It had been building up now for well over a year, the stolen conversations, the secret smutty emails and the unrelenting lust to break out of character, to be someone so utterly different, someone risky and dangerous, and sexy.
He had begun to make outrageous demands from the moment I had first shared a naaughty giggle with him in a chat room. Demands that a normal girl, a good girl, would find sickening. They would shy away, retreat, break contact, and return to their normal, mundane lives. But I didn't want to be the good girl any longer. I had been down that road. I was the good wife, seen by all as pure and sweet, perhaps even asexual. I was ready to be awakened to something new and exciting, and so I let him slowly take control of my conscience.
My husband wouldn't know. He had barely seen my naked body in our 6 years together. Our wedding night was the first. A night I had spent stolen moments throughout my youth dreaming about, hairbrush handle at the ready. I had tried to be the good girl my parents wanted, that is how they brought me up after all. To wait until marriage, however long that may take, and so it was that whilst most of my girlfriends had long since been deflowered, it took until the summer of my 24th year to finally experience the joy of being made woman.
To say it was a disappointment is an understatement. Paul was so excited to finally get into my knickers by the time we were married, that he lasted barely a minute. From my point of view I felt nothing, his cock was apparently in and out of me dripping with cum, without barely time to even consider whether I could feel it. It was certainly not what I was expecting. I'd dreampt of his huge manhood penetrating me over and over again, until I could take no more, yet here I was lying unsatisfied, his cum leaking from my exposed womanhood, whilst he lay there flat on his back, exhausted, with his already tiny member vanishing even further out of sight.
My appetite to fulfil the hormone-driven fantasies of youth was undeterred though, and I hoped that next time he would last longer, and that the size issue could be worked on. Our honeymoon should have provided more than enough time to test out this theory, the beaches crammed with hot-looking babes that made my mouth water would surely be enough to get him in the mood, even if I did not. Yet Paul's appetite was clearly not as ravenous as mine, and sex quickly became an infrequent novelty. When it did happen, it was always over just as quickly, and the only orgasms I was having, were either fake or self-made ones. I often wished I could just sit on his face and make him lick me to ecstasy, or get him to try out different positions that might help me feel him some more, but I couldn't say it. It was always the same, missionary position, quick in and out, no foreplay, and his cum leaking out of me before I'd even got warmed up.
So it was that we settled into a relationship that was more like brother and sister than man and wife. We were friends who lived together, shared our lives, and to the outside world looked like the perfect couple. We would host dinner parties and help out at church fetes. A lovely couple, that's what people would say. And we were. Very lovely, very sweet, but completely platonic now.
My fantasies were ripe as ever of course, but sex with Paul just wasn't something I envisaged happening again.
I had started surfing the net whilst he was at work, a stolen hour in the middle of the day, a break from housework and helping out at the church. At first, it was the usual gossip sites, catching up on soap news, and other girly stuff. Soon though I had been drawn in to the anonymous world of chat rooms. I had lots of attention from guys of course, as do all real women that seem to be on those sites. Thirty guys, fifteen women, and most of the latter were usually bots (computer programmes designed to make guys engage in chat with the fake woman in order to draw them into some pay –per-view adult site). I would spend a lot of time in rooms with guys asking if I wanted to see their cocks, or asking intimate questions and expecting answers. Most of the time I would just watch and see what was happening, and most of the time get turned on by the idea of being an object of sexual gratification for all these men. Eventually I got into watching cams, although my eyes were mainly drawn to those of the few women that used the rooms. The sight of naked twenty-somethings frigging themselves furiously to a room of frenzied men made me soaking wet every time, and it became more and more part of my daily routine. I got up every day longing for the sight of plump breasts and naked pussies being adored by the masses, and had orgasm after orgasm mimicking what I saw on the screen.
I was completely hooked already, and grew in confidence in the rooms, beginning to answer the intimate questions being thrown my way. It was around this time I first met hugecockbull, that was his chat alias. We would talk alot, about my husband and his tiny dick, about how I longed to be properly and thoroughly fucked, and he would pry deeper into my fantasies. He of course asked why I had no profile picture or webcam, after I confided in him how hot I thought it would be to be watched fingering myself by all these people, and he dared me to go and buy a webcam and just do it.
I was out of the house for no more than an hour after his dare, so turned on by the idea, that I went straight to a computer shop and picked up the first webcam I laid my hands on. I rushed home, and he guided me through the installation as we chatted more. My first "show" was for his eyes only, a test he said, as he began to instruct me what to do for him.
I was completely absorbed in this experiment from the outset. Following every demand to the letter. Slowly removing my clothes, blouse first, pushing my breasts out and posing for him in my tight bra. I licked my stubbly armpits for him, as he indicated his delight, pulled my own nipples up to my lips and licked them too. Before long, I was naked, my legs spread-eagled, my feet resting on the computer desk, pulling my lips apart to give him the view he wanted.
My phone rang, I jumped up and answered it, out of breath through nervousness and shock. It was Paul.
"Hi Honey. Just wanted to let you know I'm running late. You okay?"
"Oh dear. Yes I'm fine. Was just hovering the hall. When will you be home?"
"Probably at least an hour. I'm sorry I know I'm usually back by now"
I had lost track of the time. Any other day and he would have been in by now and would have caught me plunging my fingers in and out of my soaked cunt.
"Oh that's okay dear. I'll see you when you get back. Love you"
