by Ray Gordon
"Naked? I remember the party, getting drunk, but not..."
"I'm in the phone box down the road, I'll drop round in about ten minutes and show you a couple of photographs."
"Look, Alan, I really have no idea..."
Replacing the receiver as he hung up, my heart began to beat wildly. God, I needed a fix! Photographs? Naked? I recalled the party, the all night drinking, vodka, gin, wine, brandy... The following morning I'd woken up in my bed with a hangover. I recalled nothing about being naked at the party!
Answering the door in my smock, I recognised Alan straight away. Tall, rugged, good-looking, he smiled at me as he stepped into the hall clutching a large brown envelope. The words please do not bend caught my eye. Leading him into the lounge, I asked him what this was about.
"These," he said, sliding several large prints out of the envelope. I gazed in disbelief at the horrific pictures. I was naked on the floor with two men kneeling either side of me, their erect penises sperming over my breasts. I froze; I honestly had no recollection of... "Take a look at this one," he said. Two men were holding my feet up, my legs wide apart, the camera focused on a cucumber emerging from my pussy. "I have lots more, Helen!"
My mind racked, my hands trembling with panic and fear, I gazed into his accusing eyes. Blackmail? Yes, obviously. But why now, after all these years? What with my addiction and my adultery, my lesbian act... all I needed was this! I couldn't cope, I needed a fix. My stomach sank, my body wilted with fear.
"They're one thousand pounds each," he said, slipping the prints into the envelope and glancing around the room at the furniture. "It looks as if you've done very well, Helen. I'm sure you'll be only too delighted to purchase the photographs."
"Why now, after all this time?" I asked shakily.
"I recently moved to Surrey, I came across them when I was clearing the attic out. It's taken me some time to trace you, but here I am, at last."
"And if I don't wish to purchase them?"
"Then I'll offer them to your husband."
"We're splitting up," I blurted out. "So I don't think he'll be interested."
"I'll offer them to him, anyway."
I had to think, pull myself together and think. Again wondering why I had no recollection of stripping off at the party, I clasped my trembling hands together. I must have been completely drunk, unconscious! Stephen Giles, David, Lydia... God, Lydia! And now this! My life was fast becoming ruinous, a complete and utter disaster! It was as if something or someone had got it in for me. The will of God?
Thinking of Lydia as Alan scrutinized the antique bureau, my mind going off on a tangent, I wondered whether David had set me up. It must have been more than coincidence that Lydia should come to my house with her fanny brimming with sperm!
"Well?" Alan said, turning to face me.
"I don't want to buy the photographs, Alan. As I said, my husband and I are splitting up so..."
"OK, I thought it only fair to give you first refusal, but if you're not interested. I have another dozen or so at home, all pretty obscene. There's one with Brian Gray's cock in your mouth. Christ, what a party that was! Do you remember Brian?"
"I'd like you to go now, Alan."
"Yes, of course. You can have these, they're only copies," he said, tossing the envelope onto the sofa as he left the room. The disgusting photographs spilled out of the envelope, fanning across the cushion before my wide eyes.
The front door slamming shut, I held my hand to my spinning head. Tony had believed that I was a virgin when he'd met me. I was a virgin! I'd had no idea that... Brian Gray's cock in my mouth? What else had they done to me while I was in my drunken stupor? But that was in the past, before I'd met Tony. Past or present, I'd fornicated with men - past and present!
How, within such a short space of time, could my life have been turned upside down, inside out? In one day alone I'd committed a dreadful act of lesbianism and been blackmailed! I had to get away. Get away from the house, my surroundings, my work, the people... but where to go? I didn't know what to do, where to turn.
I rang Doctor Harvey, telling him of my craving, the severity of my addiction. He was looking into it, he said. Looking into sperm, trying to discover what it was that I might be addicted to, the mysterious ingredient. Enzymes, testosterone... I'd said that Tony was back, that I had a supply of sperm for the time being, but he'd soon be going abroad again. I stressed the dire urgency of finding a cure.
I couldn't believe my incredible predicament. Alan Walker, why had he come into my life with his threats and demands? What would happen next? They say that things come in threes. Addiction. Adultery. Blackmail. Nothing else would happen, would it? Knowing my luck, I'd be wrongly arrested for murder next!
I sat in the garden wondering what to do about Alan and his bloody photographs. The sun warmed me, but panic gripped me. My palms wet, I had to get my priorities right. Sperm, priority number one. There was nothing Alan could do until Tony returned, and that day was a long way off. Sperm.
Dashing indoors, I bounded upstairs to my bedroom and slipped out of my smock. Dressed in a miniskirt and loose fitting blouse, knickerless and braless, I left the house and wandered down the lane to the common. I was sure that someone would be there, a man, a man with spunk on offer.
The breeze cooling my naked pussy lips, I suddenly had an idea. Two lives, two totally separate lives. A prostitute and a loving wife. Keep the two apart, distinct from each other. I'd use strangers for sperm, not friends and neighbours. Men, not women. A double life - the tart, and the happily married woman.
The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Mrs Helen Hunter and... and Suzie, the whore. Suzie, the common whore searching the common for men. Mrs Helen Hunter, the wife, the artist. I'd buy a new outfit for Suzie, something cheap, sluttish. A wig? Yes, why not? Red stilettos, stockings and suspender belt, cheap makeup and thick red lipstick.
Standing by the bushes, I looked around, praying that Geoff would arrive. Finally settling on the grass behind the bushes, I took a deep breath, wondering who Suzie's first client would be. I should never have involved David and Lydia, but the mistake had been made and that was that. Stephen Giles would probably keep quiet. If he did open his mouth, reveal my vulgarity, I'd retaliate by saying that he'd tried to seduce me, rape me. David and Lydia... what to do about them? Alan Walker? Priorities in order - sperm first.
"Hi!" Geoff called as he walked round the bushes. "I've been here just about every day looking for you."
Looking for my mouth? "Have you?" I smiled as he joined me, settling beside me. "I've been here several times; we must have missed each other."
"I... I haven't stopped thinking about you, what you did."
"Want some more?" I asked wickedly, parting my legs, displaying my shaved cunt, my weapon - Suzie's weapon.
He gazed between my thighs, his dark eyes widening, his expression one of sheer disbelief. I felt comfortable, Suzie felt comfortable. In my role as a common prostitute, I felt no guilt, no remorse. It was as if I'd convinced myself that Suzie really did exist, that Helen was at home, painting. The devoted, loving wife.
Helen would deny her craving for sperm, Suzie taking over when the need arose. Suzie would deny Helen's existence, and Helen, Suzie's. A frightening word loomed in my mind, schizophrenia. But no, I was in control of both women. Would Tony succumb to Suzie the temptress? I wondered. Would he fuck Suzie behind my back? In her wig, her disguise, Suzie might try to tempt him, test his fidelity, his loyalty.
Suzie wouldn't be seen entering or leaving the house. She'd appear and disappear as if like magic. She'd keep her clothes somewhere, hidden somewhere. Secret, Suzie's secret.
"Yes, I do," Geoff said, breaking my reverie.
"I'm sorry?"
"I do want some more."
"You'd better lie back, then," I smiled, provocatively licking my lips.
"No, you lie back first."
"How much money do you have on you?" I asked. Suzie was a prostitute, Geoff had t
o pay.
"How much do you charge?"
"Fifty pounds."
"I have enough. What's your name?"
"Suzie."
I lay back with my skirt up over my stomach, my legs wide apart, my cunt beautifully exposed - Suzie's cunt. I was for sale, selling sex. Geoff began by crudely driving his finger into me, desperately finger-fucking me in his youth, his obvious inexperience. He knew not of the gentle rhythm, the subtle caress of the female genitalia. I gasped, made noises of immense sexual pleasure as he drove a second finger into my wet vagina, stretching me open.
"You're very wet," he said, increasing his rhythm. Was he surprised?
"I'm feeling really horny," I replied in my corruption. "Why not lick my cunt out, drink my sex juice?"
"In a minute, I want to make you come first."
He didn't make me come, as he'd put it. But I faked orgasm for his sake, gasping and writhing as he crudely finger-fucked my cunt, ignoring my clitoris. In his naivety, did he know that my clitoris existed? Through my eyelashes, I watched him gazing at my cunt, my inner lips rolling along his cunny-wet thrusting fingers. Had he ever tasted pussy juice, drunk heady female sex fluid? Slipping his fingers out of my tightening vagina when he'd decided that I'd come enough, he leaned over, his virginal tongue licking the full length of my sex slit.
"It's a nice taste," he said, confirming my suspicions. "Very nice!"
"Push your tongue right up my cunt hole!" I gasped crudely, delighting in his inexperience, my vulgarity.
Doing his best to comply, he lapped around my open hole, his tongue driving into me as he tried to master the fine art of cunny-tonguing. The Suzie trick was working wonders, I felt no guilt, no qualms - I'd found the perfect way to take my fix. If I bought myself a wig and cheap makeup, no one would recognise me as the lady from the big house down the lane. Suzie was my salvation.
Suddenly, Geoff was kneeling between my legs, his jeans down, his solid penis in his hand. Desperately stabbing his bulbous knob between my bloated vaginal lips, he drove his cock deep into my tight cunt. His swinging balls slapping my buttocks as he repeatedly withdrew and thrust into me, he was quickly nearing his climax. Resting his weight on his arms, his grimacing face above mine, he gasped, pistoning his cockhead, all too soon jetting his spunk into my thirsty cunt.
I'd scoop his sperm out of my vagina and lick my fingers, get my fix that way, I decided as he thrust home again, pummelling my cervix, filling me with his gushing come. He said nothing as he made his last thrusts, only grunting and groaning in his climax. Collapsing on top of me, leaving me yeaning for orgasm, he finally rolled to one side, his wet cock slipping out of my brimming cunt.
Massaging my solid clitoris, I brought out my shuddering climax, gasping and tossing my head as the wonderful sensations permeated my quivering body. Watching me, his eyes focused on my vibrating fingertips, he grinned, probably wondering at his luck in meeting me - a tart, a nymphomaniac. Prostitute.
Dropping a wad of notes onto the grass as he buckled his belt and zipped his jeans, he stood over me, towering above me. I scooped his cream out of my vaginal cavern, lapping the heady blend of sperm and cunt milk from my sticky fingers as he watched in awe. Again and again I fingered my juiced cunt and lapped up the creamy products of our orgasms until I'd drained my sex duct.
"I'll see you again," he smiled as he turned and wandered off.
"Yes, in a day or two," I replied, tugging my skirt down, concealing my swollen cunt lips, my yawning sex crack.
Glancing back now and then as if unable to believe that I was real, he walked across the common. He must have thought me to be a dream, a dream come true - every man's dream. He became smaller and smaller until I could no longer see him, like a dream, suddenly gone. But I had his sperm, and his money. Suzie had done her job well. Priority number two, Alan Walker. What to do about Alan Walker and his photographs?
Returning home, I slipped out of my clothes and wandered into the lounge to gaze at the photographs, my naked body glowing, sperm-satisfied. I preferred nakedness now, displaying my wares. I preferred dirty sex to loving sex.
To my horror, I discovered that the photographs had gone, only the envelope remaining. Please do not bend. Had Tony cut short his trip and returned? I wondered fearfully. No, he hadn't. Had I hidden the incriminating evidence somewhere? No, they'd been on the sofa where Alan had left them, thrown them.
The back door was open, and the side gate. In my insane craving for sperm I must have left it open and... and someone had wandered into the house. "My God!" I gasped, wondering who had the evidence of my disgusting behaviour. Whoever it was would blackmail me, I was sure. Blackmailed by two people over the same photographs? I couldn't believe it! Neither could I believe that the thief had also taken my painting. My private painting, my secret - adultery. Flopping onto my chesterfield, I cried.
Chapter Five
There had been no word from Alan Walker since his visit three days previously, or from whoever had taken the photographs and my painting. Someone, somewhere, was looking at the pornographic pictures, scrutinizing me, the cucumber up my cunt, the solid cocks spunking over my full breasts, my nipples - but who? I'd find out, no doubt.
Tony had phoned several times, asking how I was and what I'd been doing. I'd lied, of course - lied in my bisexual adultery. My work had gone by the way, my brushes standing in their jam jars - neglected, dead flowers. My pallet thirsty for fresh paint, a blank canvas yeaning for oils...
To my dismay, I'd heard that David and Lydia had gone away on holiday. Perhaps they were trying to rekindle their love after their infidelity. Infidelity kills love. Sex kills love. Had Lydia told David of her lesbian act, her female to female sixty-nine? No, I doubted it very much.
The phone rang as I was about to wander down the lane to the common in search of Geoff for my fix. Was it Lydia? Images of her open cunt swirled in my tormented mind; I couldn't forget the beautiful lesbian coupling. Lifting the receiver, I was sure that it wouldn't be Tony, not at ten in the morning. Perhaps it was Alan Walker? No, I'd had an idea that Alan wouldn't get back to me. He'd tried for money once, tried blackmail once, and failed. He'd probably leave it at that.
"Helen, it's Gary. How are you?" my neighbour asked as I pressed the receiver to my ear. A deep male voice, a soft brown voice. I felt lonely. I wanted my candle, candle-fucking me.
"I'm fine," I lied, realizing that my panic wouldn't allow me the pleasure of masturbation, orgasm.
"Would you like to come over for a coffee?"
"Er... well, I..."
"I heard that Tony's away and I thought..."
"Yes, why not? Give me a few minutes."
"OK, I'll put the kettle on."
Gary's house was a hundred yards or so down the lane, a huge house with a thatched roof. I slipped my hand up my skirt and fondled my naked femininity, my pubic thatch had gone. An architect, Gary had done well for himself, and I'd often wondered why he'd not married. He must have found loneliness in that big house alone. I imagined him masturbating. He was in his mid-thirties, not bad looking, a good catch for some lucky woman. Masturbating alone in his big thatched house.
Tony and I had enjoyed a couple of Gary's barbeques, but we'd never really socialised with him, probably because he worked away most of the time. I thought it odd that he should invite me round for coffee out of the blue like that. He'd never done it before. Perhaps he'd thought I might like some company? I mused as I wandered down the lane in my miniskirt, the air cooling my naked vaginal lips - my cunt. Perhaps he wanted company?
I'd have a cup of coffee with him, and then go on to the common in the hope of finding Geoff. I hadn't been to the common since I'd last seen Geoff and I was desperate to drink his sperm. My symptoms were as bad as ever, my breathing shallow, my heart hunting futilely for rhythm.
My hands trembling as I walked up Gary's drive, I wondered whether I should go to the common first, drink from Geoff's sperm-slit before visiting Gary. Perhaps Gary would oblig
e, supply me with a fix, I found myself thinking as he opened the front door, his face beaming. No, not my neighbour! Besides, Suzie was the only one who gobbled cocks and drank sperm, not Helen. Helen, the faithful, devoted, loving wife.
"News travels fast," Gary said as I followed him through the hall into the kitchen.
"News?" I echoed, sitting at the round pine table as he poured the coffee. I don't know why, but I imagined that he knew about my illicit exploits. My imagination runs away with me at times.
"Your addiction."
I was stunned! "Addiction? What addiction?" I asked, my hands trembling.
"Young David does some gardening for me, he told me all about it."
My God, now what sort of mess was I in? I wondered fearfully as he placed two cups of coffee on the table and sat opposite me. There was little point in denying it, I reflected, wondering what to say. David was a bastard! I'd strangle him the next...
"I've never heard of anyone becoming addicted to sperm before," Gary said nonchalantly, sipping his coffee as if we were talking about Wimbledon. I like tennis, the short skirts. Ball boys, call girls. For some reason, I imagined playing tennis naked.
The top buttons of Gary's crisp white shirt were open, revealing his bronzed chest, his black chest hair - pubic hair. "It's weird, isn't it?" he added.
"I'm not addicted to sperm!" I laughed. "What are you talking about?"
"David told me all about it, Helen."
Now that Gary knew, I was sure that Tony would find out within hours of returning. News does travel fast, especially bad news. What would I say, what would I do? This really was an incredible mess. My addiction had involved so many people that the situation was ridiculous! I'd made too many mistakes.
"Are you desperate for sperm now?" Gary asked, his hazel eyes locked to mine, his brown hair cascading over his forehead.
"No, no I'm... I'm not addicted to sperm, Gary!" I laughed nervously, wringing my hands. "What an absurd idea!"
"Well, when you need some, come over and see me," he said, as if offering me a cup of sugar should I run out. "When's Tony due back?"