Lust Call (9 page)

Grabbing my panties, I walked back to the house and closed the back door. The phone rang again as I poured myself a glass of wine. Dashing into the lounge with my panties in one hand and my drink in the other, I knew that it would be Dave. He'd ask me where I'd been, what I'd been doing. What the hell was I going to say, I wondered as sperm streamed down my inner thighs. Lies, deceit . . . Adultery. Sitting down in the armchair, I could feel sperm oozing from my sated vagina as I grabbed the receiver and took a deep breath. I had to come across as normal.

‘Hi,' Dave said. ‘Where have you been all evening? I've phoned several times.'

‘In the garden,' I replied. ‘I didn't hear the phone.'

‘You must have heard it, Sarah. It's loud enough.'

‘Had I heard it, I'd have answered it,' I returned. ‘The back door was shut so . . .'

‘Don't worry about that. What have you been up to?'

‘Nothing, apart from gardening and doing housework. How are you getting on?'

‘It's going well. I don't know when I'll be finished here. Maybe another day or two. Did you get my email?'

‘Yes, yes I did.'

‘You haven't answered it yet.'

‘I was about to switch the computer on when you phoned. Are you having a good time?'

‘I'm working hard, but I enjoy it. It's too damned hot here. I can't stand the heat.'

‘The weather's nice here, that's why I've been in the garden.'

‘Oh, right. Have you seen anything of Barry? He's off this week working on the kitchen.'

‘Barry? No, I haven't.'

‘I sent him an email but he's not replied. If you see him, ask him whether he got it.'

‘OK, I will.' Biting my lip as my vagina squeezed out another deluge of sperm, I knew that my conversation sounded forced. ‘I miss you,' I said softly, stuffing my panties between my thighs to soak up the evidence of my adultery.

‘You too, sweetheart. Look, I'd better go. I'll call again tomorrow, OK?'

‘OK.'

‘And, if you're in the garden leave the back door open.'

‘I will. Bye.'

Replacing the receiver, I pulled my spunk-soaked panties out from between my thighs and dropped them to the floor. Strangely, I didn't feel too guilty as I sipped my wine. Dave wasn't only miles away physically, but mentally. It was if I was removed from him, which was extremely odd as he was my husband. I was going through changes, changes that I didn't understand. My marriage didn't seem so important any more. Perhaps I'd discovered the real me, I mused, finishing my wine. Perhaps I'd always been a slut and had denied it.

I refilled my glass, went into the dining room and switched the computer on. I don't know why but I couldn't bring myself to reply to Dave's email. We were becoming distant, I knew as I opened the email from Brian. Perhaps our marriage was coming to an end. After the way I'd behaved with Derek and Barry, I couldn't carry on with Dave as if nothing had happened.

Who the hell was this man? Barry was messing about, I was sure. He was trying to make out that some other man had been watching me. He'd got what he'd wanted, he licked me and fucked me so . . . Why would he play games like this? No one could have seen us at the end of the garden. Barry had sent the email, but why play games? I was about to reply when another email arrived.

This was an opportunity to catch Barry, I thought as I switched the computer off and grabbed my panties from the lounge. Although I knew that he was the culprit, I wanted to catch him red-handed. I also wanted to tell him that the games had come to an end. I'd made a big mistake, and I didn't want a relationship with him. Walking down the garden beneath the bright moon, I knew that I had to put a stop to this before Dave came home.

I dropped my panties on the grass by the apple tree and looked around the garden. Barry was probably in hiding, waiting until I'd gone before grabbing my panties. I headed back to the house, closed the kitchen door and sat in the dining room. In the
silvery moonlight, I could clearly see my panties from the window. Once I'd inched the patio door open, I was ready. All I had to do was wait, and then pounce.

GAZING OUT OF
my bedroom window, I wasn't surprised to find that my panties had gone. I'd waited by the dining room window for several hours and had finally given up and climbed the stairs to my bed. Barry must have slipped out in the night or waited until very early in the morning before sneaking into my garden, but I wasn't too bothered. I knew that he was the culprit, so it didn't matter.

It was another hot day, and I decided to go out for a walk to get away from prying eyes and emails. I felt as though I was in a prison, and I had to escape. After a shower I dressed in a short skirt and loose-fitting blouse and went down to the kitchen. I could hear Barry working as I opened the back door. Had he been breathing in the scent of my panties? I was feeling horny again, but I wanted to drag my mind away from sex and try to get back to normality before Dave came home. No more adulterous sex, I thought as my clitoris swelled and my panties soaked up my juices. And I wouldn't switch the computer on and check my emails.

After breakfast, I walked into town and looked around the shops. The sense of freedom was amazing, but there were nagging thoughts swirling around my mind. Had Barry emailed me? Was he looking out for
me? Had he fucked Jilly and imagined that he was fucking me? I had to free my mind of sexual thoughts, but how? Walking around town and gazing at good-looking men wasn't helping. My panties wet with desire, I needed to masturbate. Why was I feeling this way? I finally headed home.

Derek called to me from his bedroom window as I reached my house. Slipping through the front door, I made out that I'd not heard him. The last thing I needed was Derek trotting over for a chat, and sex. I recalled his hard cock as I filled the kettle for coffee. Long, hard, repeatedly sinking deep into my yearning vagina . . . God, I thought, opening the back door and stepping out on to the patio. I was becoming a nymphomaniac.

I'd wasted time ambling around town, and now I didn't know what the hell to do. Ten o'clock. Normally, I'd have been doing housework or pottering around the garden. Now, all I could think about was sex. I could hear Barry working in his kitchen, and I recalled his beautiful cock shafting me as I lay on the lawn. My clitoris was swollen with desire, my panties dripping wet. I should never have shaved, I reflected. What the hell was Dave going to say?

‘Hi, sexy,' Barry called over the fence.

‘Oh, hi,' I breathed, my face flushing.

‘God, you look horny this morning.'

‘Barry, I . . . What we did . . . What you did . . .'

‘You were amazing, Sarah.'

‘I'm confused,' I sighed. ‘It's somehow different for a man.'

‘What is?'

‘Adultery. If a man screws around, he's some kind of hero in his mates' eyes. If a girl cheats on her husband, she's a slut.'

‘Don't be silly,' he returned with a chuckle. ‘I'm no hero and you're not a slut. We were both seeking a little comfort, Sarah. It's as simple as that.'

‘Simple? Christ, I've committed adultery. It's far from simple.'

‘It's between you and me, Sarah. No one knows, and they never will. When is Dave back?'

‘I don't know. Maybe tomorrow.'

‘And, you're feeling lonely?'

‘Yes, no . . . I don't know what I'm feeling. As I said, I'm confused.'

‘Do you want sex?'

‘No.'

‘Do you want a cup of coffee? You come round and I'll . . .'

‘No. I don't want anything, Barry. And I don't want you to email me any more.'

‘Email you? What do you mean?'

‘Don't play games with me. You know damned well what I mean.'

‘God, there's my phone. It's probably Jilly checking up on me. I'll be back in a minute.'

Why the hell did he have to play games, I mused as he dashed into his house. I had to check my emails, I decided, slipping into the kitchen and closing the back door. I sat down at the computer, switched it on and waited. If there were any from Brian, I'd delete them without reading them. I had to be strong and not give into my sexual desires. If I deleted them and changed my email address . . . There was one from Dave – and one from Brian.

Barry had a cheek, I thought, leaving my chair and staring out of the dining room window. What the fuck did he think I was? A common slut? I hadn't bothered to open the email from Dave. I wasn't in the mood to read his crap about loving me and missing me. He was probably screwing some teenage slut in his hotel room so why should I bother with him? I opened the patio doors and wandered to the end of the garden. Barry would no doubt creep through the bushes expecting a fuck, but I'd tell him where to go and end this once and for all.

I could hear my front doorbell ring as I gazed into the bushes. It was Derek, I was sure. He wanted to fuck me. Barry wanted to fuck me, Derek wanted to fuck me . . . Why didn't Dave want to fuck me? I'd asked him to make love before he'd left for Morocco, and he'd declined. Recalling his reply, I sighed.
Don't be ridiculous
. I wasn't being ridiculous. I'd wanted to make love before he went away. Had we made love, I wouldn't have allowed Derek and Barry to . . .

‘Hi,' Barry said, emerging from the bushes. He was wearing shorts and sandals. And he was naked on top. ‘Are you all right?'

‘No, I'm not,' I returned coldly, lowering my gaze to his shorts.

‘Still feeling guilty?'

‘Of course I am. I've cheated on my husband, for Christ's sake. And you're supposed to be his friend.
Is that what you do to all your friends' wives? Do you fuck them and . . .'

‘Calm down, Sarah. Why are you making such a big thing out of this? I'm sure Dave's put it about. He's a photographer, so I'm sure he's met beautiful girls and . . .'

‘And fucked them?'

‘He's a normal man, Sarah.'

‘All normal men fuck behind their wives' backs, do they?'

‘Just relax,' he breathed, holding my hips and locking his dark eyes to mine. ‘Just calm down and relax.'

I felt a quiver run through my womb as he pressed his lips to mine in a passionate kiss. I was weakening, I knew as his hands roamed and finally settled on the firm cheeks of my bottom. Trying to push him away, I thought about the shops in an effort to drag my mind away from sex. I'd seen a nice summer dress with matching handbag and . . . His hardness pressing against my lower stomach, I closed my eyes and returned his kiss. I needed sex, I craved the relief of orgasm, but . . .

‘No, Barry,' I gasped, my lips leaving his as I moved back. ‘I don't want this.'

‘You're beautiful, Sarah,' he murmured. ‘A beautiful girl shouldn't be neglected.'

‘Who says I'm neglected?' I returned. ‘I have a good sex life with Dave. We're good together and I . . . I love him.'

‘As good as me, is he?'

‘Well . . . Yes, he's better.'

‘Does he lick you and suck you the way I do?'

Barry could see the sadness in my eyes, I was sure as he again pulled me close and kissed me passionately. Dave used to lick me and suck me, back in the
early days of our marriage. Marriage changes things, I mused as Barry pushed his wet tongue into my hot mouth. People settle down after a few years of marriage and they don't have oral sex or fuck in the garden or . . . Husbands don't even make love to their wives before they leave for Morocco. After years of marriage, all wives can expect is a quick kiss.

Easing me down on to the grass, Barry slipped his hand up my short skirt and pressed his fingertips into the wetness of my tight panties. I must have been mad, I thought as my stomach fluttered and my heart raced. Why couldn't I stop him? Why couldn't I find the strength to behave like a decent woman? His fingers slipping beneath my panties, feeling the softness of my hairless pussy lips, the wetness of my crack, he kissed my nipples through the loose material of my blouse. I should have worn a bra, I should never have gone to the end of the garden . . .

‘No,' I breathed as he slipped two fingers deep into the tightening sheath of my drenched vagina. Ignoring me, opening my blouse with his free hand, he sucked on each erect nipple in turn. The hardness of his cock was now pressing against my leg, and I knew that he'd soon be on top of me, driving his solid organ deep into my adulterous cunt. I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, I thought. That was one of Dave's favourite sayings. Was he fucking a teenage girl in his hotel room? Did he fuck the models he photographed? I'd never really asked him about his work. Was he shooting young girls in Morocco? Shooting spunk? Is that why he'd not wanted me to go with him?