Addicted (7 page)

"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!

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.