In Xanadu Ch. 01

What begins here in Chapter 1 (and will continue in chapters to come) is a hot tale involving hetero, Sapphic, group, soulful, and wild rampant sex wrapped in a tale suspenseful and enigmatic. Enjoy!

ILienBagby

IN XANADU

Jane strode from the lobby onto the street and raised her hand. A taxi screeched to a halt.

Long legs, hard ass, small shapely breasts, glasses, hair piled high, she had an air of command. Taxis stopped for Jane Bederson!

She stepped into the cab, gave her destination, and sat back.

"Say, you are that lady, the one from the television, aren't you?" the driver called back to her as he maneuvered his cab into the traffic.

"Yes, I'm that lady," Jane allowed.

The driver smiled to himself at his own perceptivity. Jane leaned back in her seat, opened her briefcase and made herself as comfortable as possible.

"You going to be on the television now?" the driver asked.

"No, but I will be next Sunday, on 'The Nation Speaks,'" she said and began to page through her notebook. Jane thought for a second and re-crossed her legs, flashing the driver, making his day. Uh, Uh, too long, too much flash. He nearly hit a pedestrian. Fortunately, she was wearing panties or the pedestrian would have been on his way to the hospital. She slid her knees together. Teasing the driver was a bit of a high, but she would rather the driver kept his eyes on the road. And sex in the back of a taxi? Kevin Costner and Sean Young, maybe, but Jane had met Kevin Costner. The driver, well, he was no Kevin Costner.

The driver, his attention off of Jane's privates and back to the road, headed towards the destination Jane had given him. Jane, her legs showing knee but no thigh, began to look over her notes.

She had researched the story now for over two months. She had read reams of material, even taken a trip to Paris to chase down what she had thought was a lead. But all of her research, all of the interviews, all of her reading had led to not very much, really. It was frustrating, to say the least. This Roger Fanderpeice, the man she was on her way to meet, the sexiest man not Brad Pitt (as he had been described in the NY Times), hadn't left much of a paper trail, just enough to get her libido more active than she wanted.

But Jane wouldn't fail. She always got her story. When it came to balancing her cunt's need against her need to get the story, Jane Bederson had her priorities right. Why else had the good lord invented the vibrator?

This article wasn't even her own idea. Commander had suggested the article to her. Commander was her boss at the magazine. She wasn't only the Editor-In-Chief of the magazine, she was the CEO of the conglomerate that owned the magazine. Commander's word was law at the magazine. And her word to Jane had been to, "Investigate Xanadu!." That was it:" Investigate Xanadu!" She was the person who had given Jane an email address with access code that allowed Jane to contact the usually uncontactable Fanderpeice.

And that was where things were at right now. Fanderpeice was Jane's one remaining necessary interview. Actually, he was her last chance to get this story. Shit!

'Larger Roger,' was the name she had given Fanderpeice. He was rumored to be so well endowed that pro basketball players were shamed by the size of his piece.

But that was the least of his mystique: Scion of wealth, he had left the family's billion dollar fast-food franchise business to earn a modest personal fortune playing poker in Vegas, parlayed that stake into an arbitrage business, his profits from that invested as a venture capitalist, and finally quitting all that to create this thing that she was investigating now….Xanadu…. named after the place in the Coleridge poem, where "Kublah Khan did a stately pleasure dome decree."

"Pleasure," Jane thought, that was it for him. That was what she had long ago decided to ignore for herself. The story, the scoop, her name below the byline, those were her pleasures, sex, her cunt fulfilled, the ecstacy of a hard won orgasm, that would come after ---- maybe.

Fanderpeice ,apparently, had no need to ignore anything. He had it all: Fame, Money, and, so the rampant rumors went, Sex.

There were pictures of him. Many pictures. But they seldom did more than hint about the personal Roger Fanderpeice. There were photos of him at museum openings, at a

A party with Jay Z, sitting next to Woody Allen at a Knicks game. Women too: whispering to the 'hot' Congresswoman, escorting a 'hot' movie star to a premier, talking quietly to the current sexy model-tennis champion from Europe.

Jane was looking at one of the photos as the taxi continued its run through the city's busy streets. He was certainly handsome. Too bad there had been no photos revealing whether those rumors were true, the rumors about how well hung he was. But Jane didn't want to get hung up (pun intended) on sex.. It was Xanadu itself that had so far proven to be elusive, more than merely elusive, impossible.

Why the story was so intriguing, why it was potentially so important was that Jane had no

idea of. What was Xanadu? No one seemed to know or, at least, was willing to tell.

Jane's most important rule for herself as a journalist was to never go to an interview unprepared, to always already know the answers to the questions she was seeking to confirm. But, so far, all her work, all her research had proven to be downright inefficacious. About Xanadu she knew zilch except that, as one of her sources had said, "It was All about Sex, but, was really not about sex."

About Fanderpeice she knew just a little bit more.

When she worked on a story, Jane's sources were the best. She had cultivated them over ten years now, people who treasured her ability to express their opinions fairly without attribution and of whose trustworthiness she was assured.

Many admitted to having heard of Xanadu, but the information had stopped there.

Kay Maxwell, the First Lady's Travelling Secretary, was typical. She had been a friend of Jane's since their college days. She told Jane that she had met Fanderpeice at a White House function.

Kay had tried to help. She had wracked her brain when Jane asked her about Fanderpiece.

"A hunk. Sexy as all get out. I know I've heard talk about him, Quite the man, if you know what I mean," Kay whispered to Jane, "But I can't, for the life of me, remember who it was that said that; well hung," she added with a sly smile. It was Kay who had told Jane that. Xanadu, although it was all about sex according to what she had heard, was not really about sex, but about something else entirely." Kay had given Jane a woeful look. "I am sorry," she said, "I wish I could tell you more about Xanadu. I can tell you, though, that Fanderpeice is one very sexy man."

And that is the way it had gone all through the time that she had tried to get anything more than the most superficial information about Fanderpeice. Sex, sex, sex was a constant reference, but detail, what the sex was about, she was unable to get clear.

Jane would have dropped the story, quit her investigation, but, first, she didn't ever quit; second, the sex question intrigued her; and, third, The Commander's insistence on her getting the story didn't really give her the option of quitting.

Her boss had made it clear that the story she was assigning was more than just a big story, it was very big, huge, immense, a story as important as any she had ever covered, she had told Jane.

As big as any she had ever covered? Jane had covered many a big story.

Nearly thirty, Jane Bederson was definitely on the fast track. Less than 10 years out of college, she had been on a steady rise upwards in the profession. From her first television job to her present magazine gig, her career had been marked by success after success. Now she was working for the most prestigious magazine in the world which was

owned by the most important media mogul in the world. Her byline was recognized everywhere. The Commander rarely interfered with writers doing their stories. Jane had been asked to see her in her office only on two previous occasions, when she had first been hired and on one occasion when she had won the only double Pulitzer prize ever awarded. Yet, for this story, she had already spoken with Jane three times.

Jane recalled the exquisite Commander pacing in her office, gesturing boldly, telling Jane that Xanadu was a story only Jane could do. Jane remembered the Commander emphasizing that it was vitally important to Jane, vital to the magazine, and essential to the Commander herself that Jane do this story!

Jane was rarely, really never, intimidated by power, she herself was too much a powerful woman to be intimidated, but The Commander was something else. She was an elegantly dressed, fine looking woman with a powerful intelligence and an easy sense of power. But the feature that most struck Jane and that most struck others who met The Commander was her total command of facts and issues and her pronouncements, always so well considered, thoughtful and always never anything but decisive.

Jane looked out the window of the cab. She had done as much as she could to

keep sex out of her life. She was too busy for that, too much in a hurry. She had

discovered that sex got in the way of not only hers, but of other's success. It confused

priorities, got people concentrating on their pleasures, their next orgasms instead of the

work at hand. But she had been very careful all her career, all her life really, to not let

that happen to her.

.

But it was on this story, suddenly, while she worked on this story about Xanadu, that

For some reason she could not, try as she might, she could not understand, she found

herself needing to be extra vigilant, needing towork extra hard to keep her cunt from

taking over, her clit from thinking for her brain.

She was looking at one of the pictures of Fanderpeice when, Damn it! It didn't matter that Jane ordered herself to stop, when Jane felt that warming in her loins, the

tingling of her clitoris, the cunt juice starting to lubricate her vagina. She knew that she would soon be squeezing her thighs together, that she would be gently urging her cunt lips to separate .

"Lady, I'm going to go east to Park Ave. Traffic will be easier there," the cabby looked back.

Thankful for the interruption, she nodded ok.

What in the hell was she thinking, she thought. She was adamant about controlling her sex drive. How could she allow herself get stimulated just by looking at his picture? 'Concentrate', she thought.. Jane had to get her libido under control.

Too much sex. Too much. Altogether too much. It was all the talk about Fanderpeice and about his sexual prowess, the distant rumors about orgies, the non-specific hints of wild parties and, maybe, the fact that Jane had been without sex for a long time now. Oh, she had hooked up with an old friend while she was in Paris, but she had been on a tight schedule that was only for one night, well, really, only for a few minutes of one night, and if it had led to an orgasm, she had missed it.

She self-pleasured herself regularly, but that wasn't the real thing. A vibrator was one thing, a dildo another. But Fanderpeice was all too real. And here she was on the way to meet him at his lair. Her clitoris swelled. She wanted to touch herself.

Well, she had been horny, a lot hornier than this before and she had not let it interfere with her work.

The driver interrupted. "This the street," he said. "Want me to stop any place special?"

"Right here." Jane replied. She'd walk the half block to the Xanadu building, a four story brownstone set with two like brownstones, an embassy and a foundation, on a street lined with tall apartment buildings. She paid the driver, adding a large tip to reward

him his silence during the trip. She exited the cab and walked to the building where, shortly, she would see the inside of Xanadu and where she would meet the elusive Roger Fanderpeice.

Jane needed to calm herself. She was never nervous before an interview. Her research made her comfortable. Always prepared when she went to an interview, Jane had questions ready. It was the interviewee who should be nervous. She calmed her breathing, settled her heart rate and thought hard about her questions to Fanderpeice. Why could she not stop thinking about Fanderpeice and his sexual prowess?

She stood before the building. She was in the middle of the sidewalk, People were walking around her, and she was lost in a haze of sex. The lips of her pussy were swollen, juice was wetting the inside of her cunt, and the lips of her vagina were parting of their own volition.

Stop, she told herself. Stop right now! You're not some crazy whore, some out of control slut. You're Jane Bederson. You're on the job. You're covering a story for god's sake. She looked around her. No one seemed to have noticed this sex-crazed woman standing there. She turned to the building's entrance. "What exactly is the width and the length of your sex organ?"

That would be her first question to Fanderpeice,