3 comments/ 10439 views/ 0 favorites In Xanadu Ch. 01 By: ILienBagby What begins here in Chapter 1 (and will continue in chapters to come) is a hot tale involving hetero, Sapphic, group, soulful, and wild rampant sex wrapped in a tale suspenseful and enigmatic. Enjoy! ILienBagby IN XANADU Jane strode from the lobby onto the street and raised her hand. A taxi screeched to a halt. Long legs, hard ass, small shapely breasts, glasses, hair piled high, she had an air of command. Taxis stopped for Jane Bederson! She stepped into the cab, gave her destination, and sat back. "Say, you are that lady, the one from the television, aren't you?" the driver called back to her as he maneuvered his cab into the traffic. "Yes, I'm that lady," Jane allowed. The driver smiled to himself at his own perceptivity. Jane leaned back in her seat, opened her briefcase and made herself as comfortable as possible. "You going to be on the television now?" the driver asked. "No, but I will be next Sunday, on 'The Nation Speaks,'" she said and began to page through her notebook. Jane thought for a second and re-crossed her legs, flashing the driver, making his day. Uh, Uh, too long, too much flash. He nearly hit a pedestrian. Fortunately, she was wearing panties or the pedestrian would have been on his way to the hospital. She slid her knees together. Teasing the driver was a bit of a high, but she would rather the driver kept his eyes on the road. And sex in the back of a taxi? Kevin Costner and Sean Young, maybe, but Jane had met Kevin Costner. The driver, well, he was no Kevin Costner. The driver, his attention off of Jane's privates and back to the road, headed towards the destination Jane had given him. Jane, her legs showing knee but no thigh, began to look over her notes. She had researched the story now for over two months. She had read reams of material, even taken a trip to Paris to chase down what she had thought was a lead. But all of her research, all of the interviews, all of her reading had led to not very much, really. It was frustrating, to say the least. This Roger Fanderpeice, the man she was on her way to meet, the sexiest man not Brad Pitt (as he had been described in the NY Times), hadn't left much of a paper trail, just enough to get her libido more active than she wanted. But Jane wouldn't fail. She always got her story. When it came to balancing her cunt's need against her need to get the story, Jane Bederson had her priorities right. Why else had the good lord invented the vibrator? This article wasn't even her own idea. Commander had suggested the article to her. Commander was her boss at the magazine. She wasn't only the Editor-In-Chief of the magazine, she was the CEO of the conglomerate that owned the magazine. Commander's word was law at the magazine. And her word to Jane had been to, "Investigate Xanadu!." That was it:" Investigate Xanadu!" She was the person who had given Jane an email address with access code that allowed Jane to contact the usually uncontactable Fanderpeice. And that was where things were at right now. Fanderpeice was Jane's one remaining necessary interview. Actually, he was her last chance to get this story. Shit! 'Larger Roger,' was the name she had given Fanderpeice. He was rumored to be so well endowed that pro basketball players were shamed by the size of his piece. But that was the least of his mystique: Scion of wealth, he had left the family's billion dollar fast-food franchise business to earn a modest personal fortune playing poker in Vegas, parlayed that stake into an arbitrage business, his profits from that invested as a venture capitalist, and finally quitting all that to create this thing that she was investigating now….Xanadu…. named after the place in the Coleridge poem, where "Kublah Khan did a stately pleasure dome decree." "Pleasure," Jane thought, that was it for him. That was what she had long ago decided to ignore for herself. The story, the scoop, her name below the byline, those were her pleasures, sex, her cunt fulfilled, the ecstacy of a hard won orgasm, that would come after ---- maybe. Fanderpeice ,apparently, had no need to ignore anything. He had it all: Fame, Money, and, so the rampant rumors went, Sex. There were pictures of him. Many pictures. But they seldom did more than hint about the personal Roger Fanderpeice. There were photos of him at museum openings, at a A party with Jay Z, sitting next to Woody Allen at a Knicks game. Women too: whispering to the 'hot' Congresswoman, escorting a 'hot' movie star to a premier, talking quietly to the current sexy model-tennis champion from Europe. Jane was looking at one of the photos as the taxi continued its run through the city's busy streets. He was certainly handsome. Too bad there had been no photos revealing whether those rumors were true, the rumors about how well hung he was. But Jane didn't want to get hung up (pun intended) on sex.. It was Xanadu itself that had so far proven to be elusive, more than merely elusive, impossible. Why the story was so intriguing, why it was potentially so important was that Jane had no idea of. What was Xanadu? No one seemed to know or, at least, was willing to tell. Jane's most important rule for herself as a journalist was to never go to an interview unprepared, to always already know the answers to the questions she was seeking to confirm. But, so far, all her work, all her research had proven to be downright inefficacious. About Xanadu she knew zilch except that, as one of her sources had said, "It was All about Sex, but, was really not about sex." About Fanderpeice she knew just a little bit more. When she worked on a story, Jane's sources were the best. She had cultivated them over ten years now, people who treasured her ability to express their opinions fairly without attribution and of whose trustworthiness she was assured. Many admitted to having heard of Xanadu, but the information had stopped there. Kay Maxwell, the First Lady's Travelling Secretary, was typical. She had been a friend of Jane's since their college days. She told Jane that she had met Fanderpeice at a White House function. Kay had tried to help. She had wracked her brain when Jane asked her about Fanderpiece. "A hunk. Sexy as all get out. I know I've heard talk about him, Quite the man, if you know what I mean," Kay whispered to Jane, "But I can't, for the life of me, remember who it was that said that; well hung," she added with a sly smile. It was Kay who had told Jane that. Xanadu, although it was all about sex according to what she had heard, was not really about sex, but about something else entirely." Kay had given Jane a woeful look. "I am sorry," she said, "I wish I could tell you more about Xanadu. I can tell you, though, that Fanderpeice is one very sexy man." And that is the way it had gone all through the time that she had tried to get anything more than the most superficial information about Fanderpeice. Sex, sex, sex was a constant reference, but detail, what the sex was about, she was unable to get clear. Jane would have dropped the story, quit her investigation, but, first, she didn't ever quit; second, the sex question intrigued her; and, third, The Commander's insistence on her getting the story didn't really give her the option of quitting. Her boss had made it clear that the story she was assigning was more than just a big story, it was very big, huge, immense, a story as important as any she had ever covered, she had told Jane. As big as any she had ever covered? Jane had covered many a big story. Nearly thirty, Jane Bederson was definitely on the fast track. Less than 10 years out of college, she had been on a steady rise upwards in the profession. From her first television job to her present magazine gig, her career had been marked by success after success. Now she was working for the most prestigious magazine in the world which was owned by the most important media mogul in the world. Her byline was recognized everywhere. The Commander rarely interfered with writers doing their stories. Jane had been asked to see her in her office only on two previous occasions, when she had first been hired and on one occasion when she had won the only double Pulitzer prize ever awarded. Yet, for this story, she had already spoken with Jane three times. Jane recalled the exquisite Commander pacing in her office, gesturing boldly, telling Jane that Xanadu was a story only Jane could do. Jane remembered the Commander emphasizing that it was vitally important to Jane, vital to the magazine, and essential to the Commander herself that Jane do this story! Jane was rarely, really never, intimidated by power, she herself was too much a powerful woman to be intimidated, but The Commander was something else. She was an elegantly dressed, fine looking woman with a powerful intelligence and an easy sense of power. But the feature that most struck Jane and that most struck others who met The Commander was her total command of facts and issues and her pronouncements, always so well considered, thoughtful and always never anything but decisive. Jane looked out the window of the cab. She had done as much as she could to keep sex out of her life. She was too busy for that, too much in a hurry. She had discovered that sex got in the way of not only hers, but of other's success. It confused priorities, got people concentrating on their pleasures, their next orgasms instead of the work at hand. But she had been very careful all her career, all her life really, to not let that happen to her. . But it was on this story, suddenly, while she worked on this story about Xanadu, that For some reason she could not, try as she might, she could not understand, she found herself needing to be extra vigilant, needing towork extra hard to keep her cunt from taking over, her clit from thinking for her brain. She was looking at one of the pictures of Fanderpeice when, Damn it! It didn't matter that Jane ordered herself to stop, when Jane felt that warming in her loins, the tingling of her clitoris, the cunt juice starting to lubricate her vagina. She knew that she would soon be squeezing her thighs together, that she would be gently urging her cunt lips to separate . "Lady, I'm going to go east to Park Ave. Traffic will be easier there," the cabby looked back. Thankful for the interruption, she nodded ok. What in the hell was she thinking, she thought. She was adamant about controlling her sex drive. How could she allow herself get stimulated just by looking at his picture? 'Concentrate', she thought.. Jane had to get her libido under control. Too much sex. Too much. Altogether too much. It was all the talk about Fanderpeice and about his sexual prowess, the distant rumors about orgies, the non-specific hints of wild parties and, maybe, the fact that Jane had been without sex for a long time now. Oh, she had hooked up with an old friend while she was in Paris, but she had been on a tight schedule that was only for one night, well, really, only for a few minutes of one night, and if it had led to an orgasm, she had missed it. She self-pleasured herself regularly, but that wasn't the real thing. A vibrator was one thing, a dildo another. But Fanderpeice was all too real. And here she was on the way to meet him at his lair. Her clitoris swelled. She wanted to touch herself. Well, she had been horny, a lot hornier than this before and she had not let it interfere with her work. The driver interrupted. "This the street," he said. "Want me to stop any place special?" "Right here." Jane replied. She'd walk the half block to the Xanadu building, a four story brownstone set with two like brownstones, an embassy and a foundation, on a street lined with tall apartment buildings. She paid the driver, adding a large tip to reward him his silence during the trip. She exited the cab and walked to the building where, shortly, she would see the inside of Xanadu and where she would meet the elusive Roger Fanderpeice. Jane needed to calm herself. She was never nervous before an interview. Her research made her comfortable. Always prepared when she went to an interview, Jane had questions ready. It was the interviewee who should be nervous. She calmed her breathing, settled her heart rate and thought hard about her questions to Fanderpeice. Why could she not stop thinking about Fanderpeice and his sexual prowess? She stood before the building. She was in the middle of the sidewalk, People were walking around her, and she was lost in a haze of sex. The lips of her pussy were swollen, juice was wetting the inside of her cunt, and the lips of her vagina were parting of their own volition. Stop, she told herself. Stop right now! You're not some crazy whore, some out of control slut. You're Jane Bederson. You're on the job. You're covering a story for god's sake. She looked around her. No one seemed to have noticed this sex-crazed woman standing there. She turned to the building's entrance. "What exactly is the width and the length of your sex organ?" That would be her first question to Fanderpeice, In Xanadu Ch. 02 Before she raised her hand to knock on the solid oak door that led into the house, Jane again took a deep breath. She thought she had things under control now. A tingling sensation ran through her body from head to foot. Her scalp tinkled. Her eyes were sharply focused. All of her senses were on the alert. The aroused nipples of her breasts, brushing against the restraint of her bra, felt alive. She was excited alright. But Jane put her excitement to the fact that she was so close to finally getting to the heart of this difficult story. She often felt this electricity, this arousal when she was nearing the nexus of a story. Her body straight, her shoulders back, Jane prepared to knock on the door when, suddenly, it swung open. It was Roger Fanderpeice. He had opened the door before she had even knocked. Six three, cleft chin, curly black hair, intelligent blue eyes. Wickedly Handsome! Buff. Wealthy beyond most people's dreams. The very sexy man of mystery. "Ms. Bederson, Jane Bederson, I presume," he said. The question she had prepared herself to ask him flew from her mind. Instead of throwing the question, Jane threw out her arm, extending it to shake his hand. As advertised, Roger Fanderpeice not only looked good, but also exuded sex. She would have to ask that professor at Harvard whether it could have been pheromons. Whatever, he was the sexiest man she had ever met. "Yes, I'm Jane Bederson. And I'm glad to meet you Mr. Fanderpeice." He knew who she was. Well, she knew who he was. Jane hoped that made things even. She felt her body warm as Fanderpeice took her extended hand into his and shook it. His touch was electric, though Jane thought she had pretty well covered up any sign of the effect his touch had had on her. "Yes, please come in, and please call me Roger from now on," he said. Jane heard the door shut and then lock behind her as she followed Fanderpeice into the house. Jane thought of herself as one tough babe, a woman at the top of her profession, a fearless writer of exposes, not afraid of anything or anyone.....except of herself, except of her own desires, those deep needs that she constantly fought to keep from distracting her from whatever matter was at hand. This place was certainly making it hard to keep her mind on the story and free of sex (as if those were two separate and distinct things). But Jane was determined. She walked a little ways into an anteroom. She noticed the carvings on the woodwork along the wall. They were apparently copied from the Kama Sutra but in modern dress (or undress, rather). She stared at one section of carvings. It was a section in which each block, each scene was related, scenes that, as Jane read them in sequence, moved as they would in a movie, a couple moving slowly from one position to the next, the expressions on their faces were of shared ecstasy. There were pictures framed above the carvings, beautifully drawn pictures of the most obscene actions, threesomes, foursomes, gangbangs, all sort of activities she knew she would have fun trying to find metaphors for so that she might be able to describe them in even an R rated publication. She smiled to herself. This was a hell of a presentation. The pictures certainly were something. They were obviously artistic, and Jane tried to look at them like that----as if she was in a museum and they were merely art. But that was hard to do. Her loins were warming. She could feel her breathing deepen. If the anteroom was meant to put visitors to Xanadu in a sexual frame of mind, it was doing its job. Jane shook her head, she had to get her focus off her cunt, she had to get it onto the story. But... suddenly, Fanderpeice was standing right behind her. "Interesting pictures aren't they?" he said, his voice almost a whisper. He continued, "You know, they were all painted by one of our member artists." Fanderpeice leaned closer to Jane. He pointed at one of the paintings. It showed a woman on her knees, bent at the waist, her hands flat on the floor, one man lying underneath her, his prick in her cunt. Another man was behind her, his long rod thrust into her anus. In front of her stood another man, his weapon fully into her swollen mouth. Around the quartet, stood several men and a couple of women, all naked, fondling themselves and each other, aroused, waiting their chance to join in the debauchery. The painting was at once coldly realistic and strangely erotic, warm, vivid and beautiful. "Is that who I think it is?" Jane asked. The woman on all fours, being filled with sex surely looked like one of Hollywood's biggest stars, the winner of a pair of Oscars, one for best supporting actress, the second for leading actress. Jane had interviewed her several years ago----before the actress had become a star. "I can tell you that it is," said Fanderpeice. " Suddenly Jane recognized one of the women standing with the others waiting a turn at the actress. It was the first lady's social secretary. Jane's friend. Her college classmate, Kay Maxwell. She was one of those people Jane had asked about Xanadu, about Fanderpeice. Kay was one of those who had told Jane she didn't know anything about this place. "That person on the right," Jane blurted out. "Yes," said Fanderpeice. "Kay Maxwell. She wasn't happy about having to lie to you about me, about the fact that she was part of Xanadu. I promised that when you got here I would offer her apology to you. What was going on, thought Jane. She was sure that he had pointed to this particular picture so that Jane would notice Kay. "Can I get a copy of that picture? For the article." Jane asked Fanderpeice. She wanted a second to think. She wanted him to be reminded she was on a story. "Yes. Of course," he said. "I suspect, however, that printing the picture in your magazine might present a problem. Releases would probably be extremely difficult if not impossible to get. "Thank you," she replied, smiling nicely. She was trying to play this as cool as he was. "I guess right now is as good a time as any to let you know," he said, giving her an open and friendly smile, that..." "What? That I won't be able to get this information into print?" "Not at all." Again, he smiled that open, that friendly smile. "You are entitled to use any or all of the information you obtain in any way you wish to use it. "What, then?" Jane was angry. She felt she was being toyed with. She hadn't come here to meet this man, to see this place in order to be played with. "What I wanted to fell you was that you, you Jane Bederson, are entitled, as I said, because you are a member of Xanadu. And, as a member, you are free to act as you wish." Fanderpeice continued, "We have no hold on you. Our members are promised that Xanadu is here to offer them fulfillment....in the fullest sense of the word. That is what you are being offered right now." "What if the thing that fulfills me is to get the best story I can get?" "Then you can have that. Fullfillment is our middle name, it is our whole name, it is what we give." Fanderpeice said. "We ask nothing in return." Jane was here to get a story and here she was, stuck in the middle of some sex museum with a sex-addled curator. She quickly opened her purse and pulled out a pad and a pen. "I'll be taking notes," she said. "I am here for the story." "Of course," he said. "I am sure that you have some questions prepared. Ask away." He is some smug son of a bitch she thought. Jane decided this was as good a time as any to ask. "Your penis," she said, let's see how he handles this, she thought, "Your penis, what is its girth and length?" "At ease, so to speak, or primed and ready to go?" Smug and cool, a real tough bastard, Jane thought. "Primed and ready to go, as you so nicely put it," she replied. "Thirteen point nine seven centimeters in girth at last measurement," he replied. Jane thought for a moment. "Five point five inches around," she said. "Length?" "Eight and three quarter inches," he said, smiling. "Nineteen point six two centimeters," she said after a moment's thought. "You are quite the man," she added. "Thank you," he said, "and may I compliment you on your mathematical ability." Jane thought that this interview might be fun. And challenging. It was only with a small part of her mind that she wished that Roger Fanderpeice wasn't quite as charming as he was. " I'm here to answer all your questions, to help you get the story." said Fanderpeice, "Why the secrecy? Why did Kate Maxwell feel that she had to lie to me?" " She wasn't comfortable lying, but Kate did know, had been told, I promised to her that you were a member or, more accurately, would be a member of Xanadu as soon as you arrived here. Actually you were a member before now only you had not been informed of that. She was aware that nothing would be withheld from you," said Fanderpeice. "We had no intention of keeping the truth from you. Kate knew, when she spoke with you,that you would soon be told everything. "By the way," Fanderpeice added, "a few other of our members spoke with you and I apologize now for them, their transgression of interviewer-source etiquette." Jane couldn't figure out how angry to be or even whether or not to be angry. She had an understanding with her regular sources. They could absolutely refuse to answer. They could always give her a terse, "no comment," but they never lied to her. She looked at Fanderpeice. "What do you mean about me being a member? I never joined anything." "We select our members. Members nominate new members, we check the nominees out and if they check out, they become members. We're sort of like the Macarthur awards, the 'genius' prizes. People don't apply. Macarthur winners are notified they've won by a telephone call. We notify our winners in person." "The Macarthur award is a half million no strings cash award," said Jane. "And ours is fulfillment," said Fanderpeice. 'Also, with no strings attached." "And what is all this about sex?" Jane asked. "Sex is one of the things we fulfill." "But all the emphasis?" "Sex is extremely important to us. It is what our membership is about. It is not the requirement for membership. It is what membership to Xanadu is for." "I'm afraid you lost me somewhere along the way." "Each of our member's need for sex and how that need helps or hinders the member's success. We are here to facilitate the sex so it is no longer a hinderance. " "I am not sure I get where this is going," Jane interrupted. "And exactly what do my sexual needs have to do with all of this?" Jane had her needs. Who didn't? But she had them under control. She had never let those sexual needs interfere with her life, not with her professional life, not with her relationships with men....or women. "Let's go to my office. It'll be more comfortable there, and it will be a lot easier for me to answer your questions there." Either Fanderpeice was what he said he was or he was a stark raving lunatic. Jane thought of the Oscar winning actress, of Kay. Neither was crazy. Apparently, he wasn't stark raving mad or they wouldn't have been involved with him. Maybe a sex maniac. But he hadn't made what Jane could recognize as a pass at her. "Lead on, Macduff," she said. Jane felt her clitoris swell, harden, push against its covering sheath. For whatever reason, Fanderpeice was very, very sexy. It had to be pheromons. "It is very important that you know," Fanderpeice said, "sexual fulfillment is just a small part of the fulfillment we offer." "That doesn't sound very erotic." "Aux contraire," he said. Our members receive the information, the help, and the contacts that will allow them to reach the acme of their profession." He led her into his office, a modern office with a large desk, a couch, several chairs and a huge piece of what appeared to be an abstract art work which filled nearly the whole wall to the left of Fanderpeice. Opposite that was a wall full of books. Jane walked to inspect the titles---everything from the Marquis de Sade to Ainis Nin and Toni Bentley, from The Story of O to Web of Desire. She pulled one of the volumes; it was a tome of beautiful photographs of the most graphic sex scenes she could imagine. She was trying to decipher one photograph of what seemed to be nine naked people laying about in a complicated configuration on a pillow-strewn floor when Roger Fanderpeice spoke. Once again, he was standing just behind her. This time he leaned over her shoulder, pointed at the picture she was looking at and said, "It will quickly make sense once you focus on the lady on the right and realize that she has just swallowed the ejaculate of the man above her." Jane was no prude. She had never shied away from conversation that dealt with sex. She had been sexually active since her freshman year in college. So why was she suddenly so uncomfortable? Well, maybe not uncomfortable, more exactly restless, or tempestuous, or, perhaps, on edge. Most probably, it was just that she had no idea of where this was going. "Please, sit," he said to Jane. She sat on the couch. This was all intriguing, interesting, and, yes, she had to admit to herself, arousing. She could feel the lubricant of vagina juice wetting the inner linings of her cunt. Desire was threatening to overcome her. But Jane was determined to get control of the interview. Pen and pad in hand, she changed the subject," Let's begin at the beginning. When did Xanadu start? Who started it? Why?" Fanderpeice moved out from behind his desk and sat on a chair, several feet from the couch where Jane was sitting. "Easy questions to answer," he said. "At least the who and when part: 'When' was eleven years ago. 'Who' was the Commander and me." He leaned back on the couch. "'Why' because we recognized we could." "Ok," Jane said. She didn't show any of the surprise she felt when hearing about the commander. "What is it all about?" Fanderpeice nodded. "There are two qualifications for membership: First, our members are people on the very fast track and headed for great success. Second, they are people who are being, if not held back, are being held to less than is possible by the sexual tension they feel." He leaned forward, intent on answering Jane's question. "The Commander and I," he continued, "recognized immediately we met that we were kindred spirits. We realized that for all the wealth we had acquired, all the power, all the fame, there was one thing we had been deprived of and that thing was sex." "Come on," Jane said. "You. The Commander. No sex?" "Not sex. Certainly we each enjoyed quite a bit of sex. But it was the need for care, the necessity of finding the right partner, the fact that we needed to practice some sort of discretion. The fact is that the best sex occurred when the partners had made some sort of commitment to each other, had a real and abiding affection for each other. Of that there can be no doubt. And yet it is that fact that creates a hinderance to the things not associated with sex. There are demands between partners, even if the demands are not voiced or demanded that compromise our abilities to achieve all that we might in other endeavors. The perfect sex partner wakens in us a desire to please that partner in endeavors, in ways not associated with sex. " "What you're talking about seems to me to be love," said Jane. "You might call it that," said Fanderpeice. "What if I were to tell you that Xanadu is love?" Jane Bederson looked at Roger Fanderpeice. "What the Commander and I realized is that Xanadu would be an avatar for love. Xanadu, although we didn't have the name as yet, or even the form, that Xanadu would be the giver of love that required no requite. Xanadu would offer sex but would neither need or ask for anything in return." Jane said nothing. Sometimes when she was interviewing a person it was best to just allow that person to go on. "Jane, you must be aware of the fact that you have sexual needs that you didn't dare fulfill or try to fulfill either because to fulfill them would require a loving bond with someone who would require you offer them some amount of something in return, love, care, help, or only attention." Jane thought for a moment. Fanderpeice stared at her, "I am sure, The Commander is sure too, that your sexual needs have been hampered by your drive to get to the top of your profession and that your work has been slightly less exuberant than it might have been had your sex drive been better attended to." Jane said nothing though she felt that just maybe Fanderpeice had hit on some truth about her. Just maybe. He continued," It was a looser sex, an adventuresome sex, an unfettered freedom to enjoy what sex we wanted, more than wanted, needed. There was always the danger of exposure that would hurt our business ventures. There was also the personal problem. Hookups were for younger people than we were. Emotional entanglements were too likely to ensue if we allowed ourselves to indulge our sexual cravings. I am not talking about illegal urges or urges that involved damage to others. I am not talking about sex with minors or about sex that was not consensual. But we were, we felt, being deprived of was that impersonal, novel, untried sex that we occasionally felt an urge to try, but had no means of attempting because of our positions, because we didn't want scandal, the possibility of blackmail, or because the logistics for obtaining playing partners seemed to be too difficult." "And Xanadu, this place, this organization is an organization set up to allow you and the commander to have non-traditional types of sex?" Jane asked. "And what does all of this have to do with telling me that I am a member of this organization?" Fanderpeice smiled. He stood and moved to sit on the couch where Jane was already sitting. Jane's eyes were drawn to look at the wall behind Fanderpeice and at the large piece of art which hung there. The piece of art was abstract and unusually complicated but seemed to at moments resolve into a readable but still elusive picture. She thought it must be a Martha Quinn. Quinn was the current star of the art world with major shows in New York and London at the same time. He was still smiling. Sitting less than a foot away from Jane, Fanderpeice continued, "We felt that you were one of us." "Ok, explain," said Jane. Be cool, Jane reminded herself. So far she had not learned very much except that The Commander was involved----and Kay, and the movie star and Martha Quinn. And that Fanderpeice was a very sexy man. Suddenly, the art piece on the wall behind Fanderpeice, seemed to come to life. Jane was almost able to make out action or a scene of some sort. But it still wasn't possible for her to make out details or understand what it was showing. "You've noticed the painting," he said. "It's a Quinn, of course. Martha gave it to us, a gift. She spent nearly a year on it. As do all Quinns, the intermingling of electronics with paint resolve into recognizable elements only when seen from certain angles, and then become a series of changing scenes. Martha Quinn became a member of Xanadu four years ago. She has been very happy to be a member, as we hope you will be happy too." Jane turned her attention to the picture being shown on the wall. At first, she had trouble seeing the picture. Then, after she moved her gaze slightly to the right, the abstract painting began to resolve itself into a series of remarkably life-like scenes as sharp and clear as HD television. And the scene she suddenly found herself looking at....it was more than amazing. Fanderpeice had moved off of the couch, giving Jane an unimpeded look at the art work. At the center of the piece was Harriet Ott. Harriet Ott, President of one of the great Ivy League colleges. Known for her intelligence (she had been dean of a rival college's law school prior to her present position), she had also been long admired for her breathtaking beauty as well as for her sweetness and likeability. In Xanadu Ch. 02 She had been both sweet and likeable when Jane had interviewed her many years before. And, well, she was certainly being sweet and likeable in the art work. There, before Jane, the scene unfolded: At the center of a room, surrounded by four men, Ott lay on a slightly raised platform, naked, her open legs were splayed widely. Between her legs, his face flush against the spread lips of her pussy, was a man Jane thought she recognized as a nationally known sports announcer. The man had his tongue buried deep into 's swollen, glistening with vaginal juice, love lips. His tongue entered and pulled out of her vagina. He swirled his tongue inside. He gently pushed Ott's vaginal lips apart as he drank in the juices pouring from her cunt. Jane could see Ott, the Ivy League college president's chest heaving. Jane could almost hear Ott as she moaned, writhing in obvious pleasure. Jane watched as Ott beckoned the men standing around the platform, reached out with her hands and lovingly pulled their very large cocks close to her body, gently massaging their fuck sticks in her fists and brushing them against her breasts' rock hard nipples. She opened her mouth wide. The fourth man approached from behind and filled her opened mouth with his cock head, sliding it deeply in towards the back of her throat. In the midst of an apparent giant orgasm, her chest heaving, her body shaking, Ott began to increase the speed of her hands as they pulled the cocks of the men around her. She was seemingly lost in the pleasure of the moment. She was given over to wantonness. She pursed her mouth for deep sucking. Her lips pressed tight to hold the thick shaft of the cock which slid in and out of her mouth. Suddenly the man who had been sucking her cunt stood up from between her legs and placed the head of his erect cock at the now gaping hole of her cunt lips. Ott began a bucking motion with her hips, trying to guide his cock as deep as it could go into the wet hole of her cunt, soaked from his sucking and the outpouring gush of her own milky joy juice. Jane was mesmerized by the scene unfolding before her eyes. She had more than once fantasized scenes such as this with herself as the center of the ravishment, but she had never dared to indulge in acts of extreme wantonness like this. Her gaze remained glued to the scene, and Jane realized she was breathing deeply, deeply and quickly. She felt her panties wetting as her own pungent cunt juice leaked out from between the slightly parted lips of her vulva. Oh, my God, she thought. She stifled a moan of empathy with Harriet Ott. She had forgotten everything, where she was, why she was there, who she was there with. Then, Fanderpeice coughed quietly. "Quite a scene, isn't it," he said to Jane. "An interesting work of art," Jane said. "Quite," Fanderpeice replied, smiling. "I think I've seen enough," said Jane. "Yes?" Jane felt weak at the knees. She was trembling. She was unable to move her eyes from the screen. Oh my god, she thought. She had to stop how she was feeling. She had a story to do. She was Jane Bederson. She was a reporter. The best. She had broken major stories, earned major awards more than once, won coveted prizes in competition with the best. She had to get herself under control! She was not a crazed sex-mad whore cunt! She was going to get the story. Fanderpeice stood behind her. "H.O.," he was using the college president's initials, "does this, undergoes a little orgy like this, once a year or so. She says it lets her get loose. She says it gets rid of any tensions she has." Jane stood. "I guess it would loosen her up, but I don't know why you're letting me see this. I don't know why you have invited me to join this organization, sex club, whatever it is." "No sex, right? You want to get the story?" Fanderpeice asked. "Yes. Yes. I have a story to get. And I never asked to be a member of your organization. You let me look at all these people participating in orgies, but what am I supposed to do about this?" She shook her head. She cleared her throat. She was going to continue, but, on the big screen, the action was heating up. Ott's butt was heaving up and down at a furious pace, the men around her pumping away in rhythm faster and faster. Ott's hands were milking their cocks harder and harder. Her mouth was opened wide now and her head thrust back as a man's large penis burrowed deep towards the back of her throat. The man busy fucking her had his hand pressed against her clit and was vigorously massaging it in a circular motion. Jane imagined she could hear the noise of sweat drenched bodies pounding against each other. She felt as if she could hear the beautiful college president screaming for more and for harder thrusts from the men surrounding her. It was almost too much for Jane. It was at that moment that Fanderpeice reclaimed the seat he had vacated to give Jane an unimpeded look at the obscene art work."This piece of art is one of Xanadu's most precious possessions, he said. One of our members offered slightly less than 100-million Euros for it, but we had to decline. The work will never leave this building." "Mr. Fanderpeice..." "Roger," he corrected her. "Roger," she said. "Roger, please this must stop. I must do my story." "You need to move only a few inches from the spot you're at," he said. "The scene is visible from only a very circumscribed group of angles." Jane had done her research. She had read about Fanderpeice. She was aware of his overwhelming charisma, the power of his charisma, the appeal he had to women. But reading about his sexual magnetism and experiencing it were two different things. She had a job to do. She had a story to write. Finally, Fanderpeice acted. He took Jane's hand and guided her to a seat a few inches to the left of where she had been sitting. The scene that had been showing the debauched activities turned back into an abstract painting. "Yes," Fanderpeice said. He continued, "You do have a job to do, and I did promise The Commander that I would help. I know that you have done your research. I, likewise, have done mine. I know your reputation, Ms. Bederson. The Commander has assured me that if you do the job you are capable of on the story of Xanadu, you will be in line for another Pulitzer Prize, great, great things. And I can tell you that I know that she spoke the truth about great things" "Mr. Fanderpeice," Jane started to speak. "Roger," he corrected her again. "Roger," she said. Jane was slightly confused. She wanted to understand why the story about Xanadu seemed so important. "My membership in this organization?" "Please don't worry," he said. "About your membership, it doesn't commit you to anything. Nothing at all, nada, zero, gornisht, zilch. You are a member, but that means only that I and our other members are committed to helping you when we want and when you need, and ask for our help. You are free to accept our help or not; just as we are free individually to give our help or not. Although, I can tell you, it has never been the case that a member requesting help here has not received it." "I can walk out of here and never return?" "Completely free." "I can use what I've learned so far----all this sex stuff, the membership?" "Anything. Everything. As you wish. If you wish. As a member of Xanadu you have no obligations, no tasks, to membership fees, Nothing. All of the obligation, work, dues---- everything-----is ours. "Ok," Jane interrupted, "as you claim. But I still don't know why I was chosen to be a member." "Because you are one of a small group of people who fit. Stand up Ms. Bederson. Please." Jane stood. She needed to test Fanderpeice. "Ok," she said, "I think I'll leave now." She had never been as aroused and frustrated at the same time as she was now. Although he had allowed her to see those scenes of debauchery, he had not made any sort of overt pass at her. She didn't even know whether the fact that he had not made a pass bothered her. She wondered why she had not made a pass at him, "Yes, I should leave now," she said, "I need to follow up on some of the information you've given me." "No problem," said Fanderpeice. He stood next to Jane and put his hand on her elbow. "Let me escort you to the door." His touch was electric. It took her breath away. Her heart began beating at a furious pace. "Shall we go?" he asked. Jane wanted to say yes. She wanted to get away from this place, from this man, from her own almost overwhelming wants and desires. She started to move towards the door of his office. "You have my number. You have my email address. If you need more information, please call. If you wish to return to visit here, please call. You are always welcome to visit us here." Fanderpeice opened the door of his office. Then, without warning to even herself, Jane turned to Fanderpeice,. Gentle Reader: I do hope you are ready to read more of this story and do not mind that the story will contain explicit, HOT, Exciting, and multifarious scenes of debauchery, hetero, saphic, group, wild and free sex and a lot, lot more. If you are ready, be patient. That more is yet to come. ILienBagby In Xanadu Ch. 03 She needed to sit down. She didn't know if she really wanted to leave. She had no idea of what she would do next or what she would say next. Jane had always had been in control of her sexual impulses, never confused. She was no prude. She had never shied away from conversation that dealt with sex. She had been sexually active since her freshman year in college. So why was she suddenly so uncomfortable? Not really uncomfortable, more: restless, on edge. And her confusion was about nothing else but about sex. Jane was sure she could smell the odor of sex and wondered where it was coming from, what it was. But then she suddenly realized that it was her own pussy juice she was smelling. Her panties were soaked, wet through and through by the pussy juice flowing unbidden from the recess of her cunt. "You do wish to leave?" Fanderpeice reminded her. Jane nodded yes but a second later regretted the nod. "No," she suddenly blurted out, "let's continue the interview." The 'no' was issued without forethought. It was as if Jane was in some sort of hypnotic condition, acting but not really in control of her own actions. "Good," said Fanderpeice "I think you deserve to know whatever it is you wish to know." . He kept his hand on her arm and escorted Jane to the couch she had been sitting on earlier, but this time the Quinn was not in her direct line of sight. She sat and Fanderpeice sat opposite her, on the same chair he had occupied before, but, somehow, he seemed to be a lot closer than he had been earlier. "I think it time for us to begin. Do you wish to take notes?" "I don't need to take notes," Jane replied. "Yes, over ninety percent accurate recall. Your dossier featured that." Jane was surprised. He had a dossier on her. What else? "The sexual activity here is not why this establishment exists," he said. "What? "What I said," Fanderpeice replied. "But I don't understand." This was no good, Jane thought. She was violating one of her basic rules for interviewing, let an interviewee speak when he (or she) was speaking. Do not interrupt. She stopped and waited. Fanderpeice moved the chair forward so that now he was no more than a few inches away from Jane. He continued, "Sex is one of our methods for helping our members. It is also a main determinant for choosing our members. " We use two criteria for choosing those we might wish to have as members of our group. Criteria one: That they be people with extraordinary talent and abilities. Obviously, you fit that criteria. Criteria two: That they have suppressed an essential part of their sexual nature because they believe the pull of libidinous pleasure, if they allowed it full expression, would interfere with the full expression of their talents and abilities." "You think I don't get enough sex?" Jane asked. "Oh, no, we don't think you don't get enough sex, only that you have refused to allow a free and full expression of your libidinous impulses." "I don't think you understand or know me as well as you believe you do," she said. "But we do," Fanderpeice said. "Stand up, please." Jane hesitated for a moment, then stood. Fanderpeice, still sitting, but now only inches from Jane, his head level with her stomach, leaned forward. He stretched his large hands out and gently, but firmly, held her at the hips. "What are you doing?" He said nothing. He gently pulled her hips forward. He leaned his head forwards and delivered a kiss to her stomach, just below her belly button, his chin pressed just above her pubic bone. "I really do think we ought to get back to the interview," she said. She said it automatically, out of some vague notion that it was what she ought to say. A flow of lugubrious honey-juice soaked the inner lining of her vagina. Her legs were firm on the ground but seemed suddenly to be super sensitive. She could feel her skirt brushing against her legs, the edge of the couch cushion as it touched her calves. She felt his lips against her stomach. She felt his chin against atop her pubic bone. "Really? You want to return to the interview?" Fanderpeice replied. She felt the breath of air expelled from his mouth as he spoke. A shiver ran from her stomach up to her throat. What she was feeling below her stomach she didn't want to know. Did she want to return to the interview? "No," Jane gestured weakly. The powerful, diligent, unstoppable Jane Bederson the world knew and admired disappeared. Turning her head weakly left to right, right to left signifying "No," whatever she wanted, it wasn't to stop him from what he was doing. Fanderpeice took his hands from Jane's waist. He stood. Slowly. Her hips felt bereft, empty. She needed his hand's firm grip. Every fiber of her skin was alive, the nub of her breast tender, extended. She was breathing hard, her mouth slightly open. Her eyes looked straight ahead, but she saw nothing but the side of his nose, his freshly shaved cheek. She lifted her hands, put them around his waist, and pulled him closer. A second, maybe two seconds, later Jane stood with her spine against the high back of the couch she had been sitting on. She was facing Fanderpeice whose body was pressed against hers. She felt his penis press against her tremblingly alive pubic bone. His organ felt gigantic and hard. It felt so hard. She pulled Fanderpeice even closer to her. She felt his cock pressing against her vagina. It was so hard. She felt the tip of his rock of an organ press against her perineum and then move slowly along her vulva to her swollen labia, up towards her tingling, engorged clitoris. She could feel his prick through the material of his trousers, through the material of her dress, through the material of her thin panties. Amazingly, her senses were so alive that Jane could feel his tool well enough to tell that he was circumcised. Jane had been excited before, often. But the word 'excited' didn't even come close to describing what she was feeling at this moment. She was ready to rip off her clothes. She was ready to tear Fanderpeice's shirt off, pull his pants down. She was prepared to get on her knees and to stuff his prick into her mouth. She wanted his hard cock deep into her cunt. Really there were no specifics. She couldn't tell exactly what it was that she did want. But she did know that she wanted sex. She wanted to be naked. She wanted him to be naked. She wanted to see that glorious 8 1/2" tool that just rubbing against her cunt's engorged lips was bringing her to a state of sexual frenzy. "The commander and I met at a convention of some sort many years ago," Fanderpeice said. Jane heard the words and briefly felt her sexual excitement ease enough for his words to enter her consciousness. "Somehow," he continued, "we ended up in her hotel room. After hours and hours of fucking and sucking and anything else we could think of, we decided that we had broken through some barrier and that was the germinating seed for the idea that became Xanadu" Jane had no idea of how it had happened, but as Fanderpeice spoke she realized that she was now sitting on the couch again and that Fanderpeice was slowly unbuttoning her blouse. One by one, as he spoke, he undid the buttons which ran down the front of her blouse. When they were all opened and her blouse hung loose, she felt his arms reach inside and around to release the clasp on her bra, freeing her breasts from their confinement. His hands were now at her skirt, loosening its ties and pulling its zipper down. He leaned forward and put his warm hand inside the band of her panties. "What had happened," Fanderpeice's voice suddenly penetrated her hearing as his hand stopped, rested at the top of her vulva just above her clit and stayed there, "was that each of us had freed him/herself, the other, of some hindrance, some repressive hold. And after that repression was gone it was Katie bar the door to sexual repression, but also Katie bar the door to all manner of repression, being too careful, being too mindful." Jane lifted her ass from the couch slightly as Fanderpeice slipped her panties down, slowly down. The panties hung at her calves stayed as she spread open her ankles wide . "Let's get undressed," he said. "We can continue the interview. I can answer your questions in a while. But first, let's get undressed, and let's get down and dirty. Jane Bederson, Jane Bederson, what are you doing? Jane asked herself as she removed her blouse and shook her bra loose, letting it fall to her lap before being shrugged to the ground. She stepped out of her panties. What was she doing? She was preparing to get fucked! That was what she was doing. Jane breathed in deeply, puffed her chest out. She stood squarely facing Fanderpeice who had just pulled off his socks and was as fully naked as she was. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes were lit as if he were. His cock was fully erect. Nice bod, Jane thought. He was ripped. He looked strong which, she thought, meant he was tough enough to be gentle. Her cunt juice was flowing. She was able to catch a whiff of her sex smell as it wafted upwards. She was ready. "Let's at it," she demanded and walked into his embrace. Then she was in his arms his body pressing against hers, and she was walking backwards until her spine pushed against the wall. His body pressed its full weight against hers. Conversation had ended. Apparently, the interview had been terminated. Jane's total being was centered at her cunt where she felt his big, thick, erect, erect cock rubbing hard against the soft outer pad of her cunt, moving hard until his tumescent bone of cock pressed tight against her engorged bud of clit, now swollen out of its hood and tingling madly. She came! Quickly and suddenly a supreme implosion, explosion, misplosion, something grand burst from her clit and spread up and down her body in jubilant frenzy. The orgasm was short, but, wow, was it something. That wasn't too bad for a beginning, was it?" Fanderpeice said. She had forgotten he was there. "Wow," was all she was able to say. Fanderpeice put his hands on her thighs and lifted her legs around his body. Her cunt remained tight against his cock. She wrapped her legs around his body and held on tightly as he carried her across the room to a door she hadn't realized was there into a bedroom and onto a large, soft, bed. As soon as she lay down she opened her legs and spread them widely. His prick entered her cunt and slid in deeply as the inner walls of her wet cunt squeezed around his talented prick. When he had entered fully, the head of his prick as deep as it could go, Jane clenched her pussy muscle and held his rock-hard organ tightly, keeping it from moving. They lay there in the good old reliable missionary position, he on top, his mighty rod deep and tight in her cunt and her pussy muscle clenching and unclenching as their pubic bones rubbed against each other and he maintained the grinding with the slightest circular movement of his ass. And Jane came again. Her engorged clit, trembling and pulsing madly swelled out of its hood. The inner lining of her cunt gripped his instrument tightly. She uttered one continuous bleat of ahs and ous over and over again, softer and louder and then even louder, louder. This orgasm spread from her cunt upwards and downwards, lasted for a long time and warmed her body, everything, to a rosy glow of pure contentment. Her eyes were wide and her mouth opened. She felt his still erect very large penis ease its way out of her throbbing cunt. Fanderpeice sat with a pillow cushioning his back against the wall. He smiled. Her eyes were wide and her mouth opened. She felt his still erect very large penis ease its way out of her throbbing cunt. Peace reigned. From Jane a long sigh and: "God's in his heaven/ All's right with the world." "First the commander and I decided to start this place, Xanadu for ourselves. Then, very quickly, we decided to grow it. Each of us had already achieved all the success we needed or wanted to achieve in a material sense, but we felt empowered and freed to achieve even more now that we were unencumbered by sexual reticence. We began to look around, to see if we could spot other people we thought might profit as we had by being unloosed sexually." Blah, blah, blah thought Jane as Fanderpeice continued talking. Yeah, she wanted to get the information, but right at this moment she was much more fascinated by his semi-flaccid prick. She moved off the bed. She was on the floor, now on her knees. His prick, less flaccid suddenly, was inches from her face. She bent her neck forward and gave that lovely, large prick a gentle kiss, a kiss befitting the pleasure that thick, lovely instrument had bestowed on her. She opened her lips and sucked his penis past her teeth and into the deep recess of her mouth to warm it. She swirled her tongue around its shaft, savoring the sweet taste of her own cunt-juice as she licked it from his prick. Her thumb and forefinger encircled the base of his fuck stick and she gently moved her cupped hand up and down, slowly, tasting all she could and feeling his cock once again become tumescent, hard, strong. She felt the head of his prick now at the back of her throat as he began to move his hips in a slow fucking motion. She felt his prick swell and realized that at any moment she would be tasting and then swallowing his ejaculate. No! Not yet! First she wanted his grand instrument in her cunt again. Fanderpeice recognized Jane's desire and quit his fucking motions. Jane kept his prick in her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock feeling it lose some of its hardness. Then, she moved her tongue forward slowly, softly running it along the underside of his cock, trying to feel with her tongue whether he was becoming fully tumescent again and, then, when it started to harden, she sucked it in all the way again before allowing it to leave her mouth. Jane sat up. "Yoweee," she said, and she lifted her hands up over her head in a gesture of victory. "Now that was good." She continued, "More!" Fanderpeice smiled. "You always say 'yowee' after a good fucking?" he asked. "Don't know," she replied, "let's fuck some more and find out." She lay back down on the bed, spreading her legs and lifting her feet straight up into the air, opening her cunt to Fanderpeice. Actually, she thought, she didn't usually say 'yowee.' As a matter fact, she thought, she could not recall ever having uttered a 'yowee' after having sex. He lay above Jane, supporting most of his weight by extending his arms and flattening his hands on the bed, his body lightly brushing hers as his still-wet-from-her- sucking prick once again began its sliding up and down motion against her cunt. "Fuck me," she said. "Please?" he offered. "Pretty please," she said. With the length of his prick, he parted the lips of her vagina and then invaded the dank, ruby red sanctum of her cunt-juice-wet pussy. She groaned in pleasure. He took her hand and moved it down to her clit. She began to gently rub her clit through its sheath as he began his slow, hard thrusts into her welcoming cunt. She rubbed. He thrust his prick deep towards her cervix. He slipped a finger into the top of her cunt and moved the finger up, pressing from inside her cunt against the outside pressure of her fingers rubbing against her clitoris. The thrusts of his prick deep into her cunt quickened. She began a series of gasping sounds, "Ah, ah, ah...... ." The sound got louder with each of her grunts. His thrusts got deeper. Her grunts turned into a long continuous mewl. His thrusting cock moved faster. She yelled. His cock plunged deeper and harder into her cunt. His chest heaved against her tits. Every nerve in her body tingled. He continued his hard fucking until, at last, she came, and came, and came. Her clit shivered in pleasure and the pleasure engulfed her whole being, spreading from the deepest part of her cunt outward to the lips of her cunt, to her clit, upwards to her stomach, her chest, her neck and the top of her skull, down towards her legs, her feet and her toes. The coming didn't stop. It grew in its intensity. Jane continued with her mewing and growling, coming and coming and coming. Her coming seemed to last forever. Finally, he slipped his cock from the grasping slit of her cunt. Her super sensitized body slowly began to relax, to return to normal. One more note to Dear Reader: Your faithful, author needs to take a short break right now. But worry not. Our tale will continue in the nonce.....and, the author promises that the wait will be worth it. The sex will really get hot then. In Xanadu Ch. 04 "No Yowee this time?" Fanderpeice asked. "Oh there was plenty of Yowee," Jane replied, "Only it was totally internalized. And I do mean totally. My body is still tingling." "You will find when you leave here that you will be ready to go to work and that you will be totally energized for your work, that tensions you didn't even know you were experiencing are gone." "Because we fucked?" "Because we fucked freely." "I always fuck freely." "Like just now?" Jane thought for a moment. Jane was that rare, truly intelligent person who was willing to honestly inspect her own presuppositions. "I guess not really like just now." "No seduction. No gifts. No concerns about relationships?" "But you said I was a member of Xanadu." "You are." "And doesn't that entail some sort of obligation?" "Nope. No obligation. Once in a while you might be asked to join some of us, maybe one of us here for some sex, but you have no obligation to accept the invitation. No penalties if you don't accept. You, as a member, may request a visit when you feel you feel the need for another good relaxation of tension" "A good fucking?" "You might say that in that way." Fanderpeice continued filling Jane in, telling her the details, the facts, the history of Xanadu. Xanadu had thirty-eight members, 19 of either sex. There were few rules. One major rule: a member needed to wait at least seventy-two days after participating in sex at Xanadu before that member could join in for another bout of sex activity at Xanadu or with another Xanadu member. This, explained Fanderpeice, was so that the members would be able to resist the pull of sex and, instead, be able to concentrate on their work. Members did help each other by networking. They shared information a member came into with another member who could profit from it in a professional manner. Jane would be shown a roster of members so that if she did come across some information she knew would be helpful to another member, she could share it with someone who would do the right thing with it. Jane heard what Fanderpeice was saying without really listening. She was capable of remembering what she heard even if she was thinking about other things. So, she allowed Fanderpeice to continue his lecture while she thought of other things. Although Jane had just enjoyed one explodingly quick orgasm, one long, amazingly fulfilling orgasm, and one powerfully extended soul satisfying orgasm---all in rapid succession, she began thinking of another one, her loins warming at the thought. He continued to talk about how members stayed in touch, talked to each other. He explained Xanadu's unhackable, 100% secure web site developed by Steve Wenasky, the founder of computer giant M-Hardware and a member of Xanadu since shortly after its founding. Jane leaned back and let him talk. He told her how the group scouted its membership, that she had been noticed as a possible recruit many years ago, while she was still in college. She spread her thighs. He was talking now about her reporting breakthroughs and how each of them had confirmed her very special talent for writing and reporting. She put a finger in her mouth and sucked on it. He continued talking. She removed her finger and placed it in her cunt. He was talking now about the people she had met and interviewed and who were members of Xanadu and who had championed her nomination to the club, as a matter of fact, urged that she be inducted, first, for her intelligence, ability, originality, and creativity, and second (really tied for first) for her attractiveness, her sexiness and her hot body. Jane, her finger now pressing against her cunt, noticed his relaxed and still beautiful fuck-stick was stirring to life. She smiled. Finally: Fanderpeice stretched, "I guess, I still owe you one," he said. He was smiling now, too. He took her hand and removed it from her cunt. He replaced her hand there with his own. His open hand covered her cunt. The heel of his hand pressed against her clitoris. She lay back, and he moved his head down, covering the lips of her vulva with his mouth. His tongue began to move about the open slit of her cunt exactly as Jane had known for the past few minutes that he would be doing. She shuddered. Her excitement grew. Her thighs closed to hold his head in place. His tongue now moved to rub against her clit. He moved his hand to replace his tongue and separated the lips of her vulva. Jane shuddered. She moaned. She placed her hands at the back of his head and kept them there, gently. He moved his tongue slowly from her clitoris down and with it entered the warm interior of her cunt. The sound of her breathing filled the otherwise silent room. "Wait," she said, spreading her legs wider, making herself comfortable. She sensed that this would take some time. Was she ever right. It took a long time. Oh, he was good! It was something that Jane would never forget, something that she could describe in detail even twenty years later, this fucking. He slid his tongue up all the way past her clit and then, slowly, from her clit, down along the parted lips of her slit, down more, still slowly to the flesh below her cunt and into the curve of her ass, at last into the tight hole of her anus, deep there and hard there. His tongue slithering in and out and in and around while Jane, unable to decide whether to tighten or relax her sphincter muscle, lay and felt the wet soft pleasure of his tongue explore the dark ring of her anal hole. His tongue slipped out and he replaced it with a forefinger from his hand which had never stopped its exploration of her body, the forefinger not yet deep inside, but past the entrance and just deep enough for her to feel its soft pressure. Meanwhile his tongue moved back from her ass to her cunt, sweetly passing just inside the parted, soaking wet lips of her pussy and back up again to her clit, staying there for some time, pressing against the swollen, quivering, now totally comfortable clit and easing and then pressuring against it. She just lay there, her legs splayed wide as possible. His tongue stayed at her clit it seemed forever before, at last, beginning its intrepid, steady, slow journey from her clit to her ass, and then back again to her clit. When his tongue left her clit to begin its downward journey, he moved the finger to cover the needy clit, pressing against Ms. Clit with a slow, soft, steady circular motion until his tongue returned to swirl against it in a wet, pushing, circular motion. Occasionally, when he reached her clit again, he would gently suck it into his mouth, keeping it wet and alive in his mouth with his tongue. An unbidden desire suddenly banished any thought of further passivity, and Jane took hold of Fanderpeice's head, urgently pressing it down hard, hard, HARD against her cunt. She began moving her hips up and down, holding his head tight against her pussy lips as she established the rhythm she was looking for. Fanderpeice found the rhythm too and, like a jazz bassist responding to the beat of a master drummer, began to match his rhythms to hers. Then she lay quietly as he continued the movement of his tongue, lips and hands against her clit, cunt and ass. For a long time neither Fanderpeice nor Jane spoke. The only sound was the sound of Jane's breathing, clearly audible in the room. Then, as the trembling of her clit increased, his tongue pressed harder against it, his chin against the lips of her cunt, his hands now gripping both sides of her ass, holding tight there. Her mind was lost without thought as a wild swirl of color and bright light filled her mind, until, gleefully, she started to have the orgasm that had been building and building. And she came and she came and she came and she came, over and over again forever (or it seemed forever). It stopped. Her climax ended. He moved up from her cunt and offered his tongue to her mouth. Once again, she tasted her own taste, smelled its tart, sweet aroma and enjoyed a peace past any understanding, a restful quiatitude that passed any she had experienced before. It was wonderful. And then Fanderpeice, while he and Jane's mouths held tight and their tongues swirled, adjusted his body to move his penis (it was too gorgeous to call a cock), ok, his cock, ( it was too wonderful to call it only a penis) once again into the grasping hole the good lord had created for it to enter. She same again. And this time it was as good, it seemed, if not better, than the earlier orgasm, orgasms. Fanderpeice finally sat up. After a half minute or so, Jane sat up. "Would you like some fruit?" he asked. Jane shook her head to clear it. What had he asked her? "Some fruit?" he repeated, "pineapple, orange slices, grapes, papaya?" "Oh," she replied, "Oh, yes. Yes. Please." "Coffee?" he added as he stood up. "Yes," she said again. He left the room. Alone in the room, Jane leaned back. Relaxed. She gathered her thoughts, concentrated on the afternoon's events. Never had she ever had an experience even close to the one she had just had. It was as different from any sex she had previously enjoyed as watching Mick Jagger on a You Tube clip compared to sitting fifth row center at a Rolling Stones concert. Her pussy was still wet. Her body, from her toes to her head, was still tremblingly alive; her skin sensitive to any movement, even the stirring of the air in the room. She remembered the sex. Oh, God, she remembered the sex. She wondered if there would be any more. You know, she thought to herself, she would probably have no trouble at all dealing with even more sex. She wondered about the positions they had not yet explored. Her tits were firm, their nipples still tender. Her clit engorged, her pussy lips swollen, her cunt ready for its next intrusion. But, although her body was alive to the idea of more sex, her mind was alert for an end to the session, ready and eager to leave this place, to get in front of her computer, to begin making phone calls, arrange meetings, get to work on her next story. Roger Fanderpeice returned. He was carrying a tray on which were two bowls of beautifully arranged fruit, a carafe full of coffee, and an envelope. He was now wearing a robe, and he carried another robe over his arm. He offered Jane the robe. She put it on. They began to eat the fruit. Fanderpeice pointed to the envelope. "It's got a name and the telephone number of one of our members, Eric Herschman, You will be well served if you call him" "The astrophysicist," Jane said. Herschman was the preeminent astrophysicist in the country, She had once shared a brief time with him in the green room of a television studio as they waited to go on as guests of a late night show. "I believe a story he has to tell will be very interesting," Fanderpeice said. 17 Months Later To say the least, to say that Eric Herschman's story to Jane was very interesting was an understatement of epic proportions. His story had led to a full year of intense archival investigation by Jane, hundreds of interviews, and complicated negotiations with three universities and six governments. It had resulted in Jane's byline, picture, and story appearing under banner headlines in every major newspaper including the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, La Monde, the Guardian, Seoul Shinmun, and Peiping People's Daily. In addition, Jane's picture had appeared on the cover of every major newsmagazine including Time, Newsweek, and Rolling Stone. The Huffington Post had covered her story on its home page with over twenty-six links to blogs and magazine coverage. The story Jane had uncovered had led to every major award imaginable, even to the rumor that she would be in line for a Nobel Prize. The Macarthur award she had won was no surprise at all. The United Nation's Security Council had had two separate meetings (the second with 107 world leaders in attendance) to discuss Jane Bederson's revelations. But now, at last, the furor over the story Jane had developed was quieting down. And now Jane was back at the entrance to Xanadu. She was ready for a much needed session of what she termed "a sex-tension cleansing." Never had Jane worked so hard on a story. No one involved had wanted to let the information out. Hidden, covered up, destroyed, denied, kept completely under wraps, the information about the alien who had landed on Earth was carefully, artfully, covered up for more than 50 years. The coverup had even included a false rumor about an alien landing, a rumor that was just weak enough to be ignored by responsible sources. Governments had feared what the aliens' fellow extra-terrestrials might do had they been able to discover that the alien who had landed had been killed, shot to death by a deranged guard. Jane had to remind herself that it was a mere year and a half since she had been introduced to Xanadu. She had been so busy that she had been back to Xanadu only once since her initial visit, her induction to its membership. That one return visit had happened about a year ago and had followed a phone call from Roger Fanderpeice. The Commander had asked for her appearance at Xanadu. When she arrived at the appointed time (she could not easily ignore a request from The Commander), she was surprised to meet not only The Commander, but Kay Maxwell, Martha Quinn, and Harriet Ott. They had all been there and what had ensued was the warmest, most exciting, interesting and revelatory seven hours of sexual pleasure she had experienced since her first session with Fanderpeice. The quartet had thought it helpful to Jane to spend the sex filled hours with them as she labored at getting the story right. The experience, it turned out, had been the perfect antidote to the tension she was under while working on the expose. It was more than satisfactory for them too. But that was another story: ******************* Right at this moment, Jane was at the door of the Xanadu East Side mansion at her own request. She had called and asked Roger Fanderpeice for the visit. She needed a renewal of the tension easing, libido unblocking, ability intensifying sexual fulfillment that only Xanadu was able to offer. She rang the bell at Xanadu's door. The door opened Jane walked into the mansion. It was dark, and there was no one there to greet her. But Jane had been forewarned and had been provided with a map which led her through an inner door, down a corridor, up a short flight of stairs, and into the Black Room. She had been told about the The Black Room in the same message that had contained the map. The room had been designed and developed by a physicist member of Xanadu in collaboration with the light artist Martha Quinn. All light had been removed from the room, in which it was now impossible to see anything although Jane had been told that miniature lens allowing them to see had been fitted for the people entering the room, but not for Jane. Other than that she would be enveloped by perfect darkness, she had no idea of what form her experience today would take. She trusted Fanderpeice and Xanadu with out reservation, so, when she spoke with him, Jane had asked only that he arrange a session for her. And here she was. She could see nothing, so she stood still. Then, she felt each of her arms gripped by what felt like two pair of hands and she was led to what felt like a soft, long but narrow padded table. She was lifted onto the table. The hands left her. She could hear slight noise in the room, the shuffling of feet, the rustle of material, a whisper of sound, the scraping of a chair (?) on the ground. A picture of "The Alien" flashed before her eyes for less than a second and then disappeared. She began to relive her quest for the story, remember the tips, the weeks and months spent in archives, at the Air Force base outside of Washington, the interviews with the former Presidents, the breakthrough when China's premier agreed to allow her presence during The Contact. Her heart rate had increased, her blood pressure risen when, suddenly, two hands, she couldn't tell if it was the same two hands, laid her down. She heard soft, insistent, quieting music. Jane felt hands moving over her body. Gradually, gently, the hands began to remove her clothing. The sex was about to begin. So fully had Jane been engaged in the story that she had rarely thought about sex, had hardly considered it. Yet, at some level, the basic understanding that Xanadu would offer her sexual relief when, finally, she needed it, had allowed her to continue her work on the story. Her clothing had been removed. She was naked now, lying on some sort of a platform. It was comfortable. The room was pleasantly warm. Jane was ready to shed all the tension of the last year and a half. Even after the story had been published, Jane had been unable to rest. She had been overwhelmed by the follow ups to the story: the interviews, the tv appearances, the award dinners, the negotiations for a book. Sex, that's what Jane was in need of now. The relief of a good fucking! That is what she was now waiting for. She could feel now warm hands moving over her body. They were softly spreading an aromatic unguent over her body. It felt smooth and silky. The touches from those around her were delicate. Occasionally, Jane felt a hand linger underneath her breast and gently press there. Gradually, Jane felt the hands linger as she was turned over and the hands continued the application of the lotion to her naked skin with a slow massaging motion. She could see nothing. She could hear an occasional murmur, a voice either directing the next movement or apologizing for an inadvertent jostle. But, mainly, Jane felt: She felt the gentle massage of quiet hands anointing her with the sweet lotion. Eventually her whole body, front and back, top to bottom, was covered by the warm, sweet lotion. And then the unguent was removed, slowly gently. She could feel the warmth from hands, some obviously female, some male, brushing against her body, rubbing against her legs, her stomach, her back, her neck, her buttocks to remove the lotion. Jane felt relaxed, her body was at ease and comfortably warm. Still, she could see nothing. She wasn't sure how many people were attending her, but she was sure the people were both male and female. She occasionally felt a breast brush against her leg, a penis brush against her shoulder. She could hear an odd exhalation of breath from one of those in the room, but mostly she was able only to smell a faint, sweet odor and feel an overwhelming relaxation of tension until, suddenly, it all changed. There was no warning. Jane felt an open hand cover her groin, grip hard , its palm pressing against the swollen lips of her cunt, its fingers squeezing her ass. Another pair of hands gripped her legs at the thighs, holding onto the muscles there. Jane's own breathing rapidly grew deeper and louder. A third pair of hands began to fondle her breasts. Their touch was delicate. She felt her nipples harden. More hands began to touch Jane. They were everywhere at every part of her fully exposed body, her calves, her ankles, the soles of her feet, her neck, her forehead, her upper chest, her stomach, her back. Jane let out an involuntary moan. The experience she was having was total.. Then she felt the palm of the hand that had remained pressing against her cunt increase the pressure there with a slow, semi-circular motion which became heavier and more insistently hard against her cunt as it continued. She let out another moan, this time louder, and, now, the hand moved while its palm pressed against her clitoris. Two fingers snaked into her cunt. Another hand moved under her, pushing against her glutes and one oily finger entered her rectum. Jane began to shudder as pleasurable sensation excited every part of her body. Again, another loud moan escaped from her lips. The fingers in her cunt and the finger in her ass began to move deeper into her body. Another finger pressed against the lips of her mouth. It entered her mouth, and Jane began hungrily sucking it. She realized that ideas or words were unable to describe what she was feeling. Her thoughts were wholly of feeling, of sensation, of a sensual flooding and the quivering excitement thrilling every nerve in her body. In Xanadu Ch. 04 She had been right to trust Xanadu to take good care of her, Jane thought. It was good to allow these unknown others free access her body, good for her to be pleasured so, with no need for her to direct their movements, no need for her to attempt to control anything. Her only role was to feel! This was freedom! Jane felt the fingers exploring her cunt continue their movement while the palm of the hand pressed harder against her now engorged clitoris. Her moaning increased, her breathing grew deeper. Her body, hands massaging everywhere, was on fire. She felt a penis touch against her hand and she closed her hand to hold it. She felt a woman's breast against her face and tried desperately to capture it into her mouth. Sensation filled every part of her body, but, somehow, it was not enough. "Please, please," Jane began to utter, not knowing, really what the please was asking for, except that she wanted more, more of what she didn't know, just more. More. "Please" she continued and now the 'please' was more of a moan than it was a particular request. The hands and fingers pressing, touching, exploring her body continued their movements, and Jane continued a steady moaning and now purring sound as feeling dominated every inch of her body. Jane attempted to relax the intensity of her experience by trying to think of other things, where she was, how she had arrived here, the identity of those around her, but she was unable to escape into her mind for more than a second before she was engulfed by an overwhelming sensation of sensual fulfillment. Aroused wasn't an adequate description of what she was feeling. Her clit was tumescent, swollen out of its covering sheath, her cunt wet with its juice now flowing copiously and continuously. The shuddering of her body, which she hadn't even realized was continuing unabated, seemed to be ready to explode into a grand tingle of sensation that would become an enormous climax. But the climax didn't come! The fingers in her cunt and ass stopped moving. The palm of the hand continued to press against her clit but didn't move; the pressure remained constant but unvarying. She was so close to coming. She moaned again and again. Her whole body was on the edge of a huge orgasm. It was as if she had just run up a mile long hill but was now stopped, running in place, unable to reach the crest just a couple of yards away. All was quiet around her. Then Jane heard the rustle of movement, of breathing, a hushed whisper. She wanted to scream it, but all Jane was able to do was whisper, "Please, please," over and over again. She wanted to come! She needed the orgasm! Jane reached out her hand and felt the hip of one of the people around her. Desperately, she snaked her hand around the body until she found his cock. It was hard. It was large, and heavy; it was thick. She held it tight. Oh, she wanted her own orgasm, but if they wouldn't let her come, she would have him cum, his orgasm in place of the one she needed. She gripped his cock in her tight fist and began to wank it at a frenzied pace. She couldn't come, but she would feel his cum, his jism splash against her face. As she continued her mad wanking movements of his cock, she felt, suddenly, a woman's cunt rest against her face. The cunt was wet and Jane could smell its musky odor reeking from the dark, dank interior. Jane opened her mouth and thrust her tongue past the open lips of the cunt to taste the pussy juice. She needed more sensuality....anything. All the while, she continued her hectic pulling and yanking of the man's dick. She was in a sexual delirium. Jane slurped from the cunt at her lips, she seethed with need as the orgasm she wanted so much was kept from her. Then the man's penis erupted with its orgasm, spilling its jism onto her body. She could feel its pasty thickness resting on her chest, her tits. her neck. She could feel, as she slurped from the cunt at her face, the woman's clit awake and engorged. Jane snaked her tongue up inside the cunt to press against the inside bone beneath the clit. She could feel the woman fingering her own clit until the woman let out a stifled scream and began to shudder her own creaming orgasm. Jane felt the man's cum on her body and tasted the woman's cum on her tongue. Her hands were free, but Jane was unable to bring them to her clit, her own cunt to bring herself to orgasm. The someone's hand that covered her cunt stayed there, not moving, pressing down relentlessly. Her clit wanted rubbing. Her cunt wanted fucking. Her ass wanted the finger that was still inside her there to move. Every part of her wanted. They couldn't keep her this way for much longer, Jane thought. "Please," Jane whispered again. This was torture, she thought. Every nerve in her body had been brought to a heightened sense of excitement, to the brink of a huge orgasm but had been stopped there, not allowed to glory in the grand relief the orgasm would bring. She wanted it. She needed it. "Please," she said again, louder this time. She strained to hear a response to her plea. She could hear movement around her. She could feel a stirring of air in the dark room. But nothing was visible. There was no response. She was able to taste and smell the sweet musky vaginal discharge still wet around her lips and her chin and nose. Jane reveled in the smell and taste, in the feel of the man's cum still on her chest. It could not of itself bring her to the orgasm she so wanted, but it was able to keep her excited, sustained and totally immersed in her sexual need. Jane thought that what she was feeling was a sort of agony, but an agony that she understood (while her body felt only an overwhelming need) would be ended at some point and that when it was ended, would result in an orgasm of huge proportion. She realized that she needed to be patient, to wait and that her patience would be rewarded. But the soft cry of, "please," escaped her lips once again as she tried to be patient waiting for the fulfillment she craved. Jane felt, finally, the fingers that had been in her cunt begin to move, spread the loose lips of her vulva. Her breathing increased in pace, became deeper. The outer lips of her cunt were swollen, the pink inner lips exposed, the sodden vagina, warm, wet and contracting wildly. She was ready to receive what it needed,------ a long, hard, thick prick. She needed for her cunt to be invaded by a penis so large that she would be able to feel it everywhere. Again there was movement around her. This time she felt a body joining hers on the platform. The body was on its knees. Hands pulled Jane's legs apart and the body lay down, atop of Jane. No penis. It was a woman's body. Jane felt the woman's breasts against hers. She felt the woman's stomach rest against her own. She felt the woman's cunt lips against Jane's own cunt lips, the woman's clitoris pushing against Jane's own clitoris. Jane felt the woman's thighs brushing against the inside of Jane's outstretched legs. And then the grinding began. The woman who so perfectly was covering Jane's body with her own began to grind her pussy in a strong circular motion against Jane's. The grinding motion hard and quick. Jane felt her clit begin to shudder as the woman's clit pushed against hers and brought Jane's clit with hers in a quick, circular motion. The woman's tongue pushed into Jane's open mouth and as their tongues mimicked their clits' circling motion, Jane felt a finger enter into her rectum again. They were kissing and grinding and pressing body against body and Jane felt her whole being ready, finally, to explode into the orgasm she had been so greedy for, so hungry for, so desperate for! She opened her mouth wide to let out a scream and felt the woman's tongue enter deeper into hers. She felt the woman's hands pushing through Jane's hair to grasp her skull. Above all, she felt her clit being pressured and massaged by the woman's until, until the long delayed orgasm began. First her clit, then her cunt, then her thighs, then her stomach: her breasts, her knees, her neck, her calves, every part of her began a shuddering quiver of pure, intense orgasm. And it didn't end. Hands replaced the woman's cunt, a man's penis replaced the woman's tongue in Jane's mouth. The woman had escaped from between Jane's legs and a man was laying there. He snaked his cock into Jane's too long empty cunt and her orgasm continued. And it continued. Pricks replaced pricks; cunts, cunts; mouths, mouths. Hands were replaced by other hands. Sometimes the sex stopped and Jane was allowed to relax. Once , when the sex stopped, Jane was offered a cup of coffee, once some newly cut fruit. Once Jane was permitted to fall asleep for a little while. When she awoke, the sex began again. The orgasms started again. Jane could feel her body wet from her own and the others' sweat. Cunt juice, her own and other women's, soaked her legs, her body, her face, mingling with sperm from how many men she lost count of. The smell of sex permeated the room. Jane could hear the sound of the other's breathing, grunting. Her own voice continued moaning and groaning and she could only mutter over and over again, "yes, yes, yes." All the while, her orgasms continued unabated. Finally, after how long she couldn't tell: time had stopped while her orgasms had gone on and on. Jane could not have estimated how long the sex, from the moment she had entered the dark room until now had lasted. Everyone had gone. At least Jane was not able to hear anyone else in the room. Light began to filter into the room, gradually brightening until Jane could see around her. The room was empty of other people. Jane felt tired but, at the same time, reenergized and ready to go. She sat up and looked around. At one end of the room was a door that was open. She could see that it led to a shower room. Jane got off the sperm and cunt juice soaked platform she had been lying on and began to move towards the shower. Clean, dry, her body fresh, her hair combed, her clothes, which had been laid out neatly in the shower room, put on, Jane breathed deeply. On a small table near the door lay an envelope. It was the same color and shape as the envelope she had been given nearly two years ago. Jane smiled. She wondered if Fanderpeice had been one of those who had delivered sexual pleasure to her in the room. No matter if he had been, he had arranged it. There would be more visits to Xanadu. She hoped the next visit would occur in less time than this visit had taken. Well, she would see. Jane opened the envelope. Inside the envelope was a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it. Written on the unfolded paper was a short message. It said that H. C. Sarikoff had requested that she visit him at his home in Vermont. He wished to be interviewed by Jane. A date, a time, a telephone number was included. She was exultant. Sarikoff was the notoriously reclusive author whose novels forty years ago had dominated best seller lists for years until he had suddenly stopped publishing and moved to Vermont where he had refused all interview requests for over 3 decades. Rumors abounded about his writing. Stories circulated about his life, but nothing had been verified for all those years. He had refused all overtures for meetings. The citizens of the small community in which he lived had protected him from all outsiders. His life was the proverbial enigma wrapped in a conundrum. His plans, any new writings, why he had decided to seclude himself, had been argued about and discussed for all these years, but no authoritative explanation had ever been forthcoming. And now, Jane Bederson had been offered this, another scoop of a lifetime. Was she happy to have been asked to join Xanadu? She didn't feel it necessary to answer that question. Dear Reader: Your servant, ILienBagby, the author of the foregoing tale, has prepared two more additions to the story of Xanadu; however, puzzled by the lack of response from readers of the story so far, he is wondering whether or not he should continue to post further episodes. Readers wishing to explore further adventures from Xanadu may express that wish in the box so kindly provided by the prescient webmasters of Literotica at the end of each chapter. The author waits for comments before posting other chapters of this submission. One more thing. One reader has asked to learn the derivation of the name "Xanadu." Of course it is taken from the unfinished poem by the 19th century English poet, Samuel Taylor Coleridge which begins : In Xanadu/Did Kubla Kahn a stately pleasure dome decree.......... More to follow? Depends on response!