Lust Call (2 page)

As I clicked the send button, I wondered whether I'd done the right thing. If the emails hadn't been from Dave . . . It was too late now, I thought as I went into the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. I then began to think that it would be fun if some man or other really was spying on me. Whoever it was would be imagining my naked body, the firmness of my breasts and . . . Feeling wetness in my panties, I realised that the notion was turning me on. My mind began to wander, and I imagined squatting in the front garden wearing a very short skirt with the bulging crotch of my panties on show to my secret admirer.

Trying to turn my thoughts to other things, I busied myself with housework. Although it was only midday, I prepared the evening meal to keep my mind off the emails. But I found that I was gazing through the lounge window every five minutes and wondering whether prying eyes were waiting for a glimpse of me. My heart racing, my hands trembling, I felt like a silly teenage girl in love. But, as much as I tried, I couldn't stop thinking about someone watching me and having dirty thoughts about my young body.

Curiosity finally getting the better of me, I changed into a blue miniskirt and went out to the front garden and squatted by the flower border. I was determined to find out whether the emails were from Derek. If the next email mentioned me in the garden wearing a blue miniskirt, I'd be pretty sure that he was the culprit. Keeping watch on his house from the corner of my eye as I pulled up a few weeds, I thought I saw
the net curtain move in an upstairs room. Was he watching me, I wondered excitedly, parting my thighs a little further.

The thrill of the game was amazing, and I could feel my panties soaking up my sex juices as I imagined him wanking his solid penis as he gazed between my thighs. He'd be picturing my sex crack, longing to drive his rock-hard cock deep into my tight vagina and . . . This was only flirting, I tried to convince myself. I'd been flirting since my teens, and there was no harm in it. On my way home from college, I'd sit in the bus shelter and flash my panties to men in their fifties and sixties as they passed by. It had been great fun, a real turn-on. But I'd thought that those heady, sexy days had long since gone. I still flirted, enjoyed men looking at my naked thighs and my firm breasts billowing my blouse. But I'd never done anything as exciting as this.

I messed about in the front garden for half an hour and then went back into the house to see whether I'd received an email. Spam, junk mail, nothing of interest. Perhaps Derek was out somewhere? Had I imagined that the net curtain had moved? My pussy lips were swollen with desire, my clitoris calling for attention, my juices of arousal seeping into my tight panties. Feeling as horny as hell, I went upstairs and gazed through the bedroom window. Did Derek have a pair of binoculars? Had he taken photographs of me? My stomach somersaulting, I realised that I was acting like a lust-struck teenager. This was crazy. I had to calm down.

My heart missed a beat as I saw Derek walking up the street with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He
had
been out, I thought happily as he neared his house. Bounding down the stairs, I dashed out into the front garden and squatted by the flower border.
My thighs parted, my wet panties on show, I watched him out of the corner of my eye as he neared his house. Was he the culprit? Was he my secret admirer? Pulling his keys from his trouser pocket, he'd obviously not noticed me. Then, he glanced in my direction. Making out that I was weeding, I looked up as he crossed the road.

‘Oh, hi,' I said, standing as he wandered into my front garden.

‘Sarah, you look delicious,' he breathed, eyeing my partially-open blouse, my deep cleavage. ‘Doing a spot of gardening, then?'

‘Just some weeding,' I replied. ‘I thought I'd take the opportunity to tidy up the garden as it's such a nice day.'

‘I love the summer,' he said with a chuckle. ‘The sun brings out the cute miniskirted girlies with revealing tops and . . . It's sad, really.'

‘Sad? Why?'

‘I can look but, sadly, I can't touch. I saw a girl down by the paper shop just now. She was wearing a skirt that was so short it barely . . .'

‘Yes, well . . .' I stammered, my stomach fluttering as he looked down at my short skirt. ‘I suppose it's nice just looking,' I said stupidly.

‘I must say that I prefer that skirt to those shorts you were wearing earlier.'

‘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.