Addicted (15 page)

I hadn't
answered the phone or the doorbell for two days. I'd decided that I
wasn't going to play into people's hands, submit to their demands.
For a while, at least, I didn't exist in the eyes of the world.
Gary could masturbate alone in his big house and keep his sperm,
David wasn't going to be our gardener, Alan Walker and the
blackmailer could go to hell, and Tony... I didn't know about
Tony.

The only time
I'd left the house was when I'd gone into town to buy an outfit for
Suzie. Red leather miniskirt, six-inch, red patent stilettos, a
long black wig, a red blouse, two sizes too small... I hardly
recognized myself as I looked in the full-length mirror. The
transformation was incredible! Suzie the tart, the prostitute. I
felt dirty, crude. How the other half live, I was living the other
half.

The morning
sun hot, I slipped out of the house, making sure no one was lurking
in the lane to discover Suzie's true identity. I strutted down the
lane in my six-inch stilettos, Suzie strutted down the lane. I was
desperate for a fix and had decided to try the common. Geoff
wouldn't be there, not after Gary had frightened him off, but there
was bound to be another man who'd succumb to Suzie. A stranger's
balls, heavy with spunk, Suzie would suck his knob, wank him and
bring out his seed.

Suzie brought
me incredible luck - serendipity. As I neared the common, I passed
the postman, instantly recognising the blackmailer's voice as he
said good morning and commented on the warm weather. I smiled and
walked on, wondering what to do, how to handle the situation. In
his early forties, he was probably married, I mused. He hadn't
recognized me, which wasn't surprising in my tarty gear and black
wig!

Now I had him,
or I at least knew his identity. But what to do? Confront him?
Suddenly having an idea, I turned and hurried after him, my
stilettos clicking tartily on the road, my short skirt riding up my
naked thighs. I'd disguise my voice as best I could and try to find
out where he lived.

"Excuse me!" I
called. "Can you tell me where Mrs Helen Hunter lives, please?"

"Yes," he
grinned, pointing down the lane towards my house. "It's not far,
about two hundred yards. The big house with the gravel drive."

"Thanks, I've
been wandering around for ages trying to find it. I suppose you
know this area well, being a postman."

"Yes, I do -
every nook and cranny. Are you a friend of Mrs Hunter's?"

"No, she's
advertised for a housekeeper, I've come to see her about the job.
What's she like, do you know?"

"A bit stuck
up, keeps herself to herself. Word has it that she's an
artist."

"An artist?
What does she paint?"

"I don't know.
I've only met her a couple of times."

"I hope I get
the job. I live in the centre of London; I'd far rather live out
here in the countryside. Do you live far away?"

"I have a
cottage, about a mile down the lane."

"It sounds
nice; I'll bet it's called Rose Cottage or something similar."

"The Croft, my
wife named it."

"The Croft, it
conjures up a picture of... Oh, I'm sorry; I must let you get on.
Thanks for the directions."

"You're
welcome."

I walked to
the common wondering what to do about the postman. Why had he crept
around the back of my house? Perhaps he'd had a parcel and had been
looking for me. I suddenly remembered that the letter box sometimes
jammed. That would have been it; he was looking for me to give me
the letters. He shouldn't have gone into the house. Bastard!

I could go to
his cottage and tell his wife that I'd been screwing him. The
notion excited me, wetted my cunt. She'd look me up and down,
thinking me to be a common whore, thinking her husband to be a
cheating bastard. They'd argue, he'd say that he didn't know what
she was talking about. I'd get the bloody postman for what he'd put
me through, I swore. One day, no matter how long it took, I'd get
him! Priorities, I needed sperm.

Settling on
the grass, I scanned the common for prey, for a penis. A young
woman walking alone, forlorn, lost in her thinking. An old man,
seventy or eighty, too old. My pussy lips naked, swelling, I
slipped a finger into my hot cunt and massaged the wet, velvety
walls. Cunt, I loved the word - I loved my cunt. I should have been
working, not sitting on the common fingering myself. A shot of
spunk, and then work. Erotic paintings, filth, make a name for
myself - a filthy name.

A young man
wending his way across the common caught my eye. Twenty,
twenty-five, he'd do nicely. His jeans would be tight, bulging, his
balls full. Slipping my finger out of my juiced pussy, I watched
him approach. My clitoris swelling, my heart racing, I was close to
my fix.

"Hi!" I
called, Suzie called. He stopped and looked at me, eyeing my
shapely thighs, the deep cleavage between my rounded breasts.
Suddenly realizing that he worked in the village stores as he stood
towering above me, I prayed that he wouldn't recognize me.

"Hi," he
smiled, sitting beside me. "I'm Ian."

"I'm Suzie,
pleased to meet you," I replied. "Do you often come here?"

"Yes, quite
often. I haven't seen you around before."

"I'm just
visiting."

"Oh, there's
my mate," he said, looking across the common. "I'd better be off;
we're going fishing down at the pond."

"Why don't you
ask your friend to join us?"

"Well,
I..."

"Go on, call
him over."

Two men, two
cocks spunking, I mused as he called out to his friend. I felt
elation, arousal, degradation. This was a mistake, I knew, as I
moved behind the bushes. Ian followed me as his friend approached,
probably realizing what my game was. Dangerous games, dangerous
consequences. But I was Suzie, Suzie the prostitute, the common
slut. Helen was safe. His friend joined us, sitting by my side and
eyeing my inner thighs as I parted my legs slightly.

"This is Joe,"
Ian said.

"Hi, I'm
Suzie." What to say? How to seduce them? "God, it's hot today!" I
remarked, reclining on the grass, my body outstretched, my thighs
parted - seductive, alluring.

Unbuttoning my
blouse, I exposed my braless breasts, my darkening areolae, my
erect nipples. I didn't need words, words of seduction, my body
spoke for me as I tugged my skirt up over my stomach, revealing my
hairless pussy lips, my drenched sex crack. Closing my eyes as
fingers probed between my thighs, I again realized the power of my
body, my cunt. I could have any man I wanted, except Stephen Giles,
that was! Could I have any woman? Lydia the lesbian.

"God, you're a
horny little tart!" Ian chuckled as a finger entered me, drove deep
into my hot pussy. "I'll bet you're a good fuck." Words of filth,
filthy words. A good fuck? Suzie was a brilliant fuck!

My nipples
pinched and squeezed, my cunt fingered, my erect clitoris massaged,
I began to quiver in my lewdness. Two men's hands between my
thighs, fingering my intimacy? Never had I dreamed that I'd allow
one man to use and abuse me behind Tony's back, let alone two! The
sensations were heavenly, four hands, twenty fingers... I wanted
tongues tonguing, penises fucking.

I imagined one
solid penis mouth-fucking me while the other cunt-fucked me.
Fucked, spermed, used for debased sex - the thought sent tingles up
my spine. I opened my legs wide as I felt warm breath against my
swollen labia, a tongue licking, exploring, tasting. Arching my
back as my nipple was sucked into a hot mouth; I imagined four men,
five, six...

"Who wants my
mouth?" I breathed in my wickedness as my solid clitoris throbbed
beneath the sweeping tongue. There came no reply, but I sensed
movements. My head gently turned to one side, my long blonde hair
brushed away from my face, a swollen glans pressed to my lips; I
opened my mouth and took the plum inside. Suckling as my cunt lips
were parted, a knob stabbing at my inner flesh, I let out a long
low moan as a huge penis entered my cunt. Pushing his cock fully
home, stretching me wide open, I shuddered in my double
adultery.

My clitoris
massaged, my nipples pinched, my body jolting with the
cunt-fucking, I completely lost myself in my debauchery. Never had
I known such heights of sexual arousal, such depths of depravity. I
didn't need Gary now, his cock, his spunk. Now that I had Suzie, I
didn't need Gary the pervert. Did I need Tony? Perhaps, over the
years, I'd lulled myself into a false sense of security with him.
Perhaps my marriage, the blissful happiness, hadn't really existed.
Had I deluded myself? I imagined I had.

"Coming!" the
man fucking my cunt gasped as he quickened his penile pistoning,
driving his throbbing knob deep into my tightening cunt. I was
coming, too. My clitoris massaged faster, I sucked on the twitching
cockhead filling my mouth, desperate for the spunk to shoot, to
bathe my tongue, to fill my cheeks. God, if Tony saw me now! But he
was away in Paris, and Helen was at home painting. She wouldn't
answer the phone, of course, but she was there, working. Suzie was
working, too.

Sperm suddenly
gushing, filling my mouth, I sucked and drank, sucked and drank as
my vagina gulped down the other man's gushing spunk. God's will?
Hardly! My orgasm rolled on, peaking now and then, my body shaking
violently with the beautifully crude double-fucking. Gasping,
moaning, the men drove their cocks into my wet orifices, spunking
into me until they drained their swinging balls, brought out the
last of their come and found their satisfaction.

I lay there
quivering in my immorality, savouring the salty knob within my
mouth, gripping the stilled cock embedded deep within my
sperm-brimming cunt. Three men? I wondered. Three orifices, three
cocks... no, there were limits! I thought as the men slowly
withdrew their spent penises from my sated body.

"We'll see you
again?" someone asked - Ian, I think.

"Yes, you
might," I replied without opening my eyes. I sensed gratification,
exhilaration - degradation and humiliation in the extreme. "You
might," I repeated as I heard them moving away.

Finally
opening my eyes, I sat up. Spunk oozed from my inflamed cunt,
lingered on my tongue. I'd been double-fucked, double-spunked, and
I felt wonderfully wicked in my obscenity. Scooping up the blend of
sperm and cunt milk dribbling from my open sex hole, I licked my
fingers, lapping up the heady cocktail until I'd drained my vagina,
swallowed both men's sperm.

Time to go
home, to conceal Suzie from the prying eyes of the world. Climbing
to my feet, I again thought of the postman, wondering how to handle
the problem. All I wanted were the photographs and my painting -
and to wreck his marriage! Suzie would seek out his little wife,
his trusting wife. "I allowed your husband to fuck my mouth. He
shot his spunk into my mouth," I breathed, tugging my skirt down
and buttoning my blouse. Yes, I'd seek out his devoted wife - and
destroy him.

Parading up
the lane, my stomach sank as I saw Gary walking towards me. My
makeup heavy, my lipstick thick, sperm-smudged, I prayed that he
wouldn't recognize me as he approached. This was the ultimate test!
I thought as he passed by, offering a slight smile as he eyed my
deep cleavage. Male thoughts of crude sex would be filtering into
his mind, perverted bastard that he was.

But I'd done
it, fooled Gary, of all people! Suzie lived! Would he like to fuck
Suzie? I wondered. Yes, of course he would! But I'd never allow him
the debased pleasure. He'd never have the pleasure of fucking
Helen's tight cunt again, either. My thoughts turned to Tony as I
neared my house, our house. Suzie couldn't fool him, I was sure,
but it would be interesting to tempt him, test his fidelity.

In my bedroom,
the marital bedroom, I slipped out of my tarty clothes and hid them
in a carrier bag beneath the bed. Naked, I was now Helen, the
loving wife, the artist. Loving? I made my way downstairs to the
studio and slipped into my smock, my body calmed with sperm,
serene, tranquil.

The aroma of
oils filled my nostrils, the taste of spunk lingered on my tongue -
I'd found inspiration. "To work!" I breathed, standing before the
blank canvas stretched tautly over the wooden frame. "To erotic
work!"

I painted a
girl, her naked body reclined on the grass, a crude man crudely
fucking her mouth and another driving his solid cock deep into her
cunt. This would earn real money! I thought, deciding to have
another man's penis spunking over her tits. Tits, another word I'd
never used. My vocabulary was widening. My thighs had widened,
opened to other men.

How
interesting, I again mused as I painted, to have Suzie tempt Tony,
to try to seduce him. The notion intrigued me. Dark glasses in the
dark of the night, plenty of makeup... would he be fooled in his
foolishness? I shouldn't have told him about my shaved cunt, I
shouldn't have allowed him to see my naked sex slit. When he
touched Suzie there, he'd realize that she'd shaved and... was
there such a thing as a cunt wig?

I imagined
that Tony would delight in fucking Suzie's arse, grab the chance to
commit adultery. She could accost him as he returned home from the
local pub one night. She'd offer her naked body, knead his bulging
trousers. He'd succumb and commit his vile adultery with the vile
tart. I imagined many things when I was working.

By
mid-afternoon, the painting was beginning to take shape, spunk
spunking over the girl's firm breasts, dribbling from her gobbling
mouth, oozing from her cock-bloated cunt. This wasn't a painting I
could take to the London gallery! But my agent might place it
somewhere; find a pervert who'd appreciate it. Did I appreciate it?
I wondered. I stood back, scrutinising my work. My cunt tightened,
wetted in my appreciation.