Jekyll and Hyde Ch. 04byCatmoore©
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, almost forgetting it would be a virtual and not a real fuck.
"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? Or will I" I smiled "simply cum too quickly as I usually do with a new lover."
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, making myself cum just before I heard my daughter's key in the lock.
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?
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 a 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 birth 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 thought smiling, "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 Cat 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 be far more assured and confident than I felt, came up on the screen.
"Oh God Cat?"
"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.
"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, 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," I replied.
"But 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, ours isn't real, that is."
"No Cat, ours is real, just different."
"Yes that's true."
"What are you wearing?"
"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 near 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 love just my boxers, just those tight white boxers you like so much. Just those skin tight pants Cat that cling to me so closely."
"Mmmmmm," I clicked feeling the surge of arousal at the words he was manipulating me with.
"The ones 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 up close 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 really can look beautiful. Beautiful and powerful is how I like to consider a cock that I am about to devour.
"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
"What would you like to be under it if we were together?" I asked rather coyly given the circumstances.
"Nothing of course."
"Spot on Matt, you got it in one." I typed trying to sound sexy in print.
"Does it feel nice Cat, the silk on those big, full tits of yours?"
"Are you rubbing your boobs, through the silk?"
"Yes," I told him truthfully feeling a shudder go through me as my fingers ran found my nipple and caressed it 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 Cat, 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 Cat? 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. Memories of that 'goodbye fuck' with Craig came into my mind.
"Well, my naughty, randy Cat 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 decline."
With hands that were visibly shaking I slid them down and stepped out of them, keeping them close by, though, just in case my daughter came home unexpectedly.
"Have you Cat? 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?" he asked.
"Of course I am Matt, are you hard?"
"Yes, of course."
"Are you as hard as you can be Matt?"
"Yes as hard as I ever have been."
"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?"
"Is it wet, 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 you sexy bitch."
"Ooooo dirty talk so soon."
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.
"Cat, 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. " 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 Cat, 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 and make me cum with you."
As it happens the exchanges between us in messenger were not that clear or really successful. Both of us, so we told each other later, were so aroused that our focus was more on ourselves than on the keyboard, screen or our cyber friend. It was very difficult typing to tell each other what we each doing and how we were feeling as, certainly for me, the sensation built up quickly and hugely. I was cumming with my typical first time speed almost as soon as we had 'formally' agreed to the electronic fuck.
I didn't do anything special, nothing different, nothing unique, just a straightforward masturbation using my hands on my breasts and tummy and my fingers on my nipples, clit and pussy.
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 effect, fuck and be fucked on there. Matt started me off on this latest phase of my 'secret' sex life and, I suppose, I have taken to it like a 'dog to water.'
We 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.
As so often happens in a transitory world such as the net 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 went with older guys, younger ones, blacks, Indians, Arabs 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 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 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 Catherine, 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."
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.
"I know what I understand about it Jason. What do you mean by it?"
"I mean a woman that isn't offended by sexy chat and is open to flirting on here," he replied very directly.
"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, and it seemed maybe lightly oiled; very Californian.
"Just guessing Catherine, 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.
"Call me Cat," I typed "All my friends do" I went on my eyes transfixed on his hand.
"Ok Cat it is, so does Cat wish me to stop?"
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, 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, me 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.