Nailing Neely Jordan Ch. 01

15/05/10 20:47 GMT

Carlotta –

There's a kind of optimum point in the debauching of any young woman, you know, beyond which it's never quite as much fun as before. At least that's my experience. (You of course were a delightful exception.) I think I reached that point this weekend with young Katie. The thought occurred to me when the hot little thing was on her knees in a college shower room sucking greedily on my cock, as the evening spiralled into naked hedonism around us... This is as fucking sweet as it gets and it'll never quite attain this level of sweetness again. The real sport ends for me tonight with Katie becoming the focal point of this student dorm-room orgy.

My seduction and exploitation of young Katie has had a very specific motivation (I mentioned this, didn't I?) she being the younger sister of possibly the most irritating newspaper sub-editor to whom I've had the misfortune of being answerable. (I still can't get over how crucial a role nepotism plays in modern journalism.) It's a tad juvenile I know, but when the boss's nephew gets on my case now about a deadline or the validity of my sources, the memories of how hard my cock has ploughed his sweet little sister's various holes and of how diligent she has become in service to said erect member make his patronising vacuity that bit easier to deal with. Thus, divesting Miss Katherine of whatever virtue she still possessed has been doubly pleasurable. The weekend just past has been all about finishing off the job.

Having taken her over several weeks from a slow introductory fuck up through progressively more strenuous levels of deep-cunt exploration, it was time to open out her sexual experience and thus pass her on for others' entertainment. Once the little bitch's basic morality has been undermined, it's just selfish to hoard her to oneself, right? So when I discovered that one Lawrence, the younger brother of a colleague on the Bristol Inquirer, is an inhabitant of the current most notorious hall of residence in that city's University and that he's a prime player in said hall's revelry, it was a simple manoeuvre to acquaint myself with him and get invited to Friday night's celebrations. With Katie as my pass and with her ruination as my object.

She's been tiptoeing around the shallows of the student party scene, but Friday night, you'll be glad to read, saw her total immersion. With her handsome older boyfriend's encouragement (mine that is) she was matching the other girls drink for drink at the Students' Union bar, culminating in tequila body shots with Lawrence's little dynamo of a girlfriend Sally. Very nice to watch, and a beery group of male Engineering students appeared to agree. Then back to the halls for the traditional after-pub festivities. A covertly shaken can of Stella Artois saw our two party-girls enveloped in a beer fountain and it took little persuasion at this stage to get them into the communal shower stall together.

Call me shallow, but there are few sights on this plain of existence more affecting than two petite naked blonde girls sucking each other's face as water jets explode off their entwined bodies. Drunken lesbo posturing to be sure on Katie's part, but only to begin with; she was most certainly getting in touch with her bi-side along with Sally's slim perfectly sculpted contours as it progressed. Nor did she resist, however much her surprise, when Sally's crafty fingers went slip-sliding into her cunt. Not even with the shower curtains ripped aside and an accumulation of rowdy students ogling. Katie, it turns out, enjoys putting on a show for admiring male eyes.

She's not averse to sucking cock in public either. Her own boyfriend's or someone else's. Lawrence and I were stripped off in a trice once we found our respective miniature squeezes lip-locked in the buff, and 'twas not long before this blonde slut duo was on its combined knees, slurping with gusto on hard dick. They proved interchangeable, the little wet bitches, Sally going to work on my length while my dear sweet Katie blew a guy to whom she'd only been introduced three hours prior. Each girl reached diagonally to wank her own guy's pole, to be fair, as a sop to loyalty. But frankly any cock would have done my sweet supple date by this stage.

I took my own satisfaction urgently, in the knowledge that Katie would that night be sacrificed to wider male (and female) enjoyment. And knowing that her hole would soon be mine no longer, it was bittersweet to have her bent over, braced against the white porcelain shower entrance, one hand firm on the curve of her lower back and the other fast on her neck, my cock on a hard rampage in and out of her cunt's squeezing tunnel. How the mewled and yowled, quite possibly oblivious to all the feckless engineering students cheering on my efforts and her abasement.

It seems the frat-boy spirit of the American College has infected our own fine campuses – mindless lager-fuelled decadence was rife, as the guys cheered on the furious efforts of my dick into the hot little shower-fresh bitch (and those of young Lawrence let it be said, as he bounced the nubile form of his Sally-girl on himself, the two of them lodged in a flung-open toilet cubicle). In that moment I felt at one with these seemingly moronic wastes-of-University-places; we had all abandoned civilised behaviour in the name of Bacchanalian excess and of fucking which had no meaning outside of its own hard nasty pleasure. While these guys would scarcely be my chosen companions on a weeknight, there was a sense of camaraderie that I relished, as my loins pummelled Katie's firm little ass and they exhorted me to even greater exertions. This was something I had missed from my own student days (I guess I focused on actually crafting a career-foundation) and it was strangely satisfying to put on a display, show these callow youths how it's done. Put on the sort of committed performance a football team would expect of their captain; after all, they'd be on this particular ball before the evening was through. So I groped those firm wet suspended tits and made sure Katie's public shafting was a damn good one.

And since, Carlotta, I know you like graphic description over sex-philosophy, let me linger a little on the next part. That's the part where I put her on hands and knees on the toilet floor and made her lick Lawrence's balls, even as Sally rode his pole, all the while persisting in my committed rear-banging. A slut, my dear, is born. Time to capitalise utterly. So once the ultra-petite Sally had come all over her boyfriend's cock, we all got involved in Katie's moral undoing. I have particularly intense memories of setting the girl's skinny ass down on a white-tiled ledge and powering away between her forked thighs with her little shower-buddy pressing her mouth and tits into her from the side, while Lawrence stuffed fingers into her mouth and rear-fucked his own girl. Bitch-in-training Katie came till she cried. Pretty damn amazing, even by my standards.

I shot the kind of smothering load all over her scrunched-up face I'm sure you would expect of me, this time with the added bonus that her new best friend Sally licked it all off. Then Lawrence and I high-fived (wasn't I just the college-dude par excellence that night?) and I showered down in preparation for leaving. Katie did look slightly confused when she saw me fully-dressed just prior to my departure, but by that time she was already riding one anonymous college-boy cock while sucking another, so it hardly mattered. My work there was done, haha.

Yet here's the rub. Wildly exciting as such a sleazy experience was, the ease with which Katie could be drawn into sexual mayhem diluted the thrill just slightly. There was immense pleasure in the taking, don't get me wrong, and that final night's debauching was a fine culmination. But while I could have more of Katie if I wanted, with some serious physical pleasure still there to savour, in every other sense I've had the best of her. God, Carlotta – that sounds so jaded. Whatever happened to revelling in sheer physical pleasure? That used to be enough for me. Should I be concerned?

Ray.

 

17/05/10 00:06 PST

Well Ray, much as I always enjoy your salacious descriptions of how you bang your conquests (whether the sweet young things you still delight to prey on or proper grown-up women), I can't help but feel you're treading water of late. Reading your particularly lurid account of the slip of a Uni-girl's debauching, the phrase 'fish in a barrel' sprang inevitably to mind. It was obviously just a matter of time before your little Katie-slut realised her penchant for dirty submissive sex. A few short weeks with you and she was prepped for a full-on college-hall orgy. God, Ray, it would clearly have happened without your interference, so it's hardly a significant notch on your extravagantly chiselled bedpost. Okay, if it gets you through your working day, or helps you recapture your lost college-years or whatever, good luck to you. But really, the whole episode smacks of laziness. Laziness worth getting off to, but laziness nonetheless.

Believe it or not, Ray, there are women out there (real women that is who've got past Degree-level), with minds of their own and self-respect to test your skills as a seducer. You need to find one of them and up your game. If you want to hang onto a grain of my respect it's time to start denying yourself the little college tramps – denying yourself all carnal enjoyment for the short term if that what it takes – in order to focus on something fresh. Something that's a genuine challenge.

Look, Ray, I have pleasant memories of you as a passably interesting guy and a better than average fuck, but your complacency just isn't warranted. A debaucher is only as good as his most recent conquest and quite frankly you've got something to prove right now. Get out there and get looking. And don't mail me till you've found her.

Carlotta.

PS I was debauched long before you ever met me, so don't fucking flatter yourself.

 

* * * *

 

Neely Jordan enjoyed working in Lemongrass organic café. She felt some of her friends from the church might do well to work there too. Get out of that unspotted Christian environment for a while. Immerse themselves in the real world for the duration of a shift, serve cappuchinos to bohemian types with an alternative world view. Maybe rub shoulders with the occasional agnostic or atheist. Only – if that happened, church members would start frequenting as customers too and the place would be populated by the same religious types who surrounded her in her day job. And that would be just a little claustrophobic.

Was that an unworthy thought? she considered, as she scooped the detritus of an abundant table onto a tray and carried it over the floorboards to the café kitchen. It wasn't that she didn't love her brothers and sisters in Christ... But if she hadn't ventured beyond church circles, what good would she be doing in the world? Salt and light, that was what she was meant to be, or so Pastor Simmons was always insisting on Sunday mornings. Adding flavour and illumination to contemporary society. She'd never have the chance, were it not for Lemongrass, nor would she have befriended someone as cheerfully irreverent as fellow-waitress Jasmin.

"GV, did the window-table guy get his mango smoothie?"

Neely glanced at her aproned comrade in wry amusement. Jasmin was in the same burgundy outfit as she. The girl's hair was a glossy skein of black and the tanned complexion bestowed by her part-Thai heritage was without flaw. Jasmin's body was so slinky it looked like she had been poured. "Yes, he did. And don't start up with the GV thing again. I'm not 'ginger', I'm 'flame-haired'." Neely shook out her wavy tresses in a Rita Hayworth flounce for emphasis.

"Okay, that I'll give you," smirked Jasmin, mid-operations on the coffee machine. "But you still can't deny the 'virgin' part."

"Jaz!" Neely's eyes were wide and beseeching as she laughed. "Not so loud!"

"What, not proud of it? Or don't you want window-guy to know you've never done it?" Jasmin had the courtesy to mouth the final part, however slyly.

"I'm neither proud not ashamed," Neely said with faux-primness. "It's how I live my life. And for the record I don't care who knows." She pulled a silly face and stuck her tongue out before resuming work. Neely was used to Jasmin's teasing. She thought she'd miss it if it weren't there.

There was a flicker of doubt as to whether she would be happy for the window customer to know about her intact status, but she dismissed the thought as unworthy-for-sure. If the guy were a believer (please God), he would understand. If not, well she had no business dating outside the faith, so what matter? Of course it was a kind of fun thought that he didn't know whether or not she took a different lover every weekend. She wondered if she could sustain the mystery as she approached him again.

"Everything all right? Did you enjoy the club sandwich?" Smalltalk was something she did with all the customers, it wasn't like she were singling him out.

He looked up from his plate and from the laptop keyboard on which he had been casually typing. His glance was friendly but appraising. She flattered herself he was taking in her startling red hair and the gemstone sparkle of green eyes staring out from her lightly freckled face. The guy himself was all she liked on that shallow physical level, with his close-trimmed blond hair, his boyish features strengthening into maturity and the level stare from those blue-grey eyes. He was confident too, and seemed to welcome her conversation, however trivial. "Yeah, it was good. Any thoughts on dessert? You sampled any?"

"I have. The toffee roulade is to die for," she informed him with lip-smacking relish, then modified, "Well to pay five pounds fifty for at any rate."

"I shall trust completely to your recommendation," he said with grave sincerity, and then they shared a grin.

"What are you writing?" She nodded to the laptop screen as she cleared away his plates.

"It's an article on how the recession has affected local small businesses," he explained. "For the Inquirer. All very grim and serious. Just getting it underway, still got a few contacts to follow up."

"You're in journalism!" Neely loved meeting serious-minded interesting people who just happened to be hot. "Hey, my uncle owns a hardware store in Clifton, he's really been struggling this past year and he's pretty angry at how little support there's been for businesses like his. I'm sure he'd talk to you if you'd be interested..."

"I would, that's exactly the type of thing I've been chasing up." He seemed genuinely enthused. "Maybe if you could pass on my contact details and encourage him to get in touch, Neely..." He had checked her badge and she felt a definite frisson at his use of her name.

"Sure, I'll take those before you leave. Oh, do you want any coffee with your dessert?"

She had a distinct bounce in her step as she returned behind the counter, one she tried to contain. Inevitably Jasmin's radar picked it up. "Flirting with window-guy, careful there Neely!"

"How was I? Is everything flirting?" Neely protested. "I was passing the time of day, that's all."

"You're hot for him," Jasmin persisted to tease. "You can say what you like. And he might have the most wicked designs. You'd better let him know you're off-limits before he gets too into you."

"He's just a customer." Only very occasionally did Neely get tired of deflecting her friend's innuendo. This was such a time. "And we were having a conversation."

"So you don't mind if I take a shot at him then?" Neely felt stung and hoped it didn't show in her glance. "It's okay, it's okay, I was joking!" Jasmin smirked. "You go carry on your little totally platonic flirtation."

Neely's self-consciousness was magnified when she resumed her conversation with the guy. She hadn't been hitting on him in the first place, just being her friendly self. True it was one of those occasions when she wished her self-imposed rules didn't apply quite so strictly, but was her body language actually giving that away? "There's my card," the blond-haired customer was saying, all relaxed in his pale cotton shirt and black jeans. "Even if your uncle doesn't want to talk, maybe we could meet up and you could provide me some background. Confidential source, no names mentioned." He was totally straight-faced, but there was a hint of suggestive humour lurking beneath. It flattered and flustered her in equal measure.

"Well, I..."

"How about tonight? Seriously, any insights you have would be appreciated, Neely. Not to mention you'd be very pleasant company. We could go for a drink somewhere local."

"Yeah, I'd like to, but..." Neely took the plunge. "I've got a church meeting this evening. I work at Alton Bridge Community Church, round the corner? And I'm actually speaking there tonight. It's a kind of... interview thing, based on the fact that I've been there a year."

"That's interesting." He hadn't missed a beat, he sounded like he was genuinely intrigued. "I like that. It's a cynical age – I respect people who embrace belief. Might even be interested enough to come along. If you don't mind, that is..."

"Mind? No, no..." She wasn't sure how she felt about him inviting himself along, but she could hardly put up obstacles to someone coming to the church. Even if it was attraction to her, acting as the catalyst to his engagement with religion. Put in those terms the thought excited her. "Feel free. It mightn't be church as you know it."

"And we could have that drink after. That's if you drink..."

There was no jibe in the comment, but Neely swiftly set him right. "Oh yeah, I drink. Not like a fish, you understand, but, y'know... If Jesus can turn water into wine, then I can have a Bacardi Breezer."

"That's totally fair," he grinned. "Can I take that as a 'yes'?" She confirmed that he could, and watched a little wistfully as he departed the café.

The nature of the exchange, if not the exact content, was clear to Jasmin. "God, Neely, are you going on a date with him? And he's not even from church? You're so bad! What are you going to do if he makes a move on you?"

"It's not a date, we're meeting up to discuss the effects of the recession on small businesses." Neely knew how ridiculous it sounded as she said it and invested the words with a prim playfulness. "Besides, he could hardly be more of an octopus than Brian, and he was the bloody church deejay!"

"God, Neely..." Jasmin slinked her fingers around her friend's shoulders from behind. "How you drive the boys wild..."

Something of an exaggeration, Neely thought, but she supposed she wasn't totally starved of attention, either within or outside the church. It would just be convenient if she could find herself a nice mature-minded Christian guy with whom she could explore her sexuality in an appropriately chaste fashion. Then she wouldn't have to fret when random sexy strangers showed an interest.

She tried not to obsess, tried not to consider it at all as she prepared herself mentally for the evening. One year on at Alton Bridge and the anniversary was being marked by a Q and A at the mid-week youth meeting. 'Get to know Neely' – a chance for the church's teens to get the inside track on the full-time youth worker's Christian philosophy.

"They need guidance," Pastor Simmons told her when she arrived at the hall early that evening. "There are so many negative influences on these young people in today's society, particularly when it comes to sex. What they need are role models like you to help keep them living a secure Christian lifestyle and to feel like it's okay to do that." Neely looked at him sympathetically, quelling her inward cringe. It didn't help her somehow that her Pastor was so obsessed with the S-word. That evening's interview was supposed to be about her broader experience at the church and her views on a whole range of socially relevant subjects, but she had a sinking feeling as to where exactly it would linger, with Jack Simmons conducting proceedings.