Compulsive Behavior

From the files of Cleo: #2014008

Note: I have made subtle changes to the facts in order to comply with publishing guidelines of this site. They in no way detract significantly from the reprehensible story of female abuse.

Cleo

*****

My name is Kay. I'm a 31 year-old, happily un-married middle-class white woman with a marvelous life - except for being addicted to sex. Maybe it's only the risk factor that I'm addicted to. I honestly don't know, but I do know I'll sometimes take awful risks to anonymously and spontaneously fuck total strangers. There, now that I have that part out of the way maybe I can also be honest with the rest of what I want to explain.

I know the risks of STDs, and all about women being harmed or even killed by someone they've casually bumped into on the street or met on the internet, but I can't seem to stop my risky behavior. I have a good education and make an obscene amount of money working for a high-profile company. If my abhorrent behavior became known I'd be fired immediately.

I was an only child of a traditional, deeply religious family, and I lived at home until after completing college. IN my family, sex was a subject never discussed openly, so I admit I was naïve; therefore, easy prey for any predator. When I was eighteen, an uncle (now deceased) finally introduced me to sex, albeit unwillingly.

A beloved member of our family and deeply admired for his personal achievements and charity work, he was a locally well-known philanthropist, and all-around do-gooder. To my dad, he was a hero, and that was one of the problems. I knew my dad loved him beyond all others. Everyone did, I guess. How could I come forward with my allegations and wreck that?

So I'd suffered in silence, the unwanted incest lasting for a couple years - long enough to scar me for life. Toward the end I admit that I was pretty much a willing participant, guiltily not wanting anyone to find out. My last two years of college I lived in a dorm. He visited me a few times just before his death, renting a hotel room for us, where we would spend the entire weekend without leaving the room, just eating and fucking our eyeballs out!

When it finally ended with his death, I probably knew more about sex than most other young women my age - oral, anal, you name it. My uncle had awakened a ravaging hunger, eating away at me from the inside, and when he died I found others who could fill my needs. I now know that my uncle was a selfish, despicable person, a pervert, and to me, he will always be the Boogieman - the monster that lives under a victim's bed or inside their closets.

Due to rheumatic fever as a small child, I was sickly and thin most of my life. Even during high school I was still pretty thin, but starting to fill out some, and already feeling like a woman. I suppose I was pretty immature for my age though, due to my parents strictness, and not a clue about sex or the outside world. Heck, I wore pig-tails and no make-up until I was well into high school.

After I'd graduated high school I took a while off from studies to contemplate my career course. It was about the time I entered college, my uncle began molesting me. Okay, you might say that I was eighteen and already a young adult, but remember, I'd been sheltered from this kind of stuff my entire life.

Uncle Zeke was a widower and lived about a hundred miles away, so he'd stay with us on some weekends so Mom could ensure he got a good meal. It started out mild enough, just touching my breasts or butt when nobody else was looking. Then he sneaked into my bedroom late one night after everybody else was sleeping, and invaded my body with his fingers. The next time he stayed over the weekend, he held me down and used his mouth and tongue on my vagina. Gradually he worked up to the main event, and took my virginity. I cried for a week.

In some ways, he stole my young adulthood from me. The more he abused me, the younger and more helpless I felt! I used to hide my head under the covers at night, breathing fearfully while listening as my bedroom door opened softly, then a subtle weight on the side of my bed, a rough hand under the blanket - the dreaded whisker stubble scrapping the tender insides of my thighs - a tongue, warm, wet and probing - the pleasure-laced embarrassment as I ultimately became an active participant in my own debasement.

The result of my uncle's deviant behavior was in essence, a life sentence for me. Now a successful accomplished adult woman, I have uncontrollable behavioral patterns and a self-destructive personality, still suffering the consequences of his aberrant actions. A woman I might add, who doesn't have the guts to blow her own brains out or jump off a high bridge - so she seeks to literally do it "inch-by-inch" with strangers until she's eventually cast out by all who know and love her.

So far my secret's safe, but I know it's only a matter of time until my life blows up in my face. After receiving counselling later in life I was made to realize this is a normal feeling for victims. I always seem to be searching for something I can't quite identify, and probably can never find. I'm told my fantasies concerning being used by rude intimidating men with over-sized penises, most likely come from the fact that to someone who's never participated in sex, all penises appear big and menacing. For that reason alone, even a normal-sized penis would have seemed gigantic to someone so naïve!

Maybe that's true, maybe not, but true or not I continue my self-destructive search for a monster cock that will someday split me wide-open, allowing my miserable life to drain away, thereby ending my pitiful existence before I hurt those I admire and love the most.

I was married for three years right after college, and unbelievable as it may sound I never cheated on Tony, although he had numerous affairs that I eventually found out about. I now have a boyfriend, or fiancé, if you prefer, but we have made no plans to be married. That is mostly due to personal reluctance based upon my own "issues," and bracing myself for an uncertain future. I have had dozens of trysts with total strangers since meeting him, most of them forgettable encounters with faceless men, but a few escapades that are etched indelibly into my mind in ways I'll never forget.

My behavior has resulted in something bordering on physical and mental erosion; one gang-rape, multiple sexual debasements, and abject humiliation - but I can't stop doing it. I always crawl away from these encounters immediately after fucking someone, or having been severely battered, feeling worthless, filthy and used. That doesn't stop me from returning for more.

Outwardly, you'd never know of the turmoil and uncertainty that lingers behind the façade of this well-dressed, educated female. One of my problems is I'm not overweight or ugly. In fact, I'm attractive and men want me. My grandmother was from Syria, and I have some of the same classic middle-eastern features she had. I'm five-six, creamy skin, slender-built but with a perky 35 inch bust, dark, shoulder-length hair, high cheekbones and, unaccountably large green eyes. Upon initially meeting people, they expect to see brown eyes staring back at them, and the pools of green in my olive complexion, suddenly stuns them. I have full pouty lips and have always thought my mouth too large, but the men I've known can't wait to taste it.

Call me vain, but a woman can usually see in a man's eyes when he mentally undresses her, and sometimes, even by the tent subtly forming in the front of his trousers. I have to look good all the time, spending a lot of what I earn on designer clothes and beauty salons, because my job requires me to travel and meet people and organizations that our company frequently deals with. I won't describe what the business is because it might be recognized and I don't want that.

Being attractive and well-dressed I can easily attract men, and as soon as they realize what I want, their animal urges kick in and there is no stopping them. The image comes to mind of something I saw at a park one day: a pack of male dogs after a bitch in-heat that they could all smell. Not pretty, but fairly accurate. I know I set-off unique jibes with the men I meet; a casual stare at a stranger in a hotel lounge, the airport, an underground parking garage, or simply walking down the street, is all it takes sometimes.

Once, it'd even involved another woman. Somehow she'd sensed how vulnerable and susceptible I was to intimidation and simply forced the issue in a ladies restroom in the Mall. Remaining forever anonymous, she'd then walked out leaving me sitting there on a commode, my face streaked with her body fluids and my own tears, quaking from several gigantic orgasms I'd just experienced. At least it let me experience something like what I've been responsible a dozen times, for doing to strange men. My uncontrollable behavior was also responsible for my one and only gang rape one night. I constantly try blocking that harrowing experience completely from my mind.

There have been times when I met a strange man for the first time and was fucking him five minutes later - only to hastily straighten-up my disarranged clothing once it was over, and quickly walk away while he was still trying to catch his breath! I sometimes wonder how long it had taken before he realized he didn't even know my name. My specialty is what I subliminally think of as my "drive-by" blow-job! Talk about leaving them in shock!

I know what you're thinking. By now, you have a vision of a trashy white woman on the prowl, constantly looking for a hard cock to munch on - any cock. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Sometimes I go for days or even weeks without the familiar overpowering urge kicking in. Then, something happens that triggers my secret fetish - a stern look, a rude word, Uncle Zeke's eyes in a complete stranger's face - and suddenly I can't stop fantasizing about what his hidden penis must look like! The urge grows ever stronger until I am compelled to act! It's as if at that point I can't help myself!

The lady I talk to once a month about my problem has told me that I share this trait with many other people - especially victims. Some of them, both men and women, are addicted to porn or have other compelling fetishes or fantasies they feel they must live-out. Even "straight" married men may fantasize about performing oral sex on other men, until they can't resist the urge to visit a bath-house or adult theater and make that fantasy come true. They may not even be gay.

Some people are exhibitionists or voyeurs; some want to watch their spouses have sex with another person, or even more than one person; some want to have sex with a family member. It's a strange world out there with lots of personal ideas about sex. I consider mine to be a self-destructive sickness, one that I can't seem to stop.

Sometimes after a lengthy period of not even thinking about it I might wrongly think I have turned the corner, and finally have things under control. Then bam! Some big, rude jerk suddenly growls at me, my legs start to tremble and I soil my panties. To some, it might seem that any good-looking well-built man would get my juices to flowing, but that is not the case. In fact, the reverse seems to be true. Big, ugly brutish men who treat me like shit, is my downfall. Men like Uncle Zeke.

My uncle passed away when I was in college or he'd probably still be controlling me. I say "controlling" because that's what he did. I remember Uncle Zeke as a big man, but I was always small and slender so I suppose everybody looked big to me. I've put on a little more height in the last few years and now wear mostly heels which also adds height. That doesn't stop me from being a stammering little fool every time some strange man snarls at me.

I've mostly forgotten his facial features, but I do remember that Uncle Zeke's head was shaved, and he had a very wide nose and big heavily-lidded, bug-like eyes. I also remember he had thick black hair all over his arms, and most of his body. He would sometimes stop right in the middle of sexually using me to wrap his large fingers around my throat, tightening them, threatening to choke me if I ever told anyone about our "secret."

On the verge of climaxing and my air closed off for almost a minute, it would scare me half to death - and excite me to no end! I came to expect it each time he fucked me and at the last, even began to relish it! Yes, he totally intimidated and controlled me, and that still seems to be one of the main ingredients required to stoke my libido!

That's what happened in the five minute blow-job I mentioned above. It was the first time since becoming an adult that I'd succumbed to my deviant impulses letting my unnatural urges overpower me. It had left me scared, shaken to my core. It would prove to be the first of many more to follow, each growing more risky - and therefore more intense.

I remember it was chilly that day, sometime around the holidays, and the mall parking lot was jammed with cars. I came out of the mall with my hands full of shopping bags, opened the rear door of the Mercedes to discard my packages. My car door accidently banged against the side of an older car next to me. A big scruffy-looking man with a few days growth beard got out of the car and came around to my side screaming profanities and looking threatening. He looked huge! I'm five-six. He must have been at least six-six.

"You stupid fucking cunt!"

I vividly remember him shouting that line specifically, as several people hurried away anxiously looking back over their shoulders. I suddenly realized the lot was deserted and I was alone with this wild man! I stammered that I was sorry and would pay if there were any damages to his car, but he wasn't about to be placated. My heart was pounding with fear, my mouth filled with cotton, legs trembling violently - it was like I was watching a Cobra about to strike! Then something else started happening between my legs. I was growing wet!

Suddenly grabbing his crotch, he screamed at me, "Eat this, you stupid Bitch!"

It was as if I was staring into the eyes of my uncle Zeke again, fear sweeping me along in its icy grip! My mind just completely shut down as something foreign took control of my body. Suddenly lost in long forgotten memories, I was alone with him again in my cozy little bedroom, and knew exactly what was required to take that crazy look from my Uncle's eyes - to keep him from choking me.

Outwardly appearing clam but simply on automatic pilot, I walked over and knelt in front of the angry man. Staring into his eyes as Uncle Zeke had taught me, and with a trembling hand I was sure didn't even belong to me, I unzipped his pants and reached inside. Startled, he stopped in the middle of a vile epitaph, staring down in amazement at this crazy woman who had taken his limber penis inside her mouth, hungrily working her traitorous tongue around the thick crown.

The temperature was in the upper forties so my mouth must have felt very hot, because he was completely hard in less than a minute. In a couple more minutes he was destroying my beauty-parlor hair-do with his hands, whimpering like a little boy. He shot his load quickly. It was weak, watery, and bitterly salty. I clutched the backs of his legs as I sucked him dry, my lips and tongue dutifully working his cock, making little purring sounds as I swallowed all of it, savoring it like it was sweet cream. Then I stood and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, got into the Mercedes and drove away. In the rearview mirror I saw him leaning weakly against his car staring after me, apparently still in shock!

The taste of his semen remained in my mouth and throat all the way home. Sick to my stomach I berated myself even as I realized there hadn't been a thing I could've done to prevent it from happening. What the hell had I been thinking? What if a cop had come by? Or Mall Security? I'd be in jail right now! I'd lose my job, my friends would probably read about it, and my family would be devastated!

Even as I chastised myself, I felt one traitorous hand slide under my short hem and locate the hairless lips of my swollen vagina. My clit was sticking out like a small penis! I sit in my driveway for a while, stroking several fingers in and out of the sloppy wetness and rolling my fingers around my swollen clit until I doubled over the steering wheel in a shuddering climax!

Embarrassed and fearful some of the neighbors might've seen me I rushed inside where I hurriedly brushed my teeth and showered, scrubbing furiously to feel clean again. It wasn't my body that was dirty. I couldn't seem to get the image of what I'd done, out of my mind! I might have gotten that strange man off with a hungry blow-job, but afterward my vagina had been burning up! That night in bed I practically attacked my boyfriend Mike, and for the first time in our relationship, swallowed his sperm greedily as I relived that event at the mall over and over in my mind.

Usually both of us are one-a-night types, but I didn't let his cock slide out of my mouth until it grew hard again, and then I climbed on top and rode him to a shuddering climax! I don't think he even came a second time, but I'm pretty sure he was shocked by my uncharacteristic performance that night!

The weather grew warmer and I didn't do anything remotely like that for a while but it was never very far from my mind, constantly eating away at me the urges grew stronger daily, until I subsequently lost control once more. The second time was easier. I have to say that I don't think Mike has a clue about my proclivities, because over time I have become very resourceful and inventive in my selections. Like a serial killer, it's always quick, random and anonymous - and I never leave clues. I only pray I don't give him a STD or something. I know I should leave him for his own protection, but I love the man and except for the times I grow crazy with this sickness, our life together is wonderful!

My boyfriend loves me, but for the past year our sex life has been pretty sparse. Mike is twelve years older than me, in his early forties, and works very hard. They say as a man ages his sex drive lessens, but that a woman's sex drive increases with age. Such is the total incompatibility of the human species. Mike recently confided in me that I felt "looser" and he didn't feel that he satisfied me as much as before. I quickly convinced him that he did. His penis is a nice size for any man and I truly enjoy it, but I suppose the hammering I occasionally take from over-sized penises will eventually take its toll. I frequently make it up to Mike with my mouth, so he never complains.

There are lots of misadventures I could write about but I'll just stick to the most bizarre one I've ever experienced, which happened soon after that first encounter in the Mall's parking lot. It's one of the most radically bizarre encounters ever to happen to me and I still struggle to explain it, or my own weird behavior, even to myself.

Near one of the branch offices I'm required to visit at least once a month, is a small antique store I'd noticed several times. I'm not big on antiques, but I needed something tasteful for one area in my home, a small end table for the entry hallway. A Victorian style piece seemed like the best idea to hold a colorful lamp.

The store is on the block between the parking lot and our business office, so one day on my way to the branch office I ambled in to look around. Inside, the store was much larger than I'd previously thought. While very narrow on the street-front, it stretches almost a block deep with narrow, crooked isles piled so high with various items, there barely seems enough room to squeeze through.