgasm, I cried out in the grip of my pleasure as I shook uncontrollably on the marital bed. Waves of pure sexual bliss rolling through my glowing body, I again imagined Derek witnessing my beautiful orgasm. He’d wank and bring out his fresh spunk and . . . My thoughts should have centred on Dave, but images of Derek loomed in my mind as I rode the crest of my climax, and I wondered whether I was committing adultery. I’ll never forget a nun at the convent school I’d attended telling me that the very thought of lying with another man was an adulterous act. I imagined Derek licking between my swollen pussy lips, sucking my pulsating clitoris into his hot mouth and . . . I was an adulteress.
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.
Hi Sarah,
After seeing you this morning, my cock was as hard as rock and I enjoyed a nice long wank. I shot my spunk all over my stomach, but I imagined that I was giving you a facial. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love the feel of my spunk raining down all over your pretty face and splattering your blonde hair. Imagine my knob in your mouth, pumping fresh spunk over your tongue. Feeling horny now?
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 . . .
Dear Brian,
Thank you for your most explicit email. I have to admit that I’m feeling extremely horny. However, before we go any further, I think you should identify yourself. After all, how can I enjoy a facial if I don’t know who you are?
Sarah.
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.
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