BBC App Addiction

The Familiar Craving

Morning sunlight cut through the busted blinds in their boring Indiana bedroom, striping the sheets Katrina had sweated through all night. She woke up horny, as usual, her cunt already aching for something thick to fill it. Thirty-two, still tight and fit from pretending to like yoga, auburn hair a mess, lips swollen and parted like she was begging for cock even in her sleep. Her hazel eyes landed on Will, her husband—thirty-four, average in every way, short brown hair, nice enough face, snoring away, totally clueless that his wife was already desperate to get her mouth stuffed.

She didn’t bother saying good morning. She just slid under the covers, pressed her tits against his thigh, and buried her face in his lap. Will’s cock was soft, drooping across his stomach, but just seeing it made her mouth water. She opened wide and sucked him in, tongue swirling around the head, tasting sweat and sleep and that familiar hint of dick. She sucked slow, feeling him twitch and fatten in her mouth. Will groaned, half-awake, his hand already tangled in her hair, like he knew exactly what his cumslut wife needed.

“Morning, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and growing arousal.

Katrina didn’t bother talking. She just shoved him deeper, lips stretched wide around his growing cock, cheeks hollowed out like she was born for this. Her eyes met his, already glassy with that desperate, cock-hungry look. God, I need this, she thought. My mouth feels empty unless it’s stuffed full of dick. She bobbed her head, slow and sloppy, loving the way he got hard in her throat, veins bulging under her tongue. One hand cupped his balls, rolling them while she made loud, wet, slutty noises that echoed in the room.

Will grabbed her hair tighter, shoving her head down, using her mouth like the cocksleeve she was. He pushed in deep, hitting the back of her throat, and Katrina moaned around his cock, making him jerk. This was her favorite part—when he stopped pretending and just used her face. Her jaw ached, her pussy soaked, all from having her mouth stuffed. Fucking never did it for her. Will could fuck her pussy all night and she’d barely feel it. She needed her lips stretched, her throat plugged, his hand in her hair. He felt guilty sometimes, but she always made up for it—sucking him hard again and fingering herself while she nursed his limp dick.

“Fuck, Katrina… your mouth is perfect,” Will groaned, thrusting gently into her wet heat. He watched her cheeks hollow, saliva glistening on her chin as she took him to the root, nose pressing into his pubic hair. Her throat constricted around him in rhythmic swallows, milking him with expert muscle control honed from years of this exact ritual.

Her nipples were hard, clit throbbing, pussy dripping and untouched. This is what I am, she thought. A cocksucker. A cumdump who needs her throat stuffed just to feel alive. The shame made her suck harder, tongue pressed flat under his cock, desperate for him to blow his load down her throat.

Will’s breathing quickened. He held her head steady and fucked her mouth with short, firm strokes, the wet gluck-gluck sounds growing louder. Katrina’s eyes watered, but she never pulled back. When he finally tensed and erupted, hot spurts of semen flooding her tongue and throat, she swallowed greedily, moaning as the taste triggered her own smaller orgasm. Her pussy fluttered, juices slicking her thighs, even without direct touch. She kept sucking softly through his aftershocks, cleaning every drop, her full lips sealed tight around the sensitive head until he softened.

Will let go of her hair, sighing, stroking her cheek while she rested her head on his thigh, his cock still drooling spit on her lips. “You’re incredible,” he said, but she heard the guilt in his voice. He knew this wasn’t enough for her. Not even close.

They lay there a minute before real life crashed in. Will had to leave for some boring work thing in Chicago, gone a whole week. In the shower, Katrina tried to act normal, soaping him up. “I’ll be fine,” she lied, kissing his chest. “I’ve got toys. I’ll manage.” But they both knew she was full of shit. Her cock addiction was hopeless. The hypnotherapist just ended up nutting in her mouth. The self-help videos? Just made her suck more cock. Even the shrink had her on her knees, tongue deep in pussy, trading therapy for orgasms she didn’t even want from women.

Will kissed her forehead. “Call me if it gets bad. We’ll figure it out when I’m back.”

The second Will’s car was gone, the ache came back, worse than ever. Katrina made it to noon before she broke. In the shower, she slapped a fat, veiny dildo to the wall—the kind that shoots fake cum. She dropped to her knees, water pouring over her, and shoved it down her throat, gagging herself like a pro. When the thing finally squirted warm goo in her mouth, she swallowed, but it was pathetic. No hand in her hair. No one calling her a cumslut. Just plastic and shame.

She used it four times that day, riding her vibrator while she throat-fucked the fake cock. She came, but it was empty, left her pissed off and twitchy by dinner.

Work was hell. She bitched out a coworker for no reason, then hid in the bathroom at lunch, phone out, watching nasty blowjob porn—girls choking on fat cocks, mascara running, throats bulging. That’s what she needed. She fingered herself under her skirt, but couldn’t cum. Just got angrier. Why can’t I be normal? Why does my mouth need to be fucked just to feel human?

That night, she called Will and bitched about the lawn and some busted drawer, voice cracking. After, she whispered, tears burning her eyes, “I’m sorry. I just… I need to suck cock so bad it hurts.”

Will’s voice was gentle but tired. “Three more days, babe. Hang in there. I miss your mouth too.”

By day three, she bailed on work, faked being sick. Driving home, she passed the Passion Palace—cheap porn shop, blacked-out windows, tacky sign. She told herself she was just looking, but her panties were soaked just thinking about what was inside. She parked and sat there for an hour, watching guys go in and out, hand shoved under her skirt, rubbing her needy cunt.

The therapist’s words from her last emergency visit echoed. Dr. Lena Voss had locked the door, hiked up her skirt, and guided Katrina’s face between her thighs without preamble. “This is ruining your life,” the older woman had said, gripping Katrina’s hair and grinding her slick pussy against the younger woman’s tongue. Katrina had licked obediently, nose buried in soft folds, tasting the woman’s arousal while fighting her own confusion—no real lesbian desire, yet the degradation made her clit throb. “You need more than one cock, Katrina. Talk to Will about opening things up. Otherwise, you’ll end up in a gloryhole… or worse. Some back alley with a group of men using your throat until you’re drowning in cum.”

Katrina had cum just from the humiliation, face sticky with the shrink’s pussy juice.

That warning pounded in her head. Shaking, she got out and went inside. The back hallway was a magnet. A line of guys waited outside a booth, grunting and moaning coming from inside. The door opened and some older woman stumbled out, face red, lips puffy, chin dripping with cum. She looked Katrina up and down and grinned. “All yours, honey.”

The men turned to look at her expectantly. One at the end, bold, asked bluntly, “You here to suck cock?”

Katrina’s heart pounded. Her mouth watered, lips parting as she stared at the line of cocks waiting for her. She took a shaky step, then stopped, wedding ring suddenly feeling like a shackle.

What the fuck am I doing? The need clawed at her. Will’s coming home soon… but her mouth needed cock now.

The man who had spoken chuckled. “Need a little more than hubby can give you?”

He grabbed his cock through his jeans, thick bulge making Katrina’s knees go weak. She bit her lip, face burning, pussy clenching so hard it hurt.

Another voice joined in, low and teasing. “Go on in, baby. It’s just a little slutty head, right?”

Katrina stood there, shaking, face hot, the open booth calling to her like a dare. The men stared, hungry, waiting for her to break and crawl in, her willpower crumbling under the weight of her filthy need.