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.