12/06/10 21:18 GMT
(extract)
Well, Carlotta—
There are few things which set the blood coursing to one’s dick more urgently than contemplation of deflowering a feisty young virgin—one who has kept her hymen intact for reasons of religion. I hadn’t considered the matter greatly, but so it turns out. It makes shower-room dalliances with skinny college sluts seem pointless and tawdry. Not that I should be totally dismissive of young Katie. She was a hot slippery young thing and her cunt clutched my cock like the rubber grip on a handlebar. Which only makes me imagine what a chaste Christian girl’s tunnel will feel like once it’s naturally lubed and accepting of its first pre-marital dick.
Now if the virgin in question were a timid mouse choosing between loose-fitting sweaters for daywear, it wouldn’t be worth my time. The seduction would be torturous without a payoff sufficient to make it worth the effort; I like a girl to do more than squeak feebly underneath me. No, sex has to be present and sniffable in the prey, however tightly bottled up.
Not that Neely is a prim and starchy kind of Christian. Her inner desire is nearer the surface, ready to come frothing out of the bottle, to sustain that metaphor. I plan a steady shaking-up over several dates, before ‘pop’ goes her cork. And what a frothy explosion it should be.
I sensed her potential during that risible ‘interview’ by her pastor. She did her damnedest to appear cool and progressive as she danced around his questions, but she still took pains to express it—how much she cherished her chastity. “It’s precious, a gift to be stored up …” To hear her say it made my cock huge and thunderously hard. (Following that summer’s worth of rigorous demonstration, Carlotta, you know I’m not overselling myself.) Now this girl knew I was listening, hell I’d caught her eye several times. She could have phrased it any of a hundred other ways, so we hardly need to bring in Sigmund Freud to point out how much pent-up simmering need there is within this twenty-four-year-old paragon of Christian temperance. Oh joy to him on whom the ‘gift’ is bestowed.
Our encounters thus far, I should say, have been very satisfactory, albeit low-key. There have been afternoon coffees and impromptu walks in the park complete with tentative hand-holding. More than that there have been two further car-seat kisses, rounding off two eminently respectable evening dates in preparation for which I groomed and she primped like we were teenagers. (On some levels, of course, she still is.) Those lip-locks, following on from that day we first met, did more to undermine our girl’s defences than any amount of crude attempted groping. The sense of her involuntarily shaping her languid curves closer to me on each encounter, the awareness in her eyes that my cock is pulsing-huge for her—both most gratifying.
Let’s see, date one—meal and movie at a local arts complex. She does a nice line in charity-shop chic, balanced between Christian restraint and “I can be demurely sexy”; I’ll strip away the demure part soon enough. That evening established trust, assured her subtly that I wouldn’t be making any crass attempts to get my hand down her panties. (I use ‘panties’ in deference to you, my dear. I know ‘knickers’ conjures to your mind an image of expansive frilly bloomers.) I skirted around the fringes of my sexual history with enough tease to peak her interest—and she is so very interested—plus enough reticence to make her think I’m embarrassed in her presence of my past coxploits. What a fun game it is. Moving on …
Date two was a country picnic. Now this was something of a tour de force. I called her on a promise she’d made to help me with a newspaper article and managed to steer the topic conveniently to that of chastity. We sat there on the rug sipping fizzy wine and delving, with use of the most discreet euphemisms possible, into why she doesn’t take any dick. How better to focus someone on the idea of fucking than with in-depth discussion on the theme of not doing that very thing? Yearning for release, she is. I could almost hear the strain of her tits against her blouse-buttons.
She went to pains to insist, on both occasions, how much better it would be for both of us if we remained as friends. How much less complicated, since I know she can’t “respond to me physically” the way I might “hope for with another girl”. I insisted that part of her appeal—oh the irony—is that she does have principles and that she values her sexuality. I could almost smell the moistening of her cunt as my words sank in. So it goes—the subtle dance of heathen seducer and sweet Christian prey.
Which brings us to date three and the taking of my first real risk. One that paid off handsomely, I think, though that remains to be proven. On that encounter more detail is required. Perfectly innocent evening to begin with, lubricated with a few bottled beers, while listening to some rock outfit in a bar down by the harbour …
12/06/10 19:31 PST
Well blow me down, the boy has got some restraint. It almost makes me forgive you for coining the word ‘coxploits’. Almost.
I recall during the Summer of Ray’s Seething Lust you couldn’t wait to get said cock out of your pants and into one of my ready, wet holes. Or at the very least to let it swing free while you provided me with some oral attention. I’ll give you your due, Ray, you knew how to put a shit-eating grin all over my face with that tongue of yours, before completing the job with your robust member. Do not take this the wrong way, but I occasionally miss the selfish manner in which you worked me over.
Like now for example. My sex life is perfectly healthy. I’m fucking a guy who’s married to Maria, my friend from Pilates class, and it’s an arrangement that works for me very well. He’s enthusiastic and he loves what I do to his dick, so that he’s at my beck like a young dog sporting a permanent hard-on. And I can bring him to heel with the merest hint that I might withdraw my favors or make trouble between him and his wife. She’s not that much of a friend. It’s regular, convenient and enough fun to make it worthwhile. But he’s simply not the kind of hard-playing bastard you were Ray.
There. A compliment. From me. You know for all your bullshit I still sometimes consider a trip across the Pond to put my body at your disposal, and you haven’t heard me say that in a while. I could easily tie in a trip with work now that the company’s expanding to the UK. But of course for that to happen I’d need to feel sure you’re living up to your potential. That you haven’t lost that steely edge, the thing that attracted me in the first place. That it’s even keener than before and that you’re acquiring some additional skills in the process. Right now what you’re doing is proving yourself to me. All over.
You know the thought of you actually dating, biding your time and working your way through stages of seduction from a cold start with no absolute certainty that you’ll ever get to sink that dick, it does impress.
How are you doing it, Ray? Are you getting some, aside from the anticipated main event, that you’re not telling me about? Calling up one of those slutty little friends listed in your BlackBerry? Or are you as single-minded in your pursuit as that FBI agent Tommy Lee Jones played in The Fugitive? Hunting down a prissy young virgin on the run from her own scary sex-instinct. Part of me hopes the latter. I like that thought of you panting for it, Ray. Denying yourself and channeling all that frustration into your evil efforts. But then the realist in me knows you’d get overwhelmed by your own libido and screw up one of those subtle maneuvers you’ve been crowing about. I think you should go blow an occasional load into some slut-on-the-side so you can keep your focus. In fact I positively encourage it.
Because I do want you to succeed in nailing this girl, my horny friend. More so since you directed me to her pics on the church website. You didn’t exaggerate. She’s every bit the hottie you’d suggested and not a trace of Christian frumpiness. Not in her dress-sense at any rate. But I could still sense it in her cheery grin and her isn’t-God-groovy posturing as she wrapped arms around members of her junior flock. Her inner frump was all on display. She’s got the whole deal worked out, hasn’t she? There she is, drawing the lost to the Jesus-club.
Take your time and fuck her good, Ray. Bone her every which way and make her come like a screaming whore of Babylon, all her God-thoughts still intact and judging her.
Over-the-top? No apology. It comes of being a born cynic smothered by a Baptist upbringing. That’s nature and nurture, Ray. I’ve way too many memories of being lost among hymn-singing mini-believers, their holy smugness radiating more heat than the campfire they sat around. I pretended to follow the herd so I could avoid all their cloying concern-for-the-heathen and being the object of their impromptu late-night prayer sessions. Bad, bad days. Seriously, Ray, don’t screw this up. Take your time, do her good and tell me everything. I’m going to fucking enjoy this like I’m doing her myself.
Keep those entertaining reports coming.
—Carlotta
Kiss-kiss.
~~~~
Neely made sure this time that Jasmine was out before she picked up Odyssey of Lust. She was convinced her roommate was leaving the paperback around their shared living-space deliberately, in hope that Neely would further sample its prose. Its vulgar yet undeniably compelling prose. Temptation struck at the end of a lengthy working Sunday and within twenty-four hours of her most recent date with Ray. Both factors confirmed a pattern, she noted. Fresh from a meeting with Pastor Simmons on their ‘sexual ethics’ workshops, she was punch-drunk from piety. Lifting the book was scarily close to an act of rebellion.
She riffled through the first few chapters to a particularly salacious passage. Sapphire, a girl who came off the page like a kind of accidental trollop, had set out on her journey of self-discovery, ending up in Jamaica. The Caribbean island was her first stop on a trans-global tour funded by the money she had inherited from a sadly-departed uncle. The heroine was now semi-sozzled on tequila in a beach-bar and the only remaining patron. This much Neely picked up from her page-skimming as she nestled deep into the sofa; she’d been drawn there as by an inexorable force of gravity, the promise of the words pulling her down. Usually she would resist, but there was a strange luxury in giving up to this moment of weakness, surrendering to the novel’s dubious delights. A fever was upon her, prickling her skin and accelerating her heart rate as she immersed herself.
Heiress Sapphire, it struck Neely, was permanently in a state of confused arousal as her erotic misadventures unfolded. This was exemplified on page sixty-three, when Deshane shoved her up against the bar’s front, his broad frame trapping her completely.
“Now it’s just you and me, my American beauty,” he said, his face splitting into a wide mocking grin.
“What? But I thought you wanted me to help clean up some glasses! You said I could help around!” Sapphire gasped, as she felt a great python uncoiling inside his close-pressed beach shorts. Now there was an arresting image for a female reader.
“So why would a spoilt rich-bitch from California want to work in my humble little bar?” he asked, his eyes glinting wickedly in his dark handsome face. “And why would I want a beautiful girl like you serving my tables when there are better things you can do on them?”
“I wanted to try something different,” Sapphire panted, her loins moistening to be squeezed so tightly against his manhood as it extended within his shorts.
“I know exactly what you wanted to try,” he grinned, his hands starting to wander all over her neck and chest. “That’s why you have been wiggling that ass in those tight shorts and showing off these ripe firm mangos inside this tiny little top. And why you’ve been giving Deshane the eye all this afternoon.” Neely could not fathom why she found this character appealing, or what possessed her to read on to the point where… He groped her breasts freely through the thin material of her cut-off tee-shirt and they filled his large hands. She felt her nipples inflate as he fondled her.
“But I … I didn’t realise … I was flirting, being … being friendly,” she stammered.
“Oh you’re going to be friendly, my sweet baby,” he told her. He picked her up by her slim waist, his biceps and chest muscles bulging against his coloured shirt as he set her ass easily down onto the bar. “And I’m going to be friendly to you first.”
Sapphire breathed in hard once again—Neely was having much the same reaction—as the bar owner seized her white beach shorts in both hands and tore them, along with her g-string, away from her thighs, exposing her bare pussy. She watched in astonishment as he ripped the skimpy pieces of clothing off her sandaled feet and pulled her legs apart, revealing all she had to his gaze.
“Oh yes, baby, I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, his eyes shining with lust as he gazed at her spread cunt. “I want to know how California pussy tastes.”
She cried out as he pulled her towards him, his tongue already stretching, and plunged the large fleshy muscle into her open grotto. She fell back and knocked glasses smashing to the floor as her arms reached out to prop herself up. Deshane’s face was crushed between her legs and his tongue lashed her clit and thrust into her now oozing passage. Oh sweet Lord. His eyes were on fire, glaring at her as he ate her out ravenously.
“Ohhhhh!’ she moaned piteously. Her pink top was riding up over her full tits. Deshane reached up and pulled it higher, ripping her skimpy bikini to the side as well so that her quivering mounds were completely on show. He continued to slurp hungrily at her cunt, while his great hands reached up and squeezed the fulsome flesh of her breasts, tugging hard at her swollen nipples.
“You taste even better than tequila, California girl,” he grinned with his mouth all wet and shining from her soaking pussy. “And I love those big ripe juicy melons.” He lifted the pink top, hooked it behind her head and then tore away the flimsy bikini so he could grope her freely with both hands. Then he grabbed the tequila bottle from beside her on the bar and drank from the nozzle. He made Sapphire suck on it as well. “Go on, beautiful girl, enjoy the party,” he told her with a grin. The hot sweet liquid rushed down her throat. He pulled the nozzle from her mouth and poured tequila all over her breasts until it gushed down between them to her navel. Then she felt his lips and thick tongue sliding all over her tits, slurping up all the liquor. He sucked on both nipples, making her yell out. Such debauchery, such decadence, Neely was sure she should not have been entertained by this in any way.
“God, Deshane needs to stick his cock inside his beautiful American bitch,” he said. She gasped as he tore off his shirt because of his great muscular black torso and also because she knew she was going to get fucked hard. He took off his shorts and climbed onto the bar with her. His shiny black cock stuck out in front of him and Sapphire’s bright blue eyes stared at the huge ebony pole in amazement.
“Oh my God!” she cried, gasping at its size. Neely could feel both her shock and his smugness. She was compelled to read on, right to the inevitable.
“I know what you’re thinking, girl,” he said, leering as he climbed above her. “How is all that cock going to fit itself inside my tight white-girl pussy? Well don’t worry yourself. It’ll fit just fine.”
She could not believe her eyes as he pushed the head of his massive cock to her slinky pussy lips and thrust it inside. She felt it stretch her open and this was only the start. As she watched, his cock slid inside inch by inch right down to the base, filling her up even more than Don had done. “Look at that,” he said with a soft evil laugh. “That big thick pole sliding into your tight wet love-hole slow and easy. Alllllll the way. Niiiiice.’
His great muscled body was right on top of her with her thighs spread either side of his ass and his mighty spear thrust to the balls inside her. “Ohhhh yeah, California,” he whispered. “Feels so good. When you came to this town I said ‘I’m going to fuck that pussy before it leaves. That’s why I closed my bar early today. So that my cock could be right here deep inside you.” Sapphire stared into his blazing eyes and knew that she wanted everything he had to give. She gripped his bulging shoulders and wrapped her legs around him tightly. “That’s right, hold on tight my sweet California girl, because Deshane is going to fuck you so good, fuck you all night long.”
Neely’s phone buzzed in her jeans pocket and startled her out of her breathless sinful reverie. Damnation! Always the interruptions, like God was tapping her shoulder. She dropped the novel on the sofa, galled that something so asinine—so blunt in its stereotypes, ludicrous in its premise and sub-standard in its prose—could exert such a hold on her. Stupid! Why was she letting herself read this … this bullshit? Big arrogant Jamaican bar owner shows cossetted millionaire-girl what’s what on his bar, takes her virtually by force in the crudest way possible, as the hapless heroine lets him. And then the daft girl starts enjoying it. Gosh, to allow this utter rubbish to … to forge her nipples into such hard points and soak her panties right through the way it had just done. She should be ashamed. She was ashamed.
Plus, it was Jonas on her mobile. That made her feel even worse. He’d promised to call her, she remembered, since he left abruptly after their joint meeting with the Pastor.
“Hey, Neelers, sorry I had to rush off. Something planned with Leona. Didn’t get a chance to run through many ideas with you regarding the workshops.”
“It’s fine, it’s not a problem.” Neely was flustered, guilty like she’d been surprised in the middle of some tangled encounter on the sofa.
“You okay, Neels? You sound a bit hassled.”
“No, no, I’m good. I’m great. You … eh … have any more thoughts about the sessions?”
“What, the sex sessions?” Jonas laughed at his own joke and sounded surprised when she didn’t join in. Normally she indulged his cheeky side. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve got a few ideas. I know you feel as pressured as I do about the whole thing.”
“I do?” A split-second’s defensiveness. Why wouldn’t I want to discuss sex with the youth group? Why should I feel pressured? Then she recalled that she’d been the first one to voice reservations over the project.
“Well yeah, that’s what I figured,” Jonas said. “Kind of being used as the Pastor’s mouthpiece and all that. Look, the way I see it, he’s going to supervise some of the meetings, so it’s got to be tailored a bit to what he’ll expect. But we can look at, you know, sexualisation in the media, brainstorm ways kids might be influenced by images of sex, discuss peer pressure, the importance of them making responsible choices.”
“Yes, yes, that’s good.” Neely’s breathing returned towards normal.
“Basically present the Christian route as a sane alternative. Give J S what he wants to hear, but not lean on the whole divine judgement thing, not guilt-trip them too much. You know, God forgives our screw-ups.”
“Well yes, that’s good too.” Neely liked Jonas’ laid-back attitude to all things church; his irreverence towards the Pastor had always made her laugh. Surely something more was needed, however, if they were going to lead the church youth in a Christian discussion of sex. “I think those are all good ideas, but …”
“But look, Neely, between you and me, I don’t think that covers all the kids’ needs.” His voice was confidential, more earnest than she had expected. “You know as well as I do that some of them are sexually active. I mean Gary Warnock’s been sleeping with Amber Jenkins for God knows how long and I’m pretty sure young Ben’s at it with that new girl he’s brought along, you know, Shaz.”
“How do you know this?”
“Look, I know. Some of them confide in me. Gary was terrified a few weeks back that Amber was pregnant.”
“He was? I’d no idea!” Neely hadn’t been short on suspicions regarding what some of the youngsters got up to when their parents were away, but she was taken aback to hear it expressed so bluntly. She thought young Amber might have confided that stuff to her.
“They were both going up the walls for a few days,” Jonas was telling her. “Neither would dare go into Boots to buy a pregnancy test for fear of someone seeing them. Turned out okay, panic over, but it seems to me that our teens need a bit more than having abstinence shoved down their throats all the time. It’s not serving them well. Know what I mean?”
“You mean …”
“I mean they need to know about bloody contraception, Neels. Not as part of the official programme, obviously. J S would never green-light that, but … Look, it’s the responsible thing to do.”
Neely saw his point, but her hackles rose nonetheless. Why, she was not altogether sure. “Well yes, I know what you’re saying, but surely we should be emphasising that they stop. Restrain themselves.”
“Sure, that’s all great, but let’s get real. They’re modern teenagers. Once the genie’s out of the bottle …”
“What? Once the genie’s … Look, I’m all for taking a progressive view Jonas, but you’re saying we simply accept that they’re having sex? What about the teaching of the Bible? What about holiness, or has that become an embarrassing word for us now? Don’t we believe in making a difference, standing up for what Christianity teaches anymore?”
“Yes, yes of course we do,” Jonas said. “But Neely, we can’t always expect these kids to live up to our ideals.”
What about living up to God’s ideals? She almost said it, but it struck her as so Jack Simmons that she swallowed the thought. “I … Jonas, I think we sell them short if we don’t even hope that they can do better. We can’t give them a get-out clause where sex is concerned. If we do that, then how are they going to be any different from everybody else in the world? You’ll want to slip them condoms at the end of the Wednesday night meetings next!”
“Neels, I’m not saying that. Well not exactly. I’m not saying we tell them it’s okay. I … Come on, you’re a smart girl. You care about the youth group members. You put so much time and effort into them. I thought you’d be with me on this. I mean do you really want one of our teens getting pregnant because we weren’t willing to face up to the fact that they’re human? That they make mistakes? Do you want something like that to happen?”
“No, no of course I don’t. You know I don’t. It’s finding the balance I suppose. So difficult.”
“I know, I know. Look, I’m sorry. It’s late. I shouldn’t have hit you with this out of the blue.”
“It’s okay. I’m tired, that’s all. I need to sleep on it. Pray a bit. I can see this is something we need to discuss. Okay, so maybe the Pastor was doing my head in, tonight, again, but I don’t disagree with everything he says. He cares about those youngsters every bit as much as we do. We are all on the same side, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jonas conceded. “He’s a strange bedfellow, though, you’ve got to admit.”
Neely grimaced. “You know, Jonas, I really don’t want to think of the Pastor as my ‘bedfellow’.” Her comment had them bursting into laughter together like normal, and the conversation wound cordially to a close.
“Bye, Jonas. Text kisses to Leona for me.”
“I was about to do that. Night, Neels. Don’t sweat the workshops. We’ll play a blinder. Bye.”
Not that Neely felt a great deal better as she put the phone down. So were she and her co-worker the only ones left flying the flag for moral virtue? And was everyone else sliding into the swamp of modern carnal excess? The thought was still in her head as she went to return Jasmine’s book to the coffee table from which she had lifted it. But it was open at the same page and before she knew, she was reading how Deshane’s thick meaty shaft sawed in and out of Sapphire’s succulent hole. Her body accepted all he had to give on each probing thrust. She clung onto his great brawny glistening body, as his steel buttocks flexed and he filled up her young cunt time after time with huge hard black island-cock.
“That’s right, California girl, learn how to take Deshane’s cock! It’s going to be pumping inside your pussy a lonnnnng time.”
“Fuck!” Neely slapped the novel shut, infuriated at herself. “Shit! Sorry!” She cast aside the mucky prose and her prayers spilled aloud. “Sorry. For the swearing. And the book. It was … there. I keep finding it lying around and Jasmine won’t listen if I tell her to hide it. I know! I know, that’s no excuse. It’s only when I’m tired. Forgive me, please.”
She took her conversation into the kitchen, continuing as she uncorked a half-drunk bottle of Merlot. “I feel distracted right now, that’s all. Unfocused. It’s … It’s difficult, you know? I … I …” She tried honesty. She knew what was causing this confusion and had never been good at lying to herself. She knew exactly where her mind had been when reading about Sapphire and Deshane, and it hadn’t been Jamaica. “I should drop the whole Ray business, shouldn’t I? Or at least make it clear that we can only be friends.”
But she’d already done that, hadn’t she? From the first proper date. Her praying tailed away, and she took memories to her room along with a full glass of red. She summoned up Florence and the Machine on her iPod, nestled down into her cushioned basket chair and sipped, thoughts inevitably straying back over her first few days with Ray.
Not least what had occurred in that same apartment one day earlier…
TO BE CONTINUED
