by Ray Gordon
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.
"God, that's good!" I gasped, clutching tufts of his black hair as his tongue swept over my pulsating clitoris. "I'm going to come already!"
"You taste good," he breathed, lapping the pink flesh around my open hole as he fingered me. "Mmm, very good!"
"My clitoris! Please, my clitoris!"
Sucking my pleasure bud into his mouth again, his tongue sweeping over its sensitive tip, I pulled his head closer, grinding the open centre of my femininity into his mouth as my orgasm stirred within my contracting womb. His fingers thrusting into my tightening vagina, my orgasm came, gripping me, the beautiful shockwaves shaking me violently.
On and on the waves of pure sexual ecstasy rolled through my sated body, lifting me ever-higher to my sexual heaven. My juices pouring in torrents from my pussy as Tony slipped his fingers out of my spasming vagina, my clitoris throbbing, I lifted my hips and opened my legs as wide as I could, allowing him to drink from me, to suck out my pleasure.
My body quivering as the ripples of sex began to recede, I finally lay still, fulfilled in my coming - serene. Tony sat by my side, his hand between my parted thighs, his fingers massaging my clitoris, bringing out my milk. I didn't want him to go away again; I didn't want to be without him, without his sperm. Addicted to sperm.
After a shower, I wandered into the studio and unveiled the Blue Lady. Tony was relaxing in the garden and I was feeling great, better than ever. The time had come to finish the painting, to put brush to canvas and give the Blue Lady life.
After three hours, I stood back and adjudicated my work. As always, I wasn't satisfied, but I knew that Stephen Giles would be pleased. What would Tony say? I wondered as he walked into the studio and stood by my side.
"That's great!" he beamed, gazing at the canvas. "Old man Giles will be delighted! He just rang, by the way."
"I didn't hear the phone." Tony looked worried. A bearer of bad news.
"He called me on my mobile. Helen, I'm afraid I'm off to Paris again."
"But you've only just come back!" I returned.
"Yes, I know. I... I'm leaving first thing in the morning."
"I suppose a week isn't long," I sighed. A week without sperm.
"I'm going for a month."
My stomach sank. A month without Tony - a month without sperm! I'd never survive! I knew that I should tell him, but how could I bring myself to admit that I was addicted to the stuff? I couldn't tell him. I'd masturbate him before he left the following morning, suck him to orgasm and have a glass handy to store the drug. Drug? That was the cold reality of my predicament - to me, sperm was a drug. Drug addiction. Sperm-abuse.
I did masturbate Tony before he left the next morning. I sucked him to orgasm and discreetly dribbled his sperm into a glass as he lay panting after his climax. Hiding the glass of precious white liquid beneath the bed, I sighed. One shot, one fix - but what would I do when it had gone? A week had been bad enough; I'd never last for a month without sperm!
Tony left in the taxi, an all too familiar event that I was coming to despise. But he was doing well, in line for promotion which would almost double his salary. I couldn't destroy his chances, his career! I'd just have to muddle through as best I could. Maybe the sperm would last? If I only needed a drop to calm me, maybe it would last. It had to!
After a few days, the familiar sensations of panic gripped me, like a monster, welling up from the deep, grabbing me and pulling me under. Taking the glass from the fridge, I dipped my finger into the cold liquid and placed a drop on the tip of my tongue. To my dismay, I had to swallow the lot to calm myself. That was that, my supply gone in one gulp!
The calming effect only lasted for two days. My palms wet, my chest tight, my craving was becoming worse and I didn't know what to do. There was no point in ringing Doctor Harvey; he couldn't supply me with sperm. But I had to do something! Deciding to take a walk, I left the house and wandered down the lane.
The hot summer sun on my back, the birds singing, I sat on the common watching people walking their dogs and pushing prams. People doing nothing, going nowhere. Where was anyone going? Where was I going? Down hill, fast! My work suffering, my head spinning, my craving worse than ever, I clasped my hands together to stop them trembling, wondering again at my incredible addiction. Why not nicotine or alcohol? Why sperm, the only thing I couldn't get?
Sitting on the soft grass, my vision beginning to blur, I was desperate for a fix. A druggy, a junkie. The thought horrified me. Watching a lad of around eighteen walking towards me, I came to a crazy, panic-inspired decision. I'd seduce him, suck his penis into my thirsty mouth and swallow his sperm. What the hell was I thinking of? I suddenly wondered, eyeing his bulging trousers as he approached. Adultery? God, no!
But no one would ever know, I told myself as my state of panic rose to frightening heights. Tony would never discover the awful truth, it would be my secret - kept in a little box somewhere deep in the dark depths of my subconscious. Secrets weigh heavy on the mind.
"Hi!" I called, wishing I hadn't as the young man walked past me.
"Oh, hi," he smiled, stopping and turning to face me. He was probably trying to place me, wondering where he knew me from.
"Why don't you join me?" I asked, moving behind some bushes and settling on the grass. Subtle in my subtleness!
"Er... yes, OK."
Sitting beside me, he looked puzzled. I doubted that many women were as blatant as I'd been! No chat up lines, no discreet come on... My mind swirled with images of Tony, his name reverberating through my spinning head. Trying to focus on the young man, my vision became blurred in the extreme. I had no choice, I desperately needed sperm! I had to commit adultery.
"What's your name?" I asked, pushing him back on the grass and fumbling to pull his zip down.
"Er... Geoff," he replied, resting on his elbows and gazing in disbelief at my hand tugging at his trousers.
"It's your lucky day, Geoff. Would you like me to make you come?" I asked stupidly, my face flushing with embarrassment as I slipped my hand into his trousers and clutched his warm flaccid pe
nis.
Reclining on the grass, he didn't answer. He must have thought me a nymphomaniac, a tart, but I'd reached such a state of panic I'd have done anything in return for a fix. His penis grew in my hand as I pulled it out of his trousers. Stiff, hard in youth, it wasn't as big as Tony's - but it was a penis with a supply of sperm.
Shame and guilt suddenly engulfing me, I had a change of mind and released his penis. I couldn't do it, I couldn't commit adultery, destroy my marriage. He looked up at me, puzzlement reflected in his dark eyes as I licked my dry lips. I was so near and yet so far. Quivering, my breathing shallow, I knew that I had to push myself over the threshold, through the barrier of my guilt and embarrassment.
My hand trembling as I reached out and grabbed his penis again, my heart palpitating, I could barely breathe. Just this once, I pledged, massaging his shaft, moving his foreskin back and forth over his bulbous plum. Just this once and then... and then what? What would I do the next time I craved sperm? In a couple of days when the effect had worn off and I was climbing the walls in my desperate craving, what would I do? Live for the moment, I decided. Bridges to be crossed would be crossed when I reached them.
Pulling his foreskin back and leaning over, I sucked his glans into my thirsty mouth. Gasping, he clutched my head, thrusting his penis in and out of my mouth as if it was the first time he'd ever experienced oral sex. Perhaps it was? I mused as he began to groan.
I could arrange to see him again, I thought, desperate for him to come. See him every day and... Tony, poor Tony. What was I doing? I wondered as the young man gasped and came, his beautiful sperm bathing my tongue, filling my cheeks. Drinking from his jetting glans, swallowing hard, I imagined that the calming effect was immediate. Already, I felt better, although it couldn't have worked that quickly. Psychological, I mused, swallowing the last of his sperm as it pumped over my tongue.
Slipping his penis out of my mouth and licking the droplets of opaque liquid from his swollen plum, I sat upright, my face burning with embarrassment. Tugging his zip up, he frowned at me, probably wondering what sort of woman I was as he leaped to his feet.
"I must be going," he said, barely looking at me as he wandered off. He seemed frightened.
"Come again!" I called, suddenly realizing the ridiculous pun.
It had been quick, clean, effective. Already, I was beginning to experience calm, peace, as I reclined on the grass and licked my salty lips. I thanked God for my fix as my heart slowed and my hands stilled - I also asked for forgiveness!
The stark reality of what I'd done suddenly hit me. I'd broken my marriage vows, been unfaithful, behaved as a common whore. Once was bad enough, but to suck sperm from the young man's penis every two days... He'd be back, I knew. But would I? Would I be strong enough to fight the craving and keep away? Temptation, addiction - adultery. Sweet was my fix but sour the sacrifice.
But it wasn't adultery, I reflected stupidly. Adultery. I'd not given my vagina, opened my vagina to another man's penis. I'd not allowed another man to fuck me. Fuck, a strange word. I pondered on the word, wondering where it came from. Fuck. I'd not allowed another man to fuck me. I'd given my mouth, yes, but not... I was kidding myself, it was the same! He'd fucked my mouth, come in my mouth. There was no difference! He'd mouth-fucked me. Had Satan goaded me?
I walked briskly home, convincing myself that I'd not do it again, that I wouldn't allow the panic to drive me to behave like that again - like a whore, a slut, a prostitute. Prostitute. The word haunted me, battered my mind with its ragged edges. Prostitute. I'd received payment for what I'd done, I'd received sperm. Money, goods, sperm... whatever was taken in exchange for sex didn't matter - I was a prostitute.
At home, I wandered into my studio, trying to push the degrading act I'd committed to the back of my mind - to the dark, shadowy corners of my mind where I kept little boxes full of secrets, dreadful secrets. There was a blank canvas on my easel, waiting for oils - dreaming of rolling hills. I wished my mind was blank, clean. What to paint? I wondered, taking the pallet and squeezing paint from tubes. White paint - sperm. Taking a brush, I allowed my racked mind to wander, to drift in an ocean of thought.
I worked for several hours, not really knowing what I was doing, what I was painting. I seemed to be in a dream, unconsciously moving brushes and the pallet knife across the canvas, mixing colours...
Answering the phone, I was delighted to hear Tony's deep voice. But guilt suddenly gripped me in its cold steel hand - hurting my mind. "How are things?" he asked.
"I'm working." They were the only words I could find.
"What on?"
I turned to look at the canvass, conscious for the first time what I'd actually been painting. I was naked, leaning over a young man sprawled out on the grass, his erect penis in my mouth. Sperm dribbled from my lips as I fervently sucked on his orgasming glans. His expression was one of complete and utter satisfaction. His fingers were embedded deep within my vagina, pussy-wet fingers, clearly visible between my crudely opened thighs.
"What on?" Tony asked again.
"Er... I'll show you when it's finished," I replied, focusing on my pussy lips, taut around the young man's thrusting fingers. Had Satan guided my hand?
"Are you OK?" Tony asked concernedly, suspiciously. "You sound different."
I was different; I'd broken my marriage vows. Prostitute. "Yes, I'm OK." Another lie. "And you?"
"I'm missing you, Helen. I wish we were in bed together."
"Yes, so do I." I sounded far from convincing! "There's the doorbell, I'd better go." There was no one at the door, and I think he knew it. Lies seemed to bubble from my lips with ease now.
"OK, I'll ring you tomorrow. I love you."
"I... I love you, too."
Love? How could I tell him that I loved him when I'd just sucked another man off, swallowed another man's sperm? Mouth-fucked. What was love? I knew not the meaning of the word. Love, lust, sex...
Grabbing a Stanley knife, I was about to slash the canvas, destroy the blatant portrayal of my wanton adultery. The knife poised above my head, I couldn't do it. The painting was good, one of the best I'd ever done - I couldn't destroy it. Besides, destroying the painting wouldn't destroy the truth. I'd prostituted myself, allowed a stranger to fuck my mouth.
My thinking was becoming crude, my vocabulary uncouth. "Fuck," I murmured as I flopped onto the Chesterfield. I felt dirty. "He fucked my mouth." Could I ever kiss Tony again? The aura of another man's sperm glowing around my lips, could I ever lock my mouth to his and kiss him in love? Mouth-fucked.
Leaping up as the doorbell rang, I dashed through the hall. "Laura!" I beamed, discovering my best friend standing on the step. "Come in!"
"Hi, Helen," she smiled, tossing her long black hair over her shoulder as she stepped into the hall. "I thought I'd drop in for coffee and a chat."
"I'm pleased you did."
"I haven't disturbed you, have I?"
"No, no I was just..."
"What are you working on at the moment?"
Sperm.
What was I working on? Me, sucking sperm from a man's orgasming penis, drinking his come. Laura knew where my studio was and hurriedly made her way there. I suggested that we go into the kitchen but she wanted to see my latest creation. Standing before the painting, her dark eyes widened.
"God!" she gasped, holding her hand to her mouth. "That's you!"
"No, it's not. If it looks like me, it's not meant to," I replied softly. The painting was good.
"You can tell a mile off! It's you, Helen!"
"It's a commission."
"Who on earth..."
"Someone you don't know."
"But... God!" she gasped again. "What are you going to call it?"
"Adultery," I blurted out, unintentionally.
She turned and looked at me as if she knew that I'd just committed the sexual act with the young man. I wanted to tell her that I had, but I couldn't. Secrets shared are no longer secrets. Had she drunk fro
m a man's penis? I wondered, picturing her full red lips taut around a huge cock. Did she allow her husband to come in her mouth? Mouth-fuck.
"Come through to the kitchen and I'll make the coffee," I said, turning and leaving the studio. She followed me, no doubt thinking her thoughts, thoughts of adultery. Filling the kettle as she sat at the table, I wondered whether to tell her of my addiction. "Tony's away for a month," I said instead.
"A month? God, you must be lonely?"
"I have my work."
"Your adultery."
My heart leaped. "Oh, the painting. It was commissioned by a young woman. She gave me rough sketches of what she wanted."
"It's an unusual request!" she giggled.
"She's an unusual woman."
Did she drink the sperm gushing from her husband's penis? I again wondered, eyeing her succulent red lips. I wanted to watch Laura sucking a man's knob and swallowing his sperm, although I didn't know why. She wore a short red skirt, her shapely thighs exposed, and I thought about her clitoris, wondering whether she masturbated. I wanted to watch her masturbate. No, I didn't.
"I sat on the common," I said nonchalantly, pouring the coffee.
"Did you?" She frowned, probably wondering why I'd mentioned it. "You seem different, Helen."
"Different?"
"Yes. Is everything all right?"
"I'm addicted to sperm."
She looked at me as if I were mad. Perhaps I was. But I had to tell her, share my secret. It wasn't a secret now. She asked me what I meant, and I explained everything - almost everything. I kept the young man secret.
"It's incredible!" she finally breathed.
"It's awful."
"Tony's away for a month, what will you do?"
"I don't know. What can I do?"
I reiterated and went into further detail, telling her more about the hippy doctor, enzymes, testosterone, the panics, the palpitations. I explained that, in order to work, I had to have sperm every other day - in order to survive! The story was fascinating - I didn't realize how fascinating until I'd told it.
