My Addiction Ch 02

"Why?"

And that was the big question right there. A question with a thousand answers all the same, all different. A thousand visions. A thousand different men. A thousand scenarios conjured up in your mind's eye as she lay sleeping beside you.

You could tell a version of the truth: she cheated on you.

It was true, you had seen her with him and she had seen you as she emerged from a long passionate kiss. Your eyes held each other's for a never-ending, silent moment then she turned back to her lovemaking and you wandered angry and confused through the strobing disco lights of a New Year's party.

But it wouldn't be the whole truth, would it? It didn't explain how, much later, you lay panting in someone's bed reliving that moment over and over; this time your eyes meeting as he fucked her mouth with an enormous cock, the next you catch her eye as he enters her from behind and she's always happy; you can see it in the way she moves, eager for him, in her shining eyes, in her laugh.

The images made you so hard; shit, they still make you hard! And now that you see her again there're going to be so many nights and so many new fantasies...

"You cheated on me!"

It sounds so lame now that you say it out loud: a cringy, selfish whinge that hangs in a thousand air-borne droplets between you. You could at least have said it like it no longer mattered, like you were over it but now she knows you're not, even after 10 fucking years. You're still 24, still sharing that dingy one-bedroom flat, still tethered to her every desire, still screwing up the courage to walk out like you mean it.

And what's worse is it invites comment and discussion; it gives her a way back in, into your head but she doesn't take it. You've dangled the bait and she swims right around it, looking at it from every angle:

"I think you should call your wife."

"What?"

"Ring her, tell her I've gone to the loo, tell her we're catching up and you'll try not to be too late."

"Okay!"

You didn't even ask for an explanation; Jesus, you're weak! Putty in her hands. You dial and wait and she's sitting across from you, watching you with a half-smile playing on her lips and she listens as you deliver her message and moves around head pressing to yours, ear to the phone to hear your wife's response. You mumble something about a few more drinks and she takes your hand to position the phone to hear more comfortably. You watch each other in your peripheral vision as she listens in to the mundane conversations that occur between husband and wife and then she breathes softly in your ear:

"She's coming back. Gotta go Honey. Love you. Bye! Bye! Bye!"

And even as you repeat it to your wife you realise your cock is hard and you blush as you hang up.

She stands and walks away into the lobby without saying a word and like a puppy you follow. Her manicured fingers trace the check-in desk:

"I'd like a bottle of prosecco and two glasses sent to Room 322 please," the attendant nods. "Stevie, don't forget our drinks and coats".

Shouldn't I question this? Shouldn't I argue? Refuse? Be a man? Yes, I should! But I don't. instead I obediently make my way back to the bar and collect everything from the table including her handbag that daintily dangles from my wrist as I juggle everything else and make my way back to find that she's already gone ahead.

I stand helplessly in the middle of the lobby. I've forgotten her room number and I'm too embarrassed to ask. It's so obvious I'm not a resident and I'm pretty sure the longer I stand here the more humiliating it's going to feel.

The lady behind the counter takes pity on me:

"She told me to tell you it's room 322, second floor, turn left when you exit the stairwell."

I look across at the lift, puzzled: the lady notices:

"She said you should take the stairs," she says with a hint of laughter in her throat.

You blush again, deeply, this has all happened before. She has always had the ability to cause you discomfort in every situation. She knows you won't leave without returning her things so you have to at least go up. A deep breath and a hint of rebellion and you turn for the lift:

"She told me to ring ahead if you take the lift" the lady's voice breaks through your reverie.

This is so fucking out of control! You force yourself not to look at her as, head down, you head for the stairs.

Each fucking step you feel righteous anger coursing through your mind and body, lending you strength, increasing your determination to drop her stuff off at her door, turn around and walk away. That's exactly what you're going to do. I mean, why the fuck are you going to her room anyway? It's not like anything's going to happen. It's not like you want anything to happen. It's not like she's going to let anything happen. It's just a chat, nothing more. A conversation to clear the air and clear the mind and let that part of you, that fantasy that has stayed with you, melt away. This is good. This is what you need, what she needs. It's all good.

You find you've reached the second floor and all your anger has dissipated, sunk deeply through each climbed step. You turn right down the hall as instructed and all too soon find yourself standing outside her hotel room door.

You knock and wait. Thankfully the door opens; you expected her to leave you out here to further humiliate you but there she stands, in the open doorway. Her skirt and blouse have been replaced by a mid-length, cream, silk nightie and robe complimented by black stockings. You cannot help but stare, much to her amusement:

"you like?"

You hesitate. Is she asking about the clothes or the vision she presents wearing them? It doesn't really matter for the answer to both is:

"Yes!"

You wonder how much she knows, how much she has guessed from your conversation downstairs.

A picture of her on her hands and knees on the bed, her silk slip ruched over her hips and a well hung stud fucking her relentlessly as she cums over and over on his cock drifts through your mind as she turns elegantly away beckoning you in through the door.

A man passes behind you as you enter and grunts approvingly at his brief glimpse of dark-haired sensuality. You catch his eye as you turn to close the door and he grins conspiratorially at you. Little does he know that, in your mind he is now the well-hung stud of your fantasy.

"Put my bag down there, hang the coats in the wardrobe. You'll have to take the bed, I'm afraid, a bit of a dearth of chairs."

You shuffle around, doing as she asks, before removing your shoes and sliding onto the bed with your back against the headboard. She sits in the chair, facing you, her nightdress clinging seductively to her body.

She catches your eye and says:

"I cheated on you, it's true."

You find you are uncomfortable now that the conversation is being resumed. The bed is too soft and it forces you to sit in a manner that is far too relaxed for the gravity of the conversation you are about to enter into. Add to that the fact that you have to look up at her as she sits higher than you in her chair and you find yourself squirming your bottom back against the headboard to gain extra inches.

"Did that upset you? Does it still upset you? You seem uncomfortable?"

How do you answer? How do you hide the truth from someone who has always been able to see through you?

"It made me lesser. I couldn't stay afterwards"

"That's obfuscation Steve; you're avoiding answering the question"

I have to avoid answering the question. The images are still whirling around my brain. My cock is rock hard. I cannot think of her with me.

There's a knock at the door.

"That's our drinks, would you get the door"

God, it would be so much easier for her! I scoot across the width of the double bed and, in rising, my erection is displayed through my jeans. I see her notice and curse inwardly as my face goes beet red once again.

I yank open the door, take the drinks, tip the porter, and find that to put them down I have to manoeuvre around her chair, my cock in her face.

"Don't pour it yet!" her command stops me just as I'm about to uncork the bottle. It is softly spoken, "sit! I think we should save it for afterwards"

After what? Confused I step away from the table and hitch myself back onto the bed, to my former position my hands in my lap covering the bulge as best I can though it's too late to hide, far too late.

"I see what you've got there Stevie"

Her use of the diminutive of my name makes me feel small; not that she hasn't been building that feeling in by her actions all evening. It arouses my natural submissiveness which has blossomed over the intervening years.

"Tell me why your cock is hard. I'm pretty sure that what we've been talking about is not particularly erotic so how come you have a little stiffy in your pants?"

Silence. I'm afraid to answer.

"Did you like seeing him fuck me? Was that it? Is that what you're hiding from me?

Look at me!"

You instinctively obey. You've been avoiding any prolonged, direct eye contact ever since this conversation began and now you find yourself gazing helplessly into her eyes. The truth laid bare. She can see you now, everything you've tried to keep hidden. She can see him driving his huge dick in and out of her sopping pussy. It's right there, in your eyes.

And now that she knows you find it is even more arousing than it ever was before. Your secret shame has been discovered and there is no condemnation: just amusement?

"Your jeans seem a little tight Stevie, why don't you take them off? You can slip under the covers afterwards, if you like; to hide."

I don't protest. I don't argue. I don't think of it as a choice; it is a command.

I shyly undo my belt and fly buttons and, lifting my hips off the mattress push my jeans off over my feet and hurry under the bedclothes, yanking at the tight hotel sheet tuck until I'm comfortable.

She gets up from her chair and slides onto the bed beside me in that shimmering silken nightie.

"You should touch yourself a little while you tell me. I think it will help make you feel better"

I close my eyes, allow my hand stray to my underwear and answer her questions.

"I was mad as hell with you when I saw you fucking!"

"I know, Stevie, I could tell. But I couldn't stop, could I? You knew I couldn't stop?"

"I knew."

"How?"

"Because I could see his cock."

"It was huge, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Gorgeous?"

"Yes."

"You wanted me to have his gorgeous cock, didn't you?"

"Yes."

My hand presses down against my cock as we were talking, my eyes remain closed, my other hand strays under my tee-shirt to caress my nipples.

"Did you masturbate thinking about it?

"Yes."

"What were you thinking about?"

"His cock."

"His big, thick cock?"

"Yes."

"Say it Stevie"

"I masturbated thinking about his big, thick cock!"

"Fucking me?"

"Yes fucking you!"

"Could you see me coming? Over and over as he fucked me?"

"Yes! And moaning as he fucked your mouth with it!"

"I let him cum inside me: you know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"And the next morning, you ate me out."

"Yes."

"Even though you knew my pussy was full of his cum."

It was a statement. I didn't need to confirm it.

"You kissed me even though you knew my lips had been wrapped around his gorgeous cock; even though my tongue had licked up and down his shaft; even though he'd filled my mouth with cum."

I couldn't stop touching myself as she put my fantasies into words.

"You wanted to taste his cum, didn't you?"

I moaned my agreement.

"You wanted to taste his cock on my lips, from my tongue, on my pussy. All his cum from my juicy pussy and when you had you pretended it had never happened. You pretended that was not what you wanted. You manipulated a petty argument and left."

"Yes."

"But it never left you, did it? So hard, even all these years later, thinking about it; thinking about his beautiful cock. Take off your shirt and boxers, they're just getting in the way, aren't they? I can't see what you're doing."

You don't even think about it, just do what you're told. They are getting in the way of your enjoyment. You pull off your tee and she pulls back the covers. You feel her hands on the elastic of your boxers and then they catch your cock and release it to spring back against your belly as she pulls them down. She laughs delightedly and you are transported back in time, back to when you would play together all day, every day. She laughed all the time.

You are painfully aware that she is still dressed but she encourages you to continue to play with yourself as she watches.

"It wasn't the first time I'd cheated on you, you know."

My eyes spring open in shock. Where is this going to go? How could she have been fucking around? You were hardly ever apart.

Her hand reaches out and covers mine, over my cock.

"It's okay, keep playing with yourself. They were all bigger than you: much bigger. That makes it okay, doesn't it?"

Her hand presses down on mine, forcing it into movement. When she's satisfied I'll continue without her, her finger catches a large drop of precum from the head and, next thing I know she's rubbing it on my lips. My tongue snakes out involuntarily to taste it.

"Mmmhh, good boy! I see you playing with your nipples as you rub yourself. Do you ever jerk off anymore or is it all rubbing and teasing your breasts and nipples and...little nubbin?"

Your cock twitches involuntarily giving you away again and that delighted laugh echoes in your ear.

"Oh my! What has happened to you? Is this my fault?"

Her fingers pluck at my right nipple, the nails pinching it painfully:

"Did Tom ever tell you how much of his cum you were eating? He fucked me regularly when we were going out. He has the most beautiful cock Stevie, I'm sure you've seen it, but maybe you've never seen it aroused? You'd adore it. It's a work of art all thick and proud and 10 inches long.

"Think back. Think how he'd come to stay and you guys would drink until the small hours of the morning and you'd eventually come to bed and crash hard beside me, dead to the world, and he'd come in stripped and powerful to find me naked, on my knees facing the doorway, facing his hardening cock and he'd smile, lift it to my hungry lips and groan appreciatively as I brought it to full attention.

"And when he wanted to fuck me there was no foreplay, Stevie, he didn't need to make me wet for his monster I was always dripping wet for him. I would just turn around and he would take me, the full length stretching me out, my pussy muscles aching for every inch, pulsing around him as he thrust and pressed and pulled out to the very tip to tease me, encouraging me to shuffle backwards to balance my knees on the very edge of the mattress and press my eager cunt back until he was deep inside me again.

"And you would be so comatose I could scream his name as I squirted over him continuously, my juices spraying over his balls and dripping from my feet and ankles onto the floorboards while he pounded me until, finally, he emptied himself inside me.

"I would lie there, replete and engorged and full of cum until morning, waiting for you to awake, encouraging your morning wood, knowing you would be ready to make me ready. I would pretend to be asleep as I felt you awaken and predictably you would look to waken me with your soft, horny kisses.

"And still I would pretend and you would kiss your way along my neck, over my breasts to my belly and your inevitable destination. Can you remember the scent of my hot used pussy? Reeking of Tom and cock and cum and pussy juice? And then your first kisses upon my bruised clit, gentle arousing kisses that would make me moan and tangle my hands in your hair and thrust my gaping pussy to your eager mouth and you would enter me with your tongue, enter that soft, sticky messy hole lapping and sucking all that hot liquid from me as I bucked my clit against your nose and wrestled you beneath me so I could ride your face my eyes closed with the ecstasy of your ministrations, my mind filled with the memories of the night before even as your mouth filled with his essence!"

She was playing with herself as she remembered, as she confessed to making you her creampie-eating cuckold and she ruched up her nightie to straddle you and pull a breast free to press it to your mouth.

As you began to suck she cast her memories aside to focus on the here and now:

"I should have told you Sweetie, I should have known what you were like, what you enjoyed. I should have put you in pretty panties and maybe some stockings and a nightie and made you watch. You'd have liked that, wouldn't you?"

Attached as you were to her nipple you could only moan. You could no longer touch yourself. Her pantied pussy pressed against your cock and you humped the material and her hand, beneath the material, that penetrated deeply inside her pussy.

There was no more talk just groaning and moaning and the sounds of two bodies humping towards orgasm. She came like a fountain soaking her panties, nightie, my cock and belly and thighs, the sheets, and through the mattress protector underneath and I was only seconds behind her my cum blasting upwards against my chest and across her breasts as our bodies separated at the ending of our sensual dance.

And she fell on top of me, against my chest, giggling softly to herself and reminding me that I would never forget what she had done here, tonight. I was hers; her little sissy and she would call on me whenever she desired and I would make myself available without question and, maybe next time, I might be the one to wear the pretty nightie...

..."Now pour me a drink, clean yourself up and go home Stevie and, on the way out, I want you to let the girl at the desk know that you pleased me tonight. I expect she'll ask!"