Here I am once again with someone’s cock in my mouth. Can’t be helped I suppose it was sucking cock that got me here in the first place… or rather me trying to quit sucking cock. Today’s flavor is a nice French cuisine with hints of rosemary or some other shit.
The person who’s dick is currently in the back of my throat is the arresting officer in charge of interrogating me for the death of one Wiley Harlin. I am supposed to be the criminal here, but the only thing criminal is this man, who is sworn to protect and serve, taking advantage of my mental illness. My mental illness being my sex addiction. The only person being served is this asshole who stands erect at a full three-inches. I’d finish him off with my hand, but there isn’t much here for me to grab ahold of. I’ve seen Japanese porn stars bigger than this guy. Actually, I’ve fucked Japanese porn stars bigger than this guy.
Ok here he goes… time for the hot load. I’d prefer to not get it in my eye, but apparently this guy has watched one too many skin flicks and is aiming right at my face. I find in these scenarios resistance is futile. I’m blinded temporarily… it hurts but not as much as the first time I was fucked in my ass. Fucking pig, they are all the same, and frankly I’d love to shove a 12-inch strap on up his ass.
Hi my name is Samantha and I am an aging supermodel sex addict.
I suppose I should give you a little background because as of right now you know exactly two things about me. The first thing you know about me is that I know my way around a penis, and two that I am somehow connected to the murder of someone named Wiley. Well, to set the record straight, and please don’t tell my lawyer I told you, but I totally killed that guy. Probably the best place for me to start is my senior year of high school. I was 18-years-old and my modeling career was starting to take off.
It was pretty rare for me my senior year to actually be in school. It wasn’t because I’d skip to go smoke cigarettes or get drunk. Rather it is about me being off somewhere in Europe modeling clothing for Christian Dior, or some other designer whose garments you wish you could afford.
However, it was probably sometime in late February that I had my first sexual encounter. It wasn’t with a boy my age either, but rather one of my teachers. He was my science teacher and I wasn’t doing too well in class. It was hard to study for exams when you were off walking the runway in Milan every other week. Mr. Schmidt was his name and he was an ageing science teacher who had a real hatred for life.
He had me meet him in his classroom after school on a Thursday afternoon. My boobs weren’t fully developed yet at that time, but I had long legs, dark hair and my lips were luscious. I looked good at 18-years-old. Anyways, he told me that I was failing class and somehow convinced me the only way I’d graduate was if I let him lick my pussy. This was how he got off apparently. I laid across a desk with my legs spread eagle and let him lick my clit as he jacked off into a garbage can.
Before that day I didn’t masturbate, but the feeling of his tongue moving up and down my wet slit, perineum and asshole awakened something inside me. From that day forward I would watch porn and at the very least masturbate every day.
The first person to penetrate me came about a week later when I was in France. I had a male chaperone who for all intents and purposes was gay and was supposed to be showing me the city. Nevertheless, if I’ve learned one thing about gay men is that sometimes a warm hole is a warm hole and that is all that matters. We had drinks at a bar and as I sipped a vodka tonic I decided to make a move. I placed my hands on his lap and rubbed him on the outside of his jeans. We slipped off into a bathroom stall where I officially lost my virginity.
It was a less than glamorous place to have your hymen broken, but I’m sure I’m not the only woman out there to have had an awkward first time. Anyways, I am now 24-years-old and middle-aged in the modeling world. I live in New York City in an apartment paid for by a designer I have a contract through. I don’t do drugs or drink very often. My addiction is fitness, clean eating and the occasional blown load in any three of my holes. I am a true blue sex addict who attends meetings and has fucked overweight truckers at NASCAR races.
I’m not proud of it and it is this precise reason that led me to the offices of Wiley Harlin, licensed hypnotherapist. I thought I’d give hypnosis a try since I’d exhausted all other options. For me sex was on my brain about 22/7… those other two hours are usually spent thinking about food, weird female issues, and going to the gym. Wiley was my only hope and I indirectly got the idea to see him from my model den mother, Norah Jones (no relation to the pop singer). Norah, was 29, and was the momma bear of the contracted models working for Xavier (the designer I work for). She was an old lady in our world and had been retired from the runway for a number of years. She had really let herself go after retirement: eating three meals a day and now weighing 105-pounds. Norah even started having a period again which is something I stopped having after 16-years-old.
Recently, Norah had decided to give up smoking which in the modeling world is the ultimate drug. It provides appetite relief and keeps your body weight low. It was unheard of for someone as pretty as us to not smoke. I overheard a conversation she was having with another model. Norah had credited hypnosis for her ability to kick the bad habit.
Hypnosis sounded strange, but I was desperate to stop fucking randos. After I got finished texting Monica, a girl in my sex addicts anonymous group, about wanting to eat her box, I looked up the number for Wiley Harlin. I called Wiley and scheduled an appointment for sometime next week after I got back from Berlin.
I got back from Berlin, and had managed to only have sex three out of the five nights I was there. However, I feel like I sorta made up for this with one night of group sex at the house of the so called “king of orgies”, Günther Gonads.
My meeting with Wiley seemed pretty straightforward and reminded me of any other visit to a shrink I’ve had. He sat me down in a nice comfortable couch and asked me questions about myself and what I’d hope to accomplish. Most shrinks I’ve seen, I told him, I’ve also fucked. The first one I ever had was a guy named Wayne, who used to attend the same sex addicts meeting I did. Wayne since moved to Texas to be a cowboy, or some other weird shit. He just never really felt happy being a shrink.
Anyways, Wiley assured me he wasn’t going to take advantage of me, which was a good thing because it really didn’t take much. I, for all intents and purposes, can function in public, but as a nymphomaniac I accept almost any and all propositions for sex. I’m not proud to say it, but I’ve fucked a few 16-year-old boys in my day. Sure, they made some sort off handed remark about wanting to slip me the “D” , and I like the weirdo, had to push the issue until it actually happened. Typically, these kids are premature ejaculators, with no real sense of how to please a woman. However, a dicks, a dicks, a dick to me and unfortunately you can add pedophilia to the list of my many sex crimes.
Anyways, all the talk of me wanting to defeat my sexual urges just made me feel horny, and I almost wanted to rub my nub right there– I resisted though. For the first session there was no hypnosis involved, we simply talked about what I wanted to accomplish, and the treatment plan. It was as simple as that really. Basically, I was to come in twice a month to see him for about four months. After, four months he would give me an audio recording that I could play to help reinforce the work we had done.
I did as planned and I would come twice a month to see Wiley. He’d put me under some sort of deep hypnosis, and I’d wake up refreshed and feeling good about myself. I wouldn’t do anything sexual for about a day or two which made me think that he was really doing something. It never lasted longer than that though, but I thought, “hey maybe I am actually getting better.” I remained positive as my needs to have my holes creamed in lessened. However, it was only for a day or two, and never longer.
I seemed to stop getting better, and after two months I talked to Wiley about this. He assured me that this was alright and that I probably just needed more treatment. He was persuasive, and I managed to agree with him. We extended my treatment plan from four months to about eight.
It was right around month six when things went wrong. I was in Wiley’s office and he began the hypnotic suggestion. I grew tired as usual but for some reason I was less receptive. I got drowsy, and closed my eyes to rest, but woke up midway through a session to find my pants off and my shirt pulled up over my breasts– he was fucking me. He was driving his cock in and out of my pussy and fondling my breasts. When I realized what was happening I was so horrified. I wasn’t sure what to do and instead just pretended to still be asleep. He finished inside me and lucky for me I was on birth control. Afterwards, I pretended nothing had happened and went back to my apartment.
On the cab ride back I was seething with rage at what I had discovered. My hypnotist was just another person taking advantage of my beauty and my addiction to sex. How long I wondered had this been going on? I imagine since our second session together since it was the first time I was hypnotized. It was no wonder as to why I wasn’t getting better. I wanted revenge… no I needed revenge and I decided I would have it.
My next two visits I continued to pretend to be asleep. I wanted to see just how far this man was going with me. The sex was very vanilla, always strictly vaginal and in missionary. Here he had me under hypnosis for several months and he could have had me anyway he wanted. Mouth, butt, pussy, missionary, doggystyle and maybe even a titty fuck, However, it was the same vanilla thing every time. He’d cum in me, and then try to wipe out my vagina of any leaking fluid.
I visited one last time and that time it was with a revolver. I shot at his head blowing off the bottom part of his jaw. He ran from me in horror as the blood from his broken face oozed across the office. The next bullet I put in him was in the back of his head. He fell face first onto an expensive asian rug ,staining it with the dark red molasses blood that pooled from what remained of his head.
I was arrested at my apartment thirty minutes later. the neighbor, renting office space next door to Wiley, had heard the gunfire and called the police. Wiley kept an appointments log, and it was from this log the police got my name. I was a suspect in his murder, but I was not convicted yet. The gun I had used was thrown into the Hudson River, and fingerprints and ballistics were still being waited for. Until now they could only ask me questions.
To be clear, I never told the police I was a sex addict, of course it wasn’t hard for them to find out. Wiley Harlin kept notes about all his clients, and in big red letters circled across my file said nympho slut sex-addict. It didn’t take any detective work to find out what my problem was, and the first thing the pig questioning me decides to do is to shove his cock into my mouth.
So here we are again back to where we began. However, if murdering Wiley Harlin has taught me anything it is that I am not the victim. Sure I have this guys cock in my mouth, and now he is exploding all over my face with a white hot sticky load of cum. It seems humiliating but like a good girl I lick the mess up off his dick. The man isn’t paying attention at all just reveling in the dehumanizing act he has just committed against me. His cock is in my mouth for a second time, but this time instead of following it up with a suck and a lick I follow it up with a chomp.