Addicted

by Ray Gordon

  After a long hot bath, I wandered naked into my studio. The reality of my behaviour hitting me as I gazed at the word fuck on the wall, I froze. What had happened to me? What had I become? A stranger on the common, and now David, Lydia's boyfriend. Guilt consumed me, shame engulfed me, fear...

  Tony, poor Tony. If he ever found out... But no, he'd never discover the shocking truth about his loving wife, his adulterous prostitute. In the name of lust, I'd given my body, my cunt, to another man. Tony would kill me if he knew! His own aching hurt would kill him.

  I sat on the Chesterfield and looked down at my nakedness, my sore nipples, my inflamed vaginal lips. My body, my temple - desecrated. My marriage vows had been shattered, tossed on the wind of adultery. Why had I allowed my craving for sperm to destroy my sanctity? I could have taken sperm from men without... no, I couldn't.

  Grabbing the ringing phone, I was horrified to hear Tony's deep voice. I was afraid and guilt-ridden. "I've been ringing and ringing," he said accusingly.

  "Yes, I went out for... for a walk," I replied, parting my thighs and fondling my wet inner lips, pulling and twisting on my sensitive butterfly wings - the wings of my cunt. "The weather's nice here."

  "Miss me?"

  Did I miss him? I wasn't sure in the confusion scattered around the wreckage of my mind. "Yes, of course I miss you."

  "Tell me what you've been up to."

  Getting myself fucked. "Er... working, mainly. I went for a walk, as I said, and now I'm about to get back into work."

  "Your secret?"

  My heart leaped. "Secret?"

  "Whatever it is you're working on, your secret."

  "Oh, yes, I see. Look, I must go, Tony."

  "You said that the last time I rang. Is everything OK?"

  "Yes, yes of course!" I forced a giggle. "I want to get on, that's all."

  "OK, I'll ring again. Love you."

  "I... I love you."

  Dropping the receiver into its cradle, I lay back on the sofa and closed my eyes. Where had my love for Tony gone? Withered like a parched flower - dead. Where was this path I'd wandered down taking me? It wasn't too late to turn back. I'd not gone too far down the path of adultery to turn back and find my direction with Tony again, had I? But I'd soon be climbing the walls, desperate for a fix of sperm - and Tony wasn't there.

  I didn't leave the house for two days, doing nothing other than painting, and masturbating with my treasured candle. Tony had rung Stephen Giles telling him that the Blue Lady was ready for collection. He'd be round after lunch with a cheque. I'd be pleased to see the back of her, I mused, gazing into her oily eyes. She'd haunted me with her knowing look, and I'd hated it.

  My craving hadn't reappeared, I didn't know why. Maybe it was because I'd thrown myself into my work. Had it appeared, reared its ugly head, I wouldn't have been short of sperm because David had phoned several times pestering me for sex. He'd made no threats, yet, but he'd as good as demanded sex.

  By lunchtime my hands were trembling and my heart going wild, I was frantic, desperate for sperm. Stephen Giles was due; I couldn't let him see me in that state! My thoughts turned to David, his solid cock, his gushing sperm. I wanted to suck him off. But I'd thought I'd turned back, halted my journey along the path to destruction and ruination. I had to fight it!

  Stephen arrived at two wielding a bunch of red carnations. Red paint - fuck. He was tall, in his mid-forties, good-looking with dark swept back hair and a suntan. Inviting him in, I apologized for my paint-splattered smock as I placed the flowers on the table and led him through the hall to my studio. Disguising my mental state, my wall-climbing, I unveiled the Blue Lady and waited with bated breath for his reaction.

  "Incredible!" he gasped, his face beaming as he looked at the painting. "My God, I didn't expect anything this good!"

  "It's not that good," I said in my modesty. "But I'm glad you like it."

  "Like it? I think it's brilliant!"

  He stood gazing at the Blue Lady for some minutes, showering me with praise and compliments. I didn't like flattery, it didn't suit me, but I smiled at the appropriate moments and said what I thought to be the right things. Tony had put himself on the line by suggesting that I undertake the painting of his managing director's wife. He must have had confidence in me, I reflected. He'd had trust, too. Trust I'd betrayed.

  "What sort of art is that?" Stephen asked, pointing at the four red letters on the white wall.

  Fuck. "Er... a friend did that," I replied, my face flushing. "It... it's meant to portray..." My words tailed off as I followed his gaze to the painting standing in the corner of the studio.

  "Is that you?" He was staring wide-eyed at my mouth engulfing the young man's sperming knob.

  I giggled, stupidly. "No, no it's not me! It's... it's no one. It's for a friend."

  "What's it called?" he asked, moving closer, bending his knees and studying the pornographic work.

  "Sperm. I mean..."

  "Quite a title!"

  "I didn't name it."

  Taking deep breaths in an effort to ease my tightening chest, I clasped my hands together, praying for Stephen Giles and the Blue Lady to leave. My stomach churning as he suggested we sit in the garden and discuss another commission, I tried to think of an excuse. I had to go out - no, I was expecting a client...

  "This way," I smiled, leading him out of the studio and through the kitchen. "The weather's good, isn't it?" Small talk, stupid talk.

  "Yes, it is. You've a nice garden."

  "Yes, it is nice." An English country garden. An English cunt.

  I was becoming desperate for sperm, I had to contact David! My vision blurring, Stephen noticed that something was wrong as we stood on the patio admiring the red-hot pokers - long penises. I wanted to stand over one - flower-fucked. My mouth dry, my heart missing several beats, I was that close to kneeling down and dragging his cock out of his trousers that I didn't think I'd be able to control myself!

  In my terrible state, I began blaming Tony. It was his fault for going away and leaving me alone, devoid of sperm. It had been his fault that I'd become addicted to sperm in the first place. He'd introduced me to oral sex, he'd been the first man to come in my mouth - it was his fault!

  "Are you feeling all right?" Stephen asked as I swayed on my sagging legs.

  "Yes, I've been working too hard, that's all. Will Tony get his promotion? Oh, sorry, I should have asked."

  "Well... I'm not sure at this stage," he replied hesitantly.

  "That doesn't sound too promising."

  "He's doing well but..."

  But what? I wondered, my heart palpitating. Kill two birds with one stone, two birds with one shot of sperm. Drink Stephen's sperm to quell my panic, and to ensure Tony's promotion. I felt wicked, wickedly powerful - powerfully wicked. Kneeling before Stephen, I hurriedly tugged his zip down, desperate for a fix. I didn't look up, I didn't want to see his expression as I urgently hauled his penis out of his pinstriped trousers and gazed longingly at his purple knob.

  "You needn't think you'll secure your husband's promotion by doing that, young lady!" he growled, moving back.

  "No, I... I wasn't doing it for that reason!" I stammered. "Please, you don't understand!"

  "I understand only too well! My God, poor Tony! He's working, and you're..."

  "No, you must listen to me!"

  I watched him zip his trousers and storm into the house, my stomach churning with fear as I realized how it must have appeared. The front door slammed shut, his car engine burst into life, the tyres crunching on the gravel drive as he pulled away. I felt sick, weak with fear. Collapsing on the flagstones, I sobbed uncontrollably, asking myself why I'd done it. Stephen Giles, of all people! Why, why, why?

  Finally dragged my quivering body up from the tear-wet patio and staggering into the house, I rang David in my desperation, but there was no reply. The reality of my strange addiction hit home as I flopped onto the Chesterfield in my studio. The young man on the common,
David, and now I'd attempted to swallow Stephen Giles's sperm!

  "Fuck," I breathed, looking at the letters painted on the wall. What the hell was I doing? I'd been masturbating as if there was no tomorrow, sucking knobs, getting myself fucked... I should never have got back into masturbation, I reflected. I blamed my addiction to sperm for what I'd done, my mouth-fucking adultery, but I blamed masturbation for raising my libido to the point where I'd opened my legs, my cunt, to David's cock.

  "David fucked me!" I gasped, as if I'd only just realized it. I wished I'd not told Laura about my addiction, too many people knew too much. I had no secrets. She'd gone away thinking me mad, and Stephen had stormed off thinking me to be a wanton whore. What the hell did David think of me? I had to change, try to put right what I'd done, particularly where Stephen was concerned. Deciding to ring him at some stage and try to explain, I noticed that he'd left the Blue Lady on the easel.

  "Shit!" I exclaimed, realizing that my foul mouth was becoming worse with each passing day. Reaching the point where I'd dash out into the lane and grab the first man I saw, I rolled up into a ball on the Chesterfield like a hedgehog. Trembling, shaking uncontrollably, I felt like a junkie. God, I was a junkie! Heroine, coke, sperm... an addiction is an addiction, for God's sake!

  I lay there quivering in my desperation for two hours, praying that the withdrawal symptoms would wear off. Cold turkey. But if I lasted out and kicked the addiction, I'd never be able to enjoy oral sex again. One taste and I'd be hooked! Spermaholic. Leaping up, I straightened my smock and walked through the hall to answer the doorbell. I was in no mood to meet anyone - unsociable, depressed, desperate. But I couldn't spend the rest of the day in a quivering, helpless heap in the studio!

  "David!" I beamed, rather too keenly as I opened the front door. He brushed his long dark hair back with his fingers.

  "Hi, I thought I'd come and..."

  "And have sex?" I asked sarcastically, hopefully, as he stepped into the hall.

  "I don't understand you, Helen. You come on to me like I'm the only bloke in the world, and then when I phone you, you don't want to know."

  "I made a mistake. I've made a lot of mistakes recently. What with Tony away... it was a mistake, OK?"

  "A bloody funny mistake, if you ask me!" he scoffed as I led him into the lounge.

  Now what was I doing? I needed his sperm, and I was saying that I'd made a mistake! I'd have to come to an arrangement with him, make some sort of deal. No, I couldn't do that! There was only one thing to do, I decided in my rising panic - tell him the truth. If I told him that I was addicted to sperm, he'd understand and be only too willing to supply me with the stuff.

  "Come and sit down," I said, flopping onto the sofa like a rag doll in my paint-splattered smock. "I have something to tell you, something that no one else knows, apart from..."

  "Oh, what's that?" he asked, plonking his well-built frame on the cushion next to me.

  "I'll tell you, but you must swear to keep it to yourself, David," I replied mysteriously, my heart going crazy - pounding, palpitating.

  "I promise," he grinned.

  Praying that I wasn't making my biggest mistake yet, I told David everything, the whole damned story from day one onwards. He chuckled once or twice, but soon saw the gravity of my predicament and listened intently. He had what I wanted, and I had what he wanted. Lydia? I couldn't bear to think of the poor girl as I gazed at David's bulging jeans.

  David was twenty-years-old, a self-employed gardener with an average future. Lydia was at university and... poor Lydia, she was very much in love with David. But that wasn't my fault; I didn't want other people's problems to become mine.

  As I finished my incredible story, David stood up and turned to face me. His expression was odd, somehow reflecting what I imagined to be an inner evil. What was he thinking? What was he planning? Was this my biggest mistake yet?

  "Are you climbing the walls now?" he asked, rubbing his chin as if formulating a devious plan.

  "Yes, damned right, I am! You have no idea what it's like, David!"

  "Do you want my sperm?"

  "I need your sperm."

  "OK, but there's a condition."

  A condition? What was he playing at? I'd have thought he'd be delighted to come in my mouth as and when I needed his sperm - mouth-fuck me. For a dreadful moment, I thought he was going to charge me, make me pay for my fix! I wasn't far wrong.

  "Strip off," he said softly, firmly. "I want you naked."

  "But..."

  "Do you want my sperm or not, Helen?"

  "Yes, but... OK, we'll do it your way."

  Standing up, I hurriedly pulled my smock over my head, revealing my naked body to his admiring gaze. I felt good, displaying my breasts, my vaginal crack - dirty, crude, immoral. I'm a married woman! The thought came from nowhere, noisily crashing around in the corners of my mind. Mrs Helen Hunter. But it was God's will.

  Kneeling before David, I reached out to unzip his jeans and haul his stiff penis out, but he grabbed my wrist and stopped me. Another demand? I wondered as he pulled me to my feet. I needed a fix, I was in no mood to play games!

  "David, I need..."

  "I know you do," he smiled, a strange glint in his eyes. "Bend over with your feet wide apart. I want to see your cunt lips bulging below your sweet bum-hole."

  "David, I'm not going to..."

  "You don't want my sperm, then?"

  That was his game; use and abuse me in return for supplying me with the drug. I had no choice. Turning, I parted my feet as wide as I could and leaned over, my hands resting on the carpet, my vaginal lips crudely displayed from behind. Humiliation engulfed me - degradation swamped me.

  What was Tony doing while I was bending over, displaying my cunt, my bottom-hole, to another man? Poor Tony - poor me! I was David's plaything, putty in his hands - until I'd swallowed his sperm. But, I consoled myself, I'd only need to use David until Tony returned, I'd be all right then.

  "You have a nice arse!" David praised me crudely, parting my tensed buttocks. Arse, I despised the word. "Would you like my finger up your arsehole?"

  "No!" I cried, standing upright and turning to face him. "You needn't think that I'm going to..."

  Unzipping his jeans, he pulled his erect penis out, displaying his purple knob, his sperm-slit. He began masturbating, rolling his foreskin back and forth over his swollen glans, baiting me, torturing me. Faster, he wanked his solid penis, gasping, grimacing, ready to spunk - to waste his spunk.

  Why was he doing this to me? Why tease me like this? I'd confided in him, trusted him. He was almost there, I could tell by his rolling eyes, his heavy breathing. Dropping to my knees, I opened my mouth, desperate to suckle him, drink his come, but he moved back - denying me my fix.

  "Coming!" he cried, his precious spunk shooting through the air and landing on the carpet.

  "No! No, I need it!" I sobbed pathetically. Crawling across the floor, I was about to lap up the nectar from the carpet but he cruelly pushed me aside with his foot, sending me rolling across the floor in my nakedness, my humiliation. "Please! David, please!" I begged as the last of his sperm jetted though the air.

  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he mopped up the white liquid, careful not to leave me one drop. Standing upright, he grinned at me with an evil glint in his eyes. He had power over me, and he knew it - I was his sex slave. Zipping his jeans, he gazed into my eyes, a wicked grin furling his lips.

  "I seem to have wasted it," he said nonchalantly, cruelly, eyeing my erect nipples as I sat up on the floor.

  "Bastard!" I breathed, hanging my head as my hands trembled and my heart raced.

  "I might be able to come again if..."

  "Yes, please!" I cried, more desperate than ever for a fix.

  "Stand up and bend over again."

  As I took my humiliating position, he parted my buttocks and ran his fingertip over my secret hole. Tony had never touched me there, never pried, never violated. Suddenly, David
pushed his finger inside my tight rectal duct, opening me, invading the depths of my very core. He began pistoning his finger, thrusting in and out, in and out. I gasped, wondering at the crude sight of my delicate brown tissue stretched tautly around his finger.

  "Ever had your arse fucked?" he taunted me, sending a bolt of fear through my trembling body. No, I'd never allow him to do that, no matter how much I craved his sperm. I'd die first! "I'm stiff again," he chuckled, hauling his penis out. "OK, Helen, I'm going to fuck your arse. Give you a good arse-fuck."

  "No, you're not!" I returned, leaping away, his trespassing finger slipping out of my bottom-hole. "Get out!" I screamed. "Get out of my house and never come back!"

  Grinning, he zipped his jeans and left. Wild in my craving, I paced the floor, the reality of my addiction hitting me. But there were limits, I thought, imagining his penis entering my bottom-hole, fucking me there. Arse-fuck. The crude words battered my mind, torturing me. Banging my clenched fists against the wall, I was out of my head in my terrifying craving.

  I knew that I'd done the right thing, sending the vile pervert packing, but it had cost me my fix. In the kitchen, I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and snatched the bottle of gin from the shelf. Naked on my Chesterfield, I drank, soaked up alcohol like a sponge until... I don't remember what happened. Neat gin, mother's ruin. Sperm, my ruin!

  Chapter Four

  I woke in the early evening, my head thumping with a blinding headache, to hear the phone ringing incessantly. Paracetamol eventually cured my headache, but not the phone. I don't like phones, they're intrusive, rude - they disturb masturbation. I unplugged it and wandered out into the garden, the evening sun hot on my naked body. I felt passionate and sexy in my nakedness - dirty. I needed my candle but my panic wouldn't allow me the pleasure.

  Taking deep breaths, trying to relieve the tightness in my chest, I contemplated ringing David. Arse-fuck? At that moment, I'd have agreed to anything for a fix. Anything? I didn't know, I didn't know what I knew. I knew nothing other than sperm; I knew that I needed sperm.