Pam's Discovery

Continuation from Pam's Dichotomy...Read it first. You'll be glad you did.

Warning...there is no actual sex in this submission.

Yet.

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For this particular photo session, Pam eschewed any assistance from some of the photographers that she regularly teased mercifully during private stints of shooting images of her magnificent, mature and nude body. Though she had always insisted on keeping all negatives, most of the obliging shutterbugs refused any compensation for their efforts. They always departed aroused and unsatisfied from a carnal standpoint, because Pam would not trade professional favors for sexual ones, yet the sensational sixty-one-year-old mysterious beauty never seemed to lack for volunteers.

No, tonight, Pam was a solo practitioner of some of the cinematic techniques that she had learned. The tripod with the digital camera was set on three-second intervals and sat a few feet from her king bed. The shutter actuations clicked with a staccato cadence, the only sound in the room except for the squishing of Pam's velvety cunt and her muffled groans as she vigorously stuffed her fingers into her puffy slit.

She had linked the digital camera to a webcam on Skype. She was recording her own slide show, and had programmed a delay so that she could send it to her desired recipient when she was sure she had a captive and undivided audience of one.

Pam had purposely ignored each of John's concerned calls and e-mails ever since she suddenly and unexpectedly terminated their torrid sexual exercise in the Reynoldsburg hotel room last week. John had left word that he would be returning to town on Thursday evening for an overnight stay.

His messages kindly offered Pam a night of dinner, only dinner, to express his sincere apology for affecting her the way that he did. John assumed, incorrectly, that Pam had burst from the room almost in the middle of an incredibly intense tryst because she felt he had taken liberties with her body that she did not welcome.

Nothing could have been further from the truth. Pam's libido had been on fire all week, wanting more, oh so much more, from the second his fabulous cock plopped from her sex-starved pussy.

So she decided to respond to his gentlemanly indications of concern with combining two age-old adages: "A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words" and "Actions Speak Louder Than Words".

For ten long minutes, Pam rubbed her erect chocolate nipples with one hand and whipped her steamy, freshly-trimmed cunt into a frenzy with the other, all the while writhing and gyrating on the mattress, licking her juice-covered digits, presenting various angles of fervent masturbation for his viewing pleasure.

Her grand finale, which she had rehearsed to perfection, was a close-up of Pam bent on all fours, her ass inches away from the lens, pulling apart her labia lewdly, and then inserting a saliva-covered finger deep into her gaping puckered anus. The slide show, exquisitely edited, culminated with this orchestrated climax as a stream of milky fluid dripped from Pam's gash, down her toned thighs, and onto the bed cover, as Pam leered into the screen, watching upside-down between spread legs.

The End.

Pam couldn't help but to rub herself into yet another orgasmic crescendo as sat in front of her computer as she prepared the one-woman play for delivery to the special man five hundred miles away. She called the number that she had now committed to memory.

John saw Pam's number flash up on his display and almost fumbled the phone in his zeal to answer. "Hello! Pam, thank goodness, I was so worried that I..."

She interrupted him crisply. "Do you have access to e-mail right now, in private?" Her tone was clipped. John felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in trepidation. She sounded ice-cold, angry. He had ruined it, the one woman he truly had feelings for, history already.

"What? Yes, yes, but Pam, I'm sorr..."

Again she interceded. "Five minutes exactly. Go to your PC. You will have my answer. Five minutes," she repeated. "Exactly." She hung up brusquely.

John only needed one minute to scramble to his laptop, and he sat tapping his feet while he waited for the other four minutes to elapse. "Why am I hard?" he thought to himself while staring into the abyss of a blank screen. "Just hearing her voice made me hard." He adjusted his sitting position to adjust for the impromptu erection. Like Pam, he had masturbated furiously all week, replaying last week's ardent rendezvous over and over.

Finally, the e-mail arrived. He banged the mouse, urging it to open the message even a nanosecond sooner if it could.

"I accept your invitation for Thursday evening, Mr. G., with two caveats", the narrative said. John read it anxiously, relieved that she had finally replied, yet still blissfully unaware of the content of the electronic attachment that he had not yet perused.

"One, a restaurant won't be necessary. Two, neither will a hotel. I've made reservations and accommodations for you at a place I call "The Sanctuary". My house. 8 PM."

"P.S. Enjoy the show."

TO BE CONTINUED...