Addicted (9 page)

Letting out a
long low moan of lesbian-induced pleasure, my stomach rising and
falling, my breasts heaving - I finally came. The beautiful
sensations emanating from my pulsating, tongue-caressed clitoris
permeating my very soul, I cried out in my coming, wailing my
appreciation for the female tongue, the cunny-fingering
fingers.

"God!" I
gasped as my orgasm peaked. "God, don't stop!" She didn't stop. Her
tongue tonguing, her fingers fingering, she sustained my multiple
orgasm until I thought I'd pass out with the incredible pleasure
issuing from my burning cunt, my throbbing clitoris.

As my orgasm
finally began to wane and I wilted in my subsiding, she moved about
my glowing body. My eyes closed, I didn't know what she was doing
until I sensed the heat of her vaginal opening close to my mouth -
the unmistakable female scent of her sex folds filling my nostrils.
Her knees either side of my head, she lowered her crotch, her sex
lips pressing over my mouth as she buried her face in my wet nest
and resumed her pussy eating.

Locked in our
lesbian coupling, we sucked and licked pussy flesh, drank pussy
juice, sucked out incredible sexual pleasure until we were drained,
exhausted in our lust. She finally fell to the floor, exhausted,
writhing, panting in the aftermath of her lesbian coming. We lay
side by side, our tongues lapping between each other's cunny lips,
probing, tasting, teasing, drinking love juice.

Lydia was
gentle, soft, curvaceous, feminine in her femininity. David was
rough, strong, hard in his fucking. I liked Lydia, I liked David.
Both together? I wondered as her tongue snaked its way into my
burning cunt. His knob in my mouth, spunking - her tongue in my
cunt, licking. Double pleasure.

"I must go,"
she finally sighed, hauling her depleted body off the floor. I
looked up at her, her vaginal crack, as she stood beside me with
her feet slightly parted. I wanted her cunt again, her-sperm-filled
cunt. But she was drained, devoid of sperm.

"You'll come
and see me again?" I asked, my eyes still transfixed on her
succulent inner lips - pink, sex-wet.

"Yes, I'll
come again. Every time David fucks me, I'll bring you his
sperm."

"What about
the money? I don't have any cash in the house."

"You can pay
me next time."

She grabbed
her spunk-wet panties from the floor, brushing her matted blonde
hair away from her flushed face as she left the room. She was gone,
as if she'd never been there, cunt licking, cunt fingering. I lay
on the carpet for some time, naked, satisfied, tranquil.
Contemplating, reflecting on my first lesbian encounter, I wondered
about Tony. His name fluttered among the guilt and confusion in my
mind. Tony. Adultery. Lesbian. I owed Lydia one hundred pounds in
return for lesbian sex. What the hell had I done?

Massaging my
firm, wet pussy lips with my fingertips, I recalled licking Lydia's
cunt. Why had I committed an act of lesbian sex? What was I
becoming now? Where would my addiction take me? My pussy shaved, I
again thought of having my nipples pierced, although I didn't know
why. Pierce my inner lips?

After years of
happiness with Tony, years of monogamy, I was turning into a
nymphomaniac, desperate for women's bodies as well as men's. My
addiction to sperm was a nightmare that I had no control over, I
was vulnerable, defenceless.

Leaping to my
feet, I dashed into my studio. I felt elated in my nakedness,
satisfied beyond belief after my shot of sperm - and as guilty as
hell for my lesbian licking. I'd not invite Lydia into the house
again, I decided. Although we'd enjoyed an incredible experience
together, I wasn't a lesbian - was I? My thinking was muddled; I
didn't know what I was, or what I wanted.

I had two days
of work ahead of me, uninterrupted, panic-free work. Slipping my
smock over my head, I thought of Tony again, his name repeatedly
drifting through my mind. Guilt swamping me, I shook my head, again
wondering what I'd become. Tony knew nothing of his lesbian wife's
antics, he was innocent in his innocence - and I was guilt
ridden.

Two days
later, my symptoms were back with a vengeance. My work halted
again, I was climbing the walls, craving a fix. I couldn't live
like this! I was destroying my life! I wasn't going to answer the
phone, I was in no mood to talk. But I finally grabbed the
receiver, realizing that Tony would become highly suspicious if I
persistently ignored his calls.

"Is that Helen
Moore?" The voice was deep, male. Moore was my maiden name. Someone
from the past?

"Who is this?"
I asked.

"That is Helen
Moore, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it
is."

"I have some
photographs of you, Helen."

"Photographs?"

"Remember art
college? Remember the leaving party we had?"

"Yes, I
remember."

"You were
drunk. I took some photographs of you."

"Who is
this?"

"Walker, Alan
Walker."

"Oh, Alan!
Yes, I remember you. What's all this about photographs?"

"I hear that
you're doing well, Helen." His voice was strange, threatening.

"Yes, not too
bad."

"The
photographs are for sale, I thought you might like first
refusal."

"For sale? I
don't know what you're talking about, Alan. What photographs?"

"You were that
drunk, so I don't suppose you'd remember. You were naked, a couple
of the lads were mucking about, having a laugh... I grabbed my
camera and they posed for me."

"Naked? I
remember the party, getting drunk, but not..."

"I'm in the
phone box down the road, I'll drop round in about ten minutes and
show you a couple of photographs."

"Look, Alan, I
really have no idea..."

Replacing the
receiver as he hung up, my heart began to beat wildly. God, I
needed a fix! Photographs? Naked? I recalled the party, the all
night drinking, vodka, gin, wine, brandy... The following morning
I'd woken up in my bed with a hangover. I recalled nothing about
being naked at the party!

Answering the door in my smock, I recognised Alan straight
away. Tall, rugged, good-looking, he smiled at me as he stepped
into the hall clutching a large brown envelope. The words
please do not bend
caught
my eye. Leading him into the lounge, I asked him what this was
about.

"These," he
said, sliding several large prints out of the envelope. I gazed in
disbelief at the horrific pictures. I was naked on the floor with
two men kneeling either side of me, their erect penises sperming
over my breasts. I froze; I honestly had no recollection of...
"Take a look at this one," he said. Two men were holding my feet
up, my legs wide apart, the camera focused on a cucumber emerging
from my pussy. "I have lots more, Helen!"

My mind
racked, my hands trembling with panic and fear, I gazed into his
accusing eyes. Blackmail? Yes, obviously. But why now, after all
these years? What with my addiction and my adultery, my lesbian
act... all I needed was this! I couldn't cope, I needed a fix. My
stomach sank, my body wilted with fear.

"They're one
thousand pounds each," he said, slipping the prints into the
envelope and glancing around the room at the furniture. "It looks
as if you've done very well, Helen. I'm sure you'll be only too
delighted to purchase the photographs."

"Why now,
after all this time?" I asked shakily.

"I recently
moved to Surrey, I came across them when I was clearing the attic
out. It's taken me some time to trace you, but here I am, at
last."

"And if I
don't wish to purchase them?"

"Then I'll
offer them to your husband."

"We're
splitting up," I blurted out. "So I don't think he'll be
interested."

"I'll offer
them to him, anyway."

I had to
think, pull myself together and think. Again wondering why I had no
recollection of stripping off at the party, I clasped my trembling
hands together. I must have been completely drunk, unconscious!
Stephen Giles, David, Lydia... God, Lydia! And now this! My life
was fast becoming ruinous, a complete and utter disaster! It was as
if something or someone had got it in for me. The will of God?

Thinking of
Lydia as Alan scrutinized the antique bureau, my mind going off on
a tangent, I wondered whether David had set me up. It must have
been more than coincidence that Lydia should come to my house with
her fanny brimming with sperm!

"Well?" Alan
said, turning to face me.

"I don't want
to buy the photographs, Alan. As I said, my husband and I are
splitting up so..."

"OK, I thought
it only fair to give you first refusal, but if you're not
interested. I have another dozen or so at home, all pretty obscene.
There's one with Brian Gray's cock in your mouth. Christ, what a
party that was! Do you remember Brian?"

"I'd like you
to go now, Alan."

"Yes, of
course. You can have these, they're only copies," he said, tossing
the envelope onto the sofa as he left the room. The disgusting
photographs spilled out of the envelope, fanning across the cushion
before my wide eyes.

The front door slamming shut, I held my hand to my spinning
head. Tony had believed that I was a virgin when he'd met me. I was
a virgin! I'd had no idea that... Brian Gray's cock in my mouth?
What else had they done to me while I was in my drunken stupor? But
that was in the past, before I'd met Tony. Past or present, I'd
fornicated with men - past
and
present!

How, within such a short space of time, could my life have
been turned upside down, inside out? In one day alone I'd committed
a dreadful act of lesbianism
and
been blackmailed! I had to get away. Get away from
the house, my surroundings, my work, the people... but where to go?
I didn't know what to do, where to turn.

I rang Doctor
Harvey, telling him of my craving, the severity of my addiction. He
was looking into it, he said. Looking into sperm, trying to
discover what it was that I might be addicted to, the mysterious
ingredient. Enzymes, testosterone... I'd said that Tony was back,
that I had a supply of sperm for the time being, but he'd soon be
going abroad again. I stressed the dire urgency of finding a
cure.

I couldn't
believe my incredible predicament. Alan Walker, why had he come
into my life with his threats and demands? What would happen next?
They say that things come in threes. Addiction. Adultery.
Blackmail. Nothing else would happen, would it? Knowing my luck,
I'd be wrongly arrested for murder next!

I sat in the
garden wondering what to do about Alan and his bloody photographs.
The sun warmed me, but panic gripped me. My palms wet, I had to get
my priorities right. Sperm, priority number one. There was nothing
Alan could do until Tony returned, and that day was a long way off.
Sperm.

Dashing
indoors, I bounded upstairs to my bedroom and slipped out of my
smock. Dressed in a miniskirt and loose fitting blouse, knickerless
and braless, I left the house and wandered down the lane to the
common. I was sure that someone would be there, a man, a man with
spunk on offer.

The breeze
cooling my naked pussy lips, I suddenly had an idea. Two lives, two
totally separate lives. A prostitute and a loving wife. Keep the
two apart, distinct from each other. I'd use strangers for sperm,
not friends and neighbours. Men, not women. A double life - the
tart, and the happily married woman.

The more I
thought about it, the more I liked the idea. Mrs Helen Hunter
and... and Suzie, the whore. Suzie, the common whore searching the
common for men. Mrs Helen Hunter, the wife, the artist. I'd buy a
new outfit for Suzie, something cheap, sluttish. A wig? Yes, why
not? Red stilettos, stockings and suspender belt, cheap makeup and
thick red lipstick.

Standing by
the bushes, I looked around, praying that Geoff would arrive.
Finally settling on the grass behind the bushes, I took a deep
breath, wondering who Suzie's first client would be. I should never
have involved David and Lydia, but the mistake had been made and
that was that. Stephen Giles would probably keep quiet. If he did
open his mouth, reveal my vulgarity, I'd retaliate by saying that
he'd tried to seduce me, rape me. David and Lydia... what to do
about them? Alan Walker? Priorities in order - sperm first.

"Hi!" Geoff
called as he walked round the bushes. "I've been here just about
every day looking for you."

Looking for my mouth
? "Have you?" I
smiled as he joined me, settling beside me. "I've been here several
times; we must have missed each other."

"I... I
haven't stopped thinking about you, what you did."

"Want some
more?" I asked wickedly, parting my legs, displaying my shaved
cunt, my weapon - Suzie's weapon.

He gazed
between my thighs, his dark eyes widening, his expression one of
sheer disbelief. I felt comfortable, Suzie felt comfortable. In my
role as a common prostitute, I felt no guilt, no remorse. It was as
if I'd convinced myself that Suzie really did exist, that Helen was
at home, painting. The devoted, loving wife.

Helen would
deny her craving for sperm, Suzie taking over when the need arose.
Suzie would deny Helen's existence, and Helen, Suzie's. A
frightening word loomed in my mind, schizophrenia. But no, I was in
control of both women. Would Tony succumb to Suzie the temptress? I
wondered. Would he fuck Suzie behind my back? In her wig, her
disguise, Suzie might try to tempt him, test his fidelity, his
loyalty.

Suzie wouldn't
be seen entering or leaving the house. She'd appear and disappear
as if like magic. She'd keep her clothes somewhere, hidden
somewhere. Secret, Suzie's secret.