LUST QUEST
by
RAY GORDON
Lust Quest first published in 2001 by Hodder & Stoughton. Published as an eBook in 2012 by Avid eBooks.
Smashwords Edition
9781780801353
New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex.
This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright Ray Gordon. The right of Ray Gordon to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Chapter One
He slid his male hardness deep into the hugging sheath of her sex-wet vagina as she squirmed and writhed in the adulterous union. The delicious squelching sounds of her lubricious love mingling with her gasps of pleasure, she sank her fingernails into his bronzed back as he repeatedly withdrew his granite-hard penis and thrust back into her tightening pussy.
'God, you're so big,' she gasped. 'Fuck me like you've never before.' His heavy balls slapping the firm roundness of her tensed buttocks as the birth of her orgasm stirred within her young womb, he drove into her with a frenzied passion. Parting her thighs wider, the pinken nodule of her sensitive swelling and pulsating, she cried out as her climax erupted and gripped her very soul. 'Yes,' she breathed, his sperm gushing from his throbbing glans, bathing the soft hardness of her ripe cervix...
'I can't write stuff like this,' I sighed despondently, tossing the book onto the desk.
'Why not?' David asked, his dark eyes grinning as he stood beside me and gazed at my naked thighs. 'This particular book has done very well.'
'It's OK for a man to write that sort of thing, but...'
'A man?' he interrupted me. Shaking his head, he raised his eyes to the ceiling. 'It was written by a young woman, Jade. Didn't you notice the author's name?'
'Yes, but I thought it was a man using a female name.'
'No, no. Sex isn't a male-only thing.'
'I realize that,' I snapped. I felt that he was mocking me as he looked at my thighs again. 'I'm not a virgin,' I blurted out, immediately wishing I hadn't.
'Take Anais Nin, for example,' he continued, ignoring my remark. 'She wrote some wonderful erotic fiction.'
'I've never heard of her,' I murmured, wishing I'd not shown my ignorance.
'The Story of O was written by a woman. Why don't you give it a try?'
'Because...' I hesitated, my embarrassment rising as he focused on the rise of my nipples pressing through my blouse.
Travelling up to London to meet the literary agent had sent my hopes sky-high. I'd been like an excited child, bubbling over with enthusiasm. When he'd phoned, I'd thought he'd liked my romantic novel and was inviting me to his office to discuss the book. For him to suggest that I turn my hand to erotic fiction was the last thing I'd expected. And the way he'd stared at my thighs and nipples had left me cold. My dream of becoming an author of romantic fiction had been completely shattered.
Feeling self-conscious - and discouraged - I pulled my skirt down and crossed my legs. Folding my arms to conceal my breasts, I wished I'd worn a thicker bra. There again, I'd not thought my body would be ogled by the literary agent. And I'd certainly not thought that we'd be discussing dirty books. Stories of the casting couch came to mind as I looked around the plush office. What would it take to get published? Did he want me to write about sex or...
'This sort of thing sells,' he persisted, perching on the edge of the huge leather-topped desk. 'After all, we are in this to make money.' He paused, rubbing his chin as he stared hard at me. 'Or is it that you just want to see your name in print?' he asked accusingly.
'No, no, of course not,' I returned indignantly. 'I'd wanted to write a book I'd be proud of. A book I could show my parents and friends.'
'Your book's good, Jade.' He brushed his dark hair back and smiled. 'It's just that it lacks...'
'Sex?' I interrupted him, raising my eyes to the ceiling.
'Yes.'
'Why does sex have to come into everything?' I sighed. 'From selling cars to—'
'Like it or not, that's the way of the world. Have a go at writing an erotic novel. There's no harm in trying, is there?'
'I don't know anything about sex,' I confessed, shaking my head dejectedly as he laughed at me. 'What I mean is... of course I could write scenes like that. But not the bondage and spanking stuff.'
'What you mean is that you have no imagination.'
'Yes. No, I...'
'You're an attractive young girl, Jade. Don't try and tell that you know nothing about sex.'
'Of course I know about sex. And I'm not a young girl. I can't write about something I have no knowledge of.' I felt confused as he gazed at me. I was coming across as stupid. 'I'm talking about anal sex and... What I mean is...'
'What do you mean, exactly?' he frowned.
'OK, I can use my imagination to an extent. But whipping, spanking, anal sex, three men in bed with one girl... as for lesbian sex.'
I grabbed my bag and stood up. That was that, I knew as he stared at my long legs. The end of my writing career had arrived before it had even begun. Raising his eyes to my cleavage, the agent gazed longingly at the half-moons of my breasts. All men were the same, I concluded. David seemed more interested in my body than my work. That's why sex sells, I ruminated. Men wanted sex and they were more than willing to pay for it. Perhaps I should write about it? I pondered.
'You've been more than helpful, David,' I said, walking to the door. 'I appreciate you giving me your time, and reading my manuscript. But if you don't like my novel, then...'
'Then you'll never be published.'
'That's encouraging.'
'Your book's all right, Jade. It's well written, the storyline is good and the characters are strong. But the boy-meets-girl scenario has been flogged to death. Times have changed. Closing the bedroom door on the horny couple just as they're about to—'
'Horny couple?' I broke in. 'They're a young couple who are desperately in love. They've fought tooth and nail to be together and—'
'People in love have sex, don't they?' he asked sardonically.
'Yes, but...'
'Then why not write about it? Give it some thought, Jade. Write a couple of chapters and let me have a look. Here, take the book with you. It might give you some ideas.'
'I suppose so,' I sighed, slipping the book into my bag.
'You can write, you've proved that. It's just that you're writing about—'
'About a young couple in love.'
'And leaving out the juicy bits.'
'Juicy bits? Perhaps I'm an old-fashioned prude,' I smiled. 'I'd thought that Romeo and Juliet...'
'To put it bluntly, Romeo and Juliet would have fucked,' he chuckled, rising from the desk. 'As I said, give it some thought.'
'Perhaps I should buy myself a whip and a pair of handcuffs,' I quipped as he opened the door for me.
'Now there's an idea,' he grinned, eyeing my legs again.
'I think not. I'll see what I can come up with.'
'You do that. And good luck.'
Good luck? What chance did I have of writing about anal and spanking? I'd neither experienced anal sex nor had desire to do so. And the only time I'd been spanked was my mother, which couldn't have been further removed from a sexual act. Trying to look on the bright side, I supposed that I'd been lucky to have got as far as seeing an agent. It wasn't that I was ungrateful, it was just I'd thought the meeting would be interesting, enlightening and fruitful. On reflection, it had indeed been most enlightening.
David had been helpful, but I'd put my heart and soul into my romantic novel. Having spent three years writing the book only to have it turned down had shattered my self-confidence, and I doubted that I'd ever write another word.
David knew the business, I ruminated. If he said that it was no good, then who was I to argue?
Walking to my car, I wished I'd stuck to freelance journalism. At least I'd earned a pretty good living. But I'd thrown it all away by wasting three years writing a book that was fit only for the dustbin. My savings all but up, I was going to have to do something to bring some money in. Did Romeo and Juliet fuck rotten? I'd always imagined them making passionate love, not fucking rotten.
Reaching my flat, I let myself in and mooched into my den. The computer screen reflected my blank stare as I flopped into my swivel chair and took the book from my bag. Flicking through the pages, I read about a young naked body tied to a metal frame. Her buttocks crudely parted by two men, she gasped as one drove three fingers into her pussy and the other forced his finger deep into her bottom. 'Do my arse,' she begged the men crudely. 'Spunk my arsehole and then come in my cunt and fuck my mouth.' Did girls like that really exist?
My thoughts turning to Alan, my one and only friend, I wondered whether we would have still been together if I'd behaved like the tart in the book. He'd left for a so-called friend of mine; cruelly telling me that she was brilliant in bed. Apparently, she was heavily into oral sex. Alan had delighted in informing me that she enjoyed cocksucking and pussy-tonguing. 'Into anything and everything,' he'd said smugly. 'Unlike you.' I'd not only despised him, I'd hated his vulgar words, too. And now I was to use such words in a book?
I'd often said that I'd try taking Alan's penis into my mouth when I felt that I was ready, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Towards the end of our relationship I'd feigned headaches and goodness knows what else to get out of having sex with him. Every time he came near me, I knew that he'd expect me to suck his penis and I began to put up barriers. I'd enjoyed our lovemaking, the closeness, the burning passion. It was just the thought of him coming in my mouth that had revolted me. Perhaps I was too young? Were the barriers still there?
Dropping the book onto my desk, I realized the extent of my naivety, how inexperienced I was. Twenty-one years old, and I'd only had one boyfriend. If I was going to write erotic fiction, then I'd need to get out and about. I'd need to experience life, have a few relationships. Relationships wouldn't help, I sighed inwardly. I'd need to experience crude and illicit sex to write books like that.
Even if I'd had the experience, did I want to write that sort of stuff? More to the point, could I write it? I had to admit I felt somewhat aroused when I looked through the book David had given me. The notion of a naked girl having her young body pleasured by several men intrigued me, and I found myself wondering what it would be like. But the thought of writing filth went against the grain. Not knowing what to do, I picked the book up and began reading from the beginning. It had a pretty good storyline, which surprised me. I'd imagined page after page of crude bonking, but no. The heroine, if she could be called that, came across as real. In fact, the book was very well written. The content was sexually explicit to the point of being disgusting, and I wondered why such books weren't banned. But it was extremely well written. Perhaps I was envious. Not only of the author, but of the heroine.
Just as I was becoming engrossed in the story, and pondering on analingus, the phone rang. It was Jackie, my best friend. She'd been eagerly awaiting news of my visit to the literary agent and could barely control her excitement as she asked how I'd got on.
'Turned down,' I sighed. 'They want crude sex, not love.'
'Sounds great!' she trilled enthusiastically. 'There's nothing like—'
'Jackie, I spent three years writing that bloody book.'
'Bung some sex in it.'
'Bung some sex in it?' I echoed despairingly. 'I can't just "bung some sex in it". It's about love, not bondage and spanking. I can't punctuate every other page with filth.'
'I don't see why not,' she returned. 'Anyway, it's not filth.'
'Have you been tied to a bed and had your naked buttocks spanked?'
'No, but I wouldn't mind trying it!' she giggled. 'I'll come round and we'll talk about it, OK?'
'I don't want to talk about being tied to a bed and spanked,' I quipped.
'No, silly. I mean, talk about writing dirty books.'
'OK. I'll go and put the kettle on.'
Jackie and I had been friends since we'd been at school together. She was good company, vivacious and very attractive. Although radiating a childlike innocence, she was also a... No, 'tart' would be too strong a word to describe her: she was promiscuous. God only knew how many boyfriends she'd had since I'd known her. Dozens, I would imagine. How many penises had she had inside her? I wondered as I went to the kitchen and filled the kettle. Recalling the dirty book, I also wondered whether she'd ever had her arse done, as the author had crudely described anal intercourse. What an awful way to put it, I reflected. There again, what an awful act to write about, let alone commit.
Pouring the coffee, I pondered on lesbian sex. I could take a shrewd guess as to the things lesbians got up to in bed, but to bring authenticity to the scenes would take far more than a good imagination. Besides which, the last thing I wanted to imagine was licking another woman's vagina. Shuddering, I tried to push the vile thought out of my mind. My trouble was that I'd had a sheltered upbringing and had been a swot at school. While Jackie had been busy exploring the appendages of the opposite sex, I'd spent my time reading Shakespeare and... Did they fuck rotten?
Answering the doorbell, I caught sight of my reflection in the hall mirror. Attractive, with long golden locks flowing over my shoulders, I knew that I'd have no trouble getting a boyfriend. I'd been asked out often enough since Alan had lumped me for the tart. But I didn't want a relationship. My only relationship had ended in disaster and I'd decided to throw myself into my writing rather than waste time by going out with men.
Did I need to experience anal sex to write about it? If I read enough erotic fiction, I'd be able to write my own, I concluded. There was no need to experience spanking to write about it. Bondage, whipping, group sex, sex, oral sex... Reading a few dirty books would furnish me with more than enough carnal knowledge. I'd have to earn money somehow, I reflected. The ageing washing machine was on its last legs and the television only seemed to work when there was nothing worth watching.
'Hi,' Jackie beamed excitedly as I opened the door. 'How's the dirty book coming on?'
'It's not,' I returned firmly as we walked into the kitchen. 'I do not write dirty books, Jackie.'
'Well, you should,' she smiled, brushing her long black hair away from her pretty face. 'God, I'd love to earn money by writing about sex.'
'That doesn't surprise me. You'd earn yourself a fortune,' I quipped.
'I don't know why you're reacting like this,' she frowned. 'If you can get a book published, which is something you've wanted to do since we were at school, then go for it.'
'What do you know about lesbian sex?' I asked pensively she plonked herself at the kitchen table. God, what sort question was that?
'More than you might think,' she replied mysteriously.
'What?' I gasped, surprised, almost dropping the cups as I placed them on the table.
'Remember Jenny Hardbrooke?'
I feared the worst as she grinned at me. 'That skinny thing who used to wear skirts up to her bum?' I asked.
'That's the one. It was during the summer holiday. We were playing around in a haystack down on Turner's Farm and... Well, you know.'
'No, I don't know,' I said, my eyes wide as I waited for her to enlighten me with sordid details of her encounter. In a haystack?
Gazing at Jackie's angelic face as she locked her gaze to mine, I dreaded to think what she was about to say. She was a beautiful girl with full red lips and huge eyes, and I knew that she'd never had a shortage of men after her. But a lesbian relationship? Had she licked Jenny Hardbrooke's pussy? I wondered. Had they taken their clothes off and licked each other's... There was material here for a book, I reflected. Grimacing, I again realized how naive I was as I sat opposite Jackie and awaited her story with bated breath. I almost grabbed pen and paper to make notes, but decided against it.
'Jenny Hardbrooke,' she sighed wistfully, her tongue peeping at me as she provocatively licked her succulent lips.
'What happened?' I asked eagerly, wondering where her tongue had been.
'We brought each other off,' she replied unashamedly.
'Brought each other... My God,' I gasped. 'You actually masturbated each other?'
'Yes.'
'But...'
'But what?'
'Were you both naked? My God. Did you take each other's clothes off or—'
'Yes, we were naked.'
'My God.'
'I wish you'd stop saying "my God". There's nothing wrong with two girls discovering their bodies.'
'Their own bodies, maybe. But not each other's.'
'You are a prude,' she laughed, flicking her long black hair over her shoulder. 'There were loads of girls at school who played about like that.'
'Well, I wasn't one of them.' Pausing, I tried to picture Jackie with her finger inserted in Jenny Hardbrooke's pussy. 'Tell me more,' I finally said, somewhat too eagerly. 'I mean, purely for research purposes.'
'So you are going to write smut,' she said eagerly.
'No, I... I don't know, yet. I haven't come to a decision. So, what happened?'
'We were rolling about in the haystack and she pulled her knickers down and showed me her crack. You know, "You show me yours" and all that.'
'No, I don't know.'
'Well, you do now.' Jackie's dark eyes gazed at me and frowned. 'Weren't you in the pube contest?' she asked.
'The what?'
'You weren't, were you?'
'No, whatever it is you're talking about.'
'We used to count our pubes every week to see who was winning. Christine Smith had a thick black bush while most of us were still as bald and soft as a baby's bum.'
'Jackie, your despicable behaviour surprises me,' I said admonishingly. 'Hang on a minute. Where was I while all this was going on?'
'I don't know. Masturbating, I would imagine.'
'Jackie!'
'Didn't you masturbate?'
'No, I did not.'
'All I can say is that you surprise me. I thought that everyone masturbated. Friday afternoons behind the kitchens was where the action was. Hands down knickers, fingers rubbing... There were girls frigging and coming like there was no tomorrow.'
Jackie had not only surprised me, but shocked me. And she'd finally driven home to me just how inexperienced I was. I began to wonder whether I was abnormal as I recalled spending Friday afternoons in the library reading Shakespeare. Perhaps I should have explored other girls' sex cracks. But no. To engage in lesbian sex wasn't normal. Of course teenagers experimented, but not with their own sex. Or did they? According to Jackie, teenage girls did far more than experiment with each other. Frigging and coming like there was no tomorrow?
'So, this dirty book,' she grinned salaciously. 'Want me to give you some ideas?'
'No, thank you,' I returned firmly. 'Jackie, we were best friends at school. We spent weekends together and had sleep-overs. How come I knew nothing about your... your lesbianism?'
'It wasn't lesbianism,' she giggled. 'For goodness sake, Jade. Most boys wank each other off when they're in their early teens and—'
'Wank each other off!' I gasped in astonishment. 'You should write filthy books, not me.'
'Now there's a thought. Seriously, Jade, most schoolgirls touch and frig each other. It's perfectly normal.'
'Normal? Do you... As we're on the taboo subject, do you still masturbate?'
'Since I dumped Ian, I've had no choice.'
'Well, I don't know what to say. I thought... I don't know what I thought.'
I thought that I'd led the life of a nun in comparison to Jackie. I realized that she was prone to exaggerating, but she wasn't a liar. Jenny Hardbrooke? My God. The last I'd heard of Jenny, she was working in the local library. And she was married with a child. The next time I saw her, I'd picture her naked in a haystack, her legs wide open and Jackie's finger in her pussy. What would her husband think if he knew of her sordid past?
I wanted to ask Jackie about her many sexual exploits, but decided against it. We'd never talked about sex before. Our times together had been spent enjoying shopping or having a drink in a pub. She'd always gone on about men, asking me what I'd thought of this one or that one, but we'd never discussed sex. I'd thought I'd known her so well, but now? I supposed she'd thought me too prudish to talk about sex. It had obviously been my talking about erotic fiction that had sparked her off. Gazing at her slender fingers, I imagined her masturbating, rubbing the solid nodule of her clitoris to orgasm. Did she finger her pussy?
Wondering about writing erotic fiction, I came to a decision, as we sipped our coffee. I'd write a couple of chapters, as David had suggested, and see how I got on. Lesbian sex would be easy enough to imagine. There again, I'd never masturbated myself, let alone another woman. Feeling that I'd missed out as I eyed Jackie's nipples pressing through the thin material of her tight T-shirt, I wondered what it would be like to explore her naked body. Stop it, I urged myself mentally. What the hell was I thinking?
'What's on your mind?' Jackie asked knowingly, following my gaze and looking down at her elongated nipples.
'Er... Nothing.' I smiled, my face flushing. 'Fancy going to the pub tonight?'
'Yes, why not? We'll celebrate the beginning of your new career as a pornographer.' She stared into my eyes and giggled. 'Or is it pornographess?'
'We'll celebrate nothing of the sort,' I stated firmly. 'Pornographess, indeed.'
'Have it your way,' she laughed. 'Right, I'll see you there at seven.' Leaving the kitchen, she turned in the doorway and flashed me a salacious grin. 'We'll get wrecked on vodka,' she giggled.
'I'm not getting wrecked on anything,' I snapped, following her to the front door. 'And don't be late. The last time you said you'd meet me at seven, I was left on my own for over an hour.'
'Don't worry, I'll be there on time.'
'You'd better be.'
When Jackie had gone, I went into my den and picked the book up. Reading the smut, as Jackie had called it, really did turn me on. The heroine had been stripped naked and was being attended by three men. One was doing her bum, another her pussy and the third her mouth. Sperm pumping into her anal canal, flooding her tight pussy and filling her gobbling mouth... Leaving nothing to the imagination, the author must have personally experienced the crude act, I mused. Three penises pumping sperm in a girl's orifices? I couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like to commit such a vulgar act, and found myself thinking that the girl was nothing more than a common tart.
'God,' I breathed, realizing that I was beginning to believe in the characters. The book certainly made good reading and, I have to confess, also made me very wet. My only sexual experiences having been with Alan, I'd never imagined sex with another man - let alone with three men at once. Reading about one man's tongue slipping into the girl's sex-juiced pussy as another man licked the rosebud of her tight bottom-hole, I realized that my arousal was rocketing. But this was what the book was designed to do, I reflected. A real turn-on, heightening the reader's libido to the point where... Masturbation?
Tugging my skirt up, I reclined in the chair and slipped a hand down the front of my panties. My vaginal lips my swollen, my sex crack drenched with my lubricious juices, I couldn't believe how hard my clitoris was. Running my finger down the wet ravine of my opening pussy, I explored the moist entrance to my hot vagina. I'd never touched myself like this before, never explored the intricate inner folds of my vaginal crack. My finger instinctively slipping into my hot pussy, my heart racing, I gasped as my muscles tightened. Massaging my sensitive inner flesh, the beautiful sensations rippling through my quivering body, I felt an overwhelming need to come.
Slipping my wet finger out of the tight sheath of my pussy, I tentatively massaged the solid protrusion of my expectant clitoris. Breathing deeply as the electrifying sensations permeated my contracting womb, I moved forward on the chair and parted my thighs further. I'd never dreamed of masturbating, and became riddled with guilt as I rubbed my clitoris faster. Consoling myself with the thought that women masturbated, I closed my eyes and pictured the girl in the book. Tongues were entering her creamy vaginal sheath, seeking the sensitive brown ring of her bottom-hole, her wet sex flesh, lapping up her juices of lust, taking her to orgasm. Fingers penetrated the secret entrance to her bottom, massaging deep inside her quivering body as she gasped and writhed in her illicit pleasure.
I'd had a few orgasms with Alan, but the pleasure I'd derived from our lovemaking had come from the intimate bonding of the union. He'd always come, of course. But his sperm gushing into my pussy had usually signalled the premature end of our passion. More often than not, I'd been left in a quivering state of arousal. Perhaps I should have masturbated, taken myself to orgasm when he'd gone home. He should have made sure that my needs were fulfilled rather than concentrating on satisfying his selfish male desires.
Should I have taken him into my mouth? I pondered as I thought of his hard penis entering the tight sheath of my pussy. Should I have sucked his purple knob to orgasm and swallowed his sperm? He'd once used the term mouth-fuck. It had revolted me. On reflection, perhaps it was Alan himself who had revolted me, not the crude words themselves. Mouth-fuck. Fuck-mouth. Mouth-sperming. I'd have to get used to such words if I was going to write erotica. Erotica? Or pornography?
'Ooh!' I cried as my orgasm suddenly erupted within my pulsating clitoris. Thinking about Alan's penis shafting my tight pussy, and picturing the naked girl with three men screwing and sperming her orifices, I experienced the most intense orgasm ever. My love juices gushing into my panties, waves of pure sexual bliss transmitting from my pulsating clitoris and spreading throughout my trembling body, I thought I'd never come down from my orgasmic heaven.
Slipping my free hand down the front of my wet panties, I drove my finger into my hot pussy as I sustained my shuddering orgasm. Massaging my inner vaginal flesh against the hardness of my pubic bone, gasping and whimpering in my new-found sexual euphoria, I fervently massaged my swollen clitoris and fingered the wet duct of my pussy. My juices of arousal flooding my hand, gushing into my panties, I writhed and whimpered in the grip of pure elation. On and on waves of sexual bliss rolled through my quivering body. My heart racing, my breathing fast and shallow, I thought I was going to pass out as the agonizing pleasure peaked.
Finally slowing my massaging rhythm as the beautiful sensations began to subside, I lay dazed in the chair, panting as my body shook uncontrollably in the aftermath of my self-loving. I now knew why Jackie masturbated, I reflected as I clambered to my feet and swayed in my drunkenness on my trembling legs. Had I known the immense pleasure masturbation brought, I'd have joined the girls behind the kitchens at school. There again, massaging my clitoris to orgasm in the privacy of my flat was one thing. To masturbate while other girls watched was something I'd never contemplate. And to masturbate each...
To my horror, I found myself wondering what it would like to watch Jackie rub her clitoris to orgasm. I'd never seen a blue movie, despite Alan's many attempts to show me one, let alone watched a girl masturbate. I'd always thought sex an act to be shared with the one you love, not alone or with an audience. Or with three men simultaneously. Did I really want to watch Jackie bring herself off? Thinking of rubbing her clitoris to orgasm as she lay naked on my bed, I sighed. Perhaps I'd wanted to satisfy a fantasy? But why was I having such fantasies?
Deciding to take a shower after my pioneering act of self-abuse, I walked into my bedroom and slipped out of my blouse and skirt. Standing before the full-length mirror as I released my bra and tugged my pussy-soaked panties down, I admired the violin curves of my naked body. Whether it had been reading the book or talking to Jackie about sex that had driven me to masturbation, I didn't know. But I did know that my libido was again soaring out of control. I felt sexually aroused as never before. Focusing on the reflection of my creamy-pink vaginal crack peeping at me through my juice-matted blonde pubic hairs, I felt a quiver run up my spine.
Parting my feet and bending my knees, I peeled open the swollen lips of my vagina. The intricate folds of flesh unfurling, my clitoris emerging from beneath its fleshy veil, I gazed at the milky fluid trickling from my open sex hole. Parting my pussy lips further, I focused on the portal to my sex sheath. Alan's penis had torn down my curtain of innocence, fucked my pussy and spermed my cervix. His balls had battered my firm buttocks as he'd fucked and spunked my virginal body.
'No,' I breathed, running my fingertip up and down the dripping valley of my yearning pussy. I couldn't masturbate again. I had to control myself, I knew as I went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. I had to stop thinking about a penis fucking me, a purple knob jetting sperm deep into my pussy. The hot water splashing over my naked body, I couldn't drag my mind away from the amazing orgasm I'd had. How many times a week did women masturbate? Or men, for that matter? My fingers between the swell of my pussy lips again, I was like a child with a new toy. Was it bad for my health? I wondered stupidly, rubbing my ballooning clitoris as the water caressed my naked skin like a thousand tiny fingertips. How many times could I come in one day?
After leaving the shower and drying my naked body, I dressed and sat at my desk to write. If I could make a start on the first chapter, I'd get the feel of the book, I reflected, turning the computer on. Set the scene, introduce the characters and... I hadn't even thought of the characters, let alone a storyline. But I decided to see what I came up with and started bashing away at the keyboard. At least I could now write about masturbating, I reflected guiltily.
Chapter Two
Glancing up at the clock, I realized that I'd been writing for two hours. Switching the computer off, I grabbed my bag and left the flat. I'd told Jackie to get there on time and it was I who was going to turn up late. Walking down the street, I thought that it would serve her right to have to sit there waiting for me. Many times I'd had to sit in the pub for her. Feeling self-conscious, not knowing where to look, I'd felt awkward and uncomfortable. Perhaps I was shy, I reflected. Serve her right or not, I didn't like being late. But I'd been working hard on my new novel, I consoled myself. And, the terrible thought struck me, masturbating my clitoris to orgasm. God, what had I done?
'I thought you weren't coming,' Jackie complained as I walked over to a corner table and joined her.
'I've come now,' I replied, wishing I'd chosen my words carefully. 'I mean, I'm here now.'
'There's your vodka,' she said, pushing a glass across the table. 'The ice has melted, but that's your fault.'
'I'm sorry,' I sighed, sipping my drink. 'I got engrossed in the book and lost all track of time.'
'The smutty book?' she asked, rather too loudly for my liking.
'No, of course not,' I lied. 'I'm working on the book they turned down, trying to improve it.'
'By adding lots of sex scenes to it?' she beamed excitedly. '"He forced his huge cock right up her tight pussy and fucked her hot cunt and—"'
'No, Jackie. That is not what I've been writing. As I said earlier, you should write filth, not me.'
'I might just do that. A book in the form of diaries,' she murmured pensively. 'I could call it My Days in the Haystack.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' I returned. 'My Days in the Haystack, for goodness sake.'
'How about Teen Pleasures?'
Gazing at Jackie's loose-fitting blouse, the half-moons of her breasts, I wondered why her libido ran wild most of the time. She seemed to think of nothing other than sex, unlike me. We were both the same age, so why was I so very different? Why was anyone different? I mused. Some girls wore skirts so short that their panties were on display, while I wore knee-length skirts. Give me a child for the first seven years... Was it my parents' doing?
'Anyway, I was quite pleased when you didn't turn up at seven,' Jackie giggled.
'Oh, why's that?' I asked, dragging my gaze away from the deep ravine of her cleavage.
'I was chatted up by that bloke at the bar. The one standing by the fruit machine with long hair and a leather jacket.'
'He looks like a nomad,' I whispered, eyeing his scuffed boots and torn jeans.
'He is. Well, he's living in a caravan until he gets his own flat. I told him that I was meeting a friend so he went back to the bar and joined his mate. I should have come here on my own.'
'Oh, thank you very much,' I returned. 'If I'm cramping our style, then—'
'I was only joking.' Her eyes lighting up, she leaned across the table. 'Jade, he's looking this way,' she whispered grabbing my arm. 'His friend looks a bit of all right, do you think?'
'Jackie, we're not here to—'
'Shush, they're coming over.'
Raising my eyes as the two young men joined us, I knew that I really didn't feel like being sociable to strangers. Having been up to London and had my dreams shattered, I wished I'd stayed at home and gone to bed early. Jackie was in conversation with the nomad, leaving me to contend with his weird friend who seemed to think it necessary enlighten me as to his name, age, state of unemployment and lack of money. Great, I thought. Another waste of space called Alan. This one was eighteen years old, on the dole and broke. At least my Alan had had some money.
'I'm a musician,' he enlightened me, holding his glass on its side to indicate that it was empty and in need of refilling.
'Really?' I sighed, forcing a smile.
'The guitar. I play lead with The Gremlins From Hell. We do pubs and clubs.'
'Where did you find the name?' I asked with more than a hint of sarcasm. 'A children's programme on the Cartoon Channel?'
'No, we...'
'I don't know how you can afford it, seeing as you're on dole.'
'Afford it?' he echoed, hooking his long black hair behind ears. 'Afford what?'
'Playing in pubs and clubs. Lugging your gear about and paying for petrol, and—'
'We don't play for nothing,' he laughed. 'We get paid for the gigs.'
'So people actually give you money to listen to you playing your guitar?' I asked mockingly. 'You obviously inform Social Security when you earn money from your musical exploits.'
'Of course not.' He frowned, looking at me as if I were stupid. 'We get a hundred each for a really good gig. Trouble is, they're far and few between. I don't suppose...' He broke off, grinning as he passed me his empty glass. 'I don't suppose you could...?'
'Your supposition is correct,' I smiled, wondering at his effrontery.
'It's just that I'm right out of cash. I'm trying to get into journalism but it's not easy. I've had a few short stories published but—'
'Short stories?' I echoed, sitting upright and taking an interest.
'The national women's mags. You know, romance, twist in the tale, that sort of stuff. The money's not bad, but...'
'How long have you been writing?' I interrupted him.
'A few years. Poetry, mainly. And songs, of course. You know, for the band.'
'Here,' I said, taking a five-pound note from my bag. 'Get yourself a drink. I'll have a vodka and lime, with ice.'
'Oh, right,' he grinned in surprise as he took the money. 'Thanks very much.'
Jackie was too enthralled by the Neanderthal lookalike to notice that I'd bought Alan a drink. Chatting about some nightclub or other, her eyes sparkling lustfully, she reached beneath the table and squeezed or touched some part of the man's body. I didn't dare think which part as he leaned forward and kissed her. I also didn't dare think what was lurking in the undergrowth of his full beard as he pressed his beer-wet lips to hers.
Alan returned and placed the drinks on the table - and pocketed my change. He was OK, I observed. He was scruffy and unshaven, but clean. His jeans had been washed and, although his Jimi Hendrix T-shirt was torn, it wasn't dirty. I notice these things, I mused, gazing into his dark eyes as he smiled at me and leaned forward. Thinking that he was about to follow the nomad's approach and kiss me, I sat back in my chair.
'Guess what?' he whispered, again hooking his hair behind his ears.
'What?' I frowned, tentatively moving forward as I realized that he didn't intend to wet my lips with lager by snogging me.
'The manager has just booked us.'
'Booked us?'
'The band. I was talking to him earlier about it. He wants us to play here on Saturday night.'
'Is he in your band?' I asked, nodding towards the nomad who seemed to have his tongue down Jackie's throat. 'Big Dave? No, no. There are three of us. Steve the drummer, John the bass guitarist and me. Why don't you come along?'
'I might just do that. What sort of things do you play?'
'Rock, heavy rock. Mostly our own stuff.'
'Do you write the music and the lyrics?'
'Oh, yes. I don't suppose it's your scene.'
'It might be,' I smiled.
'Come along and see what you think. Want another vodka?'
'You mean, you want some more money so you can buy me another vodka.'
'I got fifty quid up front,' he announced proudly. 'The manager has seen us play down at The Frog Pond, so he knows we're good. When he booked us for Saturday, I told him that we had to have some cash up front. Oh, I didn't give you your change, did I?'
'It doesn't matter.'
'I'll get you another drink.'
Despite his name, which brought sad memories flooding back, Alan seemed pleasant enough. But I didn't want a relationship. A friend, but not a lover. At least, I tried to kid myself that I didn't want a relationship. Glancing at Jackie, who by now was being indecently molested by the hairy nomad, I shook my head. She didn't want a relationship. Cold sex, or raw sex, as she'd often put it - but not a relationship.
After a couple more drinks, Jackie made her excuses and left with the nomad. No doubt she intended to pull her knickers down and have sex with the animal once they were ensconced in a shop doorway. I was quite pleased to be rid of the deviant pair and it didn't bother Alan when his friend announced that he was leaving. If anything, he seemed relieved.
'Are you two good friends?' I asked, downing yet another vodka.
'Mates,' he smiled. 'There's a difference.'
'Is there?'
'He's more of an acquaintance than a friend. To be honest, he's more of a pain in the arse than an acquaintance. He follows the band around. A sort of hanger-on.'
'He must like the music,' I proffered.
'He likes the free drinks he gets when he tells the bar staff that he's our roadie. Would you like another vodka?'
'I've had too much to drink as it is,' I giggled girlishly, and then changed my mind. 'Oh, go on, then,' I said, deciding to drown my sorrows. 'One more won't hurt.' Feeling dizzy as Alan went to the bar, the room beginning to spin round, I knew that I shouldn't drink any more. But after the disappointing news from the literary agent, I decided to have a good time. I needed to get out and about and meet people, I reflected again. Especially if I was going to write erotic fiction. But a good time didn't mean pulling my knickers down and having my arse done. God, what an awful expression.
'So, what do you do for a living?' Alan asked as he brought the drinks to the table and sat opposite me.
'I'm a writer,' I replied, knowing from experience what he'd ask me next.
'What do you write?'
'Books,' I smiled, wondering what to say in response to the next inevitable question.
'What sort of books?'
'I... I write romantic fiction but haven't been published. My agent...'
'You've got an agent?' he interrupted me eagerly.
'Sort of. He's seen my novel and has turned it down so, technically, he's not my agent. He wants me to write... He wants me to spice up my work.'
'Sex?'
'Yes.'
'And that's not what you want?'
'No, it's not.'
'Don't do it, Jade,' he advised me, hooking his hair behind his ears for the umpteenth time. 'Write what you want to write, not what—'
'The thing is, I need the money,' I confessed, wondering why he didn't have his hair cut. 'It's all very well writing what I want, but if it's not commercial and doesn't earn money, there's no point.'
'There's every point.'
'Alan, what's the use in spending all day, every day writing and not earning a penny? I'd starve, wouldn't I?'
'Yes, but... I suppose you're right. It just seems a shame to have to churn out that sort of stuff.' He paused, his dark eyes staring at me. 'Romantic fiction and sex... Can't you bring an element of sex into the romance? After all, the two go together.'
'They want more than an element of sex. They want unadulterated filth.'
'Oh, I see. What are you going to do?'
'Finish my drink, go home and have some coffee, and then think about it.'
'I wish you luck. Whatever you do, don't give up writing. Oh, about Saturday...'
'I'll be here.' I hesitated, pondering on the thought roaming my head. I was about to make a big mistake, I was sure. But I went ahead anyway. 'Do you want to come back for coffee?' I finally asked. 'Just coffee.' Coffee, not sex.
'OK. Thanks,' he beamed, finishing his drink.
Walking home, I wondered what I was letting myself in for as Alan laughed and joked about writing dirty books. I wanted him as a friend, but nothing more. He'd turned out to be good company and was genuinely interested in my work. I'd enjoyed the evening with him and was looking forward to watching him play in his band on Saturday. But... but what? My head spinning as the alcohol numbed my brain, I didn't know what to think. I couldn't think.
'This is it,' I said, trying not to slur my words as I led him through the hall and showed him into the lounge.
'It's a nice place.' He smiled. 'Really nice.'
'I like it,' I mumbled, leaning against the door frame to steady my swaying body.
'Ah, Lowry,' he grinned, gazing at the picture above the mantelpiece. 'A River Bank. That's one of my favourites. Excellent stuff. Do you have anything else by Lowry?'
'No, that's the only print I have.'
'Shame. I think Lowry was misunderstood. He—'
'All artists seem to be misunderstood,' I broke in. 'Misunderstanding seems to be a trait among artists.'
'Now, Jimi Hendrix...'
'Where do you live?' I asked as he studied the painting.
'With my parents at the moment. I can't afford a flat. It's OK living at home, but...'
Managing to stagger across the room and flop onto the sofa as Alan rambled on about the trials and tribulations of living with his parents, I tried to focus on the mantelpiece clock as the room spun round. Finally joining me on the sofa, he talked about his music and how he hoped I'd enjoy the band on Saturday. I tried to make some sort of coherent conversation but the alcohol wouldn't allow my thoughts to turn into speech.
I don't know what possessed me to place my hand on his thigh as he moved a little closer. The alcohol, the dirty book, talking to Jackie about sex, masturbating... I'd not seen a man's penis for over a year, let alone clutched one in my hand. Were they all the same? I wondered in my alcoholic haze. I knew that they varied in size and began to wonder how big the musician's was. Fighting my uncharacteristic desires as I slid my hand further up his inner thigh, I wished I'd not invited him round. I should have gone straight to bed. I felt I had no control over my actions as I slid his zip down. What he was thinking, I didn't want to know. I didn't know what I was thinking as I thrust my hand into the opening of his jeans and groped for his penis. He probably thought I was pissed, which I was - and an easy lay. Lay? Whatever happened, he wasn't going to lay me. What a terrible expression.
Watching my hand as if it was disembodied, I hauled his erect penis out. What the hell was I doing? I wondered, kneading the warm shaft of his huge organ. He said nothing as I gazed at his fleshy rod as if I'd never seen one before. Pulling his foreskin back and exposing the silky globe of his purple knob, my vaginal muscles tightening, I knew that I'd crossed the threshold. There was no turning back now.
Focusing on the small slit in Alan's glans, my head spinning, I wondered what his knob tasted like. This would be a first, I ruminated. A battle was raging in my mind: I knew that I shouldn't have pulled his penis out and yet I couldn't help myself. Why was I so indecisive? I wondered, kneading the hardness of his warm shaft. The girl in the book had been mouth-fucked, I reflected, my vaginal juices flooding my panties. Did I want to be mouth-fucked? Did I want my mouth spermed? Why couldn't I make a decision? Who was whispering in my head, telling me right from wrong? My mother?
Remaining silent as I toyed with the loose flesh of his foreskin, Alan closed his eyes. I felt that if I didn't grab the chance while I could, I'd regret it later. I either sucked a man's knob now, or for ever lived without the experience. Many times in the past I'd decided against doing this or that when I'd had the opportunity. I'd usually wished that I'd gone ahead when it was too late, when the chance had sailed by like a passing ship. Was Alan a passing ship? Take what you can when you can, Jackie had always said. Did that include sucking the ballooning knob of a virtual stranger's penis?
Moving closer to his erect organ, I studied the veined shaft, the shape of the rim running around the base of his bulbous knob. I'd never examined a penis in this way before. With Alan the ex, I'd only guided him into my pussy, never really seeing his cock. How many vaginas had this penis fucked? I found myself wondering as I gazed at the small bridge of skin running from the back of his knob to his foreskin. How many girls had taken his purple globe into their mouths and sucked out his sperm? Take what you can when you can.
Leaning over, my open mouth only inches from Alan's beautiful knob, I hesitated. What was wrong with me? Jackie would have gobbled his knob, eagerly, taken the full length of his penis into her wet mouth and sucked him to orgasm. There again, Jackie had fingered another girl's pussy and God only knew what else in the name of cold lust. Finally plucking up courage as Alan moved forward on the sofa, his penis swelling in my hand, I tentatively kissed his purple globe.
Breathing heavily, he reclined as I leaned over and sucked his plum into my hot mouth. Uncharacteristic thoughts hurling around the wreckage of my mind, I ran my tongue around the bulb of his silky-smooth knob, the salty flavour tantalizing my taste buds as I moved my hand up and down his solid shaft. Alan was going to come in my mouth, I knew as he clutched my head and began to tremble. Was this what I'd wanted? I didn't know what I wanted as I instinctively bobbed my head up and down, his swollen glans repeatedly driving to the back of my throat. I felt like the tart in the book. Mouth-fuck. Mouth-sperm. Was I a tart?
Easing his balls out of his jeans, I gazed at the hairy bag as his sperm-spheres rolled and heaved. His solid shaft between my taut lips, his bulbous knob deep within my mouth, I watched his balls move within the thin bag of his scrotum as he gasped in his male pleasure. What did sperm taste like? I wondered as his body became rigid. Mouth-fuck. Mouth-sperm. Take what you can when you can.
His sperm finally gushing into my mouth, the salty liquid bathing my tongue, filling my cheeks as his cock rhythmically twitched, I swallowed hard. I'd done it, I thought excitedly. I'd actually brought a man off in my mouth. I wished that Jackie could have seen me as I drank from Alan's orgasming knob. But no. She'd probably laugh and inform me that she'd sucked her first knob when she was sixteen years old.
The white liquid running down his veined shaft and over my hand, I sucked out his orgasm until he pushed me away and doubled up as if in pain. Sitting upright and licking my lips as he recovered, I suddenly sobered up and realized that I'd behaved like a common slut. Alan would think that I'd taken him back to my flat to seduce him. He'd think me a slag for... All I'd done was taken what I could when I could. Was that a crime?
'Jade,' he whispered, tugging his zip up. 'Jade, that was something else.'
'Good,' I murmured, not knowing what to say as I felt my face flush. 'You'd... you'd better go now.'
'Yes, right.' Standing up, he adjusted his jeans and smiled at me. 'I'll be in the pub tomorrow night if...'
'I'm not sure what I'm doing tomorrow,' I said, knowing full well that I had nothing planned. I could feel sperm running down my chin. 'I might be there,' I murmured, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
'I hope you turn up. It'll be good to see you again. I—'
'Go now, Alan,' I broke in before he could say anything stupid about love. What was love?
'Jade, I feel that I...'
'Go now,' I repeated, rising to my feet and seeing him to the door before he had a chance to proclaim his undying love for me. 'I'm sorry about the coffee.'
'Don't apologize,' he chuckled. 'You were fantastic.'
Returning to the lounge, the taste of Alan's sperm lingering on my tongue, I couldn't believe what I'd done. Fantastic? He must have thought me a slut, a whore. To suck off a virtual stranger was so out of character for me. And, to make matters worse, I'd instigated the sordid episode. I felt disgusted with myself. There was no way I was going to that pub again, I decided. After the way I'd behaved, I knew that I could never face Alan.
At least I could now write about blow jobs as well as masturbation, I thought, pondering on the dreadful term. Lying full-length on the sofa, I wished that I'd not gone out with Jackie, or invited Alan back or sucked him off or... What was done was done.
But I'd never do it again.
I was about to close my eyes and drift off to sleep when the front doorbell rang. 'God,' I breathed, thinking that the musician had come back for more as I almost fell off the sofa. And never again would I drink too much. Perhaps he'd returned to inform me that he'd fallen in love with me. Love? That would be all I needed! Walking through the hall, I brushed my hair back with my fingers and took a deep breath. Perhaps I should pretend to be asleep in bed, I thought, hovering by the door. Best to get it over with, I decided.
'Hi, Jade!' Jackie trilled as I opened the door. 'Thought I'd come round for coffee.'
'At this time of night?' I sighed. 'It's almost twelve.'
'So what? Put the kettle on and we'll have a chat.'
'How was the nomad?' I asked as she followed me into the kitchen.
'The what?'
'That dreadful man you were groping in the pub.'
'His name's Dave. He's great. We went to the park and walked by the pond.'
'And?'
'Well, you know.'
'Yes, I believe I do. How many men have you had?'
'Don't know, I lost count. Anyway, what about you?'
'Me?'
'How did you get on?'
'Alan came back for coffee.'
'Not another Alan?' she grinned. 'Did you do it?'
'Do it? Jackie, sex isn't... No, we didn't do it. We talked about writing books and poetry and music, and then he went home.'
Pouring the coffee, I eyed Jackie's dishevelled hair. There were grass stains on her skirt, and I imagined her on her back in the park as the nomad fucked her to orgasm. I couldn't help thinking that her pussy would be full of sperm. I was about to tell her that she'd behaved no better than a slut, but then I realized that I'd been as bad, if not worse. The pot calling the kettle black, as my father always said. I wanted to tell Jackie that I'd been mouth-fucked, but thought better of it. I was the pot, the sperm-pot.
'There,' I smiled, passing her a cup of coffee. 'So, are you seeing him again?'
'I doubt it,' she replied dismissively. 'He's broke, so there's not much point. Mind you, he was good in the park.'
'Those are your criteria, then? Money and good in bed. Was he clean?'
'Clean?' Jackie frowned.
'He looked dirty. I doubt that he's washed in weeks.'
'He was scruffy, but clean,' she returned. 'You're such a snob, Jade. That's why you never have any fun. You're too haughty to mix with normal people and enjoy life. What do you think you've got in your knickers? Some sort of priceless treasure to be kept secret from the world? We've all got cunts, Jade. Whether you like it or not, all women have cunts.'
'I know that. What I meant was... Anyway, I'm not a snob. It's just that I don't agree with screwing around. And I don't like the word... the C-word.'