by Ray Gordon
A lovely home, yes, that was true. But what was a home? What was marriage, really? Two people signing a register, committing themselves to lives of monogamy, to lives of stipulations, restraints, conditions... If divorce came, then we'd sell the house, our home. I'd live somewhere else, with my work, my erotic paintings - my men's spunking cocks.
"This means nothing to me," I said, waving my hand at the antique furniture. "I'm not materialistic, I don't need objects. I need debased sex, lust, excitement."
"You still haven't convinced me."
"I'm not out to convince you, Alan," I smiled, moving his foreskin up and down over his purple plum. "Do you want me to suck you off or not?"
"Yes!" he gasped as his cock swelled and twitched in my hand.
Leaning forward, I took his glans into my saliva-wet mouth and ran my tongue over its silky-smooth surface. Another man's knob in my mouth, about to shoot its spunk. How many men had I sucked to orgasm? Alan was the sixth, including Tony. Six men had spunked in my mouth, mouth-fucked me. Six, seven, eight... what the hell?
"God, that's good!" Alan gasped, his body becoming rigid as I hooked his heavy balls out of his trousers.
"Are you married?" I asked, slipping him plum out of my mouth and licking his veined shaft, his hairy balls.
"Yes, yes I am. Ah, I'm going to come! Wank me, suck me!"
His sperm shot to the back of my throat as I engulfed his glans in my hot mouth and sucked. Swallowing hard, I didn't need a fix, but the more spunk I drank the better, I reflected. He kept coming, his spunk seemingly never ending as I swallowed and swallowed. Grabbing my head, he pushed me down, forcing his knob to the back of my throat, my lips taut around his broad shaft, his black pubic hairs tickling my nose as he drained his heavy balls. I breathed in the musk of his maleness, my clitoris stirring, my cunt wetting. I didn't know why, but I wouldn't allow him to fuck me.
"God, that was something else!" he gasped as I finally moved my head up, his glistening shaft slipping out of my spermed mouth.
"I thought you'd like it," I smiled. "All the men I've sucked to orgasm praise me."
"Christ, I'm not surprised, you're brilliant!"
"I'm an expert, Alan. So, about these photographs. I'd really like my husband to have them."
"OK, I'll bring them round. Can I... I'd like to see you again, Helen."
I thought as much. "You've changed your tune, haven't you? One minute, it's blackmail, and the next it's..."
"Yes, I know, I'm sorry. Look, I'll bring the photographs round tomorrow and..."
"And you want to mouth-fuck me again?"
"Yes."
"What about your wife? Will you lie to her?"
"I'll have to."
Did Tony lie to me? "All right, Alan," I replied, rising to me feet, my inner thighs drenched with my sex juices. "I might even allow you to cunt-fuck me tomorrow."
"I'd like that," he said, standing up and zipping his trousers.
"Look, I have an appointment, you'd better leave."
"OK, until tomorrow."
"Until tomorrow."
Watching him leave the lounge, I ran my finger up my drenched sex slit, again wondering at my incredible transformation. I don't know why, but I happened to look at the antique chair by Tony's bureau. Topping the uprights at the back of the chair were two large round knobs, and my thoughts instantly turned to my cunt. In my debauchery, I pulled the back of the chair down, positioning one of the wooden balls between my swollen cunt lips.
"God!" I gasped involuntarily as the ball stretched me wide open and entered my vaginal cavern. Gyrating my hips, massaging my inner sex flesh, I vigorously vibrated my fingertips over my exposed clitoris, gasping as the incredible sensations built within my contracting womb.
Funnily enough, it wasn't the illicit fucks and spunk swallowing that made me realize how much my marriage had stifled the real me, it was fucking the chair knob. Through my debauchery, I'd discovered sex, the real pleasures of perverted sex. But my masturbatory habits had to remain a secret, I decided as my cunt tightened around the wooden ball. Too many people knew of my perversity as it was, my illicit masturbating had to remain my secret.
The huge, polished wooden ball moving within my wet pussy sheath, I wondered why I'd never woken to my sexuality, discovered the delights my cunt had to offer. Sex with Tony had been good, but the sex I was now discovering, the chair knob, my candle, brought me far more pleasure. Debased, filthy pleasure.
My climax gripping my naked body, I rocked my hips back and forth, fucking the chair knob and massaging my clitoris, sustaining my perverted pleasure until my knees sagged and I crumpled to the floor. The ball embedded deep within my wet sex duct, I lay with my legs open, basking in the aftermath of my orgasm, wondering what else I could fuck my cunt with. The Devil's penis?
The phone ringing, I carefully eased the wet ball out of my pussy and dashed through the hall to my studio. Tony? I wondered. Or the evil postman again? If it was Gary, I'd tell him that... "Oh, Laura!" I replied as she said hallo. "How are you?"
"I'm OK, how are you?"
"I'm fine, I've been working hard."
"Are you still... still addicted?"
"Yes, an addiction doesn't just go away, Laura."
"Helen, people are beginning to talk."
"What do you mean?"
"They're talking about you. I was in the paper shop this morning and I heard someone talking about you."
"Me? What were they saying?"
"They were talking about your exploits."
"What exploits?"
"I don't know, I didn't hang around to find out. They said something about you being on the common. It was a middle-aged woman; she was talking to the shop assistant."
"On the common?" I echoed, my heart leaping. "I've not been anywhere near the common!"
"That's not what you told me the last time I saw you. Anyway, I thought I'd better let you know. I overheard the postman mention your name when I was in the post office. I don't know what you've been up to, but people are talking."
I hung up, not knowing what to say. God, if word was getting round, Tony was bound to discover the things I'd been doing! The bloody postman! He was a gossip, and he'd pay for it, I vowed, running upstairs to my bedroom.
Donning Suzie's tarty clothes, I slipped out of the house and walked briskly down the lane. The time had come; I had to decide on my future. I either stayed with Tony, played the loving housewife, keeping Suzie on the side, or got out of the marriage. I couldn't play my dangerous games and have Tony divorce me for adultery, I didn't want that. I didn't want to hurt Tony, and yet... Perhaps I did want to hurt him?
As I neared the postman's cottage, I realized that I really didn't know what I wanted. A nice home, Alan had said. Would I give it all up? Could I give it up? I didn't know. My life had changed beyond belief! Where had Helen gone?
Strutting up the path to the cottage, it was if I had just come to, woken from a dream. What on earth was I doing knocking on the door? I had no plan; I didn't know what I was going to say. If he answered, then...
"Yes?" a middle-aged woman asked as she opened the door. She wasn't unattractive, her brown hair nicely brushed, her makeup carefully applied.
"Oh, I... is your husband in?" I stammered, my stomach churning.
"No, not at the moment. Can I help you?"
"Yes, you can. Er... this isn't going to be easy. You see, he owes me money."
"Money? Who are you? What does he owe you money for?"
"I'm sorry to have to tell you, but I'm a prostitute. He owes me money for sex."
Her mouth fell open. "My husband?"
"Yes. Look, I didn't want to have to come here but, he owes me several hundred pounds."
"Several hundred?"
"He's been meeting me on the common during his round in the mornings. I..."
Slamming the door shut, the woman was obviously shocked, feeling the pain and hurt of adultery. God, I was becoming wicked! I made my way home, won
dering what his reaction would be when his wife described me. I'd told him that I was going for the housekeeping job! I'd blown Suzie! He'd recognise me; I could hardly go wandering around the common dressed as Suzie now!
Stealing into my house, I hid the clothes beneath my bed and slipped into my smock, wondering how the hell I'd got myself into such a horrendous mess. In a small community, it wouldn't have surprised me if I bumped into Geoff at some stage. I was confusing myself, mixing up Helen and Suzie. Geoff knew Suzie dressed as Helen, the postman knew Suzie dressed as herself... Mess wasn't the word for it! Answering the front door after an hour's painting, I wasn't surprised to see the postman standing on the step.
"Sorry to trouble you," he said, his voice thinly disguised. "I bumped into a young lady in the lane and gave her directions to your house. She was after the job of housekeeper."
"Yes, she turned up."
"Did you take her on?"
"No, I didn't. Why do you ask?"
"This is going to sound ridiculous, I know, but... you see, she went to my house and told my wife that I owed her money. She said she was a prostitute."
"A prostitute? Why would she do that? Are you sure you've got the right person?"
"Yes, from my wife's description of the woman, it was definitely the same one."
"How did she know where you lived?"
"During the brief conversation we had, I mentioned it. I really don't understand it. I don't suppose you have her address?"
"No, I don't."
"Oh. Well, I'm sorry to have bothered you."
"Your wife must be very suspicious."
"She's more than suspicious, I'm afraid!"
"The woman's gone back home to London so she won't bother your wife again."
"No, I suppose not."
"I shouldn't tell you this but, I'm being blackmailed," I said, watching him closely for his reaction. "This will sound crazy but, I think that woman is in league with the blackmailer. I had a painting and some other things stolen, and now I'm being asked for money for their return. I've no idea why she should go to your house, but I'm sure she's involved because she... well, I'd better not say too much. The police are involved, so..."
"The police?" he gasped in his obvious fear.
"Yes, robbery, blackmail... you can't allow people to get away with these things."
He frowned, averting his guilty eyes. "Well, I have some explaining to do to my wife. Thanks for your help."
Closing the front door, I burst out laughing. There was nothing like confusion to panic the enemy. This was all a game, I reflected. Blackmail, Suzie, the photographs... it was all a game. Games are to be played and won, and I'd win this one if it was the last thing I did! I vowed, returning to my studio.
Evaluating the situation, I decided to buy another outfit for Suzie. A wig of shocking ginger hair, dark glasses... the new Suzie. I'd almost dealt with Alan Walker and I was sure that the postman would return the photographs. I was beginning to see daylight at the end of the tunnel. David hadn't pestered me, neither had Lydia the lesbian. Gary? There wasn't a great deal he could do to cause me problems, he had nothing on me.
But I shouldn't become too confident, I mused, resuming work on my painting. Geoff might recognise me, David might cause trouble, and the locals were beginning to talk. Lay low for a while, I decided, ignoring the phone. I'd slip into town and buy Suzie's new outfit, and then lay low for a while before emerging into the world as the new Suzie.
Chapter Eight
I'd spent two days working on my painting, lying low, hiding from the community, the world. The only contact I'd had with anyone was my agent, Sheena. I told her about my new style of work and she asked me whether the painting was erotic or pornographic. I'd said that it was filth. She gasped with surprised, but she was keen to see my creation. There was a good market, she reckoned - a good market for filth.
Alan hadn't brought the photographs round, the filthy photographs, but I wasn't worried. When he needed me, he'd come running, offering me the evidence of my drunken debauchery in exchange for my cunt, my knob-gobbling mouth. He'd become another supplier, a purveyor of sperm.
Not surprisingly, the postman had left the photographs and my painting wrapped in brown paper by the front door. Another problem solved, but I'd retaliate for the anxiety he'd put me through. I'd visit his wife again, cause him problems, start rumours, spread malicious lies. Priorities again, I needed spunk. Time to haul Suzie out of hiding.
Suzie's new outfit not only disguised Helen admirably, but the old Suzie. Shocking ginger wig, dark glasses, purple lipstick, fishnet stockings, yellow miniskirt, blouse, stilettos... the new Suzie! My God, she looked like a tart! Standing before the full-length mirror, I scrutinized the new look. Yellow, of all colours! Ginger hair and yellow clothes? Yes, that was Suzie, no dress sense.
My craving for sperm heightening dramatically, the time had come to go to the common and find a man, a man with spunk-laden balls. I didn't want to have to go out, but my addiction summoned, my work would have to wait. Without sperm, I couldn't work - I couldn't survive.
Adjusting Suzie's wig, I realized for the first time what a frightening hold my addiction to sperm had on me. With lack of food, hunger pains come. With lack of sperm, a strange thirst engulfs me, panic grips me. Trembling hands, shallow breathing, missing heart beats - panic. My addiction ruled my life.
I left the house, making sure that the coast was clear as I reached the end of the drive. Thankfully, there was no one around, no one lurking, prying. Walking down the lane, I became aware of a sense of freedom. Although beholden to sperm, I realized that, without Tony, I was free to do as I wished. No restrictions, no explanations, justifications.
Marriage? It wasn't for me, was it? My stilettos clicked familiarly in my whorish strutting, giving credence to Suzie the prostitute. Give up my life, my home? I was still in two minds, still torn. Was it possible to remain married as Mrs Helen Hunter, and keep Suzie alive? Alive and kicking, alive and fucking.
Wandering across the common to Suzie's favourite spot, I decided to try and keep my dual identity for as long as possible. The best of both worlds. Settling on the grass, I tugged my skirt up and gazed at my freshly-shaven cunt lips. Framed by my black suspender belt, my sex crack seemed to smile at me. A knowing smile. We had an allegiance, my cunt and I. I brought her what she wanted, and she brought me what I wanted, desperately needed. She was hungry for a thrusting penis, I was thirsty for an orgasming knob, spunking in my mouth - mouth-fucking me. My craving was becoming terrifying.
Scanning the common, I sighed. No one, not even an old man enjoying the summer sun. It was as if the world had known that I was there, and had hidden from me, left me to my desperate craving - my panic. After two hours, the only visitors to the common had been a couple of women pushing prams. I couldn't hang about any longer, my cunt was hot, juicing, my clitoris throbbing. Should I use my candle?
Desperate, trembling uncontrollably, I rose to my feet and wandered home. My terrible state wouldn't allow me a candle-fuck, or a chair knob-fuck. Until I'd had my fix, I could do nothing. But sperm wasn't as easily acquired as I'd initially thought. Suzie had let me down.
Changing into Helen, I paced the lounge floor, wondering how to get hold of the drug I craved. I rang David, but there was no reply. I should have taken him on as our gardener, I reflected. I could have knelt before him on the grass and drunk from his orgasming knob, swallowed his jetting come. Hindsight? Useless! Where was Lydia and her sperm-brimming cunt? Lydia the lesbian.
I couldn't endure the uncontrollable trembling for a moment longer; tolerate the blind panic for another second. Why hadn't Doctor Harvey called me? He was supposed to be looking into my addiction. He was probably looking into a cannabis plant. Would cannabis help me?
After three hours of fighting my craving, climbing the walls, I thought about Gary. I'd sworn never to go and see him again, but could I fight the calling any more, the powerful craving? Recalling his harsh words, I cr
inged. 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. I didn't want to succumb to Gary and his perverted ways, but who else was there? My work was suffering, I was suffering!
I fought the mental battle for another hour or so, and lost - I had to visit Gary. He'd said that he had a few days off; perhaps he'd gone back to work? I wondered anxiously. Gone back to work with his cock, his balls - his sperm. Taking a deep breath, trying to compose myself as best I could, I left the house and wandered down the lane.
Tentatively knocking on his front door, I instinctively knew that this was my biggest mistake yet. I desperately wanted him to be there, and yet prayed that he wasn't. If he was in, he'd willingly give me his sperm, but what would he ask in return? Arse-fuck. I didn't want that. I'd lowered myself to a common tart, which was bad enough - I wasn't going to endure anal sex again.
"Helen!" he beamed triumphantly as he opened the door. He knew what I wanted, he knew he'd won. Winner takes all. "Please, come in."
"Gary..." I began as I stepped into the hall, my heart fluttering. Step into my parlour said the pervert to the whore, step into my lair.
"I know why you're here," he said softly. He paused, eyeing my cleavage and grinning, no doubt picturing my erect nipples. "I've prepared for your visit."
My heart fluttered. "Prepared? What do you mean?"
"Come with me and I'll show you."
I followed him through the hall into a small room at the back of the house. A lamb to the slaughter. Frozen to the spot, I gazed in horror at the wooden table, the leather straps and chains attached to steel rings at each corner. There were bars at the window, a prison cell. In the corner stood a leather whip and several bamboo canes. There were strange metal gadgets neatly set out on a side-table, instruments for... I didn't know or want to know what they were for.
"What do you think?" he asked proudly, reaching out and unbuttoning my blouse.
"Gary!" I cried. I'd had a change of mind and grabbed his hand to stop him, to protect my firm breasts, my elongated nipples. "Gary, I'm not..."