Addicted

by Ray Gordon

  "Tony's due home this afternoon, so I won't be needing you again, Gary."

  "When he goes on his next..."

  "There won't be any more trips. He rang earlier; he's to be based in London."

  "You'll be OK for sperm, then?"

  "I... yes, I will."

  "What about that young man on the common? I don't think Tony will be too pleased to hear that you..."

  "You have no proof, Gary, so don't start threatening me."

  "There's David, too. From what he told me, you behaved pretty..."

  "You can't prove that, either. And David's hardly likely to tell Tony about it."

  I'd got him; he had nothing on me, no proof - nothing. I was in control, at last - I called the shots. He wouldn't deny me sperm when I needed it. What normal red-blooded man would say no to an attractive young woman offering her mouth for sex? I smiled a salacious smile as I gazed into his eyes. His expression was pained; he knew he'd lost, so what would he do now?

  "It would be nice if you invited me in for coffee," he said, his voice softer in his defeat.

  "Yes, why not?" I smiled, opening the door wider. It was best not to cut off my options. "We might as well remain friends. Just because I don't need you for..."

  "Do you normally walk around naked?"

  "Yes, when I'm working."

  "It could have been anyone at the door, don't you mind..."

  "It's my body, Gary, and if I decide to walk around naked, then I will."

  I felt good as he stepped into the hall. Closing the door, I led him into the lounge, wondering whether to allow him to fuck me or not. My cunt was juicing, tightening at the prospect of his penis penetrating me. I might allow him to tongue me to orgasm, and then leave him desperate to come. Yes, sexually torture him, tease and tantalise him until he begged for my mouth, for my cunt.

  I was feeling happier with my addiction, my new-found sexuality. I was all woman, and I'd have men begging at my feet for the pleasures of my naked body, worshipping my female temple. Perhaps Tony would like the new me? The slut, the whore who'd do anything and everything in her quest for sexual debauchery. But no, I had to differentiate between Helen and Suzie. I couldn't allow the two to interfere with each other. Suzie was back, and no one was going to take her away.

  As I sat on the sofa with my thighs parted just enough to display my protruding inner lips, Gary stood before me, admiring my nakedness, his trousers bulging in his obvious arousal. Yes, I'd allow him to lick me to orgasm, and then tell him to leave. I didn't need his sperm. He'd go home and masturbate in his big lonely house, picture my shaved cunt as he wanked and spunked.

  "It's funny," he began, joining me on the sofa. "You're the last person in the world I'd have thought would be into sex the way you are. I mean, you have a lovely home, a good husband, and yet..."

  "My addiction drove me to do the things I did, Gary."

  "Yes, but... you enjoyed the cane, didn't you? That had nothing to do with your addiction."

  "I had to endure your vileness in order to get your sperm. I didn't enjoy it at all."

  "You liked me spunking up your arsehole, didn't you?"

  I didn't ever want to hear that awful word again. "No, I did not!" I returned assertively. "That was the first and the last time. I'll never degrade myself like that again."

  "You will, Helen. There'll come a time when you'll be so desperate for sperm that you'll do anything."

  "If I find myself without Tony and I need sperm, it won't be a problem because I now have someone else to supply me." He frowned, obviously wondering whether I was bluffing. "Of course, if you're really lucky, I might call round to see you - on my terms and conditions, of course."

  "Terms and conditions?"

  "No caning, no anal sex, no..."

  "No sperm."

  "This conversation is futile, Gary. I have Tony and another man to supply me, so let's not discuss it anymore."

  It suddenly occurred to me that Gary might have wandered into my house and taken the photographs and my erotic painting. It was odd that I'd not thought of it before. Having discovered my addiction, he might well have come over to the house to confront me and discovered the back door open. He was probably holding back, waiting for the right moment to use his trump card.

  If it wasn't Gary, then it was strange that the thief hadn't made contact and threatened to expose me. I imagined that it was Gary. It was time to play my trump card, have Gary lick me to orgasm and then leave him desperate to come. Wicked in my wickedness!

  "Why don't you kneel on the floor between my legs?" I asked, my voice husky, sexy. I parted my thighs wide, offering him my beautiful cunt.

  "You need sperm?" he grinned, slipping off the sofa and settling between my feet.

  "I need to come."

  "I want your arsehole, Helen."

  "You'll lick me to orgasm, Gary."

  "And then..."

  "We'll see."

  Closing my eyes, I moved down, my buttocks over the edge of the cushion, my thighs wide. Peeling my vaginal lips apart, exposing my inner sex flesh, my ripening clitoris, I delighted in my obscenity. He began his licking, his wet tongue sweeping up my gaping sex valley, stiffening my clitoris, inducing my cunt milk to flow. His penis would be solid now, expectant in its erectness, yearning for my mouth, my tight vagina. He'd soon be desperate for the relief of orgasm, desperate to spunk - but I'd do nothing.

  My climax was fast approaching, welling up from the depths of my pelvis. Arching my back, my firm breasts heaving, I began my gasping. There was something about adultery that intrigued me, fascinated me. The marital home, the lounge, the sofa... my legs wide open, my shaved cunt licked by a man, not by my trusting husband.

  "Coming!" I cried as my clitoris pulsated beneath his sweeping tongue. The sensations quickly built, taking me to my shuddering climax, my adulterous climax. My cunt milk decanting, trickling down between my buttocks, I wanted his penis thrusting, pummelling my cervix. But no, I'd deny him the satisfaction; I'd deny myself the pleasure.

  As my orgasm began to recede, I opened my eyes and watched Gary lick the last ripples of sex from my cherry. He sat up, his wet mouth grinning as he hauled his cock out, huge in its erectness. Now was my moment of triumph, my victory. Quickly closing my legs, my sex slit closing, I moved aside and stood up. He looked up at me, puzzlement in his expression, his eyes. His cock in his hand, desperate for my cunt, he rose to his feet.

  "Helen, I thought..." he began in his pathetic way.

  "You thought what, Gary?"

  "Well, I thought we were going to..."

  "I want you to leave now, I have work to do," I smiled, my vaginal milk trickling down my inner thighs.

  "When you next need me, and I know the time will come when you will, you'll be sorry for having treated me like this!"

  "And the time will come when you'll be sorry for what you did to me, Gary. Believe me, I'll get even with you if it's the last bloody thing I do!"

  His slipped his shrinking penis into his trousers and pulled his zip up. Leaving the room, he turned in the doorway and flashed me an angry look. I sensed satisfaction, dominance. I'd discovered one thing; I reflected as the front door slammed shut, he hadn't taken the photographs and the painting. He'd have played his trump card had he been the thief.

  The next time I needed him? I didn't need a pervert who used and abused me, who caned my naked buttocks and spunked up my bottom-hole. There had to be a way of getting hold of sperm without... My thoughts suddenly turned to Tony. He was supposed to be my husband, my partner, and all he did was go off and leave me. Again, I blamed him for the things I'd done, for my adultery. But I'd discovered another side to myself, a side I'd not known existed - I was becoming a nymphomaniac. Becoming?

  Wandering into my studio, I decided to throw myself into my work. If I split up with Tony, I'd have to ensure that my financial future was secure. Erotic paintings, I decided, slipping my smock over my head. Naked bodies entwined, cocks spunking, cunt lips swolle
n, inflamed from hours of crude sex. I'd make a name for myself; prostitute myself as an artist of erotica. God, how I'd changed!

  "Hi, Helen!" Tony called from the doorway, almost giving me a heart attack.

  "Tony! What are you..." Thoughts raced through my racked mind - shaved, weal-lined buttocks, fucked, spunked, lesbian, adultery... "I thought you were in Paris?"

  "I rang you from Gatwick, I wanted to surprise you. I'm only here for a couple hours. Things have been rather hectic and..."

  "A couple of hours?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid so. I had to come back to sort out some problems."

  He threw his arms around me and kissed me, my adulterous mouth, my spermed lips. Three other men had mouth-fucked me, spunked in my thirsty mouth. I felt coldness, fear, emptiness. Tony's familiar aftershave did nothing for me. I felt no passion, no love. He drove his tongue into my mouth, where other men's cocks had been, their sperming knobs.

  "What's all this nonsense about you shaving?" he asked, moving back and gazing at me. There was suspicion reflected in his dark eyes.

  "Yes, I've shaved," I replied. "I... I thought you might like it."

  "What ever gave you the idea?"

  "A magazine article, I read about it."

  "Well, aren't you going to show me?" he grinned, dropping to his knees and lifting my smock.

  I looked down at his well-groomed dark hair as he gazed open-mouthed at my naked pussy. Cocks had been there, in my cunt, fucking me, spunking in me. Tongues had tongued me to orgasm, fingers thrusting, my candle... my candle, my secret. Too many secrets, I reflected as Tony drove a finger deep into my sex-juiced vagina. Gary's saliva lingered on my pussy lips.

  "God, you're so wet!" Tony exclaimed.

  "That's because you turn me on," I lied.

  "How come you're not wearing your panties?"

  "I like my cunt free, naked. Do you like my hairless cunt?"

  "Why have you started using that awful word, Helen?" he asked, slipping his finger out and rising to his feet. "I've never heard you use expletives, never."

  "I like it," I smiled. "It makes me feel good, dirty." I shouldn't have said that!

  "Dirty? You have changed, Helen. What's been going on while I've been away?"

  I forced a giggle. "Nothing's been going on!" I replied, my stomach sinking as I wondered how to explain the weals fanning out across my buttocks. Arse-fucked.

  "Christ! Why the hell have you painted that on the wall?" he asked, staring in disbelief at the four, huge red letters.

  "I've been asked to... I was just practising, Tony. I have to paint an entire wall for a client."

  The nightmare was beginning, the storm coming - I could sense it. I also sensed the difference within myself, as Tony obviously did - the incredible transformation. What did I feel for him? I didn't know, I had no feelings. Love? Lust? I didn't want sex with him.

  He turned away from the red letters adorning the white wall and looked at the Blue Lady, asking why Stephen Giles hadn't collected it. Because I'd pulled his cock out and tried to suck him off, to drink his spunk! The thought haunted me, tortured my tortured mind. God, what the hell had I done?

  "Finishing touches," I finally replied.

  "But I'd told him that it was ready."

  "Yes, but he wanted one or two details altered - the eyes."

  "Oh, I see. Is it ready now?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "I'll tell him when I next speak to him. So, how about a romp on the bed?"

  "I'm rather tired, Tony."

  Never before had I said that to him, never had I turned him down. Weal-lined buttocks, spermed arsehole. God, how the hell was I going to explain? Perhaps he wouldn't see. If I lay on my back on the bed, he wouldn't discover the evidence of my debauchery, the thrashing. It was a risk I'd have to take. But how would I feel when Tony made love to me? How would I feel knowing that other cocks had penetrated me, my cunt? I didn't want Tony to make love to me. I wanted to be fucked, not loved.

  "Helen, what did you mean when you said that you'd been thinking about us?" Tony asked as the phone rang. "Why did you say that I make you want to cry?"

  "I just meant that... I was feeling lonely, that was all," I replied, lifting the receiver.

  "I have some very interesting photographs of you," a deep male voice said. My heart raced, my hands began to tremble.

  God, why then? Why phone when Tony was there? "Er... have you?" I replied, glancing at Tony, my face flushing.

  "Yes, very interesting! Shall we discuss the price?"

  "No, not now. Call back later when... when I have more time."

  "You're not alone?"

  "No, not at the moment."

  "Your husband?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you like men wanking over your tits?"

  "A portrait, that's no problem."

  "You like fucking your cunt with a cucumber, don't you?"

  "We'll discuss the price when I see you."

  "I'll ring back later."

  "Yes, that's fine. Goodbye."

  I hung up, my legs weak, my head dizzy. Tony looked at me, his dark eyes frowning. "Who was that?" he asked.

  "It was about a painting. A lady wants a portrait; she'll be round later to discuss the price."

  "You're keeping busy, that's good."

  "Yes, it is."

  "Is anything the matter?" he asked, holding my shoulders and staring into my eyes.

  "No, nothing's the matter, Tony. I've been working too hard, staying up late."

  "You don't look at all well to me. What have you been working on, apart from the Blue Lady?"

  "A... another portrait."

  "May I see it?"

  "It's finished, been collected."

  "That was quick!"

  "Yes, it was. That's what I meant by working hard, late into the nights. I've not had much sleep lately."

  "When was it commissioned?"

  "The day you left."

  "I've never known you finish a painting in such a short time."

  "It was to be a present, I had no choice."

  "Have you been paid?"

  "Yes, of course."

  Lie after lie after lie! I couldn't live like this, guilt swamping me, fear of being found out gripping me. Honesty, the best policy. Huh, I could hardly be honest with Tony! My life was a lie now, I was living a lie. I was a living lie.

  "I saw Gary in the lane," Tony said. My heart almost leaped into my mouth.

  "Gary?" I echoed with the innocence of an angel, the guilt of the Devil's daughter.

  "Yes, I stopped and had a chat with him. He suggested that we employ David as our gardener."

  "David?"

  "You know David, the young chap who..."

  "We don't need a gardener."

  "Yes, we do. I'm going to be away a lot, there's no way I'll have the time to..."

  "I'll do the garden, Tony."

  "You can't use the motor mower! Besides, you're working. We can easily afford it, I think it's a good idea."

  What the hell was Gary playing at now? I wondered. David, our gardener? I couldn't take much more of this! Alan Walker, the blackmailer on the phone, Gary, Tony's perpetual questioning, and now David working for us!

  "Apparently, David's back from holiday tomorrow. Gary's going to ask him to come round."

  "I really don't think we need a gardener."

  "I thought you'd be pleased," Tony frowned, sitting on the Chesterfield.

  "Yes, I am, it's just that..."

  "Helen, call it a sixth sense, intuition, or whatever - but I know something's wrong."

  "Tony, I wish you'd stop going on like this!" I snapped. "You're becoming boring!"

  "You said that I was boring when I rang you. You've never said anything like that before."

  "If I kept asking you what was wrong, when nothing was wrong at all, you'd find me boring!"

  "You've never said no to sex before, either."

  "I'm very tired."

  "Helen, you mig
ht as well tell me what's been going on because I'll find out."

  "There's nothing to find out! Nothing's been going on."

  I wandered out of the studio as Tony slipped his mobile phone out of his pocket. Praying that it wasn't Stephen Giles ringing him, I stood outside the door listening. It was Stephen. My heart beating wildly, my head spinning, I thought I was going to have a nervous breakdown.

  "Yes, I'll meet you there," Tony said. "Helen? Yes, she's fine. The painting's ready for you. Yes, I'll tell her that. Marital problems? Why do you ask? No, we're fine. Yes, OK. Right, I'll meet you at the airport."

  Slipping into the kitchen, I waited for Tony to question me. Marital problems? Why the hell had Stephen asked about our marriage? I suppose, after I'd tried sucking him off, it was pretty obvious why!

  "Stephen asked me if we had marital problems," Tony said as he entered the kitchen.

  "That's a funny thing to ask."

  "That's what I thought. You didn't give him reason to think..."

  "Me? No, of course not! All we did was discuss the painting."

  "I told him it's ready, he said he'd call round sometime. Oh well, I have to go. I've called a cab."

  Thank God for that! "Oh, so soon?"

  "Yes, there's a lot going on at the moment, horrendous problems. Tell David to start by clearing the ground at the end of the garden, I've been meaning to do that for some time."

  "Yes, yes I will."

  When Tony had gone, I wandered out into the garden and stood beneath the Lilac tree. Who was the blackmailer? Who had entered my house and stolen my property? I should have told Tony of my addiction at the outset, I reflected. None of this would have happened had I been honest. Hindsight was useless, I thought, dashing into the house as the phone rang.

  "Are you free to talk now?" the blackmailer asked.

  "Yes, I am," I replied, imagining that I recognized his voice.

  "What colour are your wet panties?"

  "I'll hang up if you..."

  "OK, the photos and the painting - five hundred pounds."

  "All right. When..."

  "Get the cash and I'll call you back tomorrow morning."

  "How do I know that you haven't made copies of the prints?"