Grabbing the
ringing phone, I grinned to hear the blackmailer's voice. "So,
you're looking for a housekeeper," he said. "I didn't realize how
well you were doing. The price has gone up to one thousand
pounds."
"You don't
want sex, then?" I asked.
"I do, but
you'd recognise me."
"How do you
know that I'm looking for a housekeeper?"
"I know
everything about you, Mrs Hunter - everything."
You don't know Suzie
. "And I know
everything about you. How's your wife?"
"Don't try to
bluff me! One thousand pounds, Mrs Hunter. Leave the cash in an
envelope beneath your doormat by tomorrow morning or your husband
will receive the photos."
As he hung up,
I wondered whether to go straight to his cottage and confront him.
No, I had to formulate a plan, a devious plan. At least, by
mentioning a housekeeper, he'd unwittingly confirmed that he was
the blackmailer - the bastard. If Suzie were to seduce him, suck
his cock to orgasm, and his wife discovered his adulterous
mouth-fucking, he might... The doorbell rang, breaking my
reverie.
"Oh, it's
you," I snapped, opening the door to Alan Walker. "I told
you..."
"Helen, I'm
not playing games anymore, I want the money."
"I have no
money. And if I had, I wouldn't give it to you."
"Then, you
leave me no choice."
"I've already
shown my husband the photos you left here. We're splitting up, and
he doesn't give a toss about my past."
"I don't
believe you."
"Alan, come
into the lounge, I want to tell you something," I said, opening the
door wider, my plan coming together.
Leading him
into the lounge and seating him on the sofa, I stood before him,
grinning salaciously. I'd worked out what I'd thought would put an
end to his threats, his demands. He'd caught me masturbating in the
garden, which would serve to substantiate what I was about to tell
him.
"Alan, I've
had an open marriage for many years now. My husband knows exactly
what I get up to, and I know what he gets up to. I've watched him
fuck my best friend, and he's watched her husband fuck me."
"I don't
believe..."
"Your pathetic
photographs are nothing in comparison to my sexual exploits. I've
had several men while my husband's been away, and I've told him
everything."
"Why are you
splitting up, then?"
"Because he's
going to be working away most of the time, and he'll eventually be
based in America. I want to stay in this country, so..."
"You're
bluffing."
"Today, I had
one man fuck my mouth while another fucked my cunt."
"That's
rubbish! You're not like that at all! I remember you at art
college, Helen the prude!"
"Get your cock
out and I'll suck you off, swallow your spunk. I'll tell my husband
all about it when he rings this evening. It turns him on, Alan.
He'll wank while I finger my wet cunt and tell him every detail
about sucking your knob and swallowing your spunk."
He frowned,
obviously stunned by my fantastic revelation. Slipping my smock
over my head, I stood naked before him, my nipples stiffening, my
cunt juicing in my wicked arousal. "Actually," I began, licking my
lips provocatively as I cupped my firm breasts in my palms.
"Actually, my husband would probably like the photographs. He'd
frame them; hang them on the wall in his Los Angeles home."
Still
frowning, Alan gazed longingly at my cunt slit - hairless, wet,
alluring. Unzipping his trousers, he pulled his erect penis out, a
slight smile furling his lips as he waited in expectation. Kneeling
between his feet, I gazed into his blue eyes.
"You have a
nice cock," I said, grabbing his solid shaft. "I'll suck you off in
exchange for the photographs."
"Not in
exchange, I need money."
"Don't we
all!"
"You're not
really like this. You're doing this to bluff me."
"Do you
honestly believe that I'd suck another man off, swallow his spunk,
commit adultery, just to..."
"Yes, I do
believe that. To save your marriage, I believe that you'd do
anything. You have a lovely home; you wouldn't give all this up for
anything."
"Why do you
think I've shaved my cunt? I'm a tart, Alan, a filthy tart." Many a
true word!
A lovely home,
yes, that was true. But what was a home? What was marriage, really?
Two people signing a register, committing themselves to lives of
monogamy, to lives of stipulations, restraints, conditions... If
divorce came, then we'd sell the house, our home. I'd live
somewhere else, with my work, my erotic paintings - my men's
spunking cocks.
"This means
nothing to me," I said, waving my hand at the antique furniture.
"I'm not materialistic, I don't need objects. I need debased sex,
lust, excitement."
"You still
haven't convinced me."
"I'm not out
to convince you, Alan," I smiled, moving his foreskin up and down
over his purple plum. "Do you want me to suck you off or not?"
"Yes!" he
gasped as his cock swelled and twitched in my hand.
Leaning
forward, I took his glans into my saliva-wet mouth and ran my
tongue over its silky-smooth surface. Another man's knob in my
mouth, about to shoot its spunk. How many men had I sucked to
orgasm? Alan was the sixth, including Tony. Six men had spunked in
my mouth, mouth-fucked me. Six, seven, eight... what the hell?
"God, that's
good!" Alan gasped, his body becoming rigid as I hooked his heavy
balls out of his trousers.
"Are you
married?" I asked, slipping him plum out of my mouth and licking
his veined shaft, his hairy balls.
"Yes, yes I
am. Ah, I'm going to come! Wank me, suck me!"
His sperm shot
to the back of my throat as I engulfed his glans in my hot mouth
and sucked. Swallowing hard, I didn't need a fix, but the more
spunk I drank the better, I reflected. He kept coming, his spunk
seemingly never ending as I swallowed and swallowed. Grabbing my
head, he pushed me down, forcing his knob to the back of my throat,
my lips taut around his broad shaft, his black pubic hairs tickling
my nose as he drained his heavy balls. I breathed in the musk of
his maleness, my clitoris stirring, my cunt wetting. I didn't know
why, but I wouldn't allow him to fuck me.
"God, that was
something else!" he gasped as I finally moved my head up, his
glistening shaft slipping out of my spermed mouth.
"I thought
you'd like it," I smiled. "All the men I've sucked to orgasm praise
me."
"Christ, I'm
not surprised, you're brilliant!"
"I'm an
expert, Alan. So, about these photographs. I'd really like my
husband to have them."
"OK, I'll
bring them round. Can I... I'd like to see you again, Helen."
I thought as much
. "You've changed
your tune, haven't you? One minute, it's blackmail, and the next
it's..."
"Yes, I know,
I'm sorry. Look, I'll bring the photographs round tomorrow
and..."
"And you want
to mouth-fuck me again?"
"Yes."
"What about
your wife? Will you lie to her?"
"I'll have
to."
Did Tony lie
to me? "All right, Alan," I replied, rising to me feet, my inner
thighs drenched with my sex juices. "I might even allow you to
cunt-fuck me tomorrow."
"I'd like
that," he said, standing up and zipping his trousers.
"Look, I have
an appointment, you'd better leave."
"OK, until
tomorrow."
"Until
tomorrow."
Watching him
leave the lounge, I ran my finger up my drenched sex slit, again
wondering at my incredible transformation. I don't know why, but I
happened to look at the antique chair by Tony's bureau. Topping the
uprights at the back of the chair were two large round knobs, and
my thoughts instantly turned to my cunt. In my debauchery, I pulled
the back of the chair down, positioning one of the wooden balls
between my swollen cunt lips.
"God!" I
gasped involuntarily as the ball stretched me wide open and entered
my vaginal cavern. Gyrating my hips, massaging my inner sex flesh,
I vigorously vibrated my fingertips over my exposed clitoris,
gasping as the incredible sensations built within my contracting
womb.
Funnily
enough, it wasn't the illicit fucks and spunk swallowing that made
me realize how much my marriage had stifled the real me, it was
fucking the chair knob. Through my debauchery, I'd discovered sex,
the real pleasures of perverted sex. But my masturbatory habits had
to remain a secret, I decided as my cunt tightened around the
wooden ball. Too many people knew of my perversity as it was, my
illicit masturbating had to remain my secret.
The huge,
polished wooden ball moving within my wet pussy sheath, I wondered
why I'd never woken to my sexuality, discovered the delights my
cunt had to offer. Sex with Tony had been good, but the sex I was
now discovering, the chair knob, my candle, brought me far more
pleasure. Debased, filthy pleasure.
My climax
gripping my naked body, I rocked my hips back and forth, fucking
the chair knob and massaging my clitoris, sustaining my perverted
pleasure until my knees sagged and I crumpled to the floor. The
ball embedded deep within my wet sex duct, I lay with my legs open,
basking in the aftermath of my orgasm, wondering what else I could
fuck my cunt with. The Devil's penis?
The phone
ringing, I carefully eased the wet ball out of my pussy and dashed
through the hall to my studio. Tony? I wondered. Or the evil
postman again? If it was Gary, I'd tell him that... "Oh, Laura!" I
replied as she said hallo. "How are you?"
"I'm OK, how
are you?"
"I'm fine,
I've been working hard."
"Are you
still... still addicted?"
"Yes, an
addiction doesn't just go away, Laura."
"Helen, people
are beginning to talk."
"What do you
mean?"
"They're
talking about you. I was in the paper shop this morning and I heard
someone talking about you."
"Me? What were
they saying?"
"They were
talking about your exploits."
"What
exploits?"
"I don't know,
I didn't hang around to find out. They said something about you
being on the common. It was a middle-aged woman; she was talking to
the shop assistant."
"On the
common?" I echoed, my heart leaping. "I've not been anywhere near
the common!"
"That's not
what you told me the last time I saw you. Anyway, I thought I'd
better let you know. I overheard the postman mention your name when
I was in the post office. I don't know what you've been up to, but
people are talking."
I hung up, not
knowing what to say. God, if word was getting round, Tony was bound
to discover the things I'd been doing! The bloody postman! He was a
gossip, and he'd pay for it, I vowed, running upstairs to my
bedroom.
Donning
Suzie's tarty clothes, I slipped out of the house and walked
briskly down the lane. The time had come; I had to decide on my
future. I either stayed with Tony, played the loving housewife,
keeping Suzie on the side, or got out of the marriage. I couldn't
play my dangerous games and have Tony divorce me for adultery, I
didn't want that. I didn't want to hurt Tony, and yet... Perhaps I
did want to hurt him?
As I neared the postman's cottage, I realized that I really
didn't know what I wanted. A nice home, Alan had said. Would I give
it all up?
Could
I
give it up? I didn't know. My life had changed beyond belief! Where
had Helen gone?
Strutting up
the path to the cottage, it was if I had just come to, woken from a
dream. What on earth was I doing knocking on the door? I had no
plan; I didn't know what I was going to say. If he answered,
then...
"Yes?" a
middle-aged woman asked as she opened the door. She wasn't
unattractive, her brown hair nicely brushed, her makeup carefully
applied.
"Oh, I... is
your husband in?" I stammered, my stomach churning.
"No, not at
the moment. Can I help you?"
"Yes, you can.
Er... this isn't going to be easy. You see, he owes me money."
"Money? Who
are you? What does he owe you money for?"
"I'm sorry to
have to tell you, but I'm a prostitute. He owes me money for
sex."
Her mouth fell
open. "My husband?"
"Yes. Look, I
didn't want to have to come here but, he owes me several hundred
pounds."
"Several
hundred?"
"He's been
meeting me on the common during his round in the mornings.
I..."
Slamming the
door shut, the woman was obviously shocked, feeling the pain and
hurt of adultery. God, I was becoming wicked! I made my way home,
wondering what his reaction would be when his wife described me.
I'd told him that I was going for the housekeeping job! I'd blown
Suzie! He'd recognise me; I could hardly go wandering around the
common dressed as Suzie now!
Stealing into
my house, I hid the clothes beneath my bed and slipped into my
smock, wondering how the hell I'd got myself into such a horrendous
mess. In a small community, it wouldn't have surprised me if I
bumped into Geoff at some stage. I was confusing myself, mixing up
Helen and Suzie. Geoff knew Suzie dressed as Helen, the postman
knew Suzie dressed as herself... Mess wasn't the word for it!
Answering the front door after an hour's painting, I wasn't
surprised to see the postman standing on the step.
"Sorry to
trouble you," he said, his voice thinly disguised. "I bumped into a
young lady in the lane and gave her directions to your house. She
was after the job of housekeeper."
"Yes, she
turned up."
"Did you take
her on?"
"No, I didn't.
Why do you ask?"