There wasn't an adult in the land that didn't know what her family did. There wasn't a tabloid editor on Fleet Street that hadn't paid out hard cash for sex tapes containing her or her family. They were notorious; famous almost. Salacious details of the exploits became Internet folklore, the stuff of legend.
Everyone knew of the McAllister family. The father, Clifford, had "betrayed" his expensive education and status. He was, technically, the 2nd Viscount of Greysford but he was no "toff." The billionaire had added to his vast inherited fortune with a suite of highly profitable pornographic studios. The stepmother, Rebecca, was sixteen years his junior, and a retired pornographic actress. The billionaire's wife's supposed nymphomania was well-documented and much ridiculed in the tabloid press who were merciless in their cruel condemnation of the brunette's sexuality. The eldest son, Michael, organised exclusive sex parties in fashionable city hotspots such as Soho, Monaco and Dubai, while the eldest daughter, Alexandria, was a world-famous dominatrix in New York. The upper-class family oozed sex and scandal, lust and licentiousness. They lived for obscenity, ignored the ridicule.
It was the youngest daughter, Katherine, who I came to know. She was the girl was secretly recorded sodomising the International footballer on her eighteenth birthday with an ten-inch strap-on. It got her on the front and back pages of the national tabloids, as the video of the cocky England international doing unnatural things to a black rubber dong brought him much derision from the fans. Football terraces are unforgiving.
Katherine was also the girl who captured my heart and my lust.
Not that I had any inkling that she would. I met her on Freshers' Week at University; the campus accommodation officer assigned us to rooms on adjoining corridors. I was captivated by her personality from the very first time I met her: there was no power in my room, and I knocked on adjacent rooms to ask if they had the same problems with their electricity before I complained.
Pure beauty opened the door: soft, radiant skin and deep blue eyes that oozed seduction. She had long, straight blonde hair that reached her shoulder blades and a warm, friendly smile that beamed as she looked at me.
And she was naked. I had to double-take.
I gulped, almost forgetting my reason for knocking on her door; the girl who had spent so much time in every national newspaper was beckoning me into her room. She was a minor celebrity, and I got to see all of her. It was a dream, a wild fantasy. I had masturbated to the video on the Internet porno-tube sites and seeing her so vividly au-naturel was an erection causer.
She knew this; a wry grin seeped from her lips as she glanced at the bulge in my shorts. I naturally looked around her room: her bin overflowing with discarded boxes of sex toys. She had boxes of condoms and lubricant on her shelf and there was an erotic novel on her bedside table. She offered me a drink from her drinks fridge as she needlessly introduced herself. I knew of Katherine McAllister.
But I didn't know Katherine McAllister. I may have thought I did, but I only had preconceptions and as I found out, they were wildly inaccurate. She was smart: unbelievably clever and incredibly astute. The more time I spent with her, the more I realised the odious comments from the Internet trolls were tragically wrong. We had enlisted onto the same Mathematics course and it became natural for us to study together; we became good friends as we mutually enjoyed each other's company. I helped her connect her laptop to the University network and we spent several evenings drinking alcohol, curled up on her bed by ourselves or with other students, as we watched films or just chatted the night away.
And Katherine rarely wore any clothes in her room, or mine. She encouraged me to do the same and sometimes I did. It was dangerous: the incredible sexiness of the liberal beauty was an arousing sight and I frequently had to hide erections from her. In hindsight it was silly, but I didn't want to damage my blossoming friendship with a fantastic confidante by inappropriately revealing my stiff cock to her.
Katherine's love life was tumultuous. She raced through boyfriends at a phenomenal rate and had even more one night stands; she confided her secrets to me. Her descriptions of her sex and the angst it caused tortured me. I longed for a relationship and her rampant sex contrasted with my unintended and unwanted abstinence.
She realised my desperation and she loved to tease. One cold, November evening we had tickets for free entry to the local student nightclub. We had agreed to go and at the agreed time, I banged on her door, dressed and ready to drink the night away. She beckoned me into her room: still naked and wet from the shower. "We'll be late," I moaned, but Katherine rarely cared for punctuality, rubbing her lithe body with her pink towel and smirking as my eyes took in the delicate curves of the beautiful student. I never tired of her gorgeous body, and she loved to exhibit herself.
She mewed as she rubbed between her legs; deliberately touching her bare mound with her fingers when rough towel was discarded onto the floor. She fell onto the bed. "Won't be a moment," she panted, opening her bedside table to retrieve one of her hundreds of sex toys. "Make yourself ... comfortable!"
The pink vibrator drew groans from her lips as she pressed it against her crack, sliding the toy along her slit as I stared at the sight in front of me. I was shocked by her lewdness. Did she want me to watch? Did she even forget it was me present and not one of her many lovers? The exhibitionist whimpered as her toy swept over her clit, rotating the trembling rubber toy against her sensitive regions.
I watched: my erection pressing against my cotton briefs as her fingers darted over her hairless mons to control the vibrating dildo and press it against her opening. I felt a shiver as the head slowly disappeared, ensnared by her pussy and exchanged for a cacophony of loud groans and yells.
Her body seized and shook; her dripping snatch adoring the quivering toy slamming against her G-Spot. She erupted into a climax and she lay motionless on the bed, drained and sated.
"I needed that," she simpered, discarding her toy in the en-suite's sink and pocketing a packet of condoms into her handbag. She would need them; she always did.
When I talk to Katherine about that moment now, she confesses that she was sending me a signal: she was trying to capture my attention but at the time I thought she was out of my league. In a way I still do, but back then, she was completely unattainable. She was my friend, and I treasured her friendship. I thought she had no sexual interest in me because I was not sexy.
Even when she travelled to my house for the New Year celebrations at my family's modest abode and we spent the night naked in my double bed, curled up together and holding each other tight as we drifted away into slumber, we could be nothing more than a rich girl with a poor friend.
What could I offer her? She had the pick of any man, she had more money than I could ever earn and everyone loved her. I couldn't even offer her good sex: I didn't have the experience. Three times with a nervous, fumbling girlfriend didn't make me experienced, and she loved men who were.
My birthday arrived in February; she treated me a revolutionary new male masturbator: a curved vibrating pad that stimulated the head and frenulum. I blushed when I opened the wrapping; my cheeks blushed when she tugged at my pyjamas to my knees to try it on me.
Her soft hands swept over my pubic hair as she pushed me onto my bed and rolled her hands over my erect prick. "Do you have any lube?" She asked: a patently absurd question to ask a man who had not had sex for over a year. "Oh never mind."
Her lips rolled over the head of my shaft; I nearly came. My legs quivered as I groaned, feeling the cool rush of gentle sexual stimulation warm my loins. The wet moistness felt divine; her lips sensually fantastic. The toy pressed against my cock and she flicked it on, smiling as I gasped. The vibrations were intensely satisfying, my cock pulsing under her touch as my loins squirmed.
She smiled at my writhing, watching as my mind fogged from the lust. "And then you get your lover to suck the end of your cock until you come," she seductively suggested, running her tongue across my prick and sucking the glans.
"Oh no! Oh God! Katherine! Katherine!" I cried, panicking as I felt the familiar surge of my arousal past the point of no return. I held onto my orgasm, whimpering and panting as my muscles agonising burnt. I could hold on no more. She needed to stop sucking; I was about to cum in her mouth. "Katherine!" I squealed desperately through my pants, as my body drove me into a climax; the first surge of my semen squirting onto her tongue.
I was mortified; she smiled. The minx was unmoved by the waves of cum flooding into her mouth. She nonchalantly swallowed my deposit, and beamed. "But..."
"What? Good toy isn't it?"
"You ... ate my spunk." Katherine shrugged. "That's ... wow! Just disgusting but..."
"It's not battery acid," she teased, running her hands over my spent body. "It's nice. Try it." She caused a flood of arousal as her fingers gripped the base of my cock and swept upwards, milking the last of my cum onto her dainty fingers.
My heart quickened. "I'm not gay!"
.... There is more of this story ...