Addicted (3 page)

I'd
masturbated regularly in my teens, massaging illicit orgasms from
my clitoris while lying in bed at night. That was my secret. We all
have secrets locked in little boxes. I'll never forget the church
candle I was given for my sixteenth birthday by my grandmother, a
devout Catholic. I kept it in a box beneath my bed - when I wasn't
using it as a phallus, a dildo.

Sadly, I'd
weaned myself off masturbation in my late teens, believing it to be
harmful. Perhaps I should never have stopped? The candle lay
neglected in its box, along with my secret, never to be used again,
never to be revealed. But now I was about to discover masturbation
again, rediscover the sensations of massaging my clitoris, the
heaven-sent feelings of self-loving. I still had the candle,
somewhere. I'd find it; keep it in its box beneath the bed. My
secret.

For some
reason, I felt that I was betraying Tony as I slipped my hand
between my legs and fondled my outer vaginal lips, rolling the warm
fleshy pads between my finger and thumb. His fingers should have
been there, caressing, fondling - not mine. But he'd understand, I
knew. Not that I had the slightest intention of telling him!
Secrets aren't secrets when shared.

My panic
rising, I parted my pussy lips and massaged my clitoris with my
fingertip. The sensations were heavenly, and I wondered why I'd not
before thought of masturbating while Tony was away. Sensing my
juices trickling between my inner lips, I ran my finger down my
crack to my vaginal entrance. Dragging the slippery fluid up my sex
valley, I lubricated my clitoris and resumed my rhythmical
caressing.

Raising my
left leg, I reached beneath my thigh with my free hand and slipped
two fingers into my hot and very wet vagina. Guilt used to
overwhelm me when I used the candle and thought of my grandmother,
and now I felt guilt as I thought of Tony. But I desperately needed
the relief that orgasm brings. If I were to live a normal life,
carry on with my art, I needed orgasms daily.

My clitoris
pulsating beneath my vibrating fingertip, my vagina tightening
around my thrusting fingers, I began to gasp, imagining Tony on top
of me, his penis penetrating me. Quivering uncontrollably,
massaging my clitoris faster, I came. Waves of pure sexual ecstasy
crashing over my naked body, I whimpered my pleasure, fingering
myself faster, harder. On and on the incredible sensation rolled,
touching every nerve ending, tightening every muscle.

I wanted
Tony's penis in my thirsty mouth, sperming - I wanted the candle
deep inside my yearning pussy, thrusting. My clitoris throbbing in
orgasm, my pussy drenched with my juices, I continued my
self-loving, revelling in the waves of ecstasy, gasping in my
sexual delirium.

Masturbating
alone in my bed, memories flooded back - nights of forbidden
pleasure. I needed my candle, my dildo. Never had I thought I'd
rediscover that pleasure, never had I thought that masturbation
would become a necessity!

The ripples of
sex waning, I slowly massaged my receding clitoris, gently fingered
my aching pussy as I lay breathing deeply, trembling in my
satisfaction. What Tony would say if he knew, I had no idea! But he
wouldn't know, this was my secret - the key to fulfilment, to
well-being.

Slipping my
wet fingers out of my hot pussy, I closed my eyes, wondering
whether I'd quelled the panic, the anxiety. Trembling, gasping, it
wasn't easy to tell - I'd have to wait. Glancing at the clock, I
climbed out of bed. Ten-thirty. Would Tony try ringing again? I'd
speak to him the next time; tell him that I was OK.

My juices of
orgasm trickled down my inner thighs as I wandered into the
kitchen, sticky, warm. Filling the kettle, I gazed down at my naked
body, my firm, well-rounded breasts, my long, sensitive nipples.
The Blue Lady should have been naked. I should never have veiled
her beautiful breasts in blue velvet, concealed her pussy. I'd do a
painting of myself for Tony. Yes, a birthday present - me, naked on
the canvas. He'd like that.

Taking the
milk from the fridge, I began to breathe uneasily. My heart
palpitating, my hands trembling, I sat at the table. Orgasm hadn't
been the answer. I must have been mad to think that masturbation
was the key to my problems. "That bloody hippy doctor!" I sobbed,
hanging my head. If anything, I felt worse!

What was wrong with me? I wondered as I climbed the stairs
with tears running down my face, foregoing my coffee. What the hell
was wrong with me?
See what
happens
? I'd murder Doctor bloody
Harvey!

Doctor Harvey
would give it some thought; he'd said when I rang him the following
morning in a state of sheer panic. I hadn't told him that I'd
masturbated, I'd just said that I'd had sex and, if anything, it
had made me feel worse. Give it some thought? I needed action, not
thought!

Tony was due
back that afternoon, which was a comforting thought. How I'd
explain the Blue Lady, and why I'd not answered the phone, I had no
idea. The phone had been out of order, and the painting... I'd
cross that bridge when I came to it. I hate crossing bridges,
bridges built on lies.

But it would
be nice to have Tony home again. My stomach somersaulted at the
thought of his naked body, his arms around me, loving me - his
penis deep inside my gripping vagina. Sex - I pondered on the word.
Was there something beside orgasm that I might be addicted to? No,
of course there wasn't, the idea was crazy!

I spent the
morning pacing the studio floor and wandering around the garden,
trying to calm myself, trying to relax. But I found no inspiration,
no peace, no solace. The longer Tony was away, the worse I felt,
and I thanked God that his trips were only for a week at a
time.

I was pleased
when Doctor Harvey rang me after lunch. Pleased that he was taking
an interest, at least - until he told me of another wild theory
that his cannabis-blown mind had come up with.

"Sperm, Mrs
Hunter," he said in his forthright manner.

"Sperm?" I
echoed, wondering what the madman was talking about.

"Going through
my notes, I noticed that a very prominent part of your sex life is
fellatio. Do you swallow your husband's sperm?"

"I... yes, yes
I do," I replied hesitantly. Salty, nice.

"It's possible
that you're addicted to sperm, Mrs Hunter."

"Addicted to... I really can't believe that!" I returned. Good
God, if anyone needed a psychiatrist,
he
did!

"Did you have
oral sex last night?" he asked unashamedly.

Did
you
? I
wondered. "Er... no, no I didn't," I replied sheepishly. Where was
my candle?

"Try it. Sperm
contains various substances, vitamins, nutrients... it contains
enzymes, proteins acting as catalysts in biochemical reactions.
Brain chemistry, Mrs Hunter."

"Yes,
but..."

"Testosterone
is a steroid androgen formed in the testicles. The sudden
deficiency of enzymes or testosterone that you've become so used to
might well be having an effect upon your brain chemistry, causing
anxiety and panic attacks. I did hear of a similar case some years
ago, although I don't know what the outcome was."

"Thank you,
I'll try it," I said, just to get rid of the idiot.

Standing
before the Blue Lady, I shook my head. "Sperm," I muttered, my
hands trembling, my chest tight. "Can you believe it?" Veiling her
face with the cloth, I decided not to show Tony the mess I'd made
of her eyes. I had to pull myself together, I thought, gazing at my
trembling fingers. I'd done nothing while Tony had been away, I had
to pull myself together and complete the painting!

Sperm?
Enzymes, testosterone... I'd been swallowing Tony's sperm for
years, when had I become addicted? Thinking back, not a week had
passed without me taking him into my mouth and sucking him to
orgasm. The thought of his glans sperming in my thirsty mouth sent
a pulse of pleasure through my clitoris. My arousal was
soaring.

Climbing the
narrow stairs to the attic, I switched the light on, breathing in
the scent of time - age, musk. Little boxes, where was my
once-treasured little box? Dildo, a strange word, I mused,
searching through a tea chest. Dildo. There it was, the long red
box. Lifting the lid, I gazed at the white candle, ran my
fingertips over its smooth surface, recalling my teens - I'd
imagined it to be a penis, as real as any penis. I used to imagine
many things when I masturbated.

Standing with
my feet parted, I bent my knees and pulled my damp panties to one
side, unveiling my vaginal lips, my open sex hole. Taking the
candle, I placed the rounded end between my swelling labia, parting
my inner sex folds. As I twisted and pushed the shaft, it entered
me, stretching my inner flesh, filling me - memories flooding me,
drowning me

I needed to
come, but my heart was beating wildly, my hands trembling - I
needed sex. Pushing the candle fully home, the end pressing gently
against my cervix, I pulled my panties over the protruding shaft,
holding it there, deep inside my aching vagina.

Descending the stairs, the beautiful sensations emanating from
my bloated pussy sending tingles up my spine, my clitoris throbbed
expectantly. But I couldn't masturbate. My breathing fast, shallow,
I was in no fit state to concentrate on masturbation, to enjoy
orgasm. Later, I decided, when I felt better -
if
I felt better.

Tony arrived
at three that afternoon. My secret was in its secret box beneath my
bed, wet, vagina-wet - sex-wet. Fortunately, Tony didn't question
me when I told him about the phone; he was more interested in my
state of health, my unhealthy state. I'd done my best with my
makeup and hair, but I looked haggard, tired. A rag doll,
ragged.

I tried to
explain my condition away by telling him that I'd not been sleeping
properly, which didn't sound particularly convincing, especially as
I was obviously having difficulty breathing. He frowned, noticing
my trembling hands.

"I think you
should go and see John," he said concernedly, his dark eyes
catching mine. "You don't look right to me."

"I'm fine!" I
lied with a little chuckle. I'd never lied to him before. "I'm just
tired, that's all."

"How's the
Blue Lady?"

"Er... almost
done." Another lie. "I'll show you when it's finished."

Gazing at his
bulging trousers as he stood before me in the kitchen, I pondered
on Doctor Harvey's ludicrous theory. Sperm? Mad though the notion
was, it was worth trying. I was in a terrible state, and it was
becoming pretty obvious to Tony that there was something wrong with
me other than tiredness. My heart beating wildly, my vision
blurring, I was prepared to try anything!

Kneeling
before him, I tugged his zip down and hauled his magnificent penis
out, his pizzle, his candle. "You're keen!" he chuckled as I pulled
his foreskin back and engulfed his purple plum in my hot mouth,
fervently sucking and licking. Juices of arousal oozed from my
vagina, wetting my panties, as I took his swollen glans to the back
of my throat.

"Mmm," I
moaned through my nose, savouring his salty glans as I hurriedly
unbuckled his belt and tugged his trousers down. His balls hung
heavy, full - sperm-laden.

"You're very
keen!"

Sucking,
mouthing, cupping Tony's fraught balls in my hand, I again pondered
on the doctor's theory. If it was true, and I was addicted to
something in sperm, what would I do the next time Tony went away? I
could always keep a little bottle in the freezer. No, the concept
was ridiculous! The proof of the pudding's in the eating, I mused -
in the drinking.

Gasping,
clutching my head as his body became rigid, at last, Tony pumped
his seed into my mouth. My eyes closed, my lips taut around his
broad shaft, I drank from his pulsating fountainhead, quelling my
thirst - and my panic, I prayed! His balls finally drained, I
meticulously licked the globules of opaque liquid from his purple
globe, his slit, not wasting one drop of male milk.

"You enjoyed
that, didn't you?" Tony grinned, tugging his trousers up as I rose
to my feet.

"Yes, I did!"
I giggled, wondering whether my heart would soon stop palpitating
as I seductively licked my sperm-wet lips.

"And now it's
your turn!" he grinned, taking my hand and leading me through the
hall to the lounge. "Your turn to come in my mouth."

As I reclined
on the sofa with Tony at my feet, I sensed calm wash over me - warm
waves of peace and tranquillity. The sensation was distinct, as if
I'd just drawn hard and long on a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
Comfortably serene, I'd not felt so completely relaxed for a long
time. It appeared that the hippy doctor was right, I reflected as
Tony lifted my skirt and tugged on my wet panties. Raising my
buttocks clear of the sofa as he pulled my panties down, I wasn't
paying much attention. The salty taste lingering in my mouth, my
thoughts were on sperm - the remedy, cure, medicine.

Was I really
addicted to sperm? I was definitely feeling peaceful, my heart
calm, my hands still, my breathing slow and deep. How often would I
need to take it? I wondered, and what would I do the next time Tony
went away on a business trip? Again, I thought of keeping a bottle
of sperm in the freezer, a bottle in a box - secret.

Gently parting
my legs, Tony began licking my vaginal crack, his tongue warm and
wet, sending delightful quivers up my spine. Closing my eyes as he
peeled my swollen labia apart and sucked my erect clitoris into his
hot mouth, I gasped, recalling masturbating in bed the previous
evening. His fingers entering my yearning vagina, massaging my
inner flesh, I desired my candle.