Carol (Carol Schmidt Series)

by Cook, Lori

  Helpless to stop herself, she unbuttoned her shirt and lowered the other cup. Her breasts hung down, pert and sagging only slightly, and perfectly, agonizingly natural. Whenever she was in a locker room, women would simply stare; given the right opportunity, she knew, half the women there would have sucked her tits without the least qualm.

  She took her right breast in both hands and examined the nipple, licking her fingers then applying playful rotating movements from the edge to the dark center, circling and tweaking, watching the dark skin contract and thicken, its color intensifying. Her hips were riding backward and forward a little now, and between her legs she felt herself responding, getting ready, warming up nicely.

  She lifted the breast until she could flick its rubbery tip with her tongue. A moment later and all attempts at delicacy vanished. She was sucking hard, the breast in her mouth, half-choking on it, saliva dribbling from her lips. She drew the breast out and moved it across her mouth, letting the nipple drag against the skin of her face, before sucking it up again, drawing it into her mouth, eyes closed, slobbering like a dog as the taste of her own tit sent her dizzy.

  God, this is great! she told herself, feeling like a kid in a toyshop. On she went, one breast then the other, licking and slurping, almost giggling with the sheer delight of it. She let them hang loose, glistening with saliva, then took each one into her mouth again, more hungrily now, as if she literally couldn’t get enough of herself.

  And all the time, she kept thinking about that ecclesiastical fool behind her, insisting that she banish all her shame and self-concealment. If only he knew what she was capable of! If only he knew how little shame she felt when it came to her own gorgeous, insatiable body.

  It was too much. Before she knew it she’d plunged a hand down into her pants, cupping it against the warm mound of her sex, feeling the springy bush through the cotton of her panties, moist and promising. Her thighs widened to let the hand in, and there she remained, riding it with slow gyrations, her ass now pushing backward and forward enough to give any man a hard-on, whatever professional garb he was wearing.

  Father Hernández was a weak man, the Cardinal had told her. He had fallen for the icy charms of Ms. Lescheva. It had been Irina Lescheva who chose this church, just as she had chosen a number of other churches previously, poor places, where life is cheap and hope is easily bought. Father Hernández was not directly involved, other than through Irina, acting as her translator and her intermediary, since she spoke no Spanish. But, of course, he also made sure he got his pound of flesh.

  Poor Father Hernández! Only the Cardinal knew what was going to happen to him. Perhaps he would claim innocence, taking his pleasure passively, sitting there behind her on the sofa and touching nothing. Did he somehow believe himself to be free of sin. Un-touching, untouchable?

  To hell with it, she told herself as she delved inside her panties, finding them already wet. If he wanted sin, he’d chosen the right girl. And the wrong one.

  She slipped a finger between the lips of her sex and began to explore herself, her ass lowering a little further as she widened her stance. She hoped he was still concentrating...

  There she remained, rising and falling slightly, a hand deep between her legs and the other still fondling her breasts, eyes closed, her knees bending as she relished this unexpected opportunity to bring herself off. She imagined what she must look like from behind, her ass pushed out and her upper body leaning forward as she stroked and pulled on her tits, occasionally lifting one and sucking it.

  From his position on the sofa, could the priest see her hand inside her pants? Could he make out the movement of her fingers as they ran up and down her slit, the whole hand crabbing up as she eased a finger inside, her pelvis jumping in tiny little jerks?

  She longed to watch herself, to be there on the sofa looking at her own butt rise and fall. She knew how horny it must have been, and, as always, it turned her on to know someone was seeing all this.

  Gradually, her thumb worked its way up and found the clitoris. Hot and slippery against its tight little hood of skin, she hardly needed to touch it, carefully nudging it up and down as she shivered with pleasure.

  Time stood still. How long was it? She had no idea, drifting in and out of full consciousness as the faint little flurries of delight became more powerful, her mouth contorted, open wide, drinking in the air in big, helpless breaths.

  Then, quite suddenly, a beautiful stabbing sensation rushed through her crotch, sending shards of intense, almost painful ecstasy up into her belly and down deep into her ass.

  A hollow, huffing sound arose in her throat. The noise brought her out of her reverie. When she looked around, she noticed that Irina was now sitting on the closest of the three sofas, watching with a calm, contained expression. But however contained the expression was, the Russian’s eyes were wide open, and there was no doubting that she was way into this. No doubt at all.

  Carol didn’t know whether to continue. Did the “test” finish here? Her ass was still grinding in thin air, so she carried on, finger-fucking herself gently through the aftershock of the orgasm, her hand sticky with pussy juice, the top of her thighs wet with it too. The silence of the room was broken only by a series of regular wincing sounds, which she realized were her own.

  Then they stopped. Everything stopped. She felt the hot walls of her pussy press against her fingers, which were a little way inside her, but had come to a halt. From behind her she heard Father Hernández rise from his seat and make his way to the door, his footsteps quick, his steps short. If he was aroused, he was hiding it well beneath his long black cassock.

  Only when he was about to open the door did he turn and look briefly back at the two of them, a flash of crushing shame in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure what he’d done, or, perhaps, what he was about to miss.

  Then he was gone. With her eyes still on the door, Carol started to move her hand again, withdrawing her finger and running it quickly up and down the length of her sex until she was trembling, her butt jerking, her legs spread wide.

  As she came again, she let her fingers rest on her wet pubes, her pelvis moving of its own accord with hard little spasms.

  And there she remained, her whole body spinning with the most unexpectedly deep feeling of satisfaction as the climax finally receded. However, she was still aware of Irina behind her, and as she let her pleasure subside, she wondered what the next part of the initiation was going to entail.

  Chapter Eight

  Irina Lescheva was a recent arrival at the church of San Filipe. She never stayed in any one place long, and tonight would be her last night here. The business she conducted through the social centers of different churches across the continent was high risk, and she moved around a lot, making detection difficult. She had been on the Cardinal’s radar for several years, and now, after a long and frustrating search, he had caught up with her.

  This evening’s business was to result in considerable extra income for Father Hernández, which was precisely why Irina managed to inveigle her way into places like this: she paid well. Tonight’s plan, though, was going to suffer some last-minute alterations.

  “Did you enjoy that?” Irina said, her accent somehow stronger when she whispered.

  She watched as Carol slowly removed her hand from her pants.

  “Yes,” Carol said, still with her back to the Russian, making it sound as if she was overcome by guilt, unable to turn and face her.

  “It is good,” Irina whispered. “It is good. Very.”

  Carol stayed where she was. And there they remained, neither of them moving, not looking at each other.

  The expectation was just right. She could tell how horny Irina must be by now. This wasn’t just business. This was pleasure. Between them the air was electric. They were both as horny as hell. Yet they didn’t move.

  “What,” Carol said, in a low, tentative voice, “what shall I do?”

  “Anything,” Irina replied, “anything and everything.
Free yourself. Show me everything.”

  Carol nodded, obedient. For a moment she seemed to consider the instructions. Then she slowly removed her shirt and let it fall to the floor. She loosened her pants and slid them down over her hips.

  She turned around, but kept her eyes to the floor, as if still in the painful process of renouncing all bodily shame. She used a single finger to circle her sex, just the lightest of touches, almost as if she was showing Irina where it was.

  Her breasts swung loose, hanging over her bra. She stopped touching herself and unclipped the bra at the back, letting it fall to the ground. For a second she remained like that, letting her tits hang there in all their glory.

  Then she began to toy with them, lifting each to her mouth and sucking, her eyes closed, her breath heavy. Her other hand returned to her sex, easing two fingers inside herself and letting the rocking of her body move against them.

  The only sounds in the room were the lapping of her tongue on her breasts and, even quieter still, the softest of moans. She drew her fingers out and brought her hand to her mouth, licking each finger then rubbing them against her nipples, tasting herself until there was nothing left to taste.

  Then the hand was sent back down between her legs, which were inching wider and wider. Her fingers disappeared inside again, as if her pussy was sucking them in.

  Still she kept her eyes closed. And now, as her pelvis rolled and twisted, she heard another noise. In front of her on the sofa there was movement, the faint rustle of clothes being carefully rearranged.

  She ignored it. Her own pants had by now fallen to the floor. She stepped out of them, still averting her eyes from Irina, and turned around to face the door again, her back to Irina. Lifting one foot and resting it on the sofa there, she bent over and sank forward, her other foot still on the ground, her ass pushed up into the air. With one arm she steadied herself on the sofa, and with the other she reached down between her legs.

  “Yes,” she heard from behind her.

  But it was not meant as encouragement. It was involuntary.

  Reaching all the way back between her legs she fingered the top of her panties and pulled them down over her butt, leaving them tight across her thighs, her ass on full view. She imagined Irina behind her on the sofa fingering herself, watching the show with that especially naughty delight that comes when something surpasses all expectations.

  Carol traced the outer edges of her vagina, now slippery and hot, beautifully engorged and vulnerable. She eased the lips gently apart, knowing what a gorgeous sight it was, the dark, almost brown skin of the outer lips, those irresistible butterfly wings, and the tighter, pinker flesh within.

  For a while she simply displayed herself, glorying in her own magnificence. It wasn’t unknown for her lovers to lick and kiss and suck her down there until they were totally spent; horny-as-hell men who went down on her and just stayed there, unable to stop, until they were too exhausted to do anything else, having brought themselves off on the very taste of her amazing, irresistible sex.

  Behind her the rustle of clothing continued. What did Irina have in store? Carol hardly cared. This was her show now, and she was loving it. She ran a finger up and down the length of her sex, then on as far as the butt hole, which was tight and pert and just slightly protruding. Her finger remained there for a second or two, enough pressure to tease a little shiver out of herself, then slid back down into the wetness of her slit.

  Her legs were straining against the panties. So she stood up and took them off, then flopped forward on the sofa once more, kneeling this time. Her face was pressed down into the cushion of the sofa, her ass high in the air as she spread herself.

  She felt the cool air on her sex and ass, as now she seemed to open up further. She got two fingers inside and began to fuck herself in a slow, deliberate rhythm. With the other hand she reached beneath her and placed the tip of her index finger on her clitoris.

  The movement of her pelvis increased until she was thrusting hard in the air, so hard that it appeared that someone was taking her from behind. Her finger began to rub her clit more firmly, pushing down on the taught little nexus of pleasure as it started to release new hot waves of delight.

  She was riding herself hard, each ridge of ecstasy coming faster, one after the other. Her ass was twisting and thrusting, each new jerk accompanied by a sharp wince from deep in her throat.

  She came with a sudden, massive moan. Her body seized up, her hand pushing hard into her pussy, the sweet-salt smell of her sex suddenly pungent on the air.

  For the second time tonight, an orgasm was followed by the thought: what now? In normal circumstances she would have licked her fingers greedily, then let them go back for more.

  But this was not normal. She was in a church social center pretending to demonstrate how sexually liberated she was, to a woman who was pretending to be from a spiritually oriented commune. That’s a lot of pretence when you’re butt naked on a sofa, legs spread, trembling after a huge, self-administered orgasm.

  As she remained there, wondering what to do, there was also something horny going on behind her on the sofa. Even as the last delightful shivers of joy receded from between Carol’s legs, she could sense that this was just the beginning, that Irina wanted more. Which was fine by her. The evening was only going to end one way, but in the meantime this was nothing more than two consenting adults enjoying each other’s company.

  Finally, Carol turned around and sat there on the edge of the sofa. She was naked and her head was bowed. But gradually she opened her eyes and looked up. Irina was sitting back on the sofa opposite. She wore a plain pink bra and what appeared to be a G-string. The rest of her clothes were beside her on the sofa.

  “Do you feel free?” she asked, still that slightly clinical tone of voice. But it was a shallow pretence, and through the pink fabric of her G-string the outline of her swollen pussy was clear to see.

  “I could feel freer,” Carol whispered.

  Why not! she told herself, as she saw the small silver crucifix around Irina’s neck glint in the half-light of the room. This might be the last thing that Irina would enjoy for a while, and if they both needed to keep up the pretence, then so be it. There was no need for honesty here: Irina was a trafficker of the worst kind, a human trafficker. And Carol, tonight’s sexy young exhibit, was supposed to be her latest piece of merchandise.

  But tonight it was Irina who was going to get screwed.

  “I feel,” Carol continued, letting an air of confidence creep into her voice, “I feel as if I can show you more. I want to show you everything. To persuade you that I am ready.”

  “Then do it,” Irina said. “Do it to me.”

  “Yes.”

  Without any further words, Irina got up, turned her back on Carol, and assumed precisely the same kneeling position on the sofa, her face pressed down into the cushions, butt in the air.

  Her legs were close together, but that was only so that they could be pulled apart as she was handled from behind. The pose, then, was modest, despite its flagrant sexuality. In effect, she was giving herself up, asking to be taken.

  So this was how Irina sought pleasure from her victims! This is how she prepared them for whatever horror awaited them. Was it a means of introducing them into the sexual servitude that would follow? Or perhaps a pathological desire for extreme physical satisfaction with strangers. Was this what had led the Russian into the flesh trade in the first place? Was she a slave to her own fetish, making money from her kink the same way a junkie turns pusher to fund his habit?

  It didn’t matter now. She was waiting there on the sofa, her breathing a little agitated, and her G-string bisecting a plump, shaved pussy that was seriously aroused.

  But not by Carol.

  Not yet.

  Not by a long chalk.

  As she laid her hands on Irina’s pale buttocks and gazed down at the soft, fleshy sex below, she wondered how far she was going to take it.

  You’ve got to hand
it to the Cardinal, she told herself as she ran a finger down the G-string, he knows how to choose the victims for me. He knows what I need. And, in turn, I deliver up exactly what he wants...

  Irina Lescheva moaned, jiggling her rear end in delicious anticipation. It was that sexy little wobble of the ass cheeks that did it. Carol decided there and then, as a twinge of anticipation gripped her in the stomach: the Russian was going to get it hard.

  Standing there behind Irina, she could have brought herself off again. The very thought of this whole crazy situation was a turn-on, and what she was about to do to this despicable dealer in human beings was role reversal at its very best. But there was no time for thoughts.

  Slowly, she lowered herself down until her breasts came to rest on Irina’s back and the rest of their bodies touched, her belly on the Russian’s lower back, her crotch against the ass. The flesh was remarkably cool, and there was something taught about it. The skin was off-white, almost powdery, with a sallow aspect to it. And it ached to be touched.

  She set about caressing Irina’s neck and back with her tongue. Her hand reached underneath and found her tits inside her bra. They were smaller than hers, firm and almost triangular, the nipples already bullet-hard, as if they couldn’t possibly have gotten any more excited.

  “How do you like it?” she whispered, as she took a nipple between her fingers and squeezed it.

  “Everything. Do everything,” she said, her body jumping involuntarily.

  Carol squeezed harder, and when the Russian winced, she pulled the nipple, just a fraction, while her teeth bit into Irina’s ear. As the two of them bucked together, one on top of the other, her tongue following the contours of the ear and then plunged inside, her hands now squeezing Irina’s tits hard.

  Irina brought a hand up between her legs and strained to reach Carol’s pussy. It was impossible, because the two of them were now moving against each other energetically, like a bucking bronco with someone trying desperately to stay on.