solid organ. I was Crystal, I mused, my clitoris swelling against the pistoning shaft of his magnificent cock. I was Crystal in all her sensuality, her depravity, her feminine glory. “Come inside me,” I murmured, desperate for the feel of sperm gushing into my cunt, bathing my cervix. Cunt. It had been over a year since I'd been fucked and spunked, I reflected. And I was desperate to hear the heavy breathing of a man fucking my cunt and spunking up me.
“Yes,” he breathed, his sperm finally shooting from his knob and filling my cunt. “God, you're beautiful.”
“Call me Crystal,” I gasped in my sexual delirium. “Tell Crystal that you're fucking her cunt.”
“I'm fucking your cunt, Crystal,” he murmured, obviously perplexed by my request. “Coming in your beautiful cunt, Crystal.”
60
My second climax finally erupting within my ballooning clitoris, my juices of arousal gushing from the bloated opening to my cunt and wetting my inner thighs, I rolled my head from side to side as Alan fucked me senseless. On and on he fucked my quivering body, his sperm filling my cunt, his knob pummelling my ripe cervix until he finally collapsed in a trembling heap on top of me. The smell of sex filling my nostrils, the burning shaft of my cunt gripping his deflating cock, I swam in a warm pool of self-satisfaction. I'd done it, I reflected through the sexual haze of my mind.
I'd been fucked and spermed. Crystal had been fucked.
“You're something else,” Alan breathed as he raised himself on his arms, his cock sliding out of the spermed sheath of my tight cunt.
“You weren't too bad,” I murmured dismissively. Was I being cruel?
“Was I too quick for you?”
“I'm used to men lasting at least... No, you were OK.”
“Why did you want me to call you Crystal?” he asked, zipping his trousers as I clambered to my feet.
“Why not?” I grinned. The time had come to spit him out. “You'd better go now.”
“Go?”
“I have things to do, Alan.” Why was I being so cold and cruel?
“Oh, OK. Will you be in the pub this evening?”
“I don't know what I'm doing yet. I might be. There again, I might not.”
“Perhaps I'll call round again tomorrow,” he said, hope mirrored in his dark eyes as he moved towards the door.
61
“Whatever,” I smiled, grabbing my panties from the floor. “I might not be in tomorrow. And if I am, I might be busy.”
As he left, I flopped onto the sofa and hung my head. I'd behaved like a common slut and then treated him abominably. He was a nice person, and I'd been cold, cruel and heartless. I'd also acted completely out of character. Clutching my panties, I began to wonder whether I was losing my mind. Crystal was a fictional character, I reminded myself. She wasn't a reflection of my inner self, she didn't exist.
She was nothing more than words. Nothing more than a figment of my pornographic imagination.
“Yes?” I snapped, grabbing the ringing phone.
“Hi, it's me,” Alan the ex said.
“And?”
“I ... I thought I might come round.”
“Again?”
“Are you all right, Jade? You sound odd.”
“I'm fine, Alan. What do you want?”
“As I said ...”
“OK, come round - if you have to.”
Slamming the phone down, I reclined on the sofa and grinned. Another conquest, another plaything, I mused. But why was I doing this? Reading a dirty book hadn't turned me into a wanton tart. And writing my own mild erotica certainly hadn't affected me. I desperately wanted to be like Crystal, I concluded. Having led a 62
sheltered life, experiencing boring straight sex with my one and only boyfriend, I wanted to live like Crystal. But Crystal wasn't real. She was a fantasy, a dream. I recalled leaving a cinema and wanting to be like the heroine of the film. I'd tied to act like her, tried to become her. I wanted to be like Crystal.
Waiting for Alan to arrive, I paced the lounge floor. I felt as if something deep within me had been
“Yes,” he breathed, his sperm finally shooting from his knob and filling my cunt. “God, you're beautiful.”
“Call me Crystal,” I gasped in my sexual delirium. “Tell Crystal that you're fucking her cunt.”
“I'm fucking your cunt, Crystal,” he murmured, obviously perplexed by my request. “Coming in your beautiful cunt, Crystal.”
60
My second climax finally erupting within my ballooning clitoris, my juices of arousal gushing from the bloated opening to my cunt and wetting my inner thighs, I rolled my head from side to side as Alan fucked me senseless. On and on he fucked my quivering body, his sperm filling my cunt, his knob pummelling my ripe cervix until he finally collapsed in a trembling heap on top of me. The smell of sex filling my nostrils, the burning shaft of my cunt gripping his deflating cock, I swam in a warm pool of self-satisfaction. I'd done it, I reflected through the sexual haze of my mind.
I'd been fucked and spermed. Crystal had been fucked.
“You're something else,” Alan breathed as he raised himself on his arms, his cock sliding out of the spermed sheath of my tight cunt.
“You weren't too bad,” I murmured dismissively. Was I being cruel?
“Was I too quick for you?”
“I'm used to men lasting at least... No, you were OK.”
“Why did you want me to call you Crystal?” he asked, zipping his trousers as I clambered to my feet.
“Why not?” I grinned. The time had come to spit him out. “You'd better go now.”
“Go?”
“I have things to do, Alan.” Why was I being so cold and cruel?
“Oh, OK. Will you be in the pub this evening?”
“I don't know what I'm doing yet. I might be. There again, I might not.”
“Perhaps I'll call round again tomorrow,” he said, hope mirrored in his dark eyes as he moved towards the door.
61
“Whatever,” I smiled, grabbing my panties from the floor. “I might not be in tomorrow. And if I am, I might be busy.”
As he left, I flopped onto the sofa and hung my head. I'd behaved like a common slut and then treated him abominably. He was a nice person, and I'd been cold, cruel and heartless. I'd also acted completely out of character. Clutching my panties, I began to wonder whether I was losing my mind. Crystal was a fictional character, I reminded myself. She wasn't a reflection of my inner self, she didn't exist.
She was nothing more than words. Nothing more than a figment of my pornographic imagination.
“Yes?” I snapped, grabbing the ringing phone.
“Hi, it's me,” Alan the ex said.
“And?”
“I ... I thought I might come round.”
“Again?”
“Are you all right, Jade? You sound odd.”
“I'm fine, Alan. What do you want?”
“As I said ...”
“OK, come round - if you have to.”
Slamming the phone down, I reclined on the sofa and grinned. Another conquest, another plaything, I mused. But why was I doing this? Reading a dirty book hadn't turned me into a wanton tart. And writing my own mild erotica certainly hadn't affected me. I desperately wanted to be like Crystal, I concluded. Having led a 62
sheltered life, experiencing boring straight sex with my one and only boyfriend, I wanted to live like Crystal. But Crystal wasn't real. She was a fantasy, a dream. I recalled leaving a cinema and wanting to be like the heroine of the film. I'd tied to act like her, tried to become her. I wanted to be like Crystal.
Waiting for Alan to arrive, I paced the lounge floor. I felt as if something deep within me had been
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