Sapphire knelt like a good naked girl before the two quivering and manly fuck-poles. She reached out to caress the throbbing erections in both her palms and …

“Oh my Lord …” This was so foolish. To be returning to Odyssey of Lust when Neely knew Ray was on his way, Sapphire’s slutty self-indulgence seeming an ever more enticing opposite to her abstinence.

Since the picnic Neely had been downgrading the erotic promise of her boyfriend’s treat to something less scary. She had spent all that day telling herself it was ‘a back-rub, a stupid back-rub’, never more urgently than when going through notes for the following evening’s Sexual Ethics Workshop. Which trapped her between her two competing sources of guilt. Compromising her own sexual purity and subjecting her boyfriend to one more pretty piece of teasing. So much for rewarding her poor neglected love. Dress cute and sexy, provide some lingering manual attention to his muscles, then send him away to work off the frustrations of the one muscle that craved it most.

The badness and wicked beauty of the image—oh how she’d love to watch Ray busy with himself—shocked her. She looked about her room shamefaced, for support and distraction. Her Bible lay close on the bed, but something Danny had said, about not being beholden to a book, stuck in her head; it made her feel strangely alienated from the leather-bound volume, the contents of which she had always revered. Instead, she returned to Sapphire’s Odyssey, where the slutty heroine reached out to caress the throbbing erections in both her palms and felt the two handfuls of hard dick-flesh bulge and pulse under her grip.

“Zat’s it, Sapphire, stroke zer cocks,” said the Duke’s steel voice close by. “And suck on zem, you little bitch.” The tawdry fiction has a similar sucking effect on Neely and vacuumed up her attention in seconds, so that she read avidly …

Sapphire pumped the two thick shafts slowly and lovingly, flicking her tongue on each glans and tasting the salty sperm that leaked from the tips. Then she began to take them one at a time into her succulent mouth, sucking hungrily and letting her saliva drool all over the rigid cock-towers to their bases. The robust bodies of the Austrian Count and his son went tense with excitement as she guzzled on their engorged manhoods, while the handsome blond-haired stranger sat to one side watching the scene intently, an inscrutable expression on his face.

“That’s good … You are a good slut,” snarled the Count, grabbing Sapphire’s hair and forcing her down further onto his cock, so that she gagged on it. “Now do the same to my son. Take him deep into your throat.” She obeyed, swallowing the strong young man’s rampant organ in her talented mouth and making him groan. “Make her take you all the way, my boy,” encouraged the father. “You are not truly a man until you have made use of a beautiful American whore.” She felt herself being plunged down again onto the base of a thick cock, so that her spit sloshed all over it.

Sapphire knew she was a whore, trapped in the Duke’s luxury guest bedroom each night and taken out to service his guests. She did her job with enthusiasm however, licking, sucking and sliding her hands all over the dicks, which were now slippery with spit, massaging—no nono, not that, not the M-word, please, Neely thought—them vigorously with her wet hands.   

“Suck zer balls!” the Duke ordered. “Pleasure my guests, you dirty little slut, and enjoy it! Pump zer cocks and make zem come all over your face!” She jacked the two throbbing phalluses harder, slurping the men’s balls into her mouth and lashing them with her tongue as her hands pummelled their poles. The father and son stared down lustfully at their slutty servant as their excitement grew towards a peak. Their groans increased and grew to aching yells as they lost control and began to climax.

“On her face!” the Duke demanded. Sapphire gazed as both cocks erupted, shooting their hot white lava all over her pretty face. She cried out in amazement as her eyes, mouth, nose and cheeks were splattered with gushing streams of jism. It went on for spurt after spurt, nearly drowning her in thick sperm. When they were finished, man-cream was plastered all over her, dribbling from her chin and splashing down onto her naked …

A knock on the apartment door shocked Neely out of her clit-pulsing reverie. She shoved Odyssey of Lust, with its lurid style and unfeasible ejaculations, under the bed. Her nether regions were soaked again; she had to check that her drenched pussy had not leaked through her panties. Briefly she looked in the dresser’s mirror: grey jogging bottoms swathing her loins, pale-green tank top displaying a hint of cleavage (unadorned tonight by the birthday necklace), hair slung back into a long ponytail. Sexy-cute achieved. Newly flushed face an unhelpful addition; it screamed ‘headful of naughty thoughts’, she reflected, as she went to answer the door.

Ray seemed to notice. “God, Neely, you look radiant.” He stepped through to embrace her. His fingers caressed the nape of her neck as he kissed her. “And very, very sexy. You’d give a man the most sinful ideas.” His hair, she noticed, was sun-bleached even lighter than usual, his face a deeper tan. He was dressed in a loose-hanging white shirt and cream linen slacks. There was mint on his breath and the rest of him smelt like an ocean breeze. “I’m all showered,” he told her. “Ready for my rubdown.”

“Come into the kitchen,” she said hurriedly, tugging him that direction. The thought of Ray finally shirt-free unnerved her. “We’ll have a glass of something first. You can tell me all about your day. What were you working on? The ‘expense accounts’ piece, unmasking all that local political corruption?”

They sipped Chardonnay together and snacked on the dips and carrot sticks she had provided. He joked about defending truth in the face of a lying establishment and she beamed at him with pride. Her sweet guy, downplaying his moral side as usual. Ray Archer mightn’t go campaigning in the name of Jesus, but she knew they were fundamentally playing for the same team. And his physical restraint could not be overlooked. Small wonder his sexuality had shown itself ever more as they dated. He was only human, right? He needed to know she was not unmoved by his longing.

“So,” she said, feeling terribly racy, “it’s time I helped you shake off the working week. What do you think?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” In a few deft movements, he unbuttoned his shirt at the cuffs and down the centre and shrugged it off his shoulders. It slipped from his body only to be caught in one hand before it hit the floor. Neely gasped to be confronted at last with her boyfriend’s naked torso. He was as impressive as she’d imagined—broad of shoulder with gym-worked upper arms, the expanse of his pectorals rolling down to a lightly-ribbed stomach. His body was a lighter tan than his face and overlaid with a scattering of fine blond hair.

“Oh my.” Neely laughed in her shock. “You are all set for this! Those bench presses are really working for you, sweetheart.”

“Are we all set up?” Ray appeared pleased to have caught her off-guard.

“Eh, yes. I’ve already set out some towels in the living room. Go make yourself comfortable and I’ll fetch the oils.” She slid from the barstool and trotted to her bedroom, nervous but elated; she had a cast-iron excuse to run her hands all over those well-hewn shoulders and that exquisitely sculpted chest. After all, her boy did work so very hard at his job. And at the gym. On several levels, he had proved himself deserving. She gathered the bottles and returned, heart thrilling with this opportunity. Best to ignore her cunning stratagem when she co-led the workshop tomorrow night. At least she would have fewer guilty secrets than Jonas.

On entering the living room she gasped louder than before. Ray had rearranged the fluffy towels she had provided, laying one on the floor so he could lie face down on it and folding the other across his ass. His clearly bare ass. He had wasted no time in stripping off his remaining clothes, including briefs, and casting them onto the sofa. The fleetness of his disrobing was impressive. Now he was propped on his elbows, looking expectantly to his masseuse. “Was this not what you were expecting? Sorry, I kind of assumed you wanted me to get naked. I can put something back on if …”

He went to push himself from the floor, towel draping down around his groin as he rose. “No!” she cried out, fearing he was about to reveal himself accidentally in all his manly glory. She tried to modify her tone and save face, so silly and girlish did she feel. “No, no, I wanted you to … to get undressed. I promised you a proper massage and that’s what you’ll get. Obviously.” Shit. Oh SHIT. How the hell did this happen? He’s not wearing a stitch! What am I going to do?

Swallowing her panic she gripped the selection of aromatic oils, his gift to her, and approached the hard-muscled, all-but-nude body of the man who adorned her carpet. She knelt beside him and set out the bottles in preparation. Ray was nestling his head into his folded arms, calmly awaiting her attentions. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” His voice was lazy.

So have I. I just wasn’t factoring in so much … nakedness.

She opted for orange and freesia, popping the bottle’s cap, and trickling the contents across his broad back. He uttered an appreciative sigh as she smoothed oil over him in wide circles, the summer fragrance filling her nostrils. Taut skin over firm muscle. How utterly masculine. Thank God they had established a ‘no hands’ rule for him. As she worked the oil in lightly from waist to shoulders, her fears ebbed like she was licensed to play.

Ray’s neck and shoulder muscles were tight, and she kneaded them hard, leaning into him and working her fingers deep, as her college roommate Anna had once taught her. The advantages of sharing with a trainee physio. How she adored the feel of him under her hands. “Lots of tension to work out here, babe.”

“You have no idea,” he said with a deep groan. “That feels good, so good …” The catch of breath in the back of his throat, along with his blissful expression, warned he was enjoying more than muscular release. He loved her hands on his flesh and was desirous of advanced levels of contact. “You know if you straddle me you can get at me better.” Bingo. Her inner alarm sounded once more. She recalled Danny’s use of that phrase.

“I can do a great job from here.”

“Go on,” he cajoled breathily. “You know how much I’d like it. I think maybe you would too.”

How could she deny him that much? She climbed on and positioned herself either side of his thighs, reaching far to continue working his trapezia and upper back. The muscles shifted like tectonic plates under his skin as she squeezed with fingers and palms. All residual nervousness drained away. Poised above him a new feeling came upon her—one she was not used to—of sexiness and power. Here she sat, a sensual attractive woman, able to seize a situation and wrest it to her own designs, to bestow gifts on her near-naked boy or withhold them as was proper. Problem was, part of her didn’t want to withhold a thing, part of her rebelled against ‘proper’. Her Christian sensibilities strove to hold that part in check.

“Go on, lean into it,” Ray muttered, his voice thick with enjoyment.

“I am, silly.” She’d swooped low to whisper the phrase. Her ponytail brushed his neck and she revelled in what a tease she was being. It was rather sinful, but she could always rely on her new strategy of repentance-after-the-fact. “I know what I’m doing,” she reassured. “Aren’t I making you feel nice?” She dropped a light kiss onto his ear.

“You are. Only question is how nice you’re going to make me feel.”

“Really nice,” she breathed, ignoring all innuendo, and kneading slow and luxurious at his shoulder blades.

“Be even nicer if you took your top off.” The line was so casual, it took a moment to connect with her brain; when it did, her heart ran apace.

“You don’t need that for a good massage,” she said levelly, not breaking her rhythm.

“I know. But I’d like to feel more of my beautiful girl’s skin next to mine. You don’t have to if you don’t want. I shouldn’t even ask, baby.”

Neely paused and let his words sink further in, soaking through her pores and warming her whole inside. Recklessness seized her and she crossed her arms to grip the hem of her tank top; she pulled it up over her head and free of herself in one fluid movement. “There,” she said in a moment of near-brazen pride, flinging the garment onto the sofa, so that he could see it land amongst his own discards. The air in the room felt warm on her newly exposed flesh. You weren’t expecting that, were you? Holy crap, neither was I.

She bent low once more, before the momentum of her sexy initiative ran out, and slid her hands over his beautifully developed upper arms; her bosom, clad in a simple white-lace brassiere, pressed momentarily to his shoulder blades. “That better?” she whispered, intoxicated by her own boldness.

“Uh-huh,” he sighed in supreme contentment, and she let her arms slide the length of his till their fingers could entwine. “You make me happy, Neely J.”

“Do I?” She hoped it was true. The thought of his feeling discontented made her miserable. “You know I want to.  So much. You know I care for you, Ray.” Did that make it all right? Did that make all she fantasised about less of a transgression? And how much did he care in return?

She rose and reached for the bottle once again, dribbling oil down his spine’s shallow trench. Then she worked from the small of his back just above the ridge of the towel, spreading upwards and outwards in broad sweeps, working the warm liquid into his skin. “There. Enjoy it, baby. Enjoy.”

“Lower …” his voice creaked.

“Lower?” She tried to mask the anxiety that crept into hers.

“You’re an amazing masseuse, but you’re too coy. Work from the base of the spine, right from the tail. That’s the professional thing to do.”

Neely swallowed hard and tugged the towel further down over the upper swell of his muscled buttocks, so she could access him from the lower curve of his spine. She added more oil, trying not to let it dribble into his ass-cleft, then recommenced her sweeping motion, this time from the bottom. Lord, from his bottom. There was a greater sense now of having a gorgeous nude male laid out under her. Of following the curve of his athletic ass in towards his waist, then gliding out again to caress that broadening torso with her fingertips. It was wild and exciting, letting her flesh glance against his, each time she surged low, feeling less the masseuse and more the lover on each stroke. Desires which had simmered for years, long before she had met Ray, were boiling up within her, along with other longings, intense ones specific to him. She was wet, she realised, far wetter than when she had been reading her trashy book. Then his words began to pour, and the pussy-drenching thrill seemed to treble.

“So beautiful. So beautiful, Neely. I want to pay it back. I want to slather you in oil and massage every inch of you …”

“No, baby, no,” she beseeched, as she slid her body level with his. The thought was so terribly wonderful.

“Rub it into every sweet curve on your body.”

“Leave it all to me. All to me …”

“Every hot little crevice.”

“No Ray, please. Let me be nice to you like we said.”

“I know, I know,” he growled, as though in pain. His pelvis, she realised, was slowly grinding itself against the lower towel and she had a jolting image of the massage’s inevitable physical effect on him. “Can’t blame a guy for dreaming,” he said.

“I don’t, I don’t blame you,” she moaned, longing to relieve his agony. “You know I … I …”

“Do my chest. Will you? Please?”

The request’s suddenness took her aback, but it was so much in the flow of things that she went with it. She was still the masseuse, the one in control, right? “Let me get a different oil, sweetheart.”

She had hardly climbed off him and reached for the vanilla and musk, when he rolled over, threatening to expose all he had. Artfully, however, he pulled the towel into place so that a large corner section draped across his groin and stomach, covering up the epicentre of his maleness in its loose folds. Neely let her eyes rove freely for a moment over his sculpted frame, modesty maintained only by that casual scrap of towel. His face had a fevered aspect, which she was sure mirrored her own visage. The bottle hovered a moment as she stared, then she tipped it allowing the scented oil to spill from his collarbone down towards his stomach.

“You’re so beautiful,” she said weakly, hands reaching towards him. Her fingertips slithered through the rivering liquid, smearing it over his chest, working in slow circles on the hard-packed brawn of his pectorals and homing in with tentative fascination on his nipples. She observed her own teasing progress as though it was someone else’s fingers drawing that hoarse-breathed reaction from her boyfriend’s throat. Somehow detaching herself made it possible to keep going.

“God, Neely, do you know how sexy you are?” His voice was loaded with desire.

“I … don’t know how to answer that.” She moved her hands self-consciously away from pectorals to shoulders and continued to rub.

“Hands-off policy still stands, right? So I can’t even attempt to undo your bra.”

“No … No, that’s right, you can’t.” Blood hammered in her ears. She focused on massaging into the hollow above his collarbone.

“Then you’ll have to take it off yourself.” Her fingers stayed at his voice’s quiet firmness. She looked at him and he stared back, challenging. “Go on, Neely, let me see.”

The moment extended, wrapping Neely up in its erotic power. Ray’s eyes were already admiring the expanses of creamy skin she had uncovered. She wanted him to see and the desire seemed to swallow up her scruples. The creep of her hands behind her back was far from the cavalier joy with which she had removed her top, but she did not divert her gaze an instant from Ray’s face. She’d never done this for anyone. Not two months prior Brian had begged her for it and she’d found no difficulty in turning him down. But I’ll do it for you, you gorgeous man.  She unclasped at the back and eased the straps off her shoulders, finally letting the garment slip to the floor. Her breasts were modest, but pert and proud on her slim frame, with upturned pale-red nipples; she revealed them to her man with a frisson of delight. Church-worker turned burlesque-star at night. Neely von Teese. His lips parted, tongue-tip wetting. She could see his pupils dilating as he gazed on her.

“Perfect,” he said, but he did not try to touch her. She could sense the valiant restraint of this male, whose size and strength trounced hers, who could, should he decide to, flip her over and fuck her virgin pussy on the living room floor with nothing to be done. Instead, he awaited her. How thrilling to surprise her patient boy, to do that bit more than he expected. To mess with his expectations. Thus, she lifted the bottle one more time and dripped vanilla- and musk-scented oil across her boobs, so that it rolled down and beaded on her hard-pointed nipples. Their gazes remained locked—she loved how his breath caught—as she cupped her breasts and massaged in the oil, making her neat bosom all slippery for him.

She could scarcely believe her own daring as she descended once more, topless this time, and trailed her slickened tits all the way over his chest, letting her nipples rake past his. The sensation of rough male beneath her girlish softness was mouth-watering. She was almost on top of him and the danger, as she repeated the move, made her mind whirl. He was emitting low groans as her slender upper body glided over his in all its breadth. It seemed inevitable that he would grab her in punishment for the sexy torment she was inflicting and when she slithered to eye-level the fifth or sixth time he did. One strong hand clapped to her shoulder and held her in place, his eyes blazing into hers.

“No hands …” she protested, breathless, but she felt sure the game was up. He was going to wrestle her over and seduce her roughly on the carpet, while she struggled for the will to resist.

“I know.” His grip relented. “God, Neely, you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I do, I think.” She felt scared and desirable. The situation she had carefully managed was threatening to spin way out of control.

“No you don’t. You have no idea. So let me show you.” He dragged his body out from under her, towel clutched to his loins. Then recklessly he flung it aside.

Neely’s hand shot to her gasping mouth; she felt like some comic cliché. Euphemisms from Odyssey of Lust which she had dismissed as absurd—‘throbbing man-rod’ and ‘colossal pole of steel’—seemed stunningly appropriate for what lay before her. Ray had shaved himself close so that the full hard-etched sculpture of his cock was on display. His heavy veined ball-sac weighed down between his parted legs. Stretching from it, spearing all the way to his belly was a proud tower of flesh; it culminated in a bulging plum which seemed to surge out of the rest of the organic structure like a beacon. She stared, allowing her eyes to stray all over this bizarre alien beauty.

“There. That’s what you do.” He propped himself on one arm, eyes still aflame. His robust phallus he gripped by the base, prising it from his stomach. Neely’s head seemed to fill with static, so that she couldn’t think, only look. “Not only times like this … Most of the time we’re together. Anytime we touch. Anytime I think of you at night. Or in the morning. Or through most of the damn day. Hard, Neely, rigid-hard for you. I can’t help it, I can’t make it any other way. This, right here, this is the effect you have on me.”

“Oh my,” she breathed through her fingers, unable to break her gaze. “It’s … It’s …” Terrifying. And amazing.

“And let me show you what I do, Neely,” he persisted, grabbing for the nearest oil bottle, “every night and most mornings. What I’ve done during the working day to keep my mind off you and on my work.” She watched astonished as he spurted orange and freesia oil the length of his thick extension and, casting the bottle aside, seized himself, massaging in slow gliding strokes back and forth. The liquid glistened all over his cock as his palm spread it and the hardness of his member seemed to reinforce the tighter he squeezed. “Thinking of you, Neely, you and nothing else. Everything I’d like to do to you, beautiful girl.” Her head swam in scary wonder, that her guy was naked and wanking himself in front of her, hot testimonials to her loveliness pouring from his mouth. “Does that shock you, Neely? Does it appal you that you make me feel this?”

It shocked her, yes, maybe it should have appalled her too. She was sure her Christian conscience should be kicking into overdrive, but something had stalled it. For she wasn’t scurrying away, grabbing her top and insisting that he cover up. She wasn’t retreating into a Scriptural fortress. Perhaps because she felt a new responsibility directed towards the tumescence before her, for which her own ravishing beauty was apparently responsible. And perhaps she was jealous of the sexy moments everyone seemed to be having—Jasmine, Leo, Jonas and Leona, Danny … Perhaps she wanted to seize a sexy moment of her own, like she had done for so long in her dreams.  

“No,” she whispered, fixating on the flexing, pulsing centre of Ray’s maleness. “It doesn’t appal me, baby. Not at all.” His rampant cock was nature in operation after all, as was every chemical response inside her. God had made it all and He had made it well.

Her hand reached out to Ray to reassure that she wasn’t repelled by the sight or by his rashness. It kept going till her fingers brushed his hand, easing it away, so that her fingers slithered over the hot taut surface and closed around him as far as they would go. Till she took firm hold of Ray Archer’s ‘throbbing fuck-stick’. So much was happening so fast, she thought she’d faint from the drumming in her head. But maybe this way she could help her boy, diffuse the crippling tension that existed between them. “Let me do it,” she said. “I want to.”

Ray leaned back on both elbows and stared in amazement of his own. She was sure the look she shot him was piteous—that the girl within was belying all her womanly efforts. His erection genuinely throbbed under her grip. She could feel the hot flesh pulse as she drew her hand up and down that thick shaft. It was wonderful, watching her own slim fingers gliding all over the implacably hard male sex organ, feeling its contained power beneath her palm—from the cushioning of the balls all the way up the thick-veined column to the summit and back again. She could feel the pulse of life within it. This was a thing alive, she marvelled, with its own amoral agenda, a throbbing engine driving the man. Only, she had sparked it. She was the one who had brought it growling to life. The thought terrified her yet filled her with a strange pride. An exultant sinful pride. Ray’s jaw had dropped, his breath was a shallow panting. She, Neely Jordan, was responsible for this man’s torment. Surely only she could properly relieve it.

“You like that, baby? I’m not doing it too hard?”

She gasped anew as Ray reached and wrapped his big hand around hers, squeezing it tighter to his cock. “Hard as you fucking like, darling,” he said with a breathy grin, shunting her hand briskly up and down, so that they wanked his pole as one. “There, isn’t it nice to do things together, babe?” His voice was full of playful lust. “Having fun yet?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Oh God.  She wasn’t sure which she felt more—benevolent or slutty—but she was having, she thought with a flash of guilt, the most tremendous fun of her life. Her voice shook with excitement, and she could hardly keep the smile from creeping onto her lips in response to his boldness.

“Do it on your own,” he told her, releasing his grip. “Hard like that. I want to feel you do it.”

This was wrong, a flagrant betrayal of all Neely stood for. But she’d always been one for doing a job well once it was started. She rose to the challenge, no longer fearful of causing physical injury. She tightened her hold and gave some frantic wrist movement, pumping her boyfriend’s thick cock, wanting to plunge her hand down the front of her jogging bottoms and frig herself as well. Concentration was required to ensure she pleased him, however, so that could wait till later. Anyway, she didn’t dare let him see it. Instead, she focused on masturbating that big dick. How impossibly lewd and unrestrained and sexy. She hardly recognised herself.

Oh God, in spite of all I’ve said, he’s going to think me a slut. Maybe I am … What the hell am I doing? Was this what she was really like? Had this licentious girl lurked all these years beneath a holy exterior? Such scary thoughts were not enough to restrain her now. Other forces had taken over. Ray’s ragged-breathed enjoyment, to say nothing of her own panty-soaking wetness, was way too exhilarating. Anything to make her boy happy.

Anything? She loved pleasing him and there was such gratification in subverting his notion of her primness. The thought sparked a notion that shocked her whole system, it was so wicked. So dirty, yet so delicious. So not Neely.

I can’t. Oh gosh, I can’t. It thrilled her to the marrow that she was even considering it. He groaned gorgeously under her manual attention and the sound spurred her. Before she could consider any further, she bent down, hand still jerking, and put her mouth to the head of his cock. She let her tongue flicker on his hot flesh for the briefest of moments. Ray gasped at the contact, and she felt a split-second’s delight at having shocked him. Weren’t expecting that, were you? Then it rushed upon her—oh God, oh God, mouth, mine, cock—and she pulled back. So bad, so terribly wrong, and besides, she didn’t know what the hell she was doing.  All very well for Jasmine, or even for Leona, the teen sexpot.

“That’s so amazing, Neely, do it again, don’t be frightened. You don’t know how good that is for me. Please would you take it in your mouth? I’m begging you …”

Then again, even Jasmine had once sucked cock for the first time with no manual. How was it different for Neely? Aside from being a faithless harlot, frowned on by her Creator. But Ray sounded such a tormented love that she acceded to his plea. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? She braced herself and went down for real.

The head of his cock was bulbous and even bigger than she’d bargained for and she had to stretch her mouth wide to get it all in. Oh gosh, oh my … Look at me! Look at what I’m doing … Then it was past her lips, warm and velvety, with a saltiness mitigating the bitter flavour of orange and freesia oil. She undulated her mouth around him, and shame struck again along with the wildest excitement. I’m fellating, I’m sucking my boyfriend’s cock, I’m a—the book came rushing back to her—I’m a little cocksucker. As Ray’s meat filled her mouth she wondered if something perverse in him would kill all his respect for her. Then there was her own self-respect. But it seemed too late to worry about that now.

She’d got the basic motion down and from Ray’s groans it seemed to be going okay, technically at any rate. Then she recalled Sapphire’s technique when the girl wasn’t having her throat filled and swirled her tongue under the ridge of the head, withdrawing her mouth so that she could flicker at his tip. Oh, he liked that, didn’t he, from his blasphemous mutterings—“So good … Jesus, so fucking good …” It was wrong that she should have natural aptitude for something so bad, that she should take instruction from a filthy novel. She flinched a moment at the salty ooze she realised was leaking from Ray’s tip. Another flash of panic. Was he about to ejaculate? No, she remembered something about ‘pre-cum’ from that damned book and sensed equally from his demeanour that he wasn’t there yet. So she licked the tip some more and jacked him vigorously. She knew the inevitable end, had known it from the start, but wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

“You okay, baby? You alright? Are you close?” Heavens, listen to herself, where had those words come from?

“Not yet, baby, not yet, keep doing it, keep stroking me. That’s so fucking amazing. Suck me again, I want your mouth …” She obeyed instinctively now, went down for a second time, feeling a pained sense of her own whorishness. “Oh God, Neely, you’re so beautiful, I can’t believe you’re sucking my cock. I’ve wanted this. I’ve wanted this so much.” He was cradling his face with both hands, she saw, and it made her heart rejoice shamefully. She gave him the most loving attention her untrained mouth could muster—why not when she had already proved herself such an appalling slut?—then lifted off to gaze at him over the head of the dick she was still massaging from the base. He stared back and uttered words that made her shudder. “I want to fuck you, Neely Jordan. I want to thrust inside you and fuck you to your depths, my beautiful darling.”

“I know … I know …” She was as much flattered as terrified. He made those dirty words sound gorgeous and romantic.

“Let me do it, please, Neely, let me fuck you. We’ll go slow to start, I promise.”

“No, baby, no, I’m sorry, I want to, but I can’t.” So many boundaries had collapsed in one short night, she had to shore up the final one. She had to have something left. Her hand speeded up on his cock to compensate for her refusal. “Let me make you happy, I so want to make you happy …”

“God, I want to be inside you.”

“I know, baby, I know.” She was close to tears, lamenting something she couldn’t do even though she craved it. Lamenting what she had already lost. “Let me do this. Enjoy it.”

“I am. I so fucking am. You’re so gorgeous. I so fucking love you …”

“You do?” The words, amid their heated, dirty encounter, amazed and reassured her, redeeming her momentarily from her guilt. “Do you, Ray?” She worked his slick pole frantically and darted her tongue on its head to draw out another confession. “Tell me, Ray, say it again.” She licked him one more time and plunged her hand up and down his shaft, which was more pulsing-hard than before. “Say it a—”

“I … I … Oh fuck!” Ray’s rigid organ jolted hard, a split-second before her face was deluged in a series of hot liquid explosions. Thick musky fluid pelted her from chin to forehead, so that she screwed up her eyes and squealed aloud, taking at least one salty blast to the roof of her mouth. Ray was cutting loose with guttural cries, like he was dying a particularly exquisite death, his copious spendings splashing over every facial feature and into her tied-up hair. By the time his cock had unleashed its last, his semen was trickling in rivulets from her face, splashing down onto her tits.

Neely knelt, panting and overwhelmed. Her eyes she scarcely dared open in case they stung any more than was happening already. Ray’s involuntary gooey offering, it seemed, was clinging everywhere—face, chest, hands. He was salty on her tongue, dribbling from her lips. She had to spit him out so she could speak. “Oh Lord, oh my Lord, it’s all over me. I’m covered …”

“It’s okay babe, it’s okay.” There was an urgent calm about Ray’s voice. He was clambering to his feet. “Wait here, I’ll sort you out, don’t panic.” She wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure. All she could do was kneel, with the physical manifestation of her guilt splattered all over her skin.

He returned moments later and knelt in front of her. “Don’t fret, baby, I’ll clean you up.” A cool surface wiped the sticky mess from her eyes and then she could see him, at work with a packet of wet wipes he had procured from her bathroom. She knelt meek and mute as he scooped his own cum with the moist tissues from where it dangled on her chin and her nipples, then cleaned up every trace from her face and her breasts, and from where globs of it clung to her ponytail. “I’m sorry, darling, it came on me suddenly. You were so damned hot, and I lost control. I didn’t mean that to happen, believe me.”

“It’s okay.” Her frozen perplexity melted in a rush of affection for her boy and his earnest concern. The latter emotion seemed more powerful in that moment than her shame. She reached out and touched his face. They contemplated each other silently and then embraced, and Neely wondered once more at how natural it seemed to have this man naked in her arms.

“God, I didn’t do so well, did I?” he sighed.

“What do you mean?”

“I keep saying you can trust me when you can’t. I get close to you and all my good intentions fly out the window. Guess you think I’m bad to the bone.”

“You’re not,” Neely assured, remembering the words he had spoken in his escalating excitement. She did not dare bring them up. “Well you are, but … I’m hardly one to talk.” He had sprung some wicked surprises on her, but she had hardly acted like Little Miss Chaste.

“Neely, I …”

“Hold me, Ray.” He went to embrace her, but she caught a fleeting image of semen still leaking out of his flagging cock. “Put your trousers on and then hold me.” He did both. She pulled the tank top back over her exposed breasts, and they wrapped arms about each other, rocking long and slow. “I don’t do that, Ray, what I did, for anyone.” She remembered taking his cock in her mouth and her eyes welled in a heated rush. “Oh God, Ray, you’re going to think I’m one more slut.”

“No.” He dragged her closer. “Don’t dare think that, not for an instant. You mustn’t feel bad about anything that happened this evening.” He drew her apart from him so he could stare into her blurry eyes. “Neely, you’re like no one I’ve ever known. No one I’ve dated comes close to you. You’re a beautiful, warm, spontaneous, passionate woman and I could never think badly of you. Ever. I love being with you too much. Can’t imagine myself with anyone else. And in my wilder moments, I dare to think I have a future with you.” He looked for a moment like he had surprised himself. “You feel that too, right? You want that.”

“Yes …” Her head swam with a kind of miserable joy, and she hugged him, her tears spilling over. His care and desire melted into her, and she felt truly wanted, her sense of sluttiness dissipating, at least for a while. “Yes, Ray, I want that. I want that very much.”

They subsided against the sofa in each other’s arms and remained there some time, Neely basking in Ray’s reassurance.  “I can stay longer if you want,” he told her eventually, softly. 

“I want,” she confessed. “There’s nothing I’d like more. But …” The intimacy between them was to cherish, but there’d been a sexy fire which the gush of Ray’s orgasm had somehow doused—through shock rather than repulsion—and she could not have it flare up again. How could she begin to process what had happened, while he was still there? “I’ve got an early start. Church, you know?”

Dear Lord, church.  Her cheeks burned.

“Yes.” He squeezed her. “I know.” She watched him complete his dressing and strolled with him to the apartment door, clinging to his hand and reluctant to let go.

He kissed her, lingering and tender, then stroked her jaw and looked into her eyes. “You okay about tonight? You do believe everything I said. You don’t doubt why I want to be close to you in that way.”

She could see the heat in his eyes that had fuelled her own desire along with its fulsome expression. It made her tremor in embarrassment. “I do believe you, Ray. And I know why you want that.” Same reason as me. “Tonight was … intense. I need space to think through how I feel about it all.”

“I know you do. You’re a very special girl, Neely J, I don’t deserve you.” He kissed her forehead lightly. “Now kick my ass out of here.”

She sat in the kitchen after he’d left, swilling Chardonnay around her glass, warmed by Ray’s words but trying to distance herself from the physical aspect of the evening—the sights, smells, and sticky sensations. Tomorrow, she had church, twice, then a relationships workshop with the youngsters. The thought seemed almost farcical, but she couldn’t afford to view it that way. She had a job to do, whatever had happened. Whatever line of dominoes had toppled. Get through the workshop, get home, give time to prayer and reflection.

Good Lord, there was no chance of her praying tonight. She didn’t have the words, so acute was her sense of wantonness, so vivid her sense-memory of Ray’s cock in her mouth, his semen firing all over her. She chucked the wine into the sink and made hot chocolate instead, with which she washed down herbal calming tablets. A good night’s sleep was what she needed. Let unconsciousness drown all the masturbatory thoughts returning from the fringes of her mind. Nestle under the duvet, breathe deeply and fade to black.

But sleep took forever, and she had to fight off the urge to touch herself. Tonight that struggle seemed imperative. In getting herself off she would acknowledge the overwhelming heat of what had transpired in her living room, completing some disastrous circuit in her mind. No, she had to short-circuit what had happened. She had to back off from it while she still could. Somehow, she stayed her hand and drifted into troubled slumber.

The passage to morning was a fusion of guilt, romance, and sexual longing. Neely felt ill-slept as she showered, holding her face to the warm jets. She didn’t dare let her mind stroll to yesterday’s scrub-time fantasies, not with last night’s reality so close. The shower refreshed her physically but did nothing to wash away the confusion. She was numb all the way to Alton Bridge, and she knew this would be a day for going through the motions. The greetings at her place of worship, the praise songs, even the prayers passed her by like she were anaesthetised from it all.

The church—her crucible of shame. Today she could meet no one’s eye, never mind Jonas and Leona. She desperately wanted to avoid Brian too. Remember when I wouldn’t let you so much as cop a feel? Well, guess what … But the mortification was less than she might have expected. The tide she had to stem lest it drown her was desire, not guilt.

Pastor Simmons’ observations grated, more so in light of the workshops he had foisted upon her. “We are the floodgates,” he announced, “against an ever-rising tide of permissive evil.” Maybe that was the tide with which she was contending. In the light of her conversation with Danny, though, the phrase seemed overwrought and plain unhelpful. As she lowered her head in prayer, some of the ex-youth pastor’s anger simmered within her.

It was during Jack Simmons’ plea for his congregation’s purity that Neely’s phone vibrated. Any other time she would have let the text go, but the possibility of a particular sender made her steal it out and take a surreptitious look. Ray was indeed the source, and his message made her heart thump.

 I KEEP PICTURING YOUR PRETTY FACE DRIPPING WITH MY CUM, NEELY, AND I’M NOT SORRY. YOU LOOKED SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL.

Damn, she kept feeling it, smelling and tasting it, never more powerfully than when she read those words. That essence of man fountaining all over her, splashing hot on her face and showering down onto her breasts. Fresh from that beautiful erect cock she had so sinfully massaged and sampled with her mouth. Attached to the gorgeous man who so wanted to put it inside her and divest her of all remaining innocence. Too much. The church was hot and claustrophobic. She couldn’t breathe.  “Excuse me …” She grabbed her purse and wriggled past the young lad next to her as discreetly as possible, trying to look like she had been taken ill. From the heat of her face, she was sure it looked plausible.

Neely rushed to the ladies’ restroom, possessed by thoughts the text had summoned. Prayer and Scripture and a host of holy exhortations weren’t enough to quench the furnace that raged inside her now. Thankfully the toilets were empty. Hoping if not praying that no one would interrupt, she bolted herself into a cubicle, plucked up the skirt of her summer dress and thrust her hand into her already wringing-wet knickers.

“Oh God …” She had to bite down her moans as she plunged a finger into her soaked cunt and rubbed her palm concertedly against her clitoris. Ray—his playful smile and hot body, his filthy passionate words and his desire, throbbing all through him to that bursting cock—filled her head and fuelled her masturbation. She should never have embarked on such a course, never dated him in the first place, then it wouldn’t have come to this; frigging herself silly in the church toilet, with the service still in progress. She came hard, fast, explosively, her pussy clenching tight around her deep-inserted finger, while she imagined something way more substantial in its place. “Oh dear God …” she sobbed, post-orgasmic tremors shivering through her. “Oh sweet fuck …”

A hymn filtered through from the main building and she wanted to cry.

~~~~

04/07/10 00:36 GMT

(excerpt)

I really thought I’d done it. So close, the crumbling of her resolve, palpable before me.

But more than that. Not simply something collapsing, something emerging as well. Like an astonishing sexual butterfly about to burst from its cocoon. I’ve never seen it before, anything like it. I’ve seduced and fucked virgins, I’ve corrupted innocence, but this was different. It was someone coming fully into being. Embracing herself as a whole new person. Like this girl can take anything and make something beautiful out of it. Almost—and yes, I get the irony—a religious experience.

Almost. Next time for real. And God, my orgasm adorning her face—hotter than fucking a dozen Katies, a dozen Jasmines. Something about the way she looked, I don’t know—precious. Does that sound stupid? Yes, it does, I know. Screw it.

I’m nearly there. Next time I’ll have her for sure.

—Ray

04/07/10 07:45 PST

Ray, you were doing so well, then you started to bore me. Got her jacking you off, nice. Got her mouth on your cock, impressive. Sprayed a fat load all over her pretty Christian face—result. Not on a par with sticking it to her prissy virginal puss but gratifying to hear all the same. And then you start in with the ‘butterfly’ and the ‘religious experience’ and the ‘precious’. What, are you turning into fucking Gollum? I’ve never heard that goddamn gay bullshit from you before, Ray, and it damn well scares me. Get yourself to-freakin’-gether.

Let me help you focus. My flight for London is booked a week today, as is my hotel. On the evening of Monday July 12th I will be waiting there, for you. I will have clamps, ties, state-of-the-art sex toys and a shitload of lubricant. And you can put it to whatever use you choose all damn night. On one condition. I want a photograph in my inbox of the just-fucked Neely Jordan lying in your bed. So I can print it off and pin it next to the one from her church’s website. Give me that, Ray, and you will own me like no one ever has. Fail, and you won’t even know where to find me.

Go, Ray, be a God among seducers.

—Carlotta xox

~~~~

Neely sat on her bed for an hour before she picked up her mobile. She’d thought her crazed auto-attentions in the church toilet might have quelled the fire that had flared up so intensely since the previous night. They had not.

She was tired. Tired of clinging to something the Universe seemed determined to prize from her. Tired of blaming the satanic entity in whom she didn’t literally believe. Tired of fretting and whining, wrangling and resisting. She’d been resisting this past hour—the guilty excitement bubbling in her stomach from the moment she thought the fateful thought: “Why not do it and be damned?” Metaphorically of course.

She had never felt this way since told age eight that the Jordan family was going to Disney World, Florida—that they would meet Mickey and Goofy and brave the terror that was Space Mountain. Only back then her parents had forked out for the adventure. This time she alone would pay the price. Maybe she no longer cared about that. After all, what she was considering trounced the hell out of the Disney trip. “At least he loves me,” she smiled miserably, before keying the message into her phone. “And at least I love him back.”

I KEEP THINKING ABOUT LAST NIGHT TOO, RAY. WILL YOU BE IN LATE TONIGHT? IF SO, I’D REALLY LIKE TO COME ROUND. LOVE YOU, NEELY XOX

She stared at the words for twenty minutes before she sent them.

TO BE CONTINUED