5 comments/ 17080 views/ 2 favorites Cyber Groupie By: mandywilluk2000 Chapter 1 I'd purposefully not worn a bra. One reason being the delicious feelings on my full breasts and nipples from the lustrous, pale pink, pure silk blouse I was wearing. I'd just slipped that on and had slowly done up each of the four buttons. They were rather too far apart really for, as I moved, the blouse gaped and much of my breasts and occasionally my nipples were exposed; that excited me even more making my nipples harden and become such stirringly large indentations in the silk. I was also wearing thin, track trousers. They were beige and loose at the bottoms of the legs with a double white stripe up each side. They had an elasticised waist band and fitted snugly across my tummy and bottom. Glancing in the full length, mirrored wardrobes in my bedroom and seeing the slight sagging of my breasts, the bulge of my tummy and the surplus fullness of my hips and bum, I grimaced a little, but overall the sight wasn't too bad I thought, well not for a near forty year old that is. I wasn't wearing anything on my feet, but then you don't need to if you have under floor heating do you? For some reason I found being barefoot sexy. Under the trousers I was wearing a white, lacy thong. It was small, ridiculously small really for there was quite a lot of me to go in there. Not that I'm a BBW or anything like that, but at just over ten stones, which for our American readers is one hundred and forty five pounds, I'm, shall we say, nicely rounded! I went into the main room of my, fairly large, apartment overlooking the Thames. I sat down at my desk in front of the PC. Everything was ready; all that was needed was in place; I was prepared, emotionally and physically. Pressing the key and moving the mouse I then typed. "Matt, you can now fuck me." Chapter 2 Looking back I often wonder how I reached that point. How I'd reached such levels of, depravity, I suppose some would call it? How I'd come to accept, no relish really, having cybersex three or four and sometimes more times per week? How I'd got to the state where I had three regular, electronic lovers, two male and one female? How I'd let myself so often be persuaded to finish a session in a chat room laying back in my large, black leather, office chair naked or almost. How I'd log off having made myself cum, often surprisingly strongly and now and then wonderfully satisfyingly. But it was my only source of sex during that two years period between parting from Kevin, my husband, and being divorced. I couldn't bring myself to start dating. No not whilst waiting to be a free woman I'd found chat rooms by mistake. They seemed to be the answer to finding other females to talk to who were in similar positions to me. Recently parted women who found it hard to work out why an almost perfect marriage had gone wrong. Why a partner, who one thought they loved, needed to fuck other women? Inevitably, I suppose, as the frustration of celibacy took over from the smug sexual satisfaction of orgasmic sex most nights, I found the rude rooms. I was slightly horrified, at first, that people could "talk" so openly, but that soon gave way to me finding a perverse sort of enjoyment at telling men, and some women, that I was celibate. I started to feel comfortable describing what I was wearing, particularly the colour of my panties, and my body to them. I even started sending copies of the glamour pics Kevin had taken of me "to perk up our sex life" to a few I became close to, Chatting led to exchanging e-mails; steamy ones. That led to chatting about the content of the mails which, in turn, resulted in me one afternoon almost masturbating with a man. It was such a turn on to hear a total stranger telling me what to do with my hands, to hear him telling me that he was naked and hard and for us to tell each other that we were near to cumming. It was such a turn as I did that, but I felt such guilt I just couldn't. So as I touched myself, heard him say he was near and as I found my climax starting, I reached out and logged off. I felt guilty that I'd nearly climaxed. I vowed never to do it again and to stop visiting chat rooms. The sordidness and wanton nature of what I'd done got to me. I was amazed at how easily he'd seduced me, or did I seduce him I wondered? Maybe it was exactly what I wanted and needed? Maybe I did want to undo my blouse when he asked me, to stroke myself through my bra and to then lift each orb out from their cups and pinch and squeeze my dark, pink, swollen nipples as he suggested. Maybe I was ready, I know I was willing and clearly I was able to rub myself through my jeans. And I guess, really, I was eager to go along with his suggestion of stroking myself down there, of slipping my panties off and touching my wetness. Yes I guess I was ready to fuck myself listening to a total stranger talk to me via cyberspace. But, somehow, I stopped myself. Despite the anonymity, despite the man having no way he could ever find me and despite there being an ignore key I just couldn't do it. My upbringing, my "respectable" persona, my positions as a mum, member of golf and tennis clubs, a, fairly, successful business woman and all the other conditioning that prevented me. After that first, slightly worrying, well bloody scary really, episode I did stop. I didn't visit a chat room for almost a month. But by Christ was I frustrated and did I give the batteries on my two vibrators a bashing? Yes two, which I used at the same time. There's something ravishingly exciting at having one vibe buzzing away on my clit, or up me, while I used the other on my nipples and tits. But my chat room avoidance couldn't last. I was too hooked on the net; after all it had become my hobby and favourite pastime during my self-imposed, post parting and pre-divorce sexual solitude. And I actually enjoyed chatting. So I slipped back into the old habits easily and was soon logging on and chatting away to all and sundry. But I was a good girl, well at least whilst on line. I didn't once come near to going off the rails for ages. Then I met Matt. He was all the good things I look for in a cyber mate. Articulate, bright and quick minded with a self-deprecating way about him and a great sense of irony. He could chat on most topics, was an avid golfer, had a worldly-wise approach to chat rooms and a wickedly naughty sense of humour. He was clearly up for anything on-line, but wasn't assumptive or overly pushy. We were soon exchanging views on a wide range of topics including, of course, those of intimate and personal natures. He was married and, unlike most men I meet on there, claimed to love his wife. True, he said things were a little difficult, but never pushed me to meet so I believed him when he said "I just like chatting to women." I believed him, for that was exactly what I most enjoyed, well with men mainly. We got on too well really. We were so easily able nearly every time we talked to turn the conversation to sex. Easy, comfortable, relaxed, non-threatening, flirty sex-chat. Not heavy, come-on, demanding stuff, but nevertheless stuff we admitted turned us on. I'd explained earlier when we were talking about being aroused that I didn't cyber "Don't or haven't?" he quickly quipped back. "I don't now," I replied feeling the need, as I so often did on there when with a man I liked, to be totally honest. I changed the subject and like the gentlemen, as many I'd met on the net were, he respected that and didn't mention it again, well not for some time that is. We'd also started exchanging e-mails. He wrote well. Not with classically good grammar, punctuation and spelling but with clear, "picture painting" descriptions and forceful narrative. I enjoyed reading his mails and, increasingly, I enjoyed composing for him. And of course from both of us the writing became steamier and steamier. He told me in wonderfully graphic, but not pornographic, explanations exactly what he'd like to do to me. As I read them I could imagine him doing them to me so clearly that they became my masturbation material. Just as my replies that described my feelings as he did those things to me, became his wankfest as he termed them. Chapter 3 "Are you sure," he typed back. "Yes, yes I am." When we'd last spoke on a Friday we'd got very steamy. "God I so want to fuck you," he'd typed near the end of the session. This wasn't completely out of the character of our chats but was, probably a little more intense and direct than most. "Don't you feel it Mands? Don't you feel that need?" "Right at this moment," I typed one-handed as I pinched my swollen nipple, "there's nothing in this world I want more than to be fucked Matt." "Fucked by me?" Smiling I teased him. "Fucked by anyone Matt, but especially by you." We both knew this was impossible for his wife was downstairs and my daughter was in the next room. "Really? Especially me." "Yes." "Do you really mean that Mands?" "On here, yes I do." "Are you sure, are you positive about that?" We'd spoken about "going all the way" several times, but either the time wasn't convenient, we just talked about it so much we talked ourselves out of it, or I backed out. This time, though, I meant it. I wanted to do it, again. I wanted to do it with him. With Matt, my electronic lover, my soon to be cyber-sexpartner. Yes I wanted to fuck myself for him. We rarely chatted at week-ends as it was difficult for both of us, but I received an email. "Just once more my darling, are you positive about this? Tell me "no" and there'll be absolutely no problem. Tell me "yes" and I'll be hard and rampant until we meet at noon on Monday." We'd ended our chat on the Friday making a date for Monday. And once we'd done that it did feel exactly like a date. The very special date that couples often make; the date when they are going to consummate their relationship; the date when all the awkward kissing, the fumbling and furtive gropings, the touches, caresses and strokings all come together; the date when they do go all the way, when they at last make love, finally have sex and fuck each other's brains out. That was the date we'd made for noon on Monday! I typed back. "Yes, yes, a million times yes. I want you." It was an odd weekend. I hadn't got much planned; some shopping on Saturday and a couple of girl friends round for take away pizzas in the evening. Golf on Sunday that I played so badly, followed by a snack at the club and home early for an evening's TV with my daughter. But it wasn't what I did that made it odd, it was how I felt. I did feel as if I was going on a real date, as if we'd agreed to make real love. As if Matt really was a new lover, a lover with whom my relationship had deepened to the point that we'd made this pact for Monday. All Saturday, more so Sunday and especially as I watched TV, alone as it happened for Sarah popped to a friend's to do some homework, I became more and more aroused. There was an, almost permanent, tingling in my tummy, a warmth that ebbed and flowed through me. An extra fullness and heaviness in my breasts and a pressure on my nipples that made them feel as if, at any moment, they could burst and let that fullness from each orb gush out. I'd washed my hair and showered. As Sarah and I often did on Sunday evenings, particularly in the winter, I'd slipped into a nighty and a dressing robe. The nighty grey and white silk. It was beautifully lacy, had a low neck and a slightly flare mid-thigh length skirt. It was partly see through and clung to me above the waist. It wasn't really a nighty to sleep in, more one to be shagged in. The white robe was thin, but not silk. It was floor-length and had a tie round the waist. Sipping my second glass of wine it was the easiest thing in the world for the robe to fall open. The skirt part of it did that naturally, so that as I sat on the sofa my feet tucked under my bottom, my legs were bare. As I'd moved around getting the papers, pouring wine or changing channels so it was nearly as easy for the top to gape, for the two lapels to fall apart and for the deep cleavage the tight nighty created to come on view. "What will it be like?" I wondered, my mind continually thinking of tomorrow. "Will I be able to do it, go through with it and finish off with him?" I asked myself. "Will I," it suddenly struck me like a charge of electricity, "be able to make myself cum as I chat to him? Will I be able to say and do the right things? Will I find the words to make love on-line? Will I be able to fuck myself to an orgasm as he tells me what he's doing?" I didn't know the answers for sure, but at that moment they didn't seem to matter too much. No, as the neckline of the nighty slid down beneath my breasts and as the lacy, silk skirt slid up my legs, tomorrow really did seem so much like another today. And as one of my hands found the soft fullness of my boobs and the hardened crinkleness of my nipples so the questions became irrelevant. And finally, as my other hand found the sopping wetness between my legs, nothing seemed to matter for I was writhing on my sofa in orgasmic satisfaction. Monday morning was hell. I can't begin to work out how many times I changed my mind. This whole idea was becoming an obsession and taking on an importance far beyond merely masturbating, for in reality that's all it was, wasn't it? In reality I was going to take my clothes off, touch myself then make myself cum. Just as I had last night on the sofa and last night in bed and the night before on the sofa and Saturday evening in the shower. In reality it was just masturbating, wasn't it? Yes it may well have been just masturbating, but it wasn't really reality was it? True, with Matt reading every word I typed and him typing back, it couldn't be termed fantasy either, so what was it? I had no answer to that. Is there a state between the two? Perhaps rantasy or feality? Maybe what happens on the web needs some new terms like that? Chapter 4 I was wearing just a robe when I logged on and checked my mails. My heart pounded when I saw there was one from him. Glancing at my watch I saw it was 11.30. "I'll definitely be there at noon, naked and numb with hardness for you, my darling. I'll understand if you don't make it or if you have a change of heart when we're talking." I quickly typed back "I'm just getting dressed especially for you Matt, I'll be there when you want you me." The silk felt incredible on my breasts; it was so smooth, cool, lustrous and caressing, that I was sure my skin on them was of a much higher temperature than normal. The image in the full-length mirror thrilled me. "What an arrogant, hedonistic vain woman I can be," I thought as I looked at myself clad just in that pale pink blouse. The hem of it was around my hips the lapels were open. They were caught on my nipples, that I saw with a wry smile were almost exactly the same colour as the blouse. My breasts were full but had that sag that "older" woman who've suckled children have. My waist was nicely indented, but the tummy that should have been cosseted after the birth of Sarah or should have received many hours of attention in the gym, did bulge. Not alarmingly, not in a Christmas pudding like way of a pregnancy bulge, but was of size where being undressed by a younger men had to be avoided or done in the dark if possible. It did, fortunately, almost vanish when I was lying on my back naked or near so, but then the bloody tits flopped to each side, so as with woman my age, I couldn't win could I? "Maybe," I smiled, "that's the attraction of sex via the net, no peeping eyes?" I'd promised Matt that I'd dress to excite him and that was what I was doing. "Or was I," I thought as I slid into the Agent Provocateur panties that were as ridiculously brief as they were ridiculously expensive, "£40 just to cover those thin lips and then be cast aside." What women do to please and thrill their lovers, or themselves, perhaps? "Again M, are you sure?" came up on my screen in, what seemed, a rather matter of fact reply to my invitation of, "Matt now you can fuck me." "Yes, yes I am," my writing, looking to me far more assured and confident than I felt, came up on the screen. "Oh God Mandy?" "Yes Matt, yes I know." "I'm so excited but so nervous," I told him truthfully. "So am I and have been all weekend?" "Did you make love to Fiona?" I asked referring to his wife whose' photo I'd seen and who had been the subject of a story we'd written together. "Yes I did, it was fantastic," he told me. It was that we could have such a conversation where we could discuss our own lovemaking that made my relationship with Matt so different to any other I'd had on the web. I'd told him practically everything I'd done in the past, including some dallying with other girls, and he'd told me lots about he and Fi's sexual habits, likes and dislikes, which included some partner swapping and attending mild orgies. "Good, I'm pleased." "But Amanda, not as good as how our fantasy lovemaking is, or will be. Not as good as how it's going to be." "No that's better M, ours isn't real, that is." "No Mands, ours is real, just different." "Yes that's true." "What are you wearing Mands?" "A pink, silk blouse and tracky trousers, you?" "Just the tight, white CK long boxers you like." Clicking on my picture gallery I brought up the photo he'd sent me a few weeks ago. Any doubts about my arousal vanished as I looked at him. He wasn't that tall or muscular, just nice, with little excess weight and a, frustratingly to me given my bulges, flat stomach. The white, almost cyclist shorts length boxers clung to him like a second skin. They accentuated and emphasised his genitals making them, as maybe they were, I didn't know for I'd never seen them naked, huge. Not the boastful type at all I'd had to drag out of him that he had a thrillingly eight inch and three inch diameter cock! I was almost shivering with desire as I imagined him at his PC in that deliciously alluring underwear. "Just them Matt?" "Yes Mandy just my boxers, just those tight white boxers you like so much. Just those skin tight pants Mands that cling to me." "Mmmmmm," I clicked feeling the surge of arousal at the words he was manipulating me with. "The ones Mands that you said made my cock look big." "It does Matt; I have it on screen now." "Does it look big now? Would you like to see it right now?" "Yes, yes Matt it looks huge." Suddenly the window in which we were chatting said, "Matt has invited you to photo share, Accept or decline." I don't usually like pictures of men's' erections. To an extent it's "seen one seen 'em all," well to me at least. Obviously that's different when looking at the real thing. When near to a penis that you know you've made hard, it's a totally different ball game. When close up and personal to something that's shortly going to invade you, plunder your insides and do such amazing things to your mind and body, well then they look fantastic. But on a computer screen or a paper, no thanks not for me, usually. Matt's cock looked magnificent. It was big, it was long, it was thick and in the, about to be fucked, state I was in, it looked beautiful. Yes, though cocks, most of the time, have little going for them and certainly are low on aesthetic values, when hard, hot, nearby and are about to be shoved right up a girl's pussy, then they can look beautiful. "Oh Matt," I whimpered, adding "thank you, thank you," remembering that last week he'd asked if I'd like such a photo of him and I 'd said I would. "Oh yes," I went on as several more of him in various naked poses lit up my screen. "What's under the blouse babe?" came up, making me tear my eyes away from his body and cock. Cyber Groupie "What would you like to be under it if we were together?" I asked rather coyly given the circumstances. "Nothing of course." "Spot on M." I typed trying to sound sexy in print. "Does it feel nice Mandy, the silk on those big, full tits of yours?" "Mmmmmm," wonderful. "Are you rubbing your boobs, through the silk?" "Yes," I told him truthfully feeling a shudder go through me as my fingers ran round my nipple and caressed them through the pleasure giving silk. "And under the trackies? Are you naked there as well?" "No Matt, just a nice little thong, just like this," I typed as I forwarded him the page, www,agentprovocateur.com that showed the most gorgeous, but annoying stick-like model in the thong with shots from the back and front. "I bet that looks fantastic Mandy, are you looking at that thong?" "No of course not," I typed as I started getting a little more involved with the silk on my breasts. "It's hidden by the trackies isn't it?" "Yes, but should it be Mands? Need it be? Wouldn't it be better if it wasn't?" "Lol," I typed turning to the chat room vernacular. "What, pray sir are you suggesting?" I asked in the mock, shock way we sometimes messed around as I undid the buttons on my blouse and pushed my boobs together with the silk between my hands and my skin. "Well, my naughty, randy Mandy just one thing." "Yes and what can that be I wonder?" "Take your fucking trousers off," came up followed by "lol" "Well as you ask so diplomatically how could a girl demure." With hands that were visibly shaking I slid them down and stepped out of them, keeping them close by, though, just in case Sarah came home unexpectedly. "Have you Mands? Have you taken them off for me?" "Yes Matt," I typed feeling very free, aroused and amazingly expectant, "are you naked?" "Yes darling, totally naked as you want me. Are you wet Mands?" he asked. "Yes Matt, are you hard?" "Yes, of course." "How hard?" "Very." "Are you as hard as you can be Matt?" "Yes Mandy." "As hard as you would be if I was there? If I was there Matt dressed as I am here?" "How are you dressed now?" "My trackies are off Matt and my blouse is undone," I told him truthfully for the buttons had, somehow managed to slip open. "So you can see the thong now can you?" "Yes." "Is it wet, Mands, have I made you wet?" I ran my finger along the gusset, establishing that it was indeed very wet. At the same time, I sent lovely sensations through my entire body. "It's soaked Matt, you've made me very, very wet indeed." "And you've made me so hard Mandy." As we both thought about such things there was no typing for a few moments. I saw the light on the window saying "Matt is typing a message." I wondered what was coming for we'd reached a seminal moment. A key time, a critical instant. We'd reached the time when either, we drifted on or, we cybered. Either we kept on talking about netfucking, or we netfucked. "Mandy I want you so much." My heart leaped for he'd taken the plunge, made the decision and had asked the question for that was followed by. "Mandy I want us to make love, can we darling, can we please?" "Right at this moment in time Matt, there is nothing in the world I would like more than that." "Really Mandy, really?" "Yes Matt really, absolutely, totally. I want to make love to you here and now Matt, I want you to make me cum and I want to help you cum. So fuck me Matt, please fuck me right now" Chapter 5. That's really how it all started. That's how I "found my feet" on the net, well not my feet literally, but it is how I found out how to masturbate on there, how to make love on there and, yes, how to, in affect, fuck and be fucked on there. Matt and I did it frequently for a few weeks. It was as if once we'd done it we just couldn't get enough of each other, for a while; not that unlike lovers in real life who lust for each other, but don't really go emotionally further than that. Like couples who want sex, but little more from each other. And in any case the net's so transitory. Nothing's permanent. A long-term net relationship is often no more than a few weeks. As so often happens in a transitory world with a couple that have only sex in common, Matt and I didn't last. We made pretence that we weren't bored, that our "lovemaking" hadn't become predictable and that we still wanted each other badly. But it was all an act. We were like an office affair or a couple that meet, become very intense, have great sex and mistake that for there being something more in the relationship. For Christ's sake how can there be more with just a bloody screen and keyboard where one's only communication is typed words? So we "had" each other less and less frequently until we stopped. Sure, a few times over the next year or so we bumped into each other in chat or messenger. It wasn't awkward. We were both very grown up about it and chatted easily even jokingly hinting at doing something for old time's sake. We didn't though, but we did chat about our lives and lovers with him telling me that he and Fiona had parted. She'd caught him messing around on the net and had found his email password. She'd found many of the mails we'd exchanged and two to women that Matt had met. End of story as far as she was concerned! It was by no means the end of the story as far as my online affairs were concerned. If anything, after parting from my first real cyber lover, they became more complicated, active and frequent. I guess for a while I lost control. I can't count the number of men I "electronically" slept with over the next few months; I can only just about count the number of women. I went with older guys, younger ones, blacks, Indians and many other nationalities. It was daft and immoral, but most of the time it was harmless, enjoyable and sexually satisfying. Yes of course having sex with a computer is limited. Sure being made to cum merely by words, well to start with that was, reduces the scope of the sex and yes it was nowhere near as fulfilling as face to face, mouth to mouth and body to body real sex. But I didn't want that. That means involvement and that I didn't want or need. No, all I needed were, mainly, men with a modicum of intelligence, reasonable writing skills, a sense of adventure and a desire to cum; let's say 20% of the world's male population shall we and that was plenty enough for me! "You are one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen," I typed as I looked at Jason's cam. He'd contacted me and we'd chatted a bit before he asked if I'd like to see him on cam? These had recently, particularly in the US and the Far East become very popular, but as usual technological advances were taking their time in the UK. He was young, around 24 and lived in California. With his long blonde hair, tanned, muscular physique and tall, lean body he was the epitome of what Europeans think of as a typical Californian surfer or beach bum. The sort of young man that lots of ageing women would love to have rescue them from the sea, or even a puddle come to that! We'd chatted a couple of times with him telling me, not unexpectedly or unusually, how much he liked older women and asking my opinions on younger men. I was fairly non-committal, but not off-putting. After all, what's age got to do with fucking by words or shagging by telephone? I meant what I said when on the third time we met on messenger and he asked if I'd like to see his cam. I hesitated a bit not wishing to appear too keen but agreed. I gulped when after a short time my screen was filled with this gorgeous image. He was just wearing shorts; white, tight ones that set off the golden tan of his legs and his awesomely flat six pack to perfection. He really did look beautiful and I couldn't help saying so. "You look lovely Jason" "Thanks Mandy, just as you do in your photos." "Thanks again, but why do you want to bother with a woman of my age Jason, there must be loads younger you could have?" He went on to tell me in quite outspoken terms that he found older woman far more open and amenable on line than younger ones. "Amenable?" I typed teasingly, feeling that familiar urge starting inside me. "Yes, amenable," he replied. "I'm sure you know what I mean Amanda." Pleased that I'd met a young hunk that could use and understand such a word let alone start to debate it with me, I typed back. "And what do you mean by that Jason?" "I mean a woman that isn't offended by sexy chat and is open to flirting with me on here." "Hmmmm, I see, and you think that's me do you?" I watched fascinated with my heart starting to pound a little as he put his hand on his chest. His skin was a golden tan and he had well-developed muscles and thus defined breasts. His nipples stood out clearly, for his upper body, at least, was bald, probably shaved, I guessed. "Just guessing Amanda, but yes I do," he typed as he let his hand slide slowly down his chest. "Am I wrong?" he asked. "Do tell me if I am and I'll stop," he went on his fingers slipping an inch or so inside the elasticised waist-band of his shorts. I didn't reply for two reasons. One, as always, despite the anonymity my social conditioning made it difficult for me to be open and upfront. Secondly I didn't want him to stop. I wanted him to go on, I wanted to see more. I wanted him to do what I thought he was suggesting. Yes I wanted Jason to take his shorts off and show me his cock. His fingers fiddling with the waist band he asked. "Well Amanda, do you want me to stop?" He'd put the ball firmly me in my court. It was now my decision, my choice and my direction. There was no way out other than to play the game by his rules. Sometimes, I'd found, guys just wanted to get naked almost irrespective of my wishes or, really even my participation. I called them flashers for it was the exposing of themselves to a woman that was the kick for them. With me that rarely worked. Even though this was unreal and was electronic some reality conventions applied, well they needed to for me. And one of those was that we were in it together so if he got his rocks off by flashing what was my role other than an observer. Jason, though, clearly wasn't like that, although it seemed he wasn't averse to revealing his gorgeous body. And why should he be for I guessed that to many women, I included at that moment, just seeing him in shorts was enough to dampen some knickers and make many nipples harden immediately. He obviously used this ploy as his come on, his suggestion and indication that he was available and as his seduction technique. And I'm sure it worked, for as his fingers slid just a little further into his shorts so I found one of my hands on my bare breast. "No Jason, I don't," I typed in a way that had I have been speaking would have been very quiet. "Are you sure?" he asked slipping the waist down a tad. "Yes, I'm sure." "You want to see me naked do you Amanda?" "Yes Jason, yes I do," I replied my blouse falling to the floor so that I sat there also in just a pair of shorts. He'd previously asked what I was swearing, so it wasn't too much of a surprise when he asked if I was still wearing the blouse. "No, I'm not." "So your breasts are bare are they?" he asked standing up from the bar stool and moving away from the cam so I got a pretty much full length view of him. Although I guessed he wouldn't be able to read my reply I told him they were. He was clearly experienced and, I thought, skilful at this for slowly, so very, very slowly he eased his shorts down his legs until the fell around his feet. He was already fully and wonderfully erect. And like the rest of him, his cock was glorious! I'm not much of a one to admire cheesecake. I don't usually look at hunks and gasp. Men's bodies, until I'm up against, them, don't often do that much to me; they rarely turn me on; make me want the man or make me want to be fucked by him. Jason changed all that. As he walked back and sat on the stool so that he could type and I could see him from mid-thigh to the top of his golden blonde head my sexual insides simply exploded and that's when I typed. "You are one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen," It was wonderful watching him masturbate. He did it with confidence and the assurance that he looked good. His eyes seemed to bore into mine via the cam as he got me to remove my shorts and panties. He asked me what I was doing and I could see an increase in the pace and vigour with which he was masturbating when I told him. "I'm pinching my nipples, I'm pulling them hard. I'm squeezing my breasts together into one big mass of titty flesh Jason. "Would you like this between them?" he asked pointing his cock right at the camera. "Yes, yes I would, would you like to fuck my breasts J, would you like to cum in my tits?" He wanked even harder, but managed to type, "what are you doing now"? Loving every minute of what I was seeing as this young man masturbated so freely in front of me I told him. "I'm pressing my clit Jason, rubbing all round, but not on it." "My fingers are running round my lips, in them along them, all round my pussy." Still pumping his erection he leaned forward and typed. "I'm near Amanda, cum with me, put your fingers in." "Yes Jason, yes," I typed straightening my three middle fingers and holding my thumb on my little one. "I've got three fingers ready, three straight fingers Jason, they're near my pussy, they're ready Jason, ready for me , ready for you, they are you Jason, my fingers are your cock and they want me. Jason I've just shoved three fingers right up my cunt and I'm fucking myself. Cum with me, please, please cum with me." The sight of stream after stream of the whitish, gooey fluid spurting from his cock and splattering, firstly, on his thighs and then, as the pressure subsided, onto his stomach was all I needed. Squirming more firmly on my extended fingers I writhed the sensitivity of my vaginal innards against the surrogate cock until I joined Jason in a shudderingly satisfying mutual orgasm. Chapter 6 Could I do it? Should I? I pondered. I'd often masturbated as I spoke to my ex on the phone when he was away on one of his frequent business trips and twice I'd done that when I had that brief, but amazingly invigorating, affair when my marriage was at a very low point. But to do it with a stranger, a cyberpal, someone I'd met on messenger, wow that was a whole new ball game wasn't it? Several men, well lots really, had asked. I'd always said no for my intent was to keep my distance from them. My web activities were kept in a sealed compartment of my life, to which there was only one key-holder, me. No one else knew I even went into messenger let alone what I did there and I had no intention of opening it up other than when I wanted to. Equally I wasn't prepared to go any further than I had so far. I was determined never to meet. Not just because of the dangers involved, but also because it made me feel cheap; as though I was using the net to pick up men. Odd wasn't it that I'd masturbate with them and could morally and emotionally handle that, yet the idea of meeting made me feel cheap? But then I'd always thought I wouldn't talk that much about sex; that I wouldn't tell men what I was wearing; wouldn't undress, bare myself or caress my body; wouldn't look at men on cam as they masturbated and certainly wouldn't say "You are one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen," as I gazed lustfully I suppose at a young man's naked and very rampant body. In the end I'd always given in, reconciling that as I'd gone this far...................!! "Hi," I said quietly into my mobile. "Hello Mandy, how are you?" I heard feeling relieved that it was clearly a female voice. Several times men had pretended to be women and had come onto me quite strongly. That was why I was relatively easily persuaded by Lin to chat on the phone. No matter how intimate we'd chatted on the screen there was still that lingering doubt that she, or I come to that, could be a man. And so we'd agreed that before we did anything we'd talk on the phone, but with her being in California and me in London the eight hour time difference made it difficult. Several times one or the other of us had been forced to cancel at the last minute due to unforeseen circumstances such as my daughter being around or her older male lover, who it seemed treated her as almost a sex-slave, not going to work as he should "I'm fine and you?" It didn't take long for us to take things dramatically further. But then we'd almost been there before. Been there typing to each other and looking at the photos we'd exchanged; photos that as we'd got to know each other became more explicit, more graphic and quite frankly more horny. I had my "portfolio" taken by my ex and Lin had hers taken by her lover who was trying to get her some modelling assignments. So far it seemed all he'd managed to get her was some "erotic dancing" gigs, or as we call them in the UK strip jobs. I was undressed as we'd planned. "Just that blue, silk robe you've seen in the photo Lin." "Mmmmmm and under it?" "Just me lol. And you Lin." "lol, I' m just me." "Well then." I said a bit tongue-tied. "Well then too," came back Nothing was said for a while as I looked at the innocent face and the lustful body, the childlike look and the womanly demeanour. She was truly beautiful, had a fabulous figure with the most perfect, small but rounded 33b breasts and long, long slender legs that even as I looked at them I could imagine being around my shoulders as I lay between them lapping at the marvellous source of her femininity. "Mandy, I'm looking at your breasts imagining them in my mouth." "I want them there Lin as I want to be between what I'm looking at, your thighs. Open them for me darling." "Oh yes, yes," came quietly and throatily down the phone, "undo your robe darling and get those titties ready for me." I gladly shrugged it off. I wanted to bare myself for her, to be as naked as she was. "Yes Lin, I have, I'm naked and ready for you my love," I moaned. "I want you Mandy; I want you now, make love to me, make love to me now, please fuck me darling." "Oh yes Lin, yes," I groaned both my hands cupping my breasts and caressing, squeezing and kneading them. "I want to fuck you, I want you to fuck me, make me cum Lin, make me cum" "I'm near Mandy, I have my fingers up my cunt and I'm fucking myself as if it was you. What are you doing?" I told her about holding my breasts. "But now Mandy you have to fuck yourself with your fingers and pretend they're mine." I wanted more than that and I'd planned for more than that. Why not? I knew what was going to happen with Lin today. I wanted sex with her as much as she wanted sex with me, or bringing reality into play, we both wanted sex with ourselves, for that was what it really was all about. That's what all my messing around on the net was about wasn't it? Modern masturbation; variations on a theme; bringing self-sex more alive, adding verve and flair to it, getting more from it. Wasn't that why I did it, why Lin, Matt and all the others I'd had and who'd had me did it? Didn't we all do it so we'd get more excitement from fucking ourselves? "I will Lin, but not with my fingers." "What then Mandy?" "I have my vibrator." "Oh yes, use that, use that to fuck yourself Mandy." "Have you got one Lin?" "No Chuck won't let me," she replied. I didn't bother to ask why, but instead switched on the bright pink vibrator. "Oh darling," Lin moaned down the phone, "that sounds so good." "And it feels wonderful," I told her as I ran the vibrating tip round the lips of pussy returning time and time again, of course, to the base of my clitoris. Cyber Groupie That really is the most mega sensitive place for me. With the folds of pink, glistening skin pulled away the entire, fantastic stalk, that has only sexual pleasure giving as its reason for existence, is revealed and then my fingers, a lovers tongue or, as now, the tip of a throbbing vibrator can find the place where maybe my erotic paradise resides. I was too het up to last long. I'd wanted this for some time and had thought of little more than having Lin over the phone for the past week or so. Being naked, hearing her voice and her low moans and now having my "friend" doing its business on my special spot were all too much. "Oh Lin," I sighed holding the plastic against my clit and turning the power up a tad, "I'm cumming, I'm cumming." "Yes Mands, yes, yes, yes, so am, so am I." We both grunted, groaned, sighed and moaned our ways wordlessly, almost, to our climaxes. Chapter 7 Now and then I got very down about my net involvement. Not only was I, at times, spending hours a day on there, but also I was letting other things slip. I was rushing work, finding excuses to cut golf or avoid seeing friends and missing the gym. I was taking risks and breaking what I'd thought were cardinal rules, particularly with regard to my daughter Sarah. I chatted while she was in the apartment, while she was in her room or the lounge, something I'd vowed not to do for fear of her catching me. But now it got worse, for occasionally I'd get up after having gone to bed at the same time as her and log on again. Late night brings an entirely different animal onto messenger, a more predatory one, a more assumptive "go for it" one; men that wanted just one thing and that they made very clear. "Hi are you horny?" or "hi wanna see my dick?," were far from uncommon greetings. Greetings that just months ago would have had me immediately closing down his window. Now, though, as an experienced and adventurous cyber groupie I'd sometimes type back a "smart" remark. "No, I'm Amanda," or "why would I? Seen one seen 'em all?" Or things like that. They confused most, for as we all know many people on the net in messenger or chat rooms have the intellect of a cretin. But some came back with equally smart or even smarter remarks. And sometimes with those, often after as short a time as twenty minutes or so, I would break my cardinal rule. My vow never to do "anything" with Sarah there. But I did. I did things while she was there. Things like squeezing my breasts, pinching my nipples and telling the guy what I was doing. And yes I'd cum with them. It was probably the day after such an event that would find me full of doubt, guilt, remorse and confusion. Why did I do it; what did I really get from it; why couldn't I seem to control it; where would it lead to? All these tormented me. I had answers to none of them, other than perhaps go and get laid, but that gave me even more emotional concerns so until after the divorce became final that was a definite "no no." So I reconciled myself to a few more months of self-sex aided and fully abetted by the wonder technology of the net. "So you reckon that I can hide the folders so that no one could find them?" I asked the guy I was chatting to on the net. "Sure it's easy; I'll explain it once you've gone through the install programme." He was right and he did. "So Mandy, now you're installed and everything is hidden from prying teenage eyes do I get to celebrate as being the first night audience?" I smiled. "Well I suppose I owe you that and you do deserve it, showing me how to stop S finding the folders with the cam software. Hold on." It took some time getting used to realising that everything I did was being watched by him but I slowly adjusted and after we'd chatted for half hour or so I began to relax and forget about the tiny camera transmitting my every look, glance and movement. Lots of guys had asked if I was going to get a cam and I'd always said no. But there was something about the idea that appealed. I recalled the amazing feelings I'd had when my ex, Kevin had photographed me in my underwear, naked or undressing. The sensations I'd got when I touched myself as he was snapping away. How, after the initial nervousness of posing for him to photograph me in glamour shots to perk up our ailing marriage, I'd begun to see the camera as a person and I started making love to it. I guess there's a latent exhibitionist in many of us and that had confirmed it for me. I'd always thought there might be, but neither I or Kevin or the small number of other lovers I'd had exploited it. Sure I'd had sex in dangerous places; cars, trains, in a plane loo joining the mile high club and outdoors in woods and on beaches, but nothing really significant. And of course in the real-sex starved situation I was in, where masturbation was my only relief from the pangs of frustration, any embellishment to my self sex process was welcome. I'd accepted chatting, gone with exchanging steamy e-mails, taken on board looking at cams and had embraced voice sex. Having my own cam was the next logical and, in many ways, inevitable extension, wasn't it? "I know Mandy, I know exactly how you feel" the very considerate American guy said as I gazed at him and as he gazed at me via the magic of the cams. Tom and I hadn't actually chatted that much, but we'd exchanged emails for months. We'd developed a complicated story about how I, a thirty five year old single woman living in the US, was seeking to lead a life that was to become more and more dedicated to the erotic, sexual experimentation and extending the boundaries of my sexuality. That had enabled us write the most graphic accounts of practically every imaginable sexual experience and encounter. It had been so exciting to write my parts then read his. He was wearing a dark blue silk dressing gown and was sitting on a bar stool at the bar of his den in his house just outside Chicago. His laptop was on the bar and I couldn't work out where he'd fixed the cam, but he had a remote control in his hand that enabled him to zoom in and out. That was good for I got close ups of his face and then full length shots where I saw that the folds of the gown had parted a bit and one of his long, slender legs was bared. He wasn't at all self-conscious and I guessed, though didn't ask that he'd done this many times before. Tom had the sort of sexual curiosity and confidence that his divorcee life-style would let him make full use of the latest technology and sexual opportunities. I'd seen a photo of him and I knew that he was in his fifties, but I'd forgotten what he looked like and so I was pleasantly surprised by his distinguished, ruggedly handsome demeanour and what looked to be a lean, fit, toned body. At least that's how he'd described it and so far he was living up to his physical description. "You just watch me Mandy and let me ask you what I'd like you to do. Is that ok?" "Yes, yes ok Tom, that's ok," I mumbled nervously into the microphone, getting my words mixed up a little. "And if you get uncomfortable at any time we'll stop, ok?" He knew this was my first time on cam. I'd let him talk me into promising I'd get one and that he'd be my first cam lover. We'd masturbated together a couple of times over the phone but this was new, well to me at least. We were going to watch each other masturbating as we imagined we were making love to each other. "So Mandy why don't you slowly undo those buttons on your blouse that are just bursting to be opened?" Looking down I couldn't help smiling when I saw that the buttons on the crisp, white business blouse were indeed straining against the buttonholes. I'd been running late all day. The mother that was suppose to take my daughter to school had called to say she was sick and that meant I had to drive Sarah the fifteen miles or so out into the suburbs and then back again with the late rush hour traffic: a one and a half hour round trip. That would usually have been no problem but it was on a day when I had to go to an ad agency as opposed to working from home as was the norm. I was required to sit in on a pitch and I arrived in the agency in Soho barely in time for the pre-presentation briefing from the Account Director. This brought black looks and some cutting remarks from the team immediately making me feel uncomfortable. About the only comment that pleased and helped to relax me came from one of my mates the Creative Director who said. "Wow you look great Mands and you have got legs," referring to the fact that I almost always wore trousers or jeans or very long skirts; ad agency personnel are such a randy lot, PR just hasn't arrived in that industry yet. The pitch was for a range of mid-market ladies underwear hosiery and accessories. I'd been given explicit instructions on how to dress by the Account Director at a meeting a few days ago. "And as for you Williams (the arrogant bastard called everyone by their family name) I don't want you turning up looking like a fucking hippy even if you are a bleeding creative. Try to remember that you're a woman and that you're going to be wearing the client's stuff under your clothes. For once the client isn't trying to get in your knickers for you'll already be in them won't you?" "Ok Miles, Ok," I said feeling and probably sounding exasperated. "No Williams it 'aint fucking ok, it 'aint fucking ok at all, we badly need to win this pitch and I don't want you screwing it up." "Well drop me then, I don't need the hassle." "Drop you? Drop you, you silly cow, of course I'd fucking drop you like a red hot iron if I could but for some unexplainable, unfathomable reason the bloody client loves you and insists you're on the both the pitch and the account if we win it. The old dyke probably wants you to model the bras and panties for her in the privacy of her office I wouldn't be surprised. So how the hell can I fuckingwell drop you?" This was pretty much typical banter in this particular agency and although at first it scared the hell out of me I got used to it and quickly recognised that Miles was all tongue in cheek and a great bluffer. He'd gone on to explain that we were going to do a black and white presentation. All the ads were predominately like that with just the merest hint of colour on, perhaps, a tiny rose on a pair of panties or the glint of silver on a bra clasp. He told me that the presentation room would be completely black and white and that the team were all going to wear clothes in those stark colours. "Think lady solicitor, female merchant banker. Black suit, white shirt, black stockings and yes black or white knickers and bra, just in case you give us a flash as you sit down." So that's how I came to be sitting in the big, black leather chair wearing a tight, just above the knee black skirt from a DKNY suit and the white blouse that was a size too small for me. Well it was now but wasn't a year ago when I'd bought it before I'd put on the weight that I tend to do during the winter. Being naturally fairly large busted that seemed to be the place where I simply piled it on, fortunately it came off their first when I dieted as well. But it was nothing unusual for me to go from a 34b/c to a 35 dd in a matter of months and boy did that play havoc with my bras! So it was to my horror when I'd got the only white blouse I owned out from my wardrobe last night and found that the buttons pulled hard at the button holes. As I'd stood in front of my mirror wearing just my panties and that blouse I was mortified to see that the gaping at the front opened up the two side of the garment through which the mirror showed me my bra, expanses of my breasts and flashes of my stomach. "No matter, "I thought, "I can pick one up in Canary Wharf tomorrow. I'll wear this one just in case and if I'm able, as I was confident I would be, to get a new one then I can change at the agency." But of course the day had gone pear shaped. By the time I was ready to go there wasn't time for shopping. I slipped into the white, lacy, very feminine underwear and pulled on the black hold-ups all provided by the client. As I did that my mind for some reason regurgitated Miles words about the female MD wanting me to model it for her. I quickly pulled my long, usually quite unkempt hair into the best resemblance I could get of a neat hairstyle bundled on my neck and the top of my head. It just about worked, with about five hundred clips and combs in it and looked ok; I just prayed it would stay up. Glancing in the mirror I was pleased with the underwear that was not only really high quality but very sexy as well. The bra was beautifully lacy and almost see-through, well enough for me to be able to see all of each nipple and areola. It was cut acutely across each boob just about covering the pinkness and creating a nice expanse of flesh above it and a deep cleavage between the cups. It gave my full breasts just the tad of support they need but hid nothing and made me feel very womanly indeed, They'd sent a range of sets to the agency for photography and filming and for the two female members of the presentation team, me and the po-faced, sexless cow who was in charge of research, to wear. Of course the agency guys, especially the creatives, had a field day guessing at what we'd wear, even going to the extent of running a book on it; I was dreading them trying to prove what I'd chosen so they could declare the winner. I'd been tempted by the two types of thong for I knew I'd be wearing a tight skirt. A little dress rehearsal a few nights earlier, though, had shown quite clearly under the, probably, slightly too tight skirt that I was wearing a thong so I discarded that idea, largely on the basis it would make it too easy for some one to win the bet! So I opted for a fuller pair of briefs. Not quite Bridget Jones, for these were gossamer thin and cut so keenly at the thighs that I had to trim quite severely to prevent that horrible look of pubes tumbling out of the elastic. They were as good as totally see through and had the narrowest gusset I think I'd ever worn. As I pulled them on it kept slipping between my lips so I'd straighten it up and it would be ok for a moment or two, but then one or the other lip would pop out. Whether that was intentional and some form of female turn on by the designers, I had no idea but I didn't have to time to think about it too much so I resigned myself to be presenting my little segment with half my pussy hanging out my knickers. The big thing about their thinness and fullness, though, was that they showed no VPL under the tight skirt. I slid into the skirt and pulled on the blouse. It was a "do almost all the way up the front" job. Intended to be worn with all the buttons done up it was demure and businesslike; the epitome of a lady solicitors regular uniform, sexless and designed to draw no attention to the females most interesting place. Except mine gaped. It was nowhere near sexless or demure and the only business it was like was that of a hooker displaying her meaty wares. I looked in the mirror with horror seeing my tits bursting out everywhere and my semi-hardened nipples making huge indentations in the crisp, white cotton. There was a series of gaps down the front showing the skin of my boobs, the bra and even the flesh of my tummy. "Please, please, please," I was praying to myself as I put the jacket on and did the fashionable four buttons up. "Yes," I whooped as I saw that I could get away with it. It was tight and a close fit but I felt that I'd be able to go through the presentation with it fully buttoned up. It was actually quite a relief and not really that sexy to undo the top few buttons as Tom had suggested, for it released the pressure on the others a bit. "Mmmm Mandy," Tom said, "they're looking every bit as good for real as they do in the photos," he went on as the tops of my breasts were revealed. He asked why I was dressed so formally and telling him about the presentation and the massive cock up about the blouse made us both laugh. It released, to some extent, the tension between us. The tension that's similar to that between a couple who are on that date when they know they'll make love. And that's exactly where we were. "Do they have to stop there Amanda?" He asked moving on his stool so that the gown fell open a little more on his legs and gaped more at the lapels. He had a nice covering of hair on his tanned chest and legs and I thought, despite his age, he looked great. I began to get worked up. "No Tom they don't," I said glancing at the monitor on my cam as my fingers fumbled the remaining four buttons beneath my bust under undone. I pulled the tail of the blouse from the tight waistband of the skirt and went to remove it. "No Mands," he said quite sharply, "leave it on a while." I shrugged never failing to be amazed by the vagaries of men where sex is concerned. Some like you to keep your panties on even as they fuck you, while some want to rip them off you. Others like the bra being kept on so they can pull your tits from it while others want it off quick. Yet another lot likes the girl to keep her clothes on and bunch them round her waist whilst some and I have to say they're becoming the minority, want you naked. We talked at some length about our correspondence and a few other things as at both sides of the Atlantic we sipped champagne as we'd agreed, teatime for me breakfast for Tom. We both became nicely relaxed as Tom slowly let his gown slither open more and more. The lapels now gaped down to his waist and his legs were almost completely bare. There was no more than six inches of the robe down from his genitals. One shrug, one sudden movement, one overt action on his part and he'd be bare. That excited me. He was raising the sexual temperature not just by how he was almost revealing himself but also by his remarks. "We'd be so good together Mandy. We would make love all night. You me and Mary or Kath or Lisa Mandy, or all of us at once," he said referring to the women we'd had 3somes with in our wild narratives. "I want you so much darling." He was priming me, arousing me, getting me ready and preparing me for what I'd once told him I dreaded. "Slip the blouse off now Amanda," he whispered between telling me at some length how wonderful my breasts were and casually taking hold of the tie round the waist of the robe. It was as though we were in the same room, well almost. I could look right into his eyes and feel his gaze boring into mine and roaming all over my body. "Hey Mandy, my lovely wanton randy Mandy," as I dropped the bloody troublemaking blouse on the floor. As I removed it I couldn't help my mind going back to the presentation that had gone remarkably well. I'd even presented confidently and, as Miles put it, "with as big pair of balls as he had." I'd been hellishly nervous standing on the small stage they'd set up. I knew the suit looked ok but under it, well that was a disaster. Every time I'd moved I'd felt the gusset of the panties slipping around casting first one and then the other pussy lip out and I knew that under the jacket I was flashing more than the lights on a Christmas tree. Still in spite of all that it went well. That is until we had a drink afterwards. I was standing leaning against a wall looking out towards the ten or so agency staff and six people from the client in the fairly small and intimate room that served as the bar. As the lady MD' who though rather severe looking and probably into her fifties, was not totally unattractive and certainly had a good, albeit rather dumpy body, was talking to me with her back to the crowd, they were all, I knew, looking at us. How I did it I don't know. I just seem fated to make such mistakes, it certainly wasn't done on purpose, maybe it was nerves for I was a little out of my depth in such company. Cyber Groupie We were discussing the underwear, girl to girl chat. She'd asked if I liked it and I'd told her honestly I did. And then it happened. I was just saying that I particularly liked the bra when unconsciously I undid the buttons on the jacket; well it's unnatural having them done up isn't it? It wasn't until I saw her smile as she ran her eyes up and down me and said. "Yes Amanda, I see you like them," that I realised I'd undone the buttons. But worse, much, much worse, horrendously, terribly absofuckingawfully worse a couple of the buttons had come undone. The bra with my tits spilling out of it, the deep cleavage and most of both of my nipples were staring unashamedly at her, the big cheese of the big client and at the rest of the room. I quickly did the buttons up as she considerately, I think, moved closer covering me up a little. I meant it to be quiet and said under my breath but I'm sure most of the room heard the, "oh fuck" slip from my mouth I heard Tom say, as if from afar. "What shall we do next Amanda? The bra and see those gorgeous tits or the skirt and get nearer to your pussy?" That pulled me back to reality, well the reality of the fantasy of fucking via a cam that is. "I don't know," I said quietly suddenly feeling a little embarrassed in front of him my nipples very hard and almost bursting through the thin lace of the bra. He quickly got me back on track as he said croakily. "Let's do the bra darling? Let's get those gorgeous tits out so we can play with them? You do like playing with them don't you Mandy?" he continued as I saw him starting to pull on the tie. "Don't you Mandy? Don't you? You do like playing with those big titties don't you?" he went on demanding an answer as he undid the bow at his waist. I was transfixed. Aroused and intrigued I knew he'd got me. "Yes Tom yes I do." "Then my love, why not take that beautiful bra off and let me see your breasts?" Reaching behind I slipped the clasp undone and flicking my glance from the monitor to the screen I watched my breasts slowly being revealed at the same as which Tom let go of the undone tie of his robe. "Oh Mandy they are fabulous," he sighed as he leaned forward getting closer to his screen presumably to get a better look at my boobs. "Oh yes, yes, yes," he went on moving back again and standing up. He was holding the robe together as he looked right into my eyes. He pulled the silk tightly across his body. "Oh God Tom," involuntarily slipped from my mouth as I saw the outline of his erection. He'd told me he was quite large, but the outline under the silk looked enormous. I dropped the bra onto the floor. "You like Mands?" he asked pulling the material even tighter. "Yes Tom, yes I do," I sighed as I watched so amazingly excited as slowly he let go of the robe. As if in slow motion the two sides fell apart so that standing proudly between them, surging its way right up the middle of his stomach all the way to his navel was his cock. His hard, thick cock. His warm throbbing, stunningly erect and obviously extremely ready cock. His eyes not leaving mine for a moment he shrugged the robe off and stood before me totally naked. He was incredibly comfortable with his nudity for he did a slow twirl before returning to the stool and climbing up onto it. "Ok Amanda, do you approve?" "Oh yes Tom, yes, yes, yes I do," I gushed at last now feeling almost fully relaxed. He'd been both considerate and clever in stripping first, but hey, who cares for I was now so up for this I could hardly wait. Whether it was my better or baser instinct that took over I don't know. But suddenly I wanted to impress him, thrill him, excite and tease him. I wanted to be naked, to touch myself and see him do the same. Yes, I was ready and I wanted to masturbate for him in front of my cam. As my hands found my breasts, which seemed so much heavier than normal, I wondered whether it was him or the camera? Whether it was my cyberlover or the lens that I wanted to fuck? I didn't know and quite frankly I couldn't give a damn so strong were the sensations of want flooding through me as I squirmed the orbs of flesh together. Tom was gazing at me, a slight smile on his face his fingers slowly running up and down the length of his erection as I stood up. I was now full of bravado, totally relaxed and confident. I stared at Tom. "I want you Tom, I want you now," I moaned as I started to gyrate in front of him my hands on my skirt. "Yes Mands," he grunted back his fingers excitingly slowly wrapping themselves round his length. "I want to have you, I want to fuck you Mandy, Is that what you want me to do?" "Yes, yes it is Tom; I want to cum, I want you to make me cum." I knew I was now out of control, I was lost and I was well on way to doing anything and everything in front of Tom on my new cam. Was it for him, for me, for both of us or the camera I wondered as I slowly eased the tight skirt up and up my thighs? I was sort of dancing, certainly moving, somewhat like bumping and grinding I suppose. I was acting like and indeed I felt like a stripper as I slid the hem of the skirt up and up and up: past mid thigh, over my stocking tops, across that thin patch of skin between them and my panties and then over my mound until it was bunched around my waist. As I was doing that my movements were causing my breasts to jiggle, I was occasionally squeezing and pressing my boobs and pinching my nipples. My head was rolling from side to side my unkempt, chestnut hair, now long released from the clips needed at the presentation, was tumbling down over my shoulders with strands of it falling onto my breasts. "Yes Mands, yes, go, go for me," Tom was croaking as I saw that he'd started to masturbate. When I'm aroused I adore seeing a man masturbate, well I might with some when not aroused come to that! It's something to do with seeing his hard cock pumping in and out of what is in effect a surrogate cunt, a makeshift cunt, a copy of my cunt, I suppose. But it's not just that wonderfully erotic sight that does it for me. It's the whole bit. His body, the straining of his muscles, the movement of his hand and, as much if not more than anything else, the look on his face. The deep staring of his eyes, the opened mouth, the dropping of his eyelids and the, almost, trance-like look that comes over him as his body commands his mind to lose control. The slow rhythmic pumping of his hand, up and down, up and down was so alluring and so enticing to me. It was also marvellously encouraging and it broke down any final inhibitions I may have had. "Oh God Tom that's fantastic," I moaned truthfully. "You like seeing me wank do you Mandy?" "Yes Tom, yes I do," I replied, still gyrating on the spot, one hand holding my skirt up showing my panties and the other kneading my aching breasts and nipples. "Cup it Mands, cup it for me?" "Cup what Tom?" I asked somewhat bemused, realising what he meant just as he said. "Your pussy, your mound, cup it for me." It felt perfect, the absolutely right thing to do for him and for me. I swayed on the spot my hand cupping my warm mound, my middle finger between my legs stretched right along the slit in my pussy. I thrust my tummy out towards and pressed more firmly bending both that finger and another one so they found and rubbed right on my clit. It was very difficult doing what my mind and body so badly wanted me to do yet remaining within the focus of the cam. I'm sure Tom missed quite a lot before he advised me to stay still and suggested I sit in the big, black leather chair and focus my cam right on that. "Sit down Mands, take your time and let's cum together," he advised pushing his erection towards me as if inviting me to lick it, something I would so absolutely loved to have done. He'd shuffled forward a bit on the stool so that his legs were bent and both feet were on the floor. The wide angle, as he called it, lens enabled all of his body to be in the picture until he used the zoom thing which he did alternating between close ups of his face and his hand slowly and purposefully now pumping his glorious cock. I was lying back in the chair my legs spread out before me, wide open. Yes it was a lewd, sordid and very wanton pose. It was made more so by my boobs flopping to the sides, my fingers of one hand pinching the achingly erect nipples and my other hand now being inside those thin, diaphanous knickers. It was a very lewd, sordid and wanton position and that matched my mood perfectly. I felt wanton, I wanted to look lewd and act sordidly. After all what else can you call masturbating in front of a camera as you watch a man jerk off for you? "Take them off Mands, please take them off," I heard through the developing fogs of my impending climax. "What, what?" I moaned my fingers stroking, probing and pressing all round my soaked lips and clit. "Your panties, take your fucking knickers off for me Mands, I want to see you." It seemed the most relevant thing for him to ask and the most welcoming thing for me to do. I wanted to take them off, I wanted to take my knickers off for him, show him me, flaunt it at him as I made love to it and myself. I struggled the tight, see-through, white lace panties that were now soaked, down my stockinged legs and dropped them on the floor. I felt so free and so available, so ready and so terribly wicked. I opened my legs even further seeing the image on the monitor of my pinkness all wet, smooth and open. Open for Tom, open for me, open for us and most importantly open for my main lover, that red light and intrusive lens. Yes wide open, free, available and ready to be fucked by my camera. "That's fantastic Mandy," Tom breathed as his hand increased the speed of its pumping. I stroked my pussy, I caressed my breasts, I squeezed them and pulled and pinched my nipples. I stroked my thighs and ran my hand over my tummy right into where the skirt was still bunched around my waist. I touched myself everywhere that was sexually sensitive as I alternated between watching Tom masturbate harder and harder on my screen and seeing myself on my monitor. Seeing myself almost bare and laid out for self-sex; seeing myself my legs open in a position to receive a lover; seeing my hands and fingers providing the sensations I need for satisfaction, seeing myself enjoying myself and yes seeing myself starting to be fucked by myself. "Oh Tom, I'm starting," I groaned. "Good Mands, let it go, cum with me." I opened my eyes and saw that he was holding back for he was taking those long slow stroked that I'd learned from my ex meant he was near but could go on like that for some time savouring those pre climax feelings. But I knew he'd see that I was starting, no not starting, but was cumming. He'd see it for I could see it on the monitor. The camera was, purely by luck, perfectly positioned. It showed my legs from the knees up, my hands between them and the grimacing, pouting looks on my face. My head was now thrashing from side to side, my chest was heaving as I struggled to breath and my breasts were wobbling and jiggling with the thrashing movements of my body. My hands and fingers were stroking and caressing my breasts and pinching and pulling my nipples. They were also doing other things; rubbing my clit, stroking my lips and lunging in and out of my pussy. We climaxed together. Me, in a roller coaster of feelings, sounds and sensations as wave after wave crashed over me. Tom, in an explosion of creamy goo shooting out of his cock and all over his tummy and thighs. My initiation into cam sex was over. Was it to be the first of many I wondered as I switched it off? Chapter 8 "Does never really mean never?" he asked. "Who knows," I smiled back crossing my legs, quite aware that the cam would faithfully transmit my skirt riding up my thighs. "Well I live in hope." "That's the best way Adam, be hopeful." I'd done everything really. Everything that chat and the net had to offer. I'd flirted and exchanged steamy mails; I'd gone further and had helped men masturbate exchanging written words with them; I'd had telephone sex, many times and I'd used the cam, not often, but just with special friends. There was really just one more boundary, one more experience, one more challenge. "So will you Amanda, will you meet me, soon?" Adam asked.