My Addiction......................2

My second 'sperm donor' wasn't much to brag about; average dick, and he was so overwhelmed by my talent that he popped off in about two minutes, giving me a fairly decent squirt on my tongue. But it was pretty bitter. I figure he ate a lot of fast food. All those preservatives make semen thin and sour. He was a young guy, about nineteen I would guess, a little pudgy and really not handsome at all. He all but begged me to stay, and said he would go get condoms if I waited.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, feeling bad for the guy. "I just came for the cum."

By the way he looked at me, and acted, I could pretty much tell he'd never gotten his cherry popped. It was pretty obvious he'd never shot off in a girl's mouth before. Well, one virginity was enough, I figured. I didn't want some guy telling me he loved me just 'cause I was his first fuck. I'd been through that before.

After him was a fairly handsome guy named Chuma, around thirty or so, who took a really long time to cum. That was fine with me; I like the act of sucking cock as much as I love the taste of cum, so I happily munched on his good-sized rod for about half an hour as he sat in a chair in his living room. He didn't make much noise during the suck-job, but his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

Chuma jacked off and shot a nice, thick, heavy load of cream into my wide-open mouth, which I certainly appreciated, savouring it for a while as I always did with thick mouthfuls like his. He gave me an awed look as I kept my mouth open wide and made bubbles with his creamy semen, moving my gooey tongue around. I didn't mind as he took out his camera phone and captured a couple images of me with my spermy mouth.

And then . . . I met Femi.

Knock, knock. The door creaked open, revealing a rather stocky man, not very tall, with thick arms and legs and a protruding, but not enormous, gut. He had wrinkled features and snow-white hair, and I figured he was at least fifty, probably even older. He was dressed typically for an old man, in loose khaki slacks and a short-sleeved, pin-striped shirt through which sprouted tufts of white chest hair.

I almost backed off. I'd met a few old guys like this and figured, no way. I didn't want to be responsible for giving an old man a heart attack just because I gave him a hummer. But there was something strong and distinguished about this man, something behind his soft brown eyes.

"Can I help you, young lady?" he asked. He held a half-smoked cigarette in his thick fingers. Classical music played from somewhere inside the little house. I felt very calm and comfortable in his presence.

I gave him a smile, feeling suddenly excited. The oldest man I had ever sucked off, I figured, had been in his late thirties. This man could be a good two decades older. "Um, yes," I said. "I'm with CHG, and I'm conducting a survey of single men. It will only take a couple of minutes, I promise."

He looked amused. "What makes you think I'm single?" he asked.

My smile faded, and I noticed the ring on his finger. Still, why would a married couple live in such a tiny house? I blushed. "I-I'm sorry, sir," I said. "Is your wife also at home?"

His own smile remained, tinged with a look of nostalgia. "My wife passed away six years ago, young lady," he said. "After nearly four decades of marriage."

I blinked several times, suddenly feeling like I was intruding. "I'm sorry for your loss, sir," I said, and feeling ashamed, turned away.

"What's this survey?"

I stopped looked back to him, giving him a sheepish smile. "It's really nothing," I said suddenly uncomfortable. "It's, um, geared toward, um, y-younger men, really."

His eyes narrowed, and he glanced to my clip board, the page on top covered with nonsensical scribbles. "What's your game, young lady?"

I shuddered, feeling like a bug under a microscope. "N-nothing," I stammered. I tried to stop being so nervous. "Really. I'm not . . . I don't want anything. I just . . . go door-to-door, that's all."

His suspicious look remained. "And . . . 'CHG?' Is that some kind of volunteer organization?"

I blushed. "Yeah, kind of," I said. "It's a, uh, private group. Anyway, sir—"

"So why not ask me your questions?" he asked, looking me over. He smiled warmly. "I'm just an old man. I've got all the time in the world."

I blushed. I felt like I was being grilled by one of my college professors. There was a sense of authority about the man that prevented me from running away like I wanted to. "I really don't think that would be a good idea, sir," I said timidly. God, with any other man, I'd have the upper hand, I'd be in control, and I'd be on my knees right that moment with a mouthful of cock!

He pulled on his cigarette, looking so authoritative, so totally in control, as he did that, and slowly let the smoke trail from his lips. His eyes looked me over as if my clothes had suddenly become invisible. I almost wanted to cover up.

"What is it that you really do?" he asked calmly. "Why do you go door-to-door?"

I fidgeted. My heart was pounding, and my legs felt wobbly. I was aware that I was sweating. "Um, I-I think I should—"

"Tell me, young lady," he interrupted me, his voice stern. "No more stalling."

I gasped slightly. I couldn't help but feel almost dominated by him. I dipped my eyes, holding my cilpboard in both hands before me. I felt suddenly foolish. I was a little girl caught doing something stupid. His aura of command compelled me to answer.

"I give blow jobs," I said in a tiny voice. I barely even heard it.

He cocked his head. "What was that?" he asked.

I shuddered, sighing. I lifted my head, stared at the sky a moment. Not a single cloud to hide beneath. I finally lowered my gaze, feeling a moment's strength, and stared at his rather handsome, if leathery, face. "I . . . I give blow jobs," I said again, more distinctly.

He wasn't the least bit put off or fazed by my statement. He simply smoked his cigarette, his eyes boring into mine. "I see," he said at last. "And you think I'm too old for that?"

I blinked, surprised at his response. "N-no," I said stupidly.

He smiled. "So?"

I frowned at his statement, and looked away a moment. Okay, so what the fuck do I say now?

"I-it's just that—"

He interrupted me again. "So you go door to door, with this phony survey scheme, find out if a man is single and alone, and . . . then you give him a blow job." He chuckled. "My, how things have changed. So, do you have a daily quota or something?"

I ground my teeth. He was making fun of me. I looked to his amused face, feeling suddenly bold. "No. I stop when I'm full," I said, hoping to shock him.

But he wasn't shocked. He just smiled, took another drag off his cigarette, then flicked the smouldering butt away. "And are you full?"

I blushed again, flickered my eyes from his. I happened to glance to his crotch, and saw an absolutely impressive outline of a thick, hanging penis. My pussy instantly twitched. The damn thing seemed to hang halfway to his knee! Holy shit! That can't be real! 

The old man suddenly chuckled, realizing where I was looking. "Why don't you step inside, young lady," he said with calm authority.

Numbly, feeling directed like a puppet, I took little scuffing steps past the man as he stepped aside, and entered his room. My heart was pounding; I felt like my entire body was quaking.

To be continued…….