Nailing Neely Jordan Ch. 02

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 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 somewhat pointless and tawdry. Not that I should be totally dismissive of young Katie. She was a hot slippery little thing and her cunt clutched my cock like a rubber grip on a handlebar. Which only makes me imagine what a chaste Christian girl's untried tunnel will feel like once it's naturally lubed and accepting of its first pre-marital dick.

Now if the aforementioned virgin were a timid little mouse choosing between a variety of loose-fitting sweaters for her daywear, it wouldn't be worth my time. The seduction would be torturous without a payoff sufficient to make it worth the effort. I want 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 within a prudish exterior.

Not that Neely, I should add, is a prim starchy kind of Christian. Her inner vixen is rather closer to the surface. Rather more prone to come frothing out of the bottle, to sustain my original metaphor. I plan a steady shaking-up over several dates, before 'pop' goes her cork. And what a frothy explosion I envisage.

I sensed the degree of her potential when I heard her speak during that risible 'interview' she went through with her pastor. She did her damnedest to appear cool and progressive as she danced around her godly leader's fatuous questions that first night, but she still took pains to express it – how much she cherished her chastity. "It's precious, a gift to be stored up..." My cock was thunderously hard – and Carlotta you'll surely agree following that distant summer's worth of rigorous demonstration that I'm not overselling myself – after she said that. Now she knew I was listening, having clearly caught my eye on a couple of occasions. She could have phrased it any of a hundred other ways. We hardly need to bring in Sigmund Freud to point out how much pent-up simmering need there is within this comely 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 various afternoon coffees, impromptu walks in the park (complete with a little tentative hand-holding)... All perfectly innocent stuff. More than that there have been two further car-seat kisses, rounding off two eminently respectable official 'dates' in preparation for which I groomed and she primped like we were both teenagers. (In some ways, of course, she still is.) Those kisses, following along from that from the day we first met, did more to undermine our girl's defences than any amount of crude attempted-groping. The sense of her body involuntarily shaping its languid curves closer to me on each key encounter, the spark of awareness in her eyes that my cock is pulsing-huge for her – they were both most gratifying.

Okay, official date one - meal and movie at a local arts complex. She does quite a nice line in charity-shop chic, it has to be said, finely balanced between Christian modesty and "I can be demurely sexy too, you know". I'll strip away the demure part in due course. That evening was all about establishing trust – assuring her as cunningly as I could that I wouldn't be making any crass attempts to get my hand down her knickers. Skirting around the fringes of my own sexual history with enough tease to peak her interest (and she is interested) and enough reticence to make her think I'm embarrassed in her presence by my past coxsploits. What a fun game it is.

Date two - country picnic - that was something of a tour de force. I called her on a promise she'd made to help me with an article – and managed to steer the topic conveniently to that of chastity. We sat there on the rug sipping fizzy wine and delving, in the most moderate terminology 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 not doing that very thing? Yearning for release, is this girl. I could almost hear her bosom straining against her blouse-buttons by the end of that encounter.

She went to pains to insist, on both occasions, how much better it would be for both of us if we remain as friends. How much less complicated, since I know she can't "respond to me physically" the way I might expect with another girl. I insisted that part of her appeal, ironically, is that she is principled and that she values her sexuality, and I could almost smell her moistening cunt as the words sank in. So it goes – the subtle dance of heathen seducer and sweet Christian prey.

Which brings us to date three and an additional risk taken. One that paid off quite magnificently, I think, though that remains to be proven. On that encounter a little more detail is required. The evening started with a few innocent beers, while we sat listening to some adequate rock band in a local bar...

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 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 thorough selfish manner in which you worked me over. Like now for example. My sex life is healthy. I'm fucking my friend's husband and it's an arrangement that works for me very well. He's enthusiastic and just loves what I do to his dick, so that he's constantly 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 favours 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 just 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 sometime 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 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 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 channelling all that frustration into your evil efforts. But then the realist in me knows you'd only get overwhelmed by your own rampant libido and screw up one of those subtle manoeuvres you've been crowing about. Maybe you should go blow an occasional load into some little slut-on-the-side so you can keep your focus. In fact I positively encourage it.

Because I do want you to nail this girl, my horny friend. More so since you directed me to her pics in on the church website. You didn't exaggerate. She's just as attractive as you'd suggested and with not a trace of the traditional young-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-fab 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, just 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 with all her God-thoughts still intact and judging her.

Excuse me if that seems a little over-the-top. It comes of being a born cynic smothered by an Evangelical upbringing. Too many memories of being lost amongst hymn-singing mini-believers, whose holy self-satisfaction radiated more heat than the campfire they sat around. Pretending to follow the herd just 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 await those regular reports.

Carlotta.

* * * *

Neely made sure, this time, that Jasmin was not around when she picked up Odyssey of Lust. She was sure that her roommate was leaving the creased paperback around the living space deliberately, in mischievous hope that Neely would further sample its prose. Its vulgar and strangely compelling prose. Temptation was striking at the end of a lengthy working Sunday and within twenty-four hours of her most recent contact with Ray. This held true to a recently established pattern, she noted. Coming out of a meeting with Pastor Simmons, during which he had harped endlessly to her and Jonas on their forthcoming 'sexual ethics' workshops, she felt punch-drunk from piety and her lifting of the book was almost an act of rebellion.

She riffled through the first few chapters to a particularly salacious passage. Sapphire, who came across as a sort of accidental slut on her journey of self-discovery, had ended up in Jamaica, the first stop on a trans-global tour funded by the money she had inherited from her sadly-departed uncle. The heroine was now semi-sozzled on tequila in a beach-bar and the only remaining patron. This much Neely had picked up from her skimming of the pages as she nestled deep into the sofa; she'd been drawn there as though by an inexorable force of gravity, as the words pulled her in. Usually she would resist, but there was a strange luxury in giving up to this unexpected moment of weakness, to this tawdry dog-eared sex-novel.

A fever was upon her, prickling her skin and accelerating her heart rate as she immersed herself. Sapphire the heroine was in a permanent state of confused arousal, it seemed to Neely, as her erotic misadventures unfolded, not least 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 just 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 metaphor.

"So why would a spoilt rich girl 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 just 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 little 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, why she felt possessed to read on to 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 just flirting a little, being – being friendly," she stammered.

"Oh you're going to be friendly, my sweet girl," 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 little 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 and 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. She felt the hot sweet liquid rush down her throat. He pulled the nozzle from her mouth and poured tequila all over her breasts until she felt it gush 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 should not have been entertained by this in any way...

"God, Dashone 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 her shock and his smugness. She felt compelled to read on 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 little 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. She watched his cock slide 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! She dropped the novel on the sofa, irritated 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 just lets him. And then she starts enjoying it. God, to allow this utter rubbish to... to forge her nipples into such hard points and soak her panties the way it had done. She should be ashamed. She was ashamed.

It was Jonas on her mobile. That made her feel even worse. He'd promised he'd call her, she remembered, since he had to leave abruptly after their meeting with the Pastor. "Hey, Neelers, sorry I had to rush off. Something planned with Leona. Didn't get a chance to brainstorm many ideas re the workshops with you."

"It's fine, it's not a problem." Neely was flustered, guilty, as though she'd been surprised in the middle of some immoral encounter.

"You okay, Neels? You sound a bit... I don't know... hassled."

"No, no, I'm good. I'm great. You... ehh... have any more thoughts about the sessions?"

"What, the sex sessions?" Jonas laughed at his own joke and sounded surprised that Neely had not joined in. "Yeah, yeah... I've got a few ideas. I know you feel as pressured as I do about the whole thing."

"I do?"

"Well yeah, that's what I figured. Kind of being the Pastor's mouthpiece and all that. Look, the way I see it, he's going to supervise some of it, so it's got to be tailored a bit to what he'll expect. We can look at – you know – sexualisation in the media, brainstorm ways kids might be influenced by images of sex, discuss peer pressure..."

"Yes, yes, that's good..." Neely felt her breathing return 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..." Neely liked Jonas' laid-back attitude, his irreverence towards Jack Simmons, though she felt something more was needed in their approach to the youth group.

"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. 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."