Big Cock Addict Ch. 01

I have been personally involved with the aftermath of esophageal surgery and the drainage therapy for healing esophageal damage - it remains medically essential that the patient not speak, whisper, swallow, cough or strain this delicate tissue in any way - for patients with 'wandering hands' the restraints described are prescribed - for vaginal damage, as expressed in the story, a similar restraint system can also become medically essential.

Restrained in this way, such a person—subject to unethical behavior in a quasi-medical setting—could easily become pray to sexually abusive men and women, particularly if the 'call-button' has been moved out of reach. In the head-down, buttocks-up position, a voiceless female patient wouldn't be able to call out, prevent such attack or even see her molester.

The 'stent' described in the story is a real surgical tool, designed to force open delicate tissue for healing purposes and can be placed internally or externally.

I have personal experience with wives who decided to have sexual 'flings,' and then excused themselves with justifications, excuses, rationalizing and dry-eyed crying, as described in this tale - masking emotional decisions of immediate desire with pseudo-intellectual ones, in order to appear more innocent when caught or to put blame upon the husband or boyfriend.

The hyper sexual behavior described here (also called nymphomania) is uncommon in women, but not rare - such a woman can engage in multiple sex acts and then, in an instant, revert to more normal behavior and never think of herself as a whore or slut.

BIG COCK ADDICT 01

by TheKeith

As she pulled her car into the garage, out of the weather, she felt sated, with her pussy still throbbing from her last deep-penetrating fuck. In her high-pitched, little-girl voice, she said to herself, "Oh, God, an 11" cock, will I ever have anything like it again?

"OK, my husband's cock is bigger than average, but at 8", he's still 3" shorter than Ricardo's monster."

"I'm 34, I deserve a little fun every now and then. What's a 3-night weekend in comparison to 5 years of marriage?"

She knew she still had her lover's semen in her now well-used vagina.

"Oh, God, all that fucking really rang all my bells and whistles."

The house was dark when she entered and stripped. She just padded through it on bare feet, as she headed straight for the shower, to wash off the traces of her lover's leavings and odor of sex.

She called out for her husband, but got no answer. As the hot water cascaded over her sex-battered body and poured off her still-distended nipples, she thought, "Well, he's probably sulking. Off in a motel somewhere. He'll be home tomorrow Monday, or Tuesday at the latest. I'll call him on my cell."

"He'll come home to me, 'cause he has to. Then I can be all 'sorry, so sorry, honey' and 'It'll never happen again' and I can fuck his brains out for the next 6 weeks. After that he won't even remember that I had my little fling."

"It was just for 3 days and nights, anyway. He's got me the rest of the time. He'll forgive me, he always has, like when I totaled the car or bought all that stuff and maxed out all the credit cards."

She toweled herself dry, and, wrapped in her new bathrobe that her husband Tim gave her, she padded, still barefoot out to the kitchen to get a post-sex, before-bed snack.

Abruptly, she stopped. There was a big manila envelope parked against the glass-enclosed candle in the middle of the dining room table, and a small box beside it, standing open. Inside the box was a simple gold wedding band. "It's Tim's. Oh, God, what has he gone and done? What's in that damn envelope?"

Trembling a little, and dreading what she'd find, she opened the it and out fell several pages of clear computer printing and 3 clear, color printed photographs.

The photos were of her, just stepping out the front door, all but nude, to begin her 'fling' with her big-cock lover, Ricardo Mt. Calm.

She looked like a beautiful porn slut in the photos ... but nothing like a married woman with a loving husband.

The first page started:

- - - - - - -

Dani,

I know that you and Harriet have had woman-to-woman sex with each other. I also know that you and your best-friend Harriet have been planning your 'slutty-fling' for a couple of weeks.

I know that Harriet says that I'm a stupid goof with a tiny dick and a useless wimp of a husband and that, right now, you agree.

I also know about your lover, Ricardo Mt. Calm, as he was Harriet's choice of man to satisfy your sudden sexual hunger for a big cock.

Ricardo Mt. Calm is actually Harry Blevins Scutnik. He was born and raised in Newark, New Jersey. He is a long-time seducer of older women, with a history of finding, using, hurting and then discarding married women.

He is also an ex-con, having served 5 years of a 8-year sentence for attacking and severely beating a married woman in New Jersey.

Currently, Mr. Scutnik is now wanted on a murder charge for beating and killing another woman during a gang-rape, and has a warrant out for his arrest.

Mr. Scutnik is also known to have an untreated STD of syphilis.

Despite what Harriet says, you ought to get back into your car, and flee the area, at least until he is caught and locked up again.

Also, get a full STD panel from your medical clinic.

You were my loving wife of 5 years when, on Thursday night, dressed in the long leather trench-coat I bought, you stepped up to the front door of our home.

But, as you went across the threshold, then turned to face me, YOU BECAME A TOTAL STRANGER—a brazen slut hot-wife and sex-addict, out for fun and excitement, thinking only of yourself.

Please look at the pictures I printed and left for you. As I photographed you with my hi-def phone camera, you opened your coat to reveal that all you had on were CFM stiletto pumps, thigh-high net stockings and, save your long coat, nothing else. With a wicked grin, you posed for me, front, side and, as you turned to dash away, your cute, bare backside.

The last thing I heard, as you got in your car was, "Don't wait up for me. I'll be back Sunday night. It's just a fling ... just some recreational sex ... I deserve a little fun, to spice-up our marriage ... then I'll come home, bang you to death and we can just forget about all of this."

You'd become a sex-addict, too, just like Harriet. You were having your 'mess of pottage' for big-cock sex.

There was nothing I could do about it, short of locking you up in the house as my prisoner, for the rest of your life. You and your BFF Harriet scorned, humiliated and conspired to fuck me me out of your life.

You both succeeded!

I took a sleeping pill and went to bed. That night, I had a vivid dream that I still remember in detail:

In that dream, we were sitting in a restaurant, having a lunch. You wore the fully-lined little black dress—no bra or panties—with the sexy front-zip I bought you last year. You were steadily talking, saying, "I'm so sorry ... it was just one time ... it was only recreational sex ... it'll never happen again ... that I love only you ... blah, blah, blah."

Then a big bad man, muscles on muscles wearing tight jeans and an open shirt, with a gun on one hip, came over to us. He drew his gun, cocked it and put the barrel at my head. With his other hand, he pulled down the front-zip of your black dress and reached inside to squeeze your tits and nipples, saying, "I've got three friends waiting outside in the truck and we all have 10" cocks. Bitch, you've got just one minute to join us, or stay with your tiny-dick husband."

He walked out to the door of the restaurant and looked back at us. I saw your eyes were literally glowing and your breathing was fast and hard. You said, "Oh, Tim, I love you with all my heart, but—four 10" dicks—I want, I want, I want!"

Then you jumped up and tore off your already opened dress. Naked, breasts bouncing, thighs open, you ran across the restaurant to the entrance, where the big bad man grabbed your ass and pulled you, happily squealing, outside. When I followed, with the catcalls of 'wimp' and 'cuckold' ringing in my ears, you'd already gone, leaving only one CFM shoe laying on its side in the driveway.

Then I snapped awake, knowing exactly what I had to do.

Other men have dealt with their openly cheating spouses differently, to take a cold, elaborate revenge, but I choose to do things differently:

(1). I cancelled my name off all of our joint credit cards, leaving your name only, then paid off the outstanding balances.

(2). I took off my name from our joint checking and savings accounts, leaving your name intact. I put a substantial amount into both accounts, sufficient for you to live on for 2-3 years.

(3). Working with Jolene at the bank, I transferred the title and ownership of our cars to your name only, and paid the insurances for this year.

(4). I signed off on the house (not our home, any more), making you its sole owner.

(5). I also paid this year's taxes and pre-paid the next two years taxes as well.

[Contact Jolene if you need more help - she didn't approve of my actions, but did as I asked.]

(6). I also paid this year's health insurance, and left enough to pay for the next two years worth, at current rates.

(7). I also filled out and signed (with your stamp-pad signature) an Application for Dissolution of Marriage, Non-Respondent. I paid the fees in a money order and sent it off in the mail. You will be free of my marriage to you in a year or less.

(8). This letter is a copy. The original and all the critical documents are in our safe and the new combination is the day and month you walked out the door to have your sex affair.

(9). I will be gone when you return to the house. There will be no way for you to contact me. I will not have a fixed location where I can be tracked or found. I have thrown out my old cell-phone and closed all my on-line e-mail accounts.

(10). I can't ever trust you and your impulsive, lying decisions again. I will never return to you as a husband. If, by chance, we meet again, we will be distant acquaintances. You are alone now, as I am unwilling— and unable—to rescue you from your own future stupid decisions.

(11). Here, also, is my ring. Keep, pawn or discard it, I don't care, as it was only a symbol of a wedding and a marriage that doesn't exist any more.

I provided for you in marriage and now, I've provided for you for in divorce.

I loved you, with all your joys and faults. I never cheated on you, but this last major betrayal was too much. Taking bad advice from your drug- and sex-addicted BFF, you have humiliated and emasculated me, left for a few days of wicked sex with a big-cock stranger and trashed our marriage forever.

All for cocks younger and bigger than the one-man's wimpy, now-pathetic penis I have, which, I realize now, just wasn't enough for you in our married life.

When you return to the house, you will likely feel you can re-win me with showers of sexual favors, seductions, and "I'm so sorry" protestations of "it will never happen again."

But, of course, given this first time, you will be tempted to cheat with another big, hard penis again, in a 3 or 4 months ... then again, a month or so sooner ... then again, within a few weeks ... then a longer 'fling' involving 2-3 cocks ... pulling a train of men ... finally, regular gang-fucks on a weekly or even daily basis.

All completely rationalized, justified and excused, of course.

No thanks, Dani O'Brian, I don't want the near-certainty of a gang-banging slut 'hot-wife', making constant excuses while screwing her way through our 'post-fling' life. Nor do I want a constant stream of random men parading and fucking through our home and future love-making.

Being an extramarital sex-lover is far easier than being a husband. Sex partners don't have to take care of 'honey-do' lists. They don't have to go off to work, attend meetings and listen to bosses. They don't have to do home repairs or cut the grass. They don't have to hold their spouse's hands or cuddle them when they are blue. They don't have to swallow their own pride when their spouse 'goes off' for no apparent reason or suffer through weeks of 'freeze-out' for imagined slights and insults to a spouse.

All the sex-provider has to have is a bigger-than-average hard cock, a smooth line of talk and a willingness to take advantage of a married woman's moments of weakness.

All the married woman has to do is show off her tits, spread open her legs, fuck back at your sex-lover plus learn to lie and lie.

All people lie. Children, men and women.

But—and this is the most dangerous to sexual and marriage-based relationships—WOMEN LIE TO THEMSELVES. Just renaming the lies as rationalizing ... justifications ... exceptions to the rule ... crying ... carefully-thought-out plans, maybe made with trusted girlfriends ... excuses.

These are all ways to masquerade an emotional, impulsive decision as a rationalized, justified, intellectual one.

Eventually, a woman learns to lie about the lies she lied about and the trust between two married partners becomes utterly lost.

LOVE is abstract, which, without trust, affection and self-control, is just empty breath.

I love you ... I love only you ... you are my life ... I would gladly give my life for you, if only you would love me ... there's no one out there that can compare to you ... that's MY name on the marriage license, so you're mine ... yours is the only cock I'll ever want ... the wedding vows bind us together forever ... love is sooooo romantic ... and so on.

ALL LIES, if you are determined to seek slutty-sex from another man or woman, outside your marriage vows and promises.

LUST is concrete, in-your-face (or in your cheating cunt).

Oh honey, I'm so sorry ... it will never happen again ... it was just recreational sex ... come on, a little sex is no big thing ... I didn't want to, but my body just reacted and I fucked him/her, you can understand that ... so what, it's all in the past, so let's just forget about it ... wedding certificate, oh, it's just a piece of paper ... wedding vows, just empty words that no one remembers now ... I deserve a little excitement in my boring life ... his cock completely filled me up and it went in so far, right into my womb, that I lost control and ... you want me to be happy, don't you ... it was just harmless flirting, honey, and, well, OK, it went too far, but ... I got curious and I asked to see his big hard cock, and, well, it happened, but ... I was just like a big, dark cloud went over me ... we'll keep my 'fling' a secret, no one has to know except you and me, right ... I didn't have any control of myself after the first kiss ... you were supposed to be there to stop me from going over the line ... I didn't actually say, 'yes,' so during all those days and nights, it was really rape, wasn't it? ... he made me do it because he was too strong, so I just had to give in ... I love you but, right now, I'm not in love with you! ... and so on.

ALL LIES. Planned, rationalized, justified, excused lies.

So what are you in love with, right now? Note that it is WHAT, not who.

Finally, THE TRUTH:

To finally get away from your so-boring, wimpy husband and his plain vanilla sex, for a few glorious slutty days.

To be a wicked, naked, slutty woman for a little while, as you think you remembered from college (but you weren't a slut, back then).

The chance to have a big, hard 11" cock inside your naked, drooling cunt, with a exciting bad man calling you a 'slut' and a 'whore' and a 'filthy thot.'

Having a new, exciting lover, pushing his cock in and out of your willing body, as you orgasm over and over and over, until you pass out from orgasmic pleasure.

Having carefree sex for a few days and nights, without a thought or care about the future or the consequences of your actions.

All this regardless of what your husband wanted for you, for your marriage, for your husband's trust and for your lovemaking far into the future.

Thinking only about the right-now of I, I, I ... Me, Me, Me ... I Want, I Want, I Want.

With everything excused, justified and rationalized, within your own emotional mind, as you lie to yourself about the lies you lied about.

Right about now, I expect you are saying:

"Oh my God. Oh, my God, what have I done? What have I done?"

What have you done? Well:

You've taken bad, impulsive, life-altering advice from a drug- and sex-addict, who has never been married or even had a long-term relationship, and then acted upon it without any thought beyond your right-now slutty decisions.

You've ended 5 years of marriage over a brief sexual 'fling' to have 'a bit of slutty fun' with a total stranger for just 3 days and nights.

You've substituted simple in-and-out fucking with a mean, nasty, big-cock stranger for any future loving, caressing, touching and caring, including protection for yourself.

You've thrown away your comfortable life, having sold your soul and body to a never-ending search for bigger cocks, more of them and with better, stronger orgasms.

You've become a sex addict. In the near future, very possibly (through Harriet's influence) an addict to drugs as well.

* You've put yourself in deadly danger, with no one to protect you, if your lover returns with his friends, to 'party'.

Wikipedia puts it better than I can, when they wrote about a Mess of Pottage:

"A MESS OF POTTAGE is something immediately attractive but of little value, taken foolishly and carelessly, in exchange for something more distant and perhaps less tangible but immensely more valuable. The phrase alludes to Esau's sale of his birthright for a meal ("mess") of lentil stew ("pottage") in Genesis 25:29-34 and connotes short-sightedness and misplaced priorities."

OK, Dani, you have your mess of pottage, at the cost of your marriage to me, any future loving or caring sex, your health and beauty and possibly your life.

Welcome to your new life, slut!

Your former Husband, Timothy O'Brian

- - - - - - -

She screamed to herself, "Oh God, what have I done? Tim, it was just a fling ... I didn't mean to hurt you so much ... I was so bored at home ... it was just sex ... I'm so sorry ... it was just a bit of fun ... it'll never happen again."

But she re-read the list of excuses and blubbered to a stop.

"Oh, Tim, you were my rock, my anchor, my love, someone who'd always be there to catch me when I screwed up ...".

Again, she re-read the list of abstract love vs. concrete lust, followed by rationalizations, excuses and justifications, and cried some more.

He was so on-target.

"Oh, my God, Tim, all I wanted was just to feel another cock in my pussy, just like I remembered it was back in college, before we met and married, 5 years ago."

"I thought I remembered sexing that way ... didn't I?"

"I wanted it ... I thought I needed it ... it was all about I, I, I ... Me, Me, Me ... I Want, I Want, I Want ... with everything rationalized, justified, excused and then conveniently forgiven and not talked about."

"Oh, shit, what have I done?"

Dani cried and cried, tears flowing to wet the table and echo through the empty house.

"Oh, Tim, your cock, your hands, your lips and tongue ,,, you were all that I wanted, right up until Harriet and I ..."

The list of excuses and justifications intruded.

"Oh, Tim, you were right, she's never been married, except to her drugs and her pussy."

The rationalizations and list of excuses glared at her from the damming pages.

"Oh, my God. I had it all, and I threw it away for 3 days of naked sex, fucking a big cock—and that's all he had ... all it was."

Tim was so on-target about the Mess of Pottage.

"Why, oh why, did I have to be so damned stupid? Oh, Tim, please come back, so you can forgive me and we can get on with our married life."