Lust Quest (3 page)

“Ooh!” I cried as my orgasm suddenly erupted within my pulsating clitoris.

Thinking about Alan's penis shafting my tight pussy, and picturing the naked girl with three men screwing and sperming her orifices, I experienced the most intense orgasm ever. My love juices gushing into my panties, waves of pure sexual bliss transmitting from my pulsating clitoris and spreading throughout my trembling body, I thought I'd never come down from my orgasmic heaven.

Slipping my free hand down the front of my wet panties, I drove my finger into my hot pussy as I sustained my shuddering orgasm. Massaging my inner vaginal flesh against the hardness of my pubic bone, gasping and whimpering in my new-found sexual euphoria, I fervently massaged my swollen clitoris and fingered the wet shaft of my pussy. My juices of arousal flooding my hand, gushing into my panties, I writhed and whimpered in the grip of pure sexual elation. On and on waves of sexual bliss rolled through my quivering body. My heart racing, my breathing fast and shallow, I thought I was going to pass out as the almost agonising pleasure peaked.

Finally slowing my massaging rhythm as the beautiful sensations began to subside, I lay dazed in the chair, panting as my body shook uncontrollably in the aftermath of my illicit self-loving. I now knew why Jackie masturbated, I reflected as I clambered to my feet and swayed in my orgasmic drunkenness on my trembling 20

legs. Had I known of the immense pleasure masturbation brought, I'd have joined the girls behind the kitchens at school. There again, massaging my clitoris to orgasm in the privacy of my flat was one thing. To masturbate while other girls watched was something I'd never contemplate. And to masturbate each other ...

To my horror, I found myself wondering what it would be like to watch Jackie rub her clitoris to orgasm. I'd never seen a blue movie, despite Alan's many attempts to show me one, let alone watched a girl masturbate. I'd always thought sex an act to be shared with one you love, not alone or with an audience. Or with three men. Did I really want to watch Jackie bring herself off? Pondering on rubbing her clitoris to orgasm as she lay naked on my bed, I sighed. Perhaps I’d wanted to satisfy a fantasy?

But why was I having such fantasies?

Deciding to take a shower after my pioneering act of self-abuse, I walked into my bedroom and slipped out of my blouse and skirt. Standing before the full-length mirror as I released my bra and tugged my pussy-soaked panties down, I admired the violin curves of my naked body. Whether it had been reading the book or talking to Jackie about sex that had driven me to masturbation, I didn't know. But I did know that my libido was again soaring out of control. I felt sexually aroused as never before. Focusing on the reflection of my creamy-pink vaginal crack peeping at me through my juice-matted blonde pubic hairs, I felt a quiver run up my spine.

Parting my feet and bending my knees, I peeled open the swollen lips of my vagina. The intricate folds of flesh unfurling, my clitoris emerging from beneath its fleshy veil, I gazed at the milky fluid trickling from my open sex hole. Parting my 21

pussy lips further, I focused on the remnants of my hymen surrounding the portal to my sex sheath. Alan's penis had torn down my curtain of innocence, fucked my pussy and spermed my cervix. His balls had battered my firm buttocks as he'd fucked and spunked my virginal body.

“No,” I breathed, running my fingertip up and down the dripping valley of my yearning pussy. I couldn't masturbate again. I had to control myself, I knew as I went into the bathroom and stepped into the shower. I had to stop thinking about a penis fucking me, a purple knob jetting sperm deep into my pussy. The hot water splashing over my naked body, I couldn't drag my mind away from the amazing orgasm I'd had.

How many times a week did women masturbate? Or men, for that matter? My fingers between the swell of my pussy lips again, I was like a child with a new toy. Was it bad for my health? I wondered stupidly, rubbing my ballooning clitoris as the water caressed my naked skin like a thousand tiny fingertips. How many times could I come in one day?

Finally leaving the shower and drying my naked body, I dressed and sat at my desk to write. If I could make a start on the first chapter, I'd get the feel of the book, I reflected, turning the computer on. Set the scene, introduce the characters and ... I hadn't even thought of the characters, let alone a story line. But I decided to see what I came up with and started bashing away at the keyboard. At least I could now write about masturbating, I reflected guiltily.

22

lancing up at the clock, I realized that I'd been writing for over two hours.

G Switching the computer off, I grabbed my bag and left the flat. I'd told Jackie to get there on time and now I was going to turn up late. Walking down the street, I thought that it would serve her right to have to sit there waiting for me. Many times I’d had to sit in the pub waiting for her. Feeling self-conscious, not knowing where to look, I’d felt awkward and uncomfortable. Perhaps I was naturally shy, I reflected.

Serve her right or not, I didn't like being late. But I'd been working hard on my new novel, I consoled myself. And, the terrible thought struck me, masturbating my clitoris to orgasm. God, what had I done?

“I thought you weren't coming,” Jackie complained as I walked over to a corner table and joined her.

“I've come now,” I replied, wishing I'd chosen my words more carefully. “I mean, I'm here now.”

“There's your vodka,” she said, pushing a glass across the table. “The ice has melted, but that's your fault.”

“I'm sorry,” I sighed, sipping my drink. “I got engrossed in the book and lost all track of time.”

“The smutty book?” she asked, rather too loudly for my liking.

“No, of course not,” I lied. “I'm working on the book they turned down, trying to improve it.”

“By adding lots of sex scenes to it?” she beamed excitedly. “He forced his huge cock right up her tight pussy and fucked her hot cunt and...”

23

“No, Jackie. That is
not
what I've been writing. As I said earlier,
you
should write filth, not me.”

“I might just do that. A book in the form of diaries,” she murmured pensively.

“I could call it,
my days in the haystack
.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I returned. “My days in the haystack, for goodness sake.”

“How about, preteen pleasures?”

“Preteen? How old were you when ...”

“Quite young,” she sniggered.

Gazing at her loose-fitting blouse, the half-moons of her young breasts, I wondered why her libido ran wild most of the time. It probably had something to do with her discovering sex before she’d reached her teens. She seemed to think of nothing other than sex, unlike me. We were both the same age, so why was I so very different? Why was anyone different? I mused. Some girls wore skirts so short that their panties were on display while I wore knee-length skirts. Give me a child for the first seven years ... Was it my parents doing?

“Anyway, I was quite pleased when you didn't turn up at seven,” Jackie giggled.

“Oh, why's that?” I asked, dragging my eyes away from the deep ravine of her cleavage.

“I was chatted up by that bloke at the bar. The one standing by the fruit machine with long hair and a leather jacket.”

“He looks like a nomad,” I whispered, eyeing his scuffed boots and torn jeans.

24

“He is. Well, he's living in a caravan until he gets his own flat. I told him that I was meeting a friend so he went back to the bar and joined his mate. I should have come here on my own.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” I returned. “If I'm cramping your style, then ...”

“I was only joking.” Her eyes lighting up, she leaned across the table. “Jade, he's looking this way,” she whispered loudly, grabbing my arm. “His friend looks a bit of all right. What do you think?”

“Jackie, we're not here to ...”

“Shush, they're coming over.”

Raising my eyes as they joined us, I really didn't feel like being sociable to strangers. Having been up to London and had my dreams shattered, I wished I'd stayed at home and gone to bed early. Jackie was soon in conversation with the nomad, leaving me to contend with his weird friend who seemed to think it necessary to enlighten me as to his name, age, state of unemployment and lack of money.
Great
, I thought.
Another waste of space called Alan.
This one was eighteen-years-old, on the dole and stone broke. At least my Alan had had some money.

“I'm a musician,” he enlightened me, holding his glass on its side to indicate that it was empty and in need of refilling.

“Really?” I sighed, forcing a smile.

“The guitar. I play lead with The Gremlins From Hell. We do pubs and clubs.”

“Where did you find the name?” I asked with more than a hint of sarcasm. “A children’s programme on the Cartoon Channel?”

“No, we ...”

25

“I don't know how you can afford it, seeing as you're on the dole.”

“Afford it?” he echoed, hooking his long black hair behind his ears. “Afford what?”

“Playing in pubs and clubs. Lugging your gear about and paying for petro, and

...”

“We don't play for nothing,” he laughed. “We get paid for the gigs.”

“So, people actually give you money to listen to you playing your guitar?” I asked mockingly. “You obviously inform Social Security when you earn money from your musical exploits.”

“Of course not,” he frowned, looking at me as if I were stupid. “We get a hundred each for a really good gig. Trouble is, they're far and few between. I don't suppose ...” He broke off, grinning as he passed me his empty glass. “I don't suppose you could ...”

“Your supposition is correct,” I smiled, wondering at his effrontery.

“It's just that I'm right out of cash. I'm trying to get into journalism but it's not easy. I've had a few short stories published but ...”

“Short stories?” I echoed, sitting upright and taking an interest.

“The national women's mags. You know, romance, twist in the tale, that sort of stuff. The money's not bad, but ...”

“How long have you been writing?” I interrupted him.

“A few years. Poetry, mainly. And songs, of course. You know, for the band.”

“Here,” I said, taking a five-pound note from my bag. “Get yourself a drink.

I'll have a vodka and lime, with ice.”

“Oh, right,” he grinned surprisedly as he took the money. “Thanks very much.”

26

Jackie was too enthralled by the Neanderthal look-alike to notice that I'd bought Alan a drink. Chatting about some nightclub or other, her eyes sparkling lustfully, she reached beneath the table and squeezed or touched some part of the man's body. I daren't think which part as he leaned forward and kissed her. I also daren't think what was lurking in the undergrowth of his full beard as he pressed his beer-wet lips to hers.

Alan returned and placed the drinks on the table - and pocketed my change.

He was OK, I observed. He was scruffy and unshaven, but clean. His jeans had been washed and, although his Jimi Hendrix T-shirt was torn, it wasn't dirty.
I notice these
things
, I mused, gazing into his dark eyes as he smiled at me and leaned forward.

Thinking that he was about to follow the nomad's approach and kiss me, I sat back in my chair.

“Guess what?” he whispered, again hooking his hair behind his ears.

“What?” I frowned, tentatively moving forward as I realized that he didn't intend to wet my lips with lager by snogging me.

“The manager has just booked us.”

us?”

“The band. I was talking to him earlier about it. He wants us to play here on Saturday night.”

“Is

he
in your band?” I asked, nodding towards the nomad who seemed to have his tongue down Jackie's throat.

27

“Big Dave? No, no. There are three of us. Steve the drummer, John the bass guitarist and me. Why don't you come along?”

“I might just do that. What sort of things do you play?”

“Rock, heavy rock. Mostly our own stuff.”

“Do you write the music
and
the lyrics?”

“Oh, yes. I don't suppose it's your scene.”

“It might be,” I smiled.

“Come along and see what you think. Want another vodka?”

“You mean, you want some more money so you can buy me another vodka.”

“I got fifty quid up front,” he announced proudly. “The manager has seen us play at down at The Frog Pond, so he knows we're good. When he booked us for Saturday, I told him that we had to have some cash up front. Oh, I didn't give you your change, did I?”

“It

doesn't

matter.”

“I'll get you another drink.”

Despite his name, which brought sad memories flooding back, Alan seemed pleasant enough. But I didn't want a relationship. A friend, but not a lover. At least, I tried to kid myself that I didn't want a relationship. Glancing at Jackie who by now was being indecently molested by the hairy nomad, I shook my head. She didn't want a relationship. Cold sex or,
raw sex
, as she'd often put it - but not a relationship.

After a couple more drinks, she made her excuses and left with the nomad. No doubt she intended to pull her knickers down and have sex with the animal once they were ensconced in a shop doorway. I was quite pleased to be rid of the deviant pair 28

and it didn't bother Alan when his friend announced that he was leaving. If anything, he seemed relieved.

“Are you two good friends?” I asked, downing yet another vodka.

“Mates,” he smiled. “There's a difference.”

“Is

there?”

“He's more of an acquaintance than a friend. To be honest, he's more of a pain in the arse than an acquaintance. He follows the band around. A sort of hanger-on.”