24/06/10  23:12 GMT

Carlotta, let me explain.

Fucking roommate Jasmine was not part of the plan. Obviously. It happened spontaneously, explosively, as these things do with girls who don’t have Neely’s kind of scruples. And are inebriate.

I went around there spur-of-the-moment. I’d dealt well, false modesty be fucked, with the aftermath of the birthday eating-out. I made all the right noises in my communications with Neely—concern the right side of penitence, barely controlled desire, I even expressed a willingness to try church again. It was having a beautiful effect, and in the name of letting the whole thing unfold organically, I called on her without advance warning. Single red rose ‘just calling because I was thinking about you’ style of manoeuvre. It would have knocked her sideways had she been in. And I would have saved it for another occasion had Jasmine not.

Everything was perfectly innocent to begin with. The slip of a thing invited me in, said Neely would be back soon from a church meeting. Or something. But she’d keep me company while I waited. Problem was she had downed a substantial quantity of vodka and orange in preparation for going out clubbing, so I found her in a giddy and flirtatious state along with a crop-top and tiny skirt. Admittedly I drew out the flirtation (as much as I could without seeming like a complete dog). We were sitting in the kitchen having a drink and it was all ‘She’s so lucky to have you, Ray, well, kind of have you’, with a glimmer of a knowing smirk. I said I was sure she wasn’t short of male attention when she went out nights, whereupon she informed me that she kept getting stuck with boys, when what she needed was a ‘real grown-up man’. One who ‘knew what a girl wanted’. Then she went back to how lucky Neely was to have a guy so attentive to her needs. I asserted that I tried to be good to Neely, and Jasmine expressed sympathy regarding whether or not my needs were being met.

Okay, there was an air of simmering danger and I’m sure we both knew it—Jasmine was reading me rather better at that point than her housemate ever could—but it was all made fine by the knowledge that Neely was due to show up any moment. And then came the text to Jasmine’s phone. Neely had gone for coffee with some people from church and wouldn’t be back so early and could Jasmine turn down the heat on the crock-pot? Or something. I looked at her and there was one of those significant brooding moments. I mean this girl knew I wasn’t getting any from her friend and all the vibrations said she was pretty much in need of it herself. It was clear all her flirtation had only been semi-serious, but I knew instinctively if I went for it she was unlikely to refuse. Anyway, in that moment, the risk seemed worth taking.

Go ahead—be pissed at me, but it’s been fucking frustrating, Lotta, and, well, Neely is wildly sexy, but this girl—if you’d seen her! Glossy jet-black hair, bendy dancer’s body, she’s part—Thai, Filipino, not sure—at any rate she’s got that Far East I’m-so-sweet-come-fuck-me thing going and god, all I could think of was how good my cock would feel inside her tight little cooch. I know, I know, I should have thrown a fuck some other direction, but the moment possessed me.

So I seized it and her. Grabbed her, kissed her hard. Pushed her up against the table and let her know how vastly swollen my cock was for her. A split-second’s resistance—not even resistance, vague moral reluctance—on her part, then she grabbed back, hand clutching my ass, her skirt riding up so that her cunt was grinding against me. No pleasantries required, what a beautiful thing. Top ripped down, skirt ripped up to meet it, then plop her cute ass onto the kitchen table and off with her panties in a single wrenching movement. Tear open flies to prove my cock as ready as her sweet wet cunt-hole. Grab her legs, bend her backwards like a stretchy doll on that hardwood surface and ram my unrelieved dick as far inside her as it would go. A month of self-restraint—well fuck all that, the dating and the wooing and the caring nice-guy schtick, fuck it all if only for a few brief minutes. Let me saw my reinforced cock all the way in and out of that clutching, wet girl-tunnel. Grip her thighs, press them down against her stomach and nail her on the kitchen table. Jesus. So fucking good.

“Oh god, we shouldn’t be doing this,” the traitor was moaning.

“Yeah, but we damn well are,” I pointed out through a grit-teethed snarl. “And you’re fucking loving it, aren't you?”

“Oh shit, I am,” she agreed in a piteous hard-fucked ecstasy.

“Well let me hear you ask for more.”

“Fuck me, fuck me, fucking give it to me …”

So I did, hard to the balls. More than that, I tore the clothes clean off her along with my own, flipped her around, put her on all fours there on the table, a lissome slippery caramel streak with her pussy-lips puffed and raw from the shafting she’d already received, that cute devious face peering around to see when she was going to get some more. Already frigging herself into a frenzy and far beyond the workings of whatever negligible conscience she has. She couldn’t help it any more than I could.

All these weeks angling to get inside Neely and there I was, sabotaging the whole thing, banging her hot friend among the condiments. God, the sleek curve of her back as I gripped her shoulder and rammed it into her …. Unforgettable. This shit is what I do best. I flung my cock back inside Neely’s wailing, ready-to-pop little bitch-pal—“Oh God, you’re so big, you’re so fucking big, I’m gonnacome, I’m gonnacome …”—and pounded the shit out of that hot treat till I blew a ball-draining wad inside her. Couldn’t do anything else; I don’t have Neely’s God to restrain me.

Do you know all the time I was fucking her, sweet as it was, I was thinking how much bigger I’d feel to a certain virgin pussy, and of the noises that virgin would make as she was done for the first time? I still don’t want to miss that opportunity, I assure you.

Anyway, it seems Jasmine and I both ‘came’ to our senses. She did look wildly hot, crumpled on the table with my thick white ooze slithering out of her well-fucked cunt, groaning, “Oh god, what have we done?” Truth be told it did all have a sense of wrongness-too-far, even for me. Like a sorry guilty mess to be cleared up. Which we did, pretty damn quickly once the orgasmic fever had died.

She was red-faced from more than sexual excitement afterwards. “We’ve done a bad thing here, Ray, a really bad thing.”

I played along with the penitence. It wasn’t difficult—somehow the whole situation didn’t feel like my finest hour. “I’m sorry,” I was telling her, “it kind of happened out of nowhere.”

However, she wasn’t entirely buying my routine. “Yeah? Well, it probably happens a lot, doesn’t it, Ray? Only I shouldn’t have been a fucking part of it.” Then she was virtually pushing me out of the door before I had a chance to get my shoes back on. “Just go,” she was telling me, all teary, “get out of here, let me clean up. Take your fucking rose, she can’t know you were here. I’ve got to go and shower, I’ve got your smell all over me.”

I honestly don’t think she’ll say a thing, Lotta, she was way too mortified, desperate to cover our traces. I asked her on the way out and she said, “No, she mustn’t know about this, not ever,” her voice shaking. Oh yes, and then: “But you should break it off with her, Ray. You should do it soon, you’re not who she thinks you are.” The naughty hypocrite.

So I think it’s all okay. I got my rocks off and Neely should be none-the-wiser. I mean really, Lotta, do we have a problem here?

—Ray

24/06/10  16:46 PST

Don’t ‘Lotta’ me, you son-of-a-bitch. Are you out of your fucking mind? God, what am I thinking? Whenever your dick takes over, that’s a super-loud ‘yes’. And don’t try and cover over your fuck-up with your tired story-telling routine. God, it was so hot, I couldn’t help myself. Check how my normally perfect syntax has gone to shit, I’m so charged with animal energy. I ought to slap you, you dumb asshole! You’re supposed to be a wolf hunting down select prey, not a goddamn hyena scavenging somebody else’s leftovers. Besides, we’d already discussed this—if you needed to drain your balls, you should have found someone safe. You want the Jasmine girl, at least wait till after you’ve fucked the Christian! Do we have a problem? he asks. Do we have a fucking problem? All this work and thought, all our planning, and you have the gall to ask me that.

Yes, Ray, I freaking-well think we have!

Suppose this skank acts on the conscience she was displaying before you left. What if she decides she has to divulge your true colors to her roommate? Decides she can’t bear the thought of her friend being preyed on by an opportunist bastard? Okay, so maybe she’s too guilty to admit she actually fucked you, so instead, she says you showed up and came on to her. Don’t you think she’s liable to do that next time Jesus’ pretty little soldier is singing the praises of her lovely respectful new boyfriend?

Haven’t you thought this through at all??? Even if she says nothing right away—and you mightn’t even get that much grace—you’re on borrowed time, buster. You’d better up your game or you’ll blow what limited chance you have left to nail the Jordan girl. And if you don’t nail her, well—all those delicious things I’ve got lined up for your cock will never happen.

Right now you’re a serious disappointment. So fuck off and get some serious moves worked out. You can report back when you’ve got something worth telling. Oh, and Ray, I’ll know if you lie to me.

~~~~

“Morning, Lord. Thanks for today. Weather’s a bit rubbish, but … well, that makes us appreciate the nice days more, right? Thanks for how things are going at church. For all the recruits we have on the homeless project and for success in the outreach programme. All the new kids who’ve started to attend. And for the upbeat mood around the place. Thanks for Jonas and all his support, especially on the forthcoming workshops. Nice to have an ally—you know, somebody who thinks the same way as me. And has an even worse sense of humour. And yes, thanks for Pastor Simmons. I know his heart’s in the right place. In his chest cavity slightly to the left. No, I’m kidding, I love him, you know that. He’s got everyone’s best interests at heart, whatever Danny Woodward thinks, and he loves you. So that’s all good.

“Thanks for the Lemongrass caf in all its deliciousness, especially for the new white chocolate-chip cheesecake, which rocks the entire joint. For Leo and Jasmine, my lovely decadent friends. Thank you for Ray …”

Neely faltered momentarily in her regular morning God-chat. “Yes, thank you for Ray. That he wants to attend the church again. And for how he’s still so nice and … and respectful to me.” Even when he’s tonguing my lady-bits.

Now there was the trouble with believing you could talk to an omniscient higher power. You couldn’t edit out your sneakier thoughts. There was no internal monologue to be kept from one’s Maker. Neely tried again. “Thanks that even though there’s been a certain degree of …” rampant carnality “… misbehaviour between us, things are still under control.” Girl, you’ve been thinking about him licking you out for three whole nights! “Okay, well kind of under control. We’re behaving ourselves again. And it’ll be easier if he shows greater interest in Alton Bridge. I mean how brilliant would it be if he came to faith?” It would be wonderful, but get real. You shouldn’t be dating him. You know it, God knows it … “Anyway, thanks for the whole show. I know I’m very lucky. And here’s praying for strength to do good service today. To be a good witness for Christ and …” not to think about doing rude naked things with Raymond Archer “… and that too. Amen.”

Neely finished lacing her trainers. She checked the mirror and ran the brush through her luxuriant locks a few more times. Then she picked up her purse and her phone in preparation to set out for the café. She paused to flip through the texts Ray had sent since the night he had made her birthday so memorable.

There were two which stood out; together they summed up her conflict. First, the one from two days ago, the morning after his tongue had gone a-flickering: WOULD IT SHOCK YOU IF I SAID I WANTED TO TRY CHURCH AGAIN?

Her heart had raced. Did he mean it? He’d never tried to fool her before with professions of spiritual enquiry, so the words must count for something. She’d told him they’d talk about it next time they went out, let him express himself more fully. Maybe Ray the sceptic wasn’t impervious to faith. Maybe respect for her Christian profession was morphing into something more meaningful—interest in the claims and teaching of Christ for their own sake. Too fanciful? Didn’t she have faith in the potency of her beliefs to draw in someone else? Or was it wishful thinking to justify the effect Ray had on her anytime he came close? Any time she thought of him?

Because there was the other text, wasn’t there? The text apropos of nothing later the same day: YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY, BEAUTIFUL GIRL.

She did drive him crazy. That wasn’t arrogance. She could hear it in his breath when he wished her goodnight, sense it in his body’s tension when he kissed her, with passion he could barely suppress. Lord, she could hardly miss it bulging in the crotch of his jeans when they made out; it had been fit to burst free three nights back after he’d made exquisite oral love to her pussy. A moan escaped her throat as she recalled—one more flashback added to hundreds, each a mini-burst of illicit delight. He’d made her so excited, but there was a dark thrill that she excited him right back. That he got huge and hard for her despite all his respect. That she was withholding something he wanted. Something he wanted badly.

For a moment she felt sexy and powerful, then guilt rushed in to drown the notion. Guilt at her sinful desires and at playing with Ray this way. Getting him all pumped up (heavens what a phrase) and then leaving him unsatisfied. Being a tease, however unintended. For Ray didn’t share her faith, not yet. He didn’t understand her reasons for abstaining, however hard he tried. How cruel to treat him this way. She wished she could do something for him, make it better without sacrificing herself.

Then again, maybe she could…

Neely’s eyes strayed to the bottles of scented oil unused on her dresser. She picked up the card she had found within the packaging and read once more: Enjoy. If not in company, at least alone. Was her good boy teasing her? Inviting her? If so he would have made her unwrap the present on her birthday evening. He’d wanted to give a sexy gift, show that he considered her a woman, not some repressed girl. How choice to reward him using his own gift to her. But no—she mustn’t go there.

She grabbed for her Bible before going out, flipping through the New Testament for something to sustain her. Jesus’ ‘Sermon on the Mount’, a passage instrumental in her first embracing the Christian faith. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Then all those other blessed individuals: the meek, the merciful, the peacemakers, the pure in heart …

She was pure in heart, wasn’t she? Full of good motives and intentions. Trying to do right by everyone, make their lives a bit better. Pure in mind, that was the problem. She was a distance from that right now. Is ‘pure in heart’ enough, Lord? She feared not. There was that bit later on in the Sermon about looking with desire on someone to whom you weren’t married. Although maybe that only applied if you were already hitched to someone else? No, it was pointless testing the Scriptures’ elasticity. The whole of the Bible underscored the within-marriage-only thing. She couldn’t play fast and loose with those rules.

Which meant she shouldn’t be setting the Good Book aside and replacing it with the Bad one—the one which had joined the Bible as a daily reading staple and been stored guiltily under her bed. “I know you’re taking crafty reads,” Jasmine had told her, “so you might as well keep it till you’re done.” She didn’t have time to spare, so why was she opening it, leafing her way to the page she had marked?

Just a few paragraphs.

Sapphire the globe-trotting slut, she recalled, had arrived in Bavaria, pursuing her apparent destiny to take inside herself cock of every nationality. The details returned from Neely’s tired-out reading the previous night. The oft-fucked heroine had been preparing to room above the tavern in an Alpine village when she had fallen into conversation with a handsome duke and his partner, drinking spiced Franconia wine before being persuaded to accompany them to their forest-enclosed mountain castle for the evening. Feeling under-dressed in their presence, Sapphire had been encouraged by Katrin, her beautiful hostess, to bathe and change into the sheer white dress supplied her. It was only towards the end of her meal at the couple’s dining table, surrounded by leering family portraits and stags’ heads, that Sapphire realised the occasion had an ulterior purpose.

Like she couldn’t have guessed …

“Excuse me,” said Sapphire with hesitation, not wishing to appear rude. “There don’t appear to be any spoons for the dessert.” The huge slice of delicious Kirschtorte sat before her, making her mouth water.

“Ve vill not be using spoons,” (Ve vill not be using spoons???) her debonair host explained, rising from his seat and strolling towards her with nonchalance. “In fact, my beautiful dear, ve vill not be using any plates eezer.”

Here we go, Neely thought, and in a comedy accent to boot. Anticipation, however, trumped all her irony.

Sapphire looked confused. (No change there, then.) “Then how will we …?” she began.

“Ve vill observe a custom established by myself in zis castle some years ago,” the Duke explained, removing his jacket. “You see each summer I select a lovely young voman like yourself, someone who is travelling through zis part of our vunderful Bavaria on a journey of self-discovery. I select very carefully with ze help of my loyal housekeeper here.”

“Your housekeeper?” Sapphire stared in confusion at the blonde-haired Katrin. “But I thought you were married!”

“No, Katrin is not my vife.” The Duke threw the jacket casually onto one of the high-baked oaken chairs, flipped aside his suspenders and began to undo his shirt, revealing a powerful dark-haired chest. “I am indebted to her for running zis ancient castle vis supreme efficiency and in helping me pursue my … indulgences.” He licked his lips in a way that made Sapphire shudder with fear and excitement. Did seducers literally lick their lips? Neely wondered. No matter. “She also shares in many of my preferences and plays a part in all of my games.”

“Games?” Sapphire realised with a shock that Katrin was removing her dress and stripping down to blue-silk lingerie that enhanced her well-preserved and robust figure.

“Yes, games,” said the Duke, now stripped to the waist, “and Katrin always helps me choose ze perfect girl vis whom to play. In zis case, you.” Sapphire gulped and looked around wondering if she could run. But where would she run to? “And do you know vy you are perfect, Sapphire?”

“No,” she replied with a quavering voice, as both the Duke and Katrin closed in on her where she sat.

“Because I know you seek out carnal pleasure vereffer you go. You ver seeking it tonight.”

“No, you’re wrong,” Sapphire insisted. “I’m on vacation, I wanted to see the mountains and the castles.”

“Your mind may not know you are seeking it,” said the Duke, “but your body craves it. I knew zis as soon as ve spoke. I haff a sense for your heat.” Sapphire felt Katrin’s slim smooth hands on her shoulders, as the woman unclasped the back of her halter dress. The Duke tore the dress down suddenly, making her gasp at having so much skin exposed. “Tell me, Sapphire, as you travel ze vurld, do you not find yourself surrounded by strong attractive men who want to enjoy ze delights of your flesh? Tell me, Sapphire.”

“Y-Yes, I suppose I do,” she stammered, as Katrin undid her brassiere at the back.

“And do you try to avoid zees men’s advances, or do you find yourself giffing up your body to zer depraved lusts? Tell me!” His hands lingered on the lacy cups of her bra.

“I give myself up to them!” she said breathily, her heart racing and her pussy moist.

“Und vy do you do zat, Sapphire?” he demanded. “Tell me vy!”

“Because… Because I love to!” she moaned, fearful of her own confession. “Because I enjoy it all!” Neely’s breath caught. She was more affected by silly Sapphire’s confession than she wanted to admit to herself.

“Of course you do!” the Duke cried in victory, as he ripped the brassiere away from Sapphire’s quivering breasts. “Vell here, my darlink, you vill have all your desires satisfied. I vill keep you here till you haff serviced all my needs and zos of my guests. And in acting as slave to our lusts, my beautiful Sapphire, you vill discover the true depths of your own sexual depravity!” He groped her full breasts, his face full of delirious glee. “Know vat you are! Do not deny it any longer! A creature of lust and vild sexual passion. Submit yourself to your cravings. Katrin, it is time for dessert!”

As Sapphire gasped, Duke Ralph scooped the Kirschtorte from her plate with his hand and smashed the entire mess of chocolate cake, butter-filling, cherries and whipped cream all over her naked tits. He smoothed the mixture thickly all around, smearing her globes with ruined dessert. Then he and Katrin both leaped on her and ate ravenously, licking cake, cream and sticky cherry sauce from her bosoms, slavering their tongues all around her and sucking hard on her erect nipples till she squealed in fear and ecstasy. Katrin continued to feast off her boobs, while the Duke seized her dress and tore it from her body, ripping her panties away from her loins as well. As Sapphire lay helpless in her dining chair, he parted her legs and smeared some of the remaining cake debris all over her wet cunt.

“Don’t vorry,” he told Sapphire. “I vill make sure you do not miss out on dessert. You can guess from vere you vill lick it. But first I must enjoy mine.” With that, he pulled her thighs further apart, shoved his face between them and thrust his tongue deep inside her sticky, dripping …

No more! Neely slapped the book shut, mind flooded along with her freshly-worn knickers. Ray hadn’t even required liqueur-soaked cream cake to sweeten the experience. Till now she had distanced herself from Sapphire’s sexual encounters, as risible as they were hot. The idea that the heroine was carried into misadventure by desire, not stupidity, discomfited Neely. She did not want to share too much with the jet-setting bimbo, or acknowledge the same primal force within them both. The force which had kept her reading, Sapphire’s encounters fusing with thoughts of Ray. Which had made her accompany the reading these past three nights with a vibrator’s buzz on her clit. Which had woken her the night just gone in a fevered sweat, mumbling—she had caught herself doing it—“Make love to me, Ray, I want it, I want you to … to …”

No… “NO!” Neely shook the thought, hid the book and changed her knickers. Keep it together, girl. You’re being tested, that’s all. You’ll get a handle on all this. On with the day. Get to work. Keep busy …

She wondered why Jasmine had not knocked. Had her friend gone ahead? Neely tapped on her roommate’s door and peered inside. “Jaz? You not up yet?” The response was an inarticulate groan from under a duvet. “You okay, sweetie?”

Jasmine peered mournfully above the covers. Her eyes were heavy, her face grim. “Neely, I’m not going in. I feel dreadful. I’ve already phoned Annabel to explain, she’s got someone else to cover. If anyone asks, I’ve got the flu …”

“Is that Russian flu?” Neely arched an amused eyebrow. “Vladivar-induced?”

“Something like that,” a feeble voice moaned.

“But you didn’t even go out last night. Did the girls come around here? Did I miss the party?”

“No, no, you didn’t miss anything. Really. No one here. Only me.”

“Drinking alone, you warned me about that. Hang on, let me get you something.” Neely ran to the kitchen and fetched a glass of water with Paracetamol tablets, setting them on her friend’s bedside table. “There you go, babe. Sleep it off and I’ll see you later.”

Jasmine resurfaced and stared balefully. “Thanks,” she croaked in misery. “You’re a good friend. Way too good.”

Neely kissed her on the forehead and gave her arm a squeeze. “I’ll remind you of that next time I need a shift covered. Get rested.”

“Neely,  I … I …” Neely looked closer and thought she recognised a sadness in Jasmine that couldn’t be put down to alcoholic excess.

“What is it, Jaz? Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s … I …” It was like the girl’s soul, not her body, was struggling to purge itself of something pent-up.

“It’s okay, you can tell me.” Neely’s concern grew, her hand lingering on her friend’s arm.

“It’s … It’s nothing,” Jasmine said, visibly defeated in her attempt. “Just my stupid life, is all. Go on, get to work. Don’t be late. I’ll be fine.”

What’s got into her?

There was no knowing, however. Neely’s roommate had curled up caterpillar-style, with nothing left to say.

It’s fine, Neely told herself on departing the room. If it’s important, she’ll tell me in her own time. Probably got screwed over by some asshole guy. She shook her head sadly. Poor thing...

TO BE CONTINUED