Addicted (14 page)

"Coming!" I
cried as my clitoris pulsated beneath his sweeping tongue. The
sensations quickly built, taking me to my shuddering climax, my
adulterous climax. My cunt milk decanting, trickling down between
my buttocks, I wanted his penis thrusting, pummelling my cervix.
But no, I'd deny him the satisfaction; I'd deny myself the
pleasure.

As my orgasm
began to recede, I opened my eyes and watched Gary lick the last
ripples of sex from my cherry. He sat up, his wet mouth grinning as
he hauled his cock out, huge in its erectness. Now was my moment of
triumph, my victory. Quickly closing my legs, my sex slit closing,
I moved aside and stood up. He looked up at me, puzzlement in his
expression, his eyes. His cock in his hand, desperate for my cunt,
he rose to his feet.

"Helen, I
thought..." he began in his pathetic way.

"You thought
what, Gary?"

"Well, I
thought we were going to..."

"I want you to
leave now, I have work to do," I smiled, my vaginal milk trickling
down my inner thighs.

"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!"

"And the time
will come when you'll be sorry for what you did to me, Gary.
Believe me, I'll get even with you if it's the last bloody thing I
do!"

His slipped
his shrinking penis into his trousers and pulled his zip up.
Leaving the room, he turned in the doorway and flashed me an angry
look. I sensed satisfaction, dominance. I'd discovered one thing; I
reflected as the front door slammed shut, he hadn't taken the
photographs and the painting. He'd have played his trump card had
he been the thief.

The next time I needed him? I didn't need a pervert who used
and abused me, who caned my naked buttocks and spunked up my
bottom-hole. There had to be a way of getting hold of sperm
without... My thoughts suddenly turned to Tony. He was supposed to
be my husband, my partner, and all he did was go off and leave me.
Again, I blamed him for the things I'd done, for my adultery. But
I'd discovered another side to myself, a side I'd not known existed
- I was becoming a nymphomaniac.
Be
coming?

Wandering into
my studio, I decided to throw myself into my work. If I split up
with Tony, I'd have to ensure that my financial future was secure.
Erotic paintings, I decided, slipping my smock over my head. Naked
bodies entwined, cocks spunking, cunt lips swollen, inflamed from
hours of crude sex. I'd make a name for myself; prostitute myself
as an artist of erotica. God, how I'd changed!

"Hi, Helen!"
Tony called from the doorway, almost giving me a heart attack.

"Tony! What
are you..." Thoughts raced through my racked mind - shaved,
weal-lined buttocks, fucked, spunked, lesbian, adultery... "I
thought you were in Paris?"

"I rang you
from Gatwick, I wanted to surprise you. I'm only here for a couple
hours. Things have been rather hectic and..."

"A couple of
hours?"

"Yes, I'm
afraid so. I had to come back to sort out some problems."

He threw his
arms around me and kissed me, my adulterous mouth, my spermed lips.
Three other men had mouth-fucked me, spunked in my thirsty mouth. I
felt coldness, fear, emptiness. Tony's familiar aftershave did
nothing for me. I felt no passion, no love. He drove his tongue
into my mouth, where other men's cocks had been, their sperming
knobs.

"What's all
this nonsense about you shaving?" he asked, moving back and gazing
at me. There was suspicion reflected in his dark eyes.

"Yes, I've
shaved," I replied. "I... I thought you might like it."

"What ever
gave you the idea?"

"A magazine
article, I read about it."

"Well, aren't
you going to show me?" he grinned, dropping to his knees and
lifting my smock.

I looked down
at his well-groomed dark hair as he gazed open-mouthed at my naked
pussy. Cocks had been there, in my cunt, fucking me, spunking in
me. Tongues had tongued me to orgasm, fingers thrusting, my
candle... my candle, my secret. Too many secrets, I reflected as
Tony drove a finger deep into my sex-juiced vagina. Gary's saliva
lingered on my pussy lips.

"God, you're
so wet!" Tony exclaimed.

"That's
because you turn me on," I lied.

"How come
you're not wearing your panties?"

"I like my
cunt free, naked. Do you like my hairless cunt?"

"Why have you
started using that awful word, Helen?" he asked, slipping his
finger out and rising to his feet. "I've never heard you use
expletives, never."

"I like it," I
smiled. "It makes me feel good, dirty." I shouldn't have said
that!

"Dirty? You
have
changed, Helen. What's been going on while I've been
away?"

I forced a
giggle. "Nothing's been going on!" I replied, my stomach sinking as
I wondered how to explain the weals fanning out across my buttocks.
Arse-fucked.

"Christ! Why
the hell have you painted that on the wall?" he asked, staring in
disbelief at the four, huge red letters.

"I've been
asked to... I was just practising, Tony. I have to paint an entire
wall for a client."

The nightmare
was beginning, the storm coming - I could sense it. I also sensed
the difference within myself, as Tony obviously did - the
incredible transformation. What did I feel for him? I didn't know,
I had no feelings. Love? Lust? I didn't want sex with him.

He turned away
from the red letters adorning the white wall and looked at the Blue
Lady, asking why Stephen Giles hadn't collected it. Because I'd
pulled his cock out and tried to suck him off, to drink his spunk!
The thought haunted me, tortured my tortured mind. God, what the
hell had I done?

"Finishing
touches," I finally replied.

"But I'd told
him that it was ready."

"Yes, but he
wanted one or two details altered - the eyes."

"Oh, I see. Is
it ready now?"

"Yes, it
is."

"I'll tell him
when I next speak to him. So, how about a romp on the bed?"

"I'm rather
tired, Tony."

Never before
had I said that to him, never had I turned him down. Weal-lined
buttocks, spermed arsehole. God, how the hell was I going to
explain? Perhaps he wouldn't see. If I lay on my back on the bed,
he wouldn't discover the evidence of my debauchery, the thrashing.
It was a risk I'd have to take. But how would I feel when Tony made
love to me? How would I feel knowing that other cocks had
penetrated me, my cunt? I didn't want Tony to make love to me. I
wanted to be fucked, not loved.

"Helen, what
did you mean when you said that you'd been thinking about us?" Tony
asked as the phone rang. "Why did you say that I make you want to
cry?"

"I just meant
that... I was feeling lonely, that was all," I replied, lifting the
receiver.

"I have some
very interesting photographs of you," a deep male voice said. My
heart raced, my hands began to tremble.

God, why then?
Why phone when Tony was there? "Er... have you?" I replied,
glancing at Tony, my face flushing.

"Yes, very
interesting! Shall we discuss the price?"

"No, not now.
Call back later when... when I have more time."

"You're not
alone?"

"No, not at
the moment."

"Your
husband?"

"Yes."

"Do you like
men wanking over your tits?"

"A portrait,
that's no problem."

"You like
fucking your cunt with a cucumber, don't you?"

"We'll discuss
the price when I see you."

"I'll ring
back later."

"Yes, that's
fine. Goodbye."

I hung up, my
legs weak, my head dizzy. Tony looked at me, his dark eyes
frowning. "Who was that?" he asked.

"It was about
a painting. A lady wants a portrait; she'll be round later to
discuss the price."

"You're
keeping busy, that's good."

"Yes, it
is."

"Is anything
the matter?" he asked, holding my shoulders and staring into my
eyes.

"No, nothing's
the matter, Tony. I've been working too hard, staying up late."

"You don't
look at all well to me. What have you been working on, apart from
the Blue Lady?"

"A... another
portrait."

"May I see
it?"

"It's
finished, been collected."

"That was
quick!"

"Yes, it was.
That's what I meant by working hard, late into the nights. I've not
had much sleep lately."

"When was it
commissioned?"

"The day you
left."

"I've never
known you finish a painting in such a short time."

"It was to be
a present, I had no choice."

"Have you been
paid?"

"Yes, of
course."

Lie after lie
after lie! I couldn't live like this, guilt swamping me, fear of
being found out gripping me. Honesty, the best policy. Huh, I could
hardly be honest with Tony! My life was a lie now, I was living a
lie. I was a living lie.

"I saw Gary in
the lane," Tony said. My heart almost leaped into my mouth.

"Gary?" I
echoed with the innocence of an angel, the guilt of the Devil's
daughter.

"Yes, I
stopped and had a chat with him. He suggested that we employ David
as our gardener."

"David?"

"You know
David, the young chap who..."

"We don't need
a gardener."

"Yes, we do.
I'm going to be away a lot, there's no way I'll have the time
to..."

"I'll do the
garden, Tony."

"You can't use
the motor mower! Besides, you're working. We can easily afford it,
I think it's a good idea."

What the hell
was Gary playing at now? I wondered. David, our gardener? I
couldn't take much more of this! Alan Walker, the blackmailer on
the phone, Gary, Tony's perpetual questioning, and now David
working for us!

"Apparently,
David's back from holiday tomorrow. Gary's going to ask him to come
round."

"I really
don't think we need a gardener."

"I thought
you'd be pleased," Tony frowned, sitting on the Chesterfield.

"Yes, I am,
it's just that..."

"Helen, call
it a sixth sense, intuition, or whatever - but I know something's
wrong."

"Tony, I wish
you'd stop going on like this!" I snapped. "You're becoming
boring!"

"You said that
I was boring when I rang you. You've never said anything like that
before."

"If I kept asking you what was wrong, when nothing was wrong
at all, you'd find
me
boring!"

"You've never
said no to sex before, either."

"I'm very
tired."

"Helen, you
might as well tell me what's been going on because I'll find
out."

"There's
nothing to find out! Nothing's been going on."

I wandered out of the studio as Tony slipped his mobile phone
out of his pocket. Praying that it wasn't Stephen Giles ringing
him, I stood outside the door listening. It
was
Stephen. My heart beating wildly,
my head spinning, I thought I was going to have a nervous
breakdown.

"Yes, I'll
meet you there," Tony said. "Helen? Yes, she's fine. The painting's
ready for you. Yes, I'll tell her that. Marital problems? Why do
you ask? No, we're fine. Yes, OK. Right, I'll meet you at the
airport."

Slipping into
the kitchen, I waited for Tony to question me. Marital problems?
Why the hell had Stephen asked about our marriage? I suppose, after
I'd tried sucking him off, it was pretty obvious why!

"Stephen asked
me if we had marital problems," Tony said as he entered the
kitchen.

"That's a
funny thing to ask."

"That's what I
thought. You didn't give him reason to think..."

"Me? No, of
course not! All we did was discuss the painting."

"I told him
it's ready, he said he'd call round sometime. Oh well, I have to
go. I've called a cab."

Thank God for that
! "Oh, so
soon?"

"Yes, there's
a lot going on at the moment, horrendous problems. Tell David to
start by clearing the ground at the end of the garden, I've been
meaning to do that for some time."

"Yes, yes I
will."

When Tony had
gone, I wandered out into the garden and stood beneath the Lilac
tree. Who was the blackmailer? Who had entered my house and stolen
my property? I should have told Tony of my addiction at the outset,
I reflected. None of this would have happened had I been honest.
Hindsight was useless, I thought, dashing into the house as the
phone rang.

"Are you free
to talk now?" the blackmailer asked.

"Yes, I am," I
replied, imagining that I recognized his voice.

"What colour
are your wet panties?"

"I'll hang up
if you..."

"OK, the
photos and the painting - five hundred pounds."

"All right.
When..."

"Get the cash
and I'll call you back tomorrow morning."

"How do I know
that you haven't made copies of the prints?"

"I can't be
bothered with that. All I want is five hundred."

"What about
sex?" I asked stupidly. God, I must have been mad!

"Sex? Are you
offering me sex in exchange for..."

"Yes, bring
the photographs round and I'll..."

"I don't want
you to know who I am. I'll think about it and ring you later."

Sex in
exchange? I'd had three other men fuck me besides Tony, so one more
wouldn't make any difference, I mused as I replaced the receiver.
Who was he? I wondered. Where did I know that voice from? It wasn't
Gary, I was certain of that, or David. If he decided to fuck me,
I'd discover his identity and... and what?

Feeling tired,
mentally exhausted, I lay on the chesterfield and fell asleep,
dreaming my dreams of perverted sex - dreams of cocks spunking in
my mouth, fucking my cunt, my arsehole. A dreadful word, rough,
crude, bitter. I was a common slut, a prostitute. I'd have to
leave, run away - run away from myself.