Her Addiction to Porn

I tried therefore, not to become tempted or teased over the memories. As earth shattering and pleasurable as their cocks had been, doing it all over again would simply be taking a chance on fucking up again. What if I brought the right sized condoms this time and he refused to put them on anyways? Or what if he put them on and they broke? Or what if he took them off to pee or to shoot it on my breasts and then put it back in without a fresh condom? Or what if he got some cum on his fingers and pushed them into my pussy? Anything could happen.

My cell phone went off, taking me out of my deep thoughts and making me jump.

I glared at the number. Jeff? Really? The sex shop? What the fuck did he want? And why was he calling me? I wasn't about to answer it. My husband was so close. I wasn't about to talk about sucking and fucking other men's cocks with Andy listening in. What was Jeff, nuts?

I was curious as to what he wanted but I wasn't about to run upstairs to take it privately either. I never had secrets from my husband in the past and I certainly didn't want to make him suspicious.

My heart began to pound and my mind raced in a hundred different directions.

After five torturously long rings, the phone stopped. I supposed it was going to simply go into voice mail and not ring again, but I was wrong. Dead wrong.

After a pause it began to ring again. I glanced at the number again. Jeff again.

What the fuck?

I ignored the ringing, but my husband raised his head from his work and glared at me sitting there.

"You're not going to answer it dear?"

A light sweat broke out over my brow. I began to tremble. I had made it clear to Jeff upon leaving the sex shop after the two man session ten days ago, that it would be my one and only time in the glory hole. I had been scared shitless over the avalanche of fertile black sperm in my pussy. And I had promised God right there and then in a hastily whipped up prayer that I would commit to never doing it again if he would only be gracious and cause my period to flow ten days later.

Today was ten days later. And my period was flowing. No way was I going to risk any more catastrophes at that damn glory hole. Anything could have happened. I could have gotten pregnant, but knock on wood, no baby on the way...I could have been beaten up...but knock on wood, no facial scars from some crazy knife wielding sex crazed maniac...and knock on wood, no discharge of puss or pesky itching to indicate a transmitted STD...and knock on wood, the horrible swelling of my super tight, and very tiny pussy from his 'too big to fit' cock had gone down, and thank goodness it was in no wise swollen anymore...and knock on wood, the brutal, uncompromising stretch of my pussy from his impossibly thick size had not left me stretched and loose, nor had it caused any tearing. I was back to being very tight once more.

It stopped ringing, but the voice of my husband Andy spoke once again.

"Honey, are you alright?"

I let his question ring around my dazed head for a moment.

His words are snapping me out of my confused funk. I am nervous and fidgety. If my husband ever were to find out what I did then he would surely divorce me and cut me off without a penny. No judge was going to give me anything more than a meagre allowance if the truth came out. I had cheated on him, and done so in such a very vulgar and disgusting manner. I only prayed that Jeff and my two knucklehead partners had not made any secret videos nor taken any secret pics of me sucking and fucking like some bitch in heat.

"I'm fine," I manage, unconvincingly.

He keeps on staring. He senses something is not right, but he can't quite put his finger on it. It has always amazed him that I had stayed in the loveless and sexless marriage for so damn long. He thoroughly enjoyed having me as his trophy wife because it made him look so damn good with me on his arm. But a part of him knows it is because I love jewelry and I love designer clothes, and I love travelling and staying in fancy five star hotels and eating in world class restaurants. Above all, I simply adore my shoe collection, all three hundred pairs, most not even opened yet. How to give all that up by exposing myself to some tawdry secret sex life?

My husband was extremely generous and filthy rich, but he was not stupid, and he was very unforgiving. He had his pride, and although he was very sweet, he did have a vindictive side. If it ever happened that he found out, then he would hire the world's toughest divorce lawyers and use my indiscretions against me in court to cut me off virtually penniless.

My phone went off a third time. This time a text was coming in.

"Jeff, here from the sex shop. Your black friend with the foot long cock has been begging me every day to give you a call. He is really desperate for you to have another session with him. He is here now, and wondering if tonight would be good for you."

I can see my husband Andy staring at me. He notices that my face is turning first, a light pink, and then, a deep red. He can also see that I have begun to pant in disgust and bewilderment. I nervously bite my bottom lip. I am no longer sporting a fake plastic smile on my face. I am both mad and worried, really mad and worried. I had clearly and specifically told Jeff after the first and only session never to call me again. Going to the gloryhole room had been a monumental mistake and I had already informed him that I was not willing to make the same mistake twice. Why was the asshole still calling me? What part of fuck off didn't he understand?

"Everything okay, honey?

"Everything is just fine," I lied, my voice seething with incredulity. What if my husband had been holding my phone at the time and had read the text.

I tried to calm down and relax, but being bothered by Jeff was really pissing me off. I had told him never to call me again under any circumstances, and yet, here he was, the first chance he got, asking me to come in and have my pussy stretched to smithereens by that uncompromising giant slab of cum filled man meat.

My phone rang again. Another text.

"You really should reconsider," Jeff text. "Lots of hot guys want to do you real bad. Once they see the tape and once they get a peek at you sucking and especially working over that fat black log with your tiny white pussy, they go wild. They all want to do you. I could have ten guys a night easily bringing you multiple orgasms. I know you are always impossibly horny. So now is your chance."

His words were like sawdust in my already dry and horrified mouth. What chance was he talking about? The chance to wreck my life and turn me into a total rank whore? He honestly expected me to come down to his sleazy shop and work over men's cocks every night? And to what end? Getting pregnant for sure next time? Maybe contracting some STD's? Or maybe having my damn pristine pussy so unmercifully stretched apart night after night that it stays stretched and becomes the fucking grand canyon? And just how long did he think it would be before one or all of those horny men began talking in the community about what I was secretly doing? Most of them were bound to recognize me. Some might even want to blackmail me into seeing them privately or else telling my husband. A recipe for a money losing divorce if ever there was one.

I want to answer immediately and tell Jeff once again to fuck off for good and never contact me again. Not ever. But I can see my husband glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. My face feels beet red, and my facial expression is of someone who is panicking like crazy. I am also visibly shaking like a leaf.

Most worrisome in all this, however, was the part of his text where he says that guys have seen "the tape" of me. What the fuck did that mean? Had he taped me against my wishes? And if he did tape the steamy, sleazy sex session, why was he showing it to every Tom Dick and Harry that frequented the shop. Was he fucking nuts? What if some of them recognized me? What if they started gossiping about me in this snoopy and nosy rumor mill of a town?

I tried to remain at least partially calm and not react as my husband continued to stare. But the words "the tape" were boiling in my mind and soul like a frantic hurricane.

I text back with my hands trembling like a wind-swept leaf. "What damn tape are you talking about? I thought I made it absolutely clear that I didn't want you taping the sessions?"

There was an immediate response from Jeff. "I don't make much money selling dildos, mags and DVD's. But I do make money at the glory hole. Guys pay fifty dollars a pop to use it and a monthly subscription fee. Every guy looking at the tape wants a piece of your action. I could make a fortune off of you."

He still hadn't mentioned why he had made the tape against my wishes, and yet the implication was clear. He wanted it to show it to potential gloryhole users to get their interest in the gloryhole percolating.

"I'll call the police and tell them you are making illegal tapes if you don't stop showing mine around," I text back.

Again, Jeff's response was immediate. "I would simply lie to the police if you contact them. I'll tell them there is no tape. They have no search warrant to search my shop, and even if they did, they are not going to waste time watching hundreds of unmarked videos trying to find one with you in it. And even if they did find it, charging me would mean taking the tape to court and playing it publically so everyone could see it."

"You're a fucking scumbag," I text back.

"That may be," he agreed, "but if you phone the cops, then I'll phone your husband. I'm sure he would go fucking nuts if he knew guys around town were watching you with a cock down your throat getting covered with cum. Or that you were stretching your pussy on big cocks who poured black baby making cum into you."

"What do you want?" I text back with self-loathing and trepidation. "Why are you asking me to be with more guys again when I already told you I wouldn't go near that gloryhole anymore?"

Another immediate response was forthcoming. "I need the money. You are my damn meal ticket. Your husband is filthy rich so you don't need any money yourself. But I and my store is facing bankruptcy big time but I can't afford to lose everything by going under. Having you do gang bangs or one at a time every night at the glory hole would flood me with cash. It could save my financial life. You could suck and fuck five to ten cocks a night. Monday to Friday, then take the weekends off to rest up your lips and pussy."

"You're crazy," I text back, adding, "you're out of your fucking mind. I wouldn't do even one cock, much less five or ten. And I wouldn't do it even once more for the year, much less do it for five nights a week. I'm totally not interested, and there is nothing you can say to make me change my mind," I bluffed.

His turn to text. "Again, I can simply call your husband, or better yet, send a copy of the movie to his cell phone."

"You wouldn't dare," I text back, unable to stop a tear from plummeting down my cheek as my worried and concerned husband Andy rose from his chair and came over to find out what the hell was going on.

I saw him, from the corner of my eye, coming towards me.

I panicked and ended the call, shutting off the phone and sliding it into my pants pocket.

"Who was that you were texting to on the phone?" he asked as he now hovered over me.

"Nobody dear."

He frowned. "You're crying, shaking, red in the face, and clearly visibly upset."

"It's nothing," I managed unconvincingly, adding, "it's getting late. I think I'll be off to bed now. I'll be using a guest room tonight. That way if I stay up late watching TV I won't keep you up."

With those tepid words I rose and marched for the winding, elaborately carved staircase.

I half expected Andy to follow me, but he merely stood in the same spot with his dropped jaw and tried to figure out what was going on.

More tears flooded once the stairs wound in a spiral, taking me out of his sight.

I scurried along the hall and scampered into my favorite of the three guest bed rooms our mansion had.

Then I closed the door and locked it, kicking myself that I hadn't handled the dangerous texting situation better. Still, it had caught and kept me off guard, and the fact that this absolute asshole Jeff had copied the sex session and was showing it around, really made me both sick and livid.

The phone in my pocket went off again.

I yanked it out of my pocket and glared at the number.

Jeff again?

Yes. Jeff again.

I went into the connecting bathroom which was too far away to be heard by anyone standing at the door. Then I pressed talk.

"I don't appreciate you being so angry and unreasonable," he said.

"My husband was in the same room with me when you started phoning and texting, you asshole. Now he is suspicious that something is going on."

"Well, I didn't know he was so close. But we need to talk."

"We don't need to do any such thing," I spat back angrily. "You need to destroy that tape and pray that none of the men you showed it to recognizes me. Then you need to stop calling me about using the gloryhole again."

"Don't see what your problem is. You are addicted to porn, which means you are addicted to sex, which means that sooner or later you are going to get violently horny over my suggestion and want to start fucking men again at my shop. Especially since you are such a horny woman with such a needy, passionate and oversexed body."

"I'll want to start doing no such thing, you idiot," I shot back angrily.

"Just listen to yourself," Jeff replied, tossing in a chuckle. "You are just like some alcoholic, walking back and forth past the liquor cabinet hourly. Or like some druggie, walking back and forth past the crack house hourly. Or like some hooked and desperate gambler, walking back and forth past the racetrack hourly. Sooner or later, in one of those hours, in one of those days, the temptation is going to get too much for you, and being that sex addict, you are going to want to rush down to my shop and have your fill of nasty cum-filled cocks. I see it happen all the time."

"Even if that were true," I said angrily with a tinge of vicious worry, "I'd rather go hire some male escort and hump at his place rather than come see you."

Then Jeff laughed. "That would never happen. It's not just the raw sex that you need, but the danger and the excitement. Also the element of the unknown. An escort or regular boyfriend on the side would be too predictable. You love the idea of acting like an absolute slut, and the thrill of the unknown, sucking and fucking unknown cocks, and the thrill of it being so dangerous. Not knowing if you might get knocked up or if someone might recognize you. And then there is the thrill of being used and abused. The thrill of your face smothered with cum, and of kneeling and sucking nasty dirty cocks, cleaning them with your beautiful, pristine, red painted lips. You love the idea of being humiliated and degraded. Some women are like that. You are like that big time, and you always will be."

"You're crazy. None of that is even remotely true."

"Isn't it? Now that I have planted the seed, you will stew over the idea of coming to my gloryhole nightly, savoring the sexy adventure. And your nipples will stiffen horribly at that thought of it, and your pussy will catch fire each passing moment of each passing day while you think about it over and over and over and over in that porn addicted brain of yours. And you will constantly go over the images in your mind, and then rush back to your computer screen for hours on end, to see handsome sexy guys with muscles on their muscles, and hot balls filled with cum, shooting their loads onto beautiful faces like yours and onto fabulous pouty lips like yours, and onto firm, giant breasts like yours and onto round perfect asses like yours and even putting a cream pie into some of their savagely stretch open pussies."

I was breathing heavy at his words, and the room began to spin.

I had the phone on speaker, and sat it on the ledge, wanting to use my hands for something else.

My breasts caught fire and I could feel my nipples stiffen and become taut and tingling.

I was amazed at myself as I pulled down my top and began toying with my fully engorged breasts. His words had stirred up my juices and made me impossibly horny.

"I'll bet you've just started to play with your breasts about now?" he surmised, making me almost want to vomit. How did he know? How did he fucking know?

I kept one hand on my breasts and used on hand to pull down my pants and kick them away. Then I pried two fingers past my panty and shoved them deep into my starving, turned on pussy.

I began to moan uncontrollably.

"Are you playing with your pussy? I can hear you moaning," Jeff said. "I was right about you, wasn't I?"

"You're an idiot," I said, pretending he was wrong. But my uncontrolled breathing was a dead giveaway. "Don't ever you call me here ever again," I shouted, hitting the hang up button.

The phone rang again. A new text was coming in.

I looked at the phone screen as was astonished as images of me working over the vanilla cock ten days ago, were being played.

He was sending the movie, forcing me to watch the part where my lips toyed with his cock head then licked the shaft as his cum fired all over my lips, face and hair.

I wanted to very much simply hang up, but I was fascinated by the sexy images, and totally turned on like crazy.

Next came images of the massive black cock, forcing me wide open into that taut impossible stretch, my face reddened and etched with pleasure as orgasm after orgasm rocked my gorgeous body...my neglected body...my wasted body...my hungry body, desperate for attention and adoration and admiration and...and...

A knock at the door.

My husband? Who else could it possibly be? There is no one else in the house.

Andy shouts through the door if I'm alright. Again. Wasn't me hinting to him that I wanted to be left alone enough for him to simply leave me alone? Apparently not.

I set the phone down on a towel rack and walk quickly towards his voice.

I reach the door and try to erase the panic out of my voice. "I'm just fine dear. No need to worry, honest."

He pauses, something Andy always does when he doesn't believe me.

I dry my eyes, fix my clothes back the way they were, fluff up my gorgeous hair, put on a brave face, then undo the chain off of the latch.

I open the door.

He wants to step inside and grill me with questions, but I stand in front of the opening and gently put my hand with the long red sexy nails on the two hundred dollar shirt covering his chest. His very sexy chest. The one he invariably hides and never lets me see. I sigh, annoyed at the thought. Other men are dying to let me see their chests, and pay any amount of money to be able to be up close and personal with me, using me as a slut, a rank whore, a filthy cum bucket into which they can deposit their sperm in a variety of ways.

I feel supremely horny and aroused. I try to keep a straight and unemotional face as he glares at me.

"There is something going on," he says, the alarm bells from his snoopy intuition going off like crazy.

"I told you I'm fine. Just a friend of mine passed away is all. We were close. I met her at the library a few years back."

My lie about a dying friend seems to placate him. The tone of his voice shifts to one of relief.

"Oh, is that what it is? Someone telling you a dear friend had passed? No wonder you were upset. Anyone I know?"

"No, you never met her," I say softly.

"Well," he says, giving me a conciliatory peck on my cheek. "Sorry to hear about you loss."