Nailing Neely Jordan - Part 1

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. "You've got to understand, Neely, how much of a blow the whole Danny Woodward business was for me." Neely wondered if some of the Pastor's premature grey had stemmed from the incident to which he referred. "You scarcely knew him, I know, but he seemed such a powerful force for good here. And then – well I don't like to go into the details, I spent enough effort covering them up – but to have him leave in such sordid circumstances really shook me to the core. Right here in this room it happened." He shuddered noticeably at what was obviously a vivid memory. "Really dented my faith in the next generation of Christians. I had to basically lie to everyone about his reasons for going. You can't know what that felt like for me."

Neely knew more about the Danny Woodward debacle than Pastor Simmons thought. Most of the younger congregation members did, largely due to Luke, the Pastor's own eighteen-year-old son, who took great delight in regaling his friends with the anecdote. Luke and his sister Rebekah had been with their father that Sunday when he had stumbled upon Youth Pastor Danny post-coitus in the church office with an anonymous young woman. 

"He'd just finished porking her," Luke had recounted with glee to an Alton Bridge relative-newcomer in Neely's hearing one evening. "She was up on the desk with her tits out and her legs spread and he'd just pulled his dick out of her. He was still dripping jizz all over the carpet, you should have bloody seen it! It was amazing! And she was well fit... I'd have given her one. She looked like such a slut..." Neely wondered if Pastor Simmons knew what a charming godly young gentleman he was raising in his own household.

"I have huge respect for you, Neely," the Pastor was saying. "You dress modestly, you carry yourself well. You're an attractive young Christian woman who knows how to conduct herself around others. The young people like you and look up to you and I know you're a positive moral influence on them. It's something on which we really need to capitalize." 

Lord, could he hear how old-fashioned and puffed-up he sounded sometimes? And he didn't know how she dressed of a Saturday evening. Not quite so modest. But as ever she tried to see it from his point of view. "I appreciate your trust," she told him. "And I'll live up to it, you have my word on that." She reached out and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

The midweek youth meetings were well-attended, with their heavy use of the church's hip-hop outfit and all the dazzling visuals projected onto the background screens. "Multi-media," the Pastor would beam at her. "Contemporary. Using all of modern technology to project an old-fashioned Gospel." Several hundred teenagers and early twenty-somethings were amassed before the two of them as they took their seats on the raised platform, under the imposing varnished-wood cross which dominated the front of the hall. Neely settled herself as the explosive lighting effects of the hip-hop worship session died down. Then as Pastor Simmons did his intro, she spotted him a few rows from the back – hard-hitting journo Ray. She had only half-expected him to put in an appearance and had succeeded in assigning him to the periphery of her thoughts. Now his presence gave her a whole new reason to feel nervous, in circumstances where she would normally be relaxed. She felt strangely exposed before this audience-member who had ventured in from outside these cosy ecclesiastical circles. It threw her to the extent that she missed the Pastor's opening question.

"Sorry?" There was a ripple of good-natured laughter from the crowd at her apparent confusion.

"I was just hoping you could tell us a little about yourself and what brought you to Alton Bridge," Pastor Simmons repeated, smiling with a paternal air.

"Okay – well – I'm Neely Jordan, as most of you know, I'm twenty-four and I've been full-time here the past two years. I trained in Youth and Community Work locally and because of my faith I wanted to put that to use in a Christian environment. You know, work with young people to show them how social concerns tie in really closely with the teachings of Jesus. How we as young Christians should be making a difference in the community in all sorts of ways. Not just keeping to ourselves." She wondered whether or not her words might sound at all impressive to a stranger who did not necessarily share the beliefs of the assembled majority. She wondered too how the whole evening would come across – as fresh and relevant of as crass. But such considerations couldn't be allowed to affect her and so tried to refocus.

She started into a discussion of her responsibilities around the church and the various youth initiatives she had helped get underway – like the Alton Bridge teen-homeless project and the channelling of older teens into volunteer work with elderly people in the vicinity. That was before Pastor Simmons addressed her on his seeming favourite topic.

"Of all the pressures on young people today – drugs, materialism, secularism – the pervasiveness of sex must be the most dangerous and insidious. Its influence is felt everywhere. As a modern young woman, what would you have to say to us on that subject?"

Well wasn't that just perfect? On the night she drew an attractive stranger into the church, to be hit with a set-up question so she could trot out the Christian line on celibacy. It wasn't like she was short of other topics that wanted addressing. Pressing topics like drug culture and poverty and the interface between faith and politics. Still, if Ray was showing an interest in her, best he know from the start where she stood on pre-marital sexual relations.

"Well," she began, pausing to gather her thoughts, "the problem, I think, with modern attitudes to sex is that it gets ripped out of a broader context. The Bible sees it as – something exciting and warm and loving, to be enjoyed and celebrated in the context of a committed long-term relationship. The temptation is to just – to enjoy it for its own sake, free of any real commitment, and so to miss out on something deeper and ultimately more satisfying. And..." She was acutely aware, as she continued, of one listener amongst hundreds. "...That takes patience. Take me – I'm like any other twenty-four-year-old. I've got desires. I've got passions. I've got..." The word 'fantasies' was hovering in her mind, but thankfully she side-stepped it. "I've got a major crush on David Tennent." Save. Her Doctor Who geekery was well-known throughout the whole church and her remark garnered a laugh. "Not so much Matt Smith, though he's still a pretty sexy Doctor. But..." The laughter eventually died and she concluded, "I think I owe it to myself and to the guy I eventually commit to, however olde-worlde and Jane Austen it sounds, to save that aspect of myself. It's something precious. A gift to be stored up and not just given away to anyone."

She felt she had dealt adequately with the matter, but Jack Simmons wouldpursue his pet subject in that rather obsessive way of his. So she found herself fielding questions on how Christian couples should conduct themselves, how women should dress so as not to inflame male lusts, how youth in the church should maintain "purity of mind". Patronising, sexist and pompous – nice going, Pastor. She spun her responses as best she could to distance herself from the more reactionary elements of the church leader's world view and to make herself sound progressive and cool; however, she still managed to end up talking about 'pursuing a broad range of physical, social and spiritual interests', a tarted-up equivalent, she thought, of 'take a cold shower'. She hoped that Ray wouldn't read the obvious subtext to her comments: "I'm persistently horny and haven't found an effective way to deal with it yet." 

Neither had Brian, the church's resident deejay/worship-leader, she recalled. Their dating several months earlier had consisted of his regular attempts at seduction. "No, Brian, we can't do this!" she had insisted hotly on her own sofa one night, as he carried out unsubtle manoeuvres beneath her blouse. 

"C'mon baby, we're not teenagers," his breathless voice had insisted, warm hands refusing to un-cup her bra-clad bosom.

"No, we're not... We're grown-up Christian believers," she had exclaimed, struggling free of his clutch and rebuttoning herself. "Trying to lead that holy lifestyle you're always banging on about during a worship-set. Or don't you really believe all that stuff you spout?"

"Heyyy... I'm not trying to get inside your pants, I just want to feel your tits, is all..."

"God, Brian, I take it back! You are a teenager! This is teenage! Damned furtive... fumbling on a couch. And the back of a car. And in the bedroom next to your parents' for Heaven's sake! What are we playing at? You know, I'm not even sure why we're together..."

And that had been the end of that. Were there any real men in the church, single men, with a bit of charm and self-restraint, worth saving yourself for in the first place? The thought lingered in her mind as the evening's interview wound up.

"Leading on from what we were discussing," Pastor Simmons said to her, and he leaned over tactfully once he had closed in lengthy prayer and a babble of noise filled the place once more, "I'm thinking that a workshop or two dealing with the subject of Christian sexual ethics might be in order. You and Jonas could lead them."

"Oh yes?" Neely tried to mask her anxiety. She could only imagine Jasmin's reaction if she knew, or that of her gay friend Leo from the café for that matter.

"I'll arrange some dates and let you know," the Pastor said, as though the matter were settled. Neely's heart flagged. Now there would be a minefield for her personal integrity. She had no idea how fellow youth-worker Jonas would react. Making excuses about having people to see, she ducked into the main part of the hall to immerse herself amongst actual friends.

"I'm impressed," said a smooth voice in her ear, and she started at Ray's strong presence looming next to her. Her slender five seven was shadowed by his tall sturdy frame. "You're plausible, even to a confirmed heathen like me. Are we still on for that drink?"

Neely's mouth was open in attempted response, when her male opposite number at the church called out to her.

"Nice one, Neels – you're a modern-day prophet!" Jonas' short dark hair was spiked with gel and his laddish features were lit up with a grin. Leona, his dark-haired coffee-skinned girlfriend, was beaming at her too, from where she was nestled adoringly into her guy's side. "Can we have a quick word about the schedule for the rest of the summer season?" Jonas inquired.

"Yeah, sure, just give me a sec..." Neely turned, a tad flustered, to the church's newest guest. "Can we...ehhh..."

"Why don't you meet me round the corner in The Pump House when you're done here? Then you don't have to leave with the anonymous stranger, following your sincere words on chastity." 

She blushed a little at his jaunty suggestion and completely failed to summon up an appropriate rejoinder. "Yeah, that'd be cool. I'll be right over." She flashed him a nervous smile. As she turned away to chat with Jonas, she hoped her excitement from the proximity of her new acquaintance wouldn't show. No such luck.

"Who was that?" It was Leona who asked, her pretty dark eyes sparking with interest. "Is he new to the church?"

"Just a friend," Neely said almost dismissively. "Thought he'd check the place out."

"Check you out on your big night," grinned Jonas, squeezing Leona a bit closer. Since starting to date the girl he'd lost some of his cheerfully reserved cool, Neely noted. "Is he going to make a return visit?"

"Maybe, don't know..." She brushed off the subject and addressed the most pressing issue. "Jonas – has the Pastor mentioned to you any... workshops?" From the look of inquiry on his face, it appeared not. "Seems he's going to land us with a project. 'Christian sexual ethics.' He's going to prioritize it in the Wednesday meetings, I think." 

"Really?" Jonas seemed more resigned than irritated. "I love the way he does this. Bang goes everything we've been scheduling. Dancing to his tune again." 

"Well what do you think, do we just go ahead with it?"

"Look, I'm sure we can throw something together." He could hardly have been more offhand. "You want to hold off on the planning till we know what he wants, then thrash out the rest of the meetings at the weekend?"

Neely did, largely because she felt suddenly drawn to The Pump House. She fielded some more chat and congratulations regarding her onstage performance, then made her move. The sense of recklessness she felt struck her as ridiculous, as she left church and entered public house. So she was making a new friend. How was that remotely out of step with anything she had said in the meeting? 

She was well-acquainted with the dark walnut and brass fittings of this pub. It was a warm and secure environment in which to get better acquainted. Ray was awaiting her at a corner table, his half of ale standing innocuously in front of him. "What can I get you?" He was the very picture of affability.

"Dry Martini." She'd opted for something more impressive than her usual Bacardi Breezer and he grinned.

"A very sophisticated drink for a pillar of the church."

"Oh, what, so you're going to make fun of me from the start?" She shook out her hair involuntarily as she sat down. "Can't a church-girl be sophisticated?"

"You're living proof she can," he said, before leaving for the bar. "I wouldn't dream of making fun, I assure you."

There was an easiness to their conversation when he returned, and a reassuring lack of presumption on Ray's part. "I think your commitment to your beliefs is admirable," he told her, when she described how she'd come to faith – made the nominal religion of her parents something personal to herself. "I'm not sure I have it in me to be that committed to anything."

"What about your journalism? Aren't you a fearless warrior against injustice? That's way in line with Christianity, the way I see it."

"Not so sure about that. I'm energized by a good story – I like the pursuit. And words – I suppose I'm committed to those. Crafting something with language – capturing ideas and emotions in an original way. Making the reader feel something intense. Sometimes the subject-matter gets its hooks into me as well."

"So what's the next big story, after the struggle of the small businessman?" 

"Well, you're going think I'm such a bullshitter here, but it had vaguely occurred to me to try a series about modern expressions of religious faith – balancing scepticism with sympathy. And now that I've found such a stimulating example of young Christian womanhood..." 

Neely tried to cover her blushes. It was one of those exchanges where she could feel herself being drawn inexorably from a reclining position to one on her elbows, toying with her drink on the table while focusing utterly on the person before her. Pickings could be so lean in church circles – it wasn't always flattering to be paid attention by Christian guys when competition was so slight. So to be singled out by a charming, intelligent man some few years older than her and chatted up so politely, the effect was alarming intoxication. "So I'm going to be interviewed all over again, am I?" she asked with a wry smile. "What's the angle?"

"Well celibacy is an interesting subject. It's so little understood in this modern era. I for one don't know how someone as vibrant and expressive as you copes. You can't have any want of opportunity."

"Now just stop that," Neely warned, still smiling, "or I'll think you're a run-of-the-mill chat-up artist after all."

Ray looked chastened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come across that way, honestly. I'd hate you to think I was no more than that. Though the compliment stands..."

"Well in that case, I accept it." Neely beamed and relaxed and found herself, a little later on, accepting his offer of a ride home. Which led to the inevitable significant moment as they parted, the moment where he could spoil everything that had gone before with the wrong phrase or move. 

"It's been... unexpected," said Ray, just before she climbed from his somewhat ancient BMW. "An unexpected pleasure. Look, Neely, I'd try and kiss you here, but in the circumstances it might come off as some cheap move inspired by a misguided sense of challenge. So I'll just say goodnight."

Gratitude welled up within her, that and a moment of sheer spontaneity. "I think you're way better than that. And just because of what you heard me say at church, doesn't mean I can't do this..." She leaned in and kissed him, full on the mouth, meaning to break quickly. But he gripped her face gently in his hand and held her there, pressing his firm lips to hers more insistently and brushing her mouth almost imperceptibly with his tongue. His fingers lingered a little on her cheek as their lips parted. Blood seemed to have surged to every intimate region in her body.

"I'd really like to see you again," he said.

"You have my number." Her response was little more than a whisper. She coughed and raised her voice to claim back a little control. "And my Uncle Billy's. He'd be more than happy to talk to you for your article."

"I'll call him. And then I'll call you. Take care, Neely."

So confident, so restrained and yet with a passion beneath she could almost scent. Her heartbeat was loud and fast all the way from the car to her apartment. The fact that her actions would have seemed so much at odds with what she tried to portray to the church's younger members that evening only struck her once she got inside and slammed the door. She leaned back against it, breathing deeply, calming herself, her body slowly recovering - from the rush brought on by physical contact she had initiated. She felt guilty and alive, thrilled and hopelessly girlish. Twenty-four years and this had been her first impromptu date with a mystery stranger. It seemed romantic, sexy and so damned dangerous...

"Good grief! So I kissed a guy..." It was an outburst, she realised, directed more at her Higher Power than herself. She went to the kitchen and attempted to process what had happened over the calming mechanics of tea-making. The reassuring clatter of mugs and spoons. Let's assume he calls me. Let's assume we go out again. He knows what to expect, what not... In which case what exactly would be the point of the exercise? Maybe he'll take an interest in the church for its own sake. Maybe we can be friends... Would he be okay with that? Damn... Would I?

She brought her steaming mug of Darjeeling into the living-room and slipped down into the threadbare invitation of the armchair her parents had given her, reaching down the side for the remote. Her hand fell on something else and she plucked out a creased paperback novel. It was one of Jasmin's, that much was obvious from the cover photo – a beautiful naked woman seized from the rear by a similarly nude and muscular lover, her head wilting back in ecstasy as he planted his mouth on her neck. 

Inviting her fellow-waitress to flat-share had introduced various exotic items into Neely's living-space. Odyssey of Lust: A Young Woman's Quest for Erotic Fulfilment. Overtaken by instinct, Neely flipped over the book and read in the blurb how pampered little rich girl Sapphire would leave the security of her parents' Bel Air mansion and embark on a sensual journey of global proportions. She gave in to fascination and leafed through the opening chapters till she came on a passage of prose which matched the promise of the novel's exterior: "Don!" Sapphire exclaimed in shock, sitting up so that her bikini-covered breasts broke the surface of the water. The slim hand with which she had been masturbating herself withdrew from her pussy. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough, Sapphire," Don said, eyeing the girl with calm, evil intent. He was standing on the jacuzzi's edge, stroking the massive straining bulge beneath his shorts. "Long enough to wonder what you've been thinking about. And to wonder if I can give you something else to occupy your mind."  Neely could not help but imagine a different totally non-fictional bulge as the action unfolded.   The words gripped her in a different way to any proper literature she had ever read, never more so than when Sapphire stared in amazement as the huge athletic man peeled the shorts away from his loins, revealing his great, throbbing man-rod. "Something like this," he said, as he massaged his rampant cock. He stepped out of his shorts and advanced on her into the jacuzzi's bubbling waters with firm intent.

"But my parents could come back at any time!" the young woman moaned, her eyes glued to the enormous manly fuck-stick.  Heavens!  

"They haven't left Downtown yet. I spoke to your father ten minutes ago," said Don smoothly, his half-submerged cock poking from the water like a periscope. "There's nothing and no one to disturb us. At least for a little while."

Hypnotised, Sapphire rose from the water to receive her father's robust, dark-haired best friend, sunlight shimmering on her voluptuous young body. She gasped as Don's palms seized and caressed her bountiful bosoms. He reached behind her and unhooked her top in a swift movement, tugging it away to reveal her beautiful hard-nippled mounds. "God, your breasts are magnificent," he breathed, as he squeezed, drawing them to his mouth so he could suck on her full areolae in turn.  Neely's empathetic reading powers were on full. She could almost hear it, feel it, when Sapphire cried out in fear and ecstasy under the hunger of his lustful mouth. 

"We don't have much time, so I'm just going to take you," Don told her, his eyes smouldering. "Take you hard."

He lifted her up by the waist, making her squeal, then he sat her on the jacuzzi's edge, took hold of the strings of her bikini bottoms and drew them away from her pert round ass and off her legs. "My sweet darling, I'm going to fuck you like no one has fucked you before," he said, as he parted her luscious thighs.  Neely's eyes lingered on the boldness of the printed f-words; she had almost forgotten to keep breathing. She braced herself as he pushed the head of his enormous erect tool to her spread naked pussy lips. With a single thrust he drove himself inside her, impaling her tight young cunt completely with his thick, rigid spear.  Oh my! She cried out as he filled her and her thighs clung to him. Then Don clutched her cheeks, pulled her wet body to him and fucked her with mighty strokes until she felt the heat in her loins build, build to what she knew would be a fierce climax all around his huge invading...

"Hey, Neely, you just get in?"

Neely jumped and tossed the book hurriedly away, her face singeing once more that day from embarrassed guilt. She was suddenly aware of just how wet she was between her thighs, how swollen were her own nipples, forget those of the book's heroine. Jasmin was leaning sleepily in the living-room doorway. "Yes Jaz, I... was just going to see what was on TV."

"I completely crashed out... Heyyyy, what you been reading?" Her drowsy friend had come to sudden life.

"Nothing, I think it's yours. I just found it in the chair."

Jasmin's face freshened into a broad grin. "You've been having a sneaky look at my naughty novel, haven't you? Neely, you're such a bad..."

"No, no I just glanced at it. Kind of," Neely protested weakly.

"Be my guest. Please, enjoy. It's not Jane Austen, but it's a lot hotter. Of course you already know that, right?"

Neely allowed her friend to revel in her saucy discovery. It was a type of penance for having been caught out. (Not that she as an Evangelical agreed theologically with the concept of penance, but it worked for her at certain points nonetheless.) She even made some fresh tea for them both and subjected herself to a lecture on how much she needed to "loosen up a little". Thank God Jasmin didn't know that Neely had just come back from an impromptu date with the café-guy.

It was only when they went to their respective bedrooms that Neely checked her phone and found a text from Ray. Thank you for being such a delightful surprise. I hope I can get to know you better, Neely Jordan.

It made her wetter than any cheap erotic fiction ever could. She took out her Bible and accompanying study guide and prayed particularly hard that night. For strength to be all that Pastor Simmons thought she was. Strength to fight the unholy thoughts which were flapping around her mind like a cloud of bats...

* * * *

20/05/10 00:12 GMT

(Extract)

Christ, Carlotta, if you'd seen her on that platform, I've no doubt your latent lesbian tendencies would have surfaced and sizzled. (Pardon me if I over-indulge my penchant for alliteration.) Loose-necked woollen dress swathing her limber torso, blue-jeans clinging to her svelte virgin loins and that profusion of red hair spilling down her shoulders... just like it'll very shortly be spilling all over my face as she rides my thrusting cock.

Jesus, I was ready to burst out of my pants just sitting there in the church watching her. Listening to her talk so sincerely on the virtues of chastity, while everything about her – every blink of an eyelid and flick of hair – screamed how badly this good girl needs fucking. It occurred to me how many other guys sitting there must want to nail her just as much, if they could only admit it to themselves, although I severely doubt they'd know how to approach the task. Well, Neely J has a date with my dick. She just doesn't know it yet.

This find has occurred at just the right time. I trust from what I've told you, you'll consider her more worthy prey...

20/05/10 21:03 PST

Oh this is so  much better, Ray, than your vapid college girl. This one would be a very worthy feather in your over-stuffed headdress. At least it sounds like Jesus' little sunbeam has some smarts. Tell me – were they all as smug and obnoxious as our Bible-belters? Were they all full of their own chaste, glory-train, happy-clapping self-congratulation? And what... She's being set up as the head honcho's shining light of virtue for the young things? You have just got  to bring her down. You have got to bone this bitch with extreme prejudice – clinging to her every last belief, but whimpering for cock all the same. I absolutely insist on it.

Only question is – do you know how to approach your task? I sense you do, Raymond, you clever boy – luring her into planting lips on you  sounds like just the right tack. But can you sustain it? If all you've said it true, this girl will need a soft touch before you get to deliver a hard fuck. Can a horny bastard like you really play the long game? I somehow doubt it, but stand to be proven wrong. Awaiting further reports with considerable anticipation.

Carlotta.

TO BE CONTINUED