Lust Quest (6 page)

47

“Jade ...” he murmured as I wanked his hard penis. I grinned at him as I ran my hand up and down the twitching shaft of his cock, massaging his purple knob.

Wanked? I pondered on the word. I'd need to expand my vocabulary for my dirty book. Wank, fuck, shag ... Cunt? I'd always hated the C word. It was crude, cold, barren as the brown fields in winter. As was the act I was committing. Wanking Alan to orgasm wasn't really the sort of experience I needed, but it was fun. And it might be fun to utter one or two expletives, I chuckled inwardly, again recalling the book.
Do
my arse. Spunk my arsehole and then come in my cunt and my mouth.

Alan's gasps growing louder, I knelt before him and took his swollen knob into my wet mouth. Looking up at his expression of astonishment, I ran my tongue over the silky-smooth crown of his glans and sucked harder. Pulling his heavy balls out of his trousers, I wondered when he'd last come. Perhaps he'd been wanking since the tart had thrown him out. Perhaps he'd been wanking and shooting his sperm while he'd been thinking of me, of my wet cunt. Cunt.

His sperm finally jetting from his throbbing knob, filling my gobbling mouth, he clutched my head and let out long low moans of pleasure. Swallowing the salty liquid, I had it in mind to make up for lost time, to catch up with Jackie. No, that was impossible. To catch up with Jackie would require me to screw about and suck six men every day for a year. Nothing's impossible, my thoughts urged me.
Screw and
suck.

“God,” Alan sighed as I sucked the last globules of sperm from his solid glans.

Quivering, he leaned back on the worktop as I lapped up the spilled sperm from his 48

deflating shaft, the wrinkled bag containing his sperm-spheres. Staring at his penis as it hung like a dead slug over his hairy balls, I again recalled the time he'd taken my virginity. We'd gasped and loved in our loving union. We'd touched and caressed, whispered words of love and fucked and come. And then he'd taken up with that slut and left me to cry rivers of tears while he spurted rivers of sperm over her cervix.

“You're not as big as my boyfriend,” I complained, rising to my feet and licking my sperm-dripping lips. “And you come too quickly. Still, you always did.”

“Why did you do that?” he asked, puzzlement reflected in his brown eyes.

“Why not?” I grinned. “I like sucking men off. I'm sorry, didn't you want me to suck your cock?”

“Yes, but ... You have changed, haven't you?”

“As I said, I'm living. I'm enjoying life now.”

“This bloke's not living with you, then?”

“No. He stays some nights but he has his own house. It's a lovely place. Too big, really. Rather like his cock,” I giggled.

“Shall I call round again? If you're not busy, I could come round for coffee.”

“Coffee or a blowjob?”

“Well

...”

“I don't know, Alan. I suppose you could call round on the odd occasion.

There again, there's not much point.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“When you left me, you said that I was no good in bed. I've since discovered that you were bloody useless in bed.”

“Useless?”

49

“The orgasms I've had with other men have been ... You never fingered and licked my bottom.”

“Is that what you're into now?”

“You bet I am. I suppose we weren't compatible. Perhaps we were too young.”

“We're older now, Jade.”

“Older and wiser. Give me a ring some time.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Right, I have a lot of work to do. The money's been pouring in,” I lied.

“Things are really looking good.”

“I'm pleased to hear it,” he smiled, finishing his coffee. “I'll ring you, then.”

“You do that.”

Seeing him to the door, I felt a mixture of emotions. I felt sorry for him, I felt like a tart, and I was overwhelmed by a terrific sense of elation. Tasting his sperm on my lips as I closed the door, I pondered on my book. At least I was a little more confident now. Not only confident about writing erotic fiction, but confident with myself. Two Alans? I reflected, imagining sucking two knobs at once. I couldn't believe that I'd sucked two men to orgasm within a matter of hours. At this rate, I'd be bashing out chapter after chapter of unadulterated filth. I was set to be a pornographess.

At this rate? Which sexual act would I experience next? I wondered. I wasn't out to experience every crude act imaginable. Alan the musician had been a one-off.

And as for Alan the ex ... I felt that the situation was running away with me, soaring out of control. All this because David had suggested I write erotic fiction, I reflected.

50

It was probably best to forget about both Alans. Was it best to forget about my clitoris and masturbation? Definitely not, I concluded as I poured myself another cup of coffee. Again pondering on anilingus as the phone rang, I tried to imagine what it would be like to have my bottom-hole licked.
Quite pleasurable
, I decided, realizing that my panties were becoming very wet.

“Jade, David Stevens,” the dark brown voice breathed as I answered the phone. “I've put a book in the post for you.”

“Another dirty one?” I asked, rather too expectantly.

“No. Well, not really. It's a dictionary of naughty words.”

“Smutty

words?”

“No, no. Proper words such as huffle.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“Shagging someone's armpit, to put it bluntly.”

“Fascinating, I must say. And this book's going to help me write erotica?”

“If nothing else, it might give you some ideas. By the way, I was talking to a publisher this morning. I mentioned you and he came up with an idea.”

“Oh?”

“A diary of a Victorian lady. You know, what she got up to sexually and the like. We thought you might include letters in the book and ...”

“That's a dreadful idea, David,” I returned, recalling Jackie mentioning a book in the form of diaries. “Besides, I've already started the novel,” I blurted out.

“Great! What's it about?”

“Sex, what else?”

“Give me a rough outline.”

51

“I'm not saying anything. You'll read it when I'm ready.”

“The first two chapters, that's all I need to ...”

“When they're ready, you'll have them.”

“OK. Get off the phone and hammer that keyboard.”

“I will. Speak to you soon.”

Hammer the keyboard? Hammer out filth? Feeling that I was losing my bearings in life, I began to wish that I'd never met David. He'd put ideas into my head, ideas that were haunting me, rattling around in the back of my mind and confusing me. I'd always been strong, known what I'd wanted and gone for it. As with the romantic novel, I reflected dolefully. I'd thought I'd known what I'd wanted only to waste three years chasing a dream. Perhaps I
did
need someone like David to guide me in the right direction.

Mooching into my den, I hammered the keyboard for an hour or so and then read my work from the beginning. There was a story, of sorts, but it was weak. The plot was obviously nothing more than a vehicle to carry the sex. Grabbing the mouse, I made a rash decision and deleted all I'd written. “Truth is stranger than fiction,” I ruminated, deciding to write about a young woman's sexual exploits, her journey along a path scattered with failed relationships and punctuated with crude and illicit sexual acts.

Crystal, the twenty-two-year-old heroine, was based on me. No, she was to be my fantasy. She reflected the woman I wasn't and yet perhaps secretly desired to be.

Crystal was to live out the dreams of Jade Kimberly. How the book would end, I had 52

no idea. Where would my life take me? I wondered as I thought about Crystal's thirst for sexual gratification. To protect my identity, I decided that she'd be a photographic model rather than an author. She had money, owned a nice flat and ... and what?

Why would Crystal crave any and every sexual act imaginable? Was that my quest in life? No, of course it wasn't. I'd sucked two men to orgasm, which was completely out of character, and didn't intend to further my sexual experience by indulging in casual fucking. Fuck. A beautiful and yet vile word. Beautiful in its vileness. Fuck. A word that society never permitted to sink into the murky swamp of depravity where many believe it to belong. Fuck.

What was driving Crystal? I mused. What was goading her to commit crude sexual acts with both men and women? Simply stating that she was a nymphomaniac wasn't good enough. She had to have a reason to fuck freely. Feeling despondent, I reclined in my chair and gazed out of the window. Wondering what the difference was between erotica and pornography, I felt that my book should cross every boundary, smash the barriers of convention. Complete and utter filth without being gratuitous. Was I making my job unnecessarily difficult? Or impossible. Did David want erotica or pornography? Relationships were inherently pornographic, I concluded.

I worked for several hours and then made a ham salad for my lunch. Picking at my food, I felt that I was becoming to know Crystal. Looming from my mind, from the computer screen, she was coming to life. I knew what her likes and dislikes were, how she'd react in given situations. She dressed in revealing clothes and had an air of 53

sensuality about her. She oozed sex, but she wasn't a tart. Crystal was all woman, feminine in the extreme, sought after by men, gracious and refined - but a whore in the bedroom. Unlike me.

Spending the afternoon at my desk, I was surprised to find that I'd completed the first chapter in such a short time. Reading my efforts, I was also surprised by how well it had come together. It was as if I'd typed unconsciously, not knowing what I'd written until I read it back. Crystal's insatiable thirst for sex had been instigated by the ending of her relationship with a man she'd desperately loved. Just like Alan, he'd left her for another woman. She was out for revenge. Hating men, she used and abused them in an effort to seek vengeance. Was I out for revenge?

Feeling pleased with myself as the doorbell rang, I hoped it wasn't Alan the ex. I didn't need his whining and whinging about Angela the tart and how he'd been missing me and wanted us to get back together. Crystal would have told him where to go in no uncertain terms. Walking to the front door, I decided to seek my own vengeance by rubbing his cock through his trousers and sending him on his way with an erection. What would Crystal have done?

“Oh,” I breathed, opening the door to find Alan the musician standing on the step. “Er ... Come in.”

“Thanks,” he smiled. “I was just passing and thought I'd say hi.”

“Yes, well ... Hi.”

“You're not working, are you? I mean, I hope I haven't interrupted you.”

“No, no. I've finished for today,” I replied, leading him into the lounge.

54

“I would have phoned but I don't have your number.”

“That's OK. Er ... Coffee?” I asked, again wondering what Crystal would have done. Would she have phoned Jackie and invited her to play with his dick? “She would have asked you to leave,” I murmured.

“Who

would?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about my book. I find that I become so engrossed in my work that ... I suppose I almost become the character I'm writing about. It's a strange feeling.”

“Yes, it must be,” he grinned, making himself at home by plonking himself in the armchair. “Particularly if it's a man.”

“No, no. She's a young woman. Crystal, a photographic model.”

“And she would have asked me to leave?”

“She wouldn't like anyone turning up unannounced. She leads a busy life and couldn't have people arriving at her flat out of the blue. She wouldn't have been rude, though. She'd have explained that ...”

“You really have got into this character, haven't you?”

“I seem to have done,” I laughed. “It's never been like this before. I've always been removed from the characters but, with Crystal ... Perhaps I see myself reflected in her.”

“That's interesting. What's she like?”

“Funnily enough, she's not at all like me.” Did I want to be like her? “She's very attractive, for starters.”

“And so are you, Jade.”

“If only. She's got money, she's successful and ... I won't bore you. I'll go and put the kettle on.”

55

Leaving the room, I realized that I couldn't get Crystal out of my mind. The more I thought about her, the better I knew her. She seemed so real, and I wondered whom I'd based her character on. It certainly wasn't me! Perhaps, subconsciously, I'd based her on someone I'd once known. But I couldn't for the life of me think who.

Maybe this was a sign that the book was working, I mused as I made the coffee. Did Crystal masturbate? Yes, she did. She had no qualms about her sexuality, or deriving pleasure from her naked body.

“What would Crystal do in this situation?” Alan asked as I placed the cups on the lounge table.

“How do you mean?” I said, pondering on my knee-length skirt. Crystal wore miniskirts.

“Alone here with me. OK, she'd have sent me packing but, now that I'm here, how would she react?”

“Crystal's dominant. She takes what she wants. If she wanted sex, she'd drag you into bed. Once satisfied, she'd spit you out. She's refined, ladylike, attractive, sensual ... She's also an animal in the bedroom. A man eater.”

“Quite a woman,” he chuckled.

“She certainly is.”

“Would she fall in love?”

Fall in love? No, that wasn't her style at all. Monogamy wasn't possible for one such as Crystal. She chose her partners not only for their sexual prowess, but for what they had to offer. She liked to be wined and dined, showered with gifts - and 56

then spend the night entwined in lust. She was a hunter. Men were her prey. Had I based her on Jackie?

“No, I wouldn't fall in love,” I finally replied abstractly.