Carol (Carol Schmidt Series)

by Cook, Lori

  His head was up, facing the ceiling, and he did what he was told, playing with his own buttocks, his body dipping and twisting as he got deeper into himself, knees bent, almost at a crouch. He began massaging his butt hole, unsure of whether the sensation was pleasurable in itself, but feeling about as dirty as he’d ever felt. He’d never been much of an anal fan, and this beyond weird. It wasn’t so much the feeling of toying with his own ass that gave him pleasure, but knowing that she was right beneath him, watching, and getting off on it.

  “OK,” she says suddenly. “Kneel on the bed.”

  Without a word he moved forward and knelt on the edge of the bed, his face and upper body down on the mattress. He was still playing with his ass, and soon his efforts intensified. He gradually found himself slipping a finger inside, almost as if exploring, not sure of how to do it.

  The reticence didn’t last long, though. Before long he’d found his prostate and began to tickle it. He had never as much as felt the damn thing before, and now it was burning with delicious pain, the heat from it running all the way down his cock, making him groan.

  Within seconds he had collapsed forward, bringing himself off, thrusting himself against the bed, rubbing his cock against the sheets so fast that it seemed impossible that he’d be able to carry on.

  She jumped onto the bed, sat square in front of his face, legs spread, and showed him her pussy, spreading it for him and letting her fingers disappear inside. He watched, an expression of amazed delirium on his face, dribble coming from his mouth as he panted and squealed like a madman.

  When he came he cried out, telling himself to stop. But he didn’t, he couldn’t stop. He carried on, as if he’d become two separate people, one screwing the other mercilessly. The look on his face was almost fearful, the look of a man taking himself to a place that was completely new, and more than a little disturbing.

  In the end he had no choice. It was over. With his entire body shaking, and his cries turning to pathetic whelps, he flopped over onto his side and let out a massive moan.

  He was done.

  *

  That night they made love many times, between champagne and a call-out sushi and Belgian chocolates. Jerry even showed her how to smoke a Havana cigar. But mainly it was sex, joyous, frank, all-consuming sex, on and on until there was simply no energy left in their bodies, and they found themselves drifting into a deep, satisfied sleep.

  The next morning Jerry Hobbs, never an early riser, awoke around nine to find himself alone in his massive bed. But the smell of her was still there, the aura of sex everywhere, of a night in which he had been shown a deep sexuality within him, something he never knew existed, and which had made him wickedly free and unabashed about sharing the most carnal of intimacies with another human being. Carol had, in short, screwed him in more ways than he had ever imagined possible, and he’d done the same right back to her, until they were both sore and tender in so many places that it was a godsend that they had fallen asleep together on the bed.

  But now? He looked around. No shoes or clothes on the floor, no handbag, nothing of hers at all. Sounds? He couldn’t hear the shower. God, the shower! They’d been back in there late on in the evening, plus a bunch of other places in the house. But now everywhere sounded quiet.

  Then, as if by magic, she was there in the doorway, fully dressed, looking radiant.

  “I just got a call,” she said, holding a cell phone up as if it had just ruined what was going to be the perfect morning in bed. “My late husband’s lawyer just rang with the location of my cash.”

  “Cash?” he said, sitting up in bed, already bitterly aware that she would not be stopping.

  “What was left to me when my husband died. It was put by for me, and now I’ve asked to collect.”

  He looked puzzled. “I thought I had your cash, the hundred fifty grand. The transfer that we did, no?”

  Last night they’d also transferred a hundred fifty thousand dollars to her account in Panama. The transfer didn’t even require sending any money out of the country, because as luck would have it, Jerry had an account with the same bank; a nice little coincidence, although not that remarkable, since it was one of the biggest off-shore banks in Central America. The transaction had left Jerry with a hundred fifty grand less in his off-shore account, and a lump of cash on American soil. But he could deal with that easily enough. In any case, he owed Carol for the night of his life. It had been worth it.

  She came over and perched carefully on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m not gonna get too close, because I really have to go. And you are quite tempting...”

  She looked down, suddenly frowning,

  “I need some more advice.”

  “Feel free.”

  “Jerry, I haven’t been totally honest with you. These last couple of days, and the money that we transferred last night... It was all to see if I could trust you.”

  “And?”

  She looked him right in the eyes. “I trust you, completely.”

  “Then let me help you, whatever it is.”

  She gulped, ran a hand up over her neck.

  “My husband didn’t leave me a hundred fifty thousand. He left me two and a half million. In cash.”

  “Jeez...”

  “Jerry, is there any way I can get that money to Panama? I’ll pay. I’ll pay twenty percent. Is there any way you can think of? Because you’re the only person I trust, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  She told him to meet her at the bank. The Cardinal had chosen it, a large branch with its own parking lot in front, plenty of time to see Jerry coming.

  Carol was already inside the bank when the Cardinal arrived. He was in a gray suit, off the rack, and a dull blue tie. His black hair, normally combed right back and shiny with pomade, was now washed and dried, cut just like a bank manager might have it. The transformation was astounding, but not in a good way.

  There was a small vestibule at the front of the bank, and they met there, like old friends who’d just bumped into each other. Resting on the floor beside the Cardinal was a large aluminum suitcase, reinforced at the corners; a strange kind of case to be carrying into a bank, perhaps. Then again, he hadn’t actually gone all the way into the bank.

  Jerry Hobbs was in his Porsche Cayenne when he rolled into the parking lot a few minutes later. They watched from just inside the vestibule as he found a space close by.

  “Right,” the Cardinal said, pulling back from the glass doors, “make it good. Fourteen widows, and counting.”

  She rolled her eyes, striding out through the doors and heading away from the Porsche. Then she pulled up short, as if she’d just seen the car. Jerry was getting out as she got up to him.

  “Hi,” she said. “I was just coming to look for you. Everything’s fine.”

  “You need a hand inside?”

  “The manager’s coming out himself. VIP treatment!”

  “Not surprised. I bet they don’t get many cash withdrawals like this.”

  “It wasn’t in an account, remember,” she said, lowering her voice. “It was in the vault. My husband must have been paying them to keep the case in there.”

  “And the manager had no idea what was inside?”

  “Nope. But he does now. We opened the case up, did a rough count. By the time he’d seen how much there was, and checked the serial numbers to make sure it was all legal tender, his eyes were nearly popping out.”

  “Tried to get you to deposit it with him, I bet.”

  “Yeah, like for the last three quarters of an hour!”

  “A sealed case in his vault all this time? That’s against all sorts of rules. He’s got no room to complain.”

  “Just be nice to him. It’s one hell of a deposit he’s not gonna get.”

  Hobbs chuckled to himself, leaning on the Cayenne as she made her way quickly back into the bank, to reemerge moments later with the Cardinal at her side. He was carrying the aluminum case, and
it was handcuffed to his wrist.

  “This is Mr. Sagan, the manager,” she said. “And this is Jerry Hobbs, my lawyer.”

  The men nodded, nothing more. Hobbs could see that Mr. Sagan was not happy with the arrangement, but that he had resigned himself to Mrs. Denver’s wishes. What else could he do?

  “It would be a lot safer to transport this using an armed security service. We have the number of one if...”

  “No need,” Hobbs said, “it’ll be in very safe hands.”

  “As you wish,” the Cardinal said with a sniff.

  Hobbs opened the trunk and the Cardinal hoisted the heavy case up into it. He fiddled with the key to the cuffs, fumbling a little and looking left and right nervously, as if he was freaked by the experience of carrying so much money out into the parking lot. When he finally handed the cuffs and key to Carol he seemed pretty relieved.

  Hobbs stood back, taking everything in, and trying hard not to shake his head with disbelief. Just what kind of guy hides two and a half million in notes in a bank vault, and doesn’t tell the bank manager what’s inside? Why pass up the interest on that sort of money? There was only one answer, as far as Hobbs was concerned: a man who was better off dead.

  As Jerry shut the trunk, the bank manager was already walking slowly back to the bank.

  “Wow!” Carol said, gasping with joy as they both climbed into the car and slammed the doors shut. “We did it!”

  “Yes we did! Anyway,” he said, firing up the Porsche. “Where now?”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting that money somewhere safe? I mean, the money’s yours now.”

  “Not quite,” he said, smiling.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s do the transfer first. Then,” and she rested a hand on his crotch, “you can do absolutely anything you want to me. Anything you want, Jerry.”

  With the fabric of his Chinos already straining under his erection, he started to drive, knowing that as soon as they’d done the transfer he would be considerably richer, and would have Carol all to himself. Of the two, he had no idea which he would have chosen, the money or the woman, but the promise of both was enough to make him light-headed.

  She squeezed his cock hard through his pants, and let him drive.

  Twenty minutes later the aluminum case was sitting right next to his desk in the den through from the main bedroom. He stared at the screen of his PC and tapped at the keyboard with a single finger. In his other hand he had a phone.

  “Yes, yes,” he said, double-checking a long series of numbers as a heavily accented voice from Panama City confirmed his account codes, and then confirmed the details of Mrs. Carol Denver’s account. “Two million dollars. Everything there is, give or take! I’m getting cleaned out!”

  Over the course of his career as a widow hunter, Hobbs had saved almost exactly two million dollars, all legally channeled out of the country by his trusting clients, then steered into Hobbs’s off-shore account in Panama. The Cardinal had been watching the account grow for some time, knowing that there was no rush, and that Hobbs was playing the long game with some of these unfortunate ladies, the slow-drip of funds from their accounts making their way into what was, for Hobbs, a stellar retirement fund. Tax-free.

  “Right!” Jerry said, passing the phone to Carol.

  She listened, confirming the details of the transfer, frowning at the numbers. She didn’t like dealing with money, that much was clear. She was just happy that Jerry was here to help.

  The deal was simple. He transferred two million from his account in Panama to hers. In return, she gave him two and a half million in cash. For the sake of a cool half million, Jerry did not mind having his wealth suddenly repatriated. For a lawyer, that much cash would not be a problem. Plus, the agreement was more than simply a financial one.

  “Right,” she said, replacing the receiver. “We’re done.” They both looked down at the aluminum case, the shining steel handcuffs resting on top. “You should get that somewhere safe,” she said.

  But even as she spoke, she felt his hand moving up her thigh from behind, slipping between her legs and pushing them firmly apart.

  “Jerry,” she whispered, as she felt his hand between her legs, “anything you want. You hear me?”

  He didn’t reply. But he’d heard her.

  Four hours later there was an empty champagne bottle lying on the carpet, and they’d gotten through a couple of joints of pretty smooth Californian Gold. Whether it was the marijuana or the booze, or just the experience of spending the last couple of days in bed with the most incredible woman he had ever met, Jerry had discovered a side of himself that he never knew existed. He liked to dominate, but he also liked to be dominated. He liked being taken to the edge, then pulled back, toyed with until it hurt. He liked the feeling of coming again and again, until each orgasm was like being knifed deep into his belly. He liked being choked half to death with her pussy, feeling himself descend into a breathless netherworld of semi-consciousness, as her sex pushed harder and harder down onto his face.

  Most of all, though, he just liked screwing her. It didn’t really matter how, and it didn’t matter who was in charge. And she seemed to be exactly the same. Compliant, dominant, submissive, nasty... Whatever the two of them wanted, they did it to each other, long and hard.

  Now, as the sun went down in his bedroom window, he lay there, his cock swollen but flaccid. A little down time, but definitely not the end. They had all night ahead of them, or that’s what he thought.

  She dragged herself from the bed and went into the den. A moment later she was back.

  “This time,” she said, deftly clicking the handcuffs around his wrist and snapping the other link around the bedpost, “I don’t want you to be able to escape.”

  He smirked, making sure his arm was comfortable up behind his head.

  “Yeah, like I’ve been running away from you these last couple days, right!”

  “You might want to this time.”

  “Baby, you couldn’t keep me away from you if you tried. You can shackle my legs as well, if you like. Just fuck me.”

  The alcohol, plus four hours of endless sex, had taken some of the stiffness out of his penis. But as she went down on him he grew instantly, swelling right inside her mouth until she was full of him.

  He winced with pain, but she went on, clamping both lips around his shaft and sucking so hard that his whole glans started to burn and ache, his butt twitching and tensing beneath him. He lifted his legs and she slipped two fingers into him, and his wince turned to a low scream. Now, as she began to move her mouth slowly up and down, she used her teeth, feeling his gristly hardness, biting just enough for it to hurt, as her fingers pushed deeper.

  He was crying, knowing that it couldn’t get any more painful, that he was teetering on the edge of what he could bear, but powerless to stop it. She’d done this to him earlier, and after he came she just carried on, his cock at half-tilt, but the agonizing pleasure never stopping as she sucked and sucked. She was going to do the same again now, but he could sense that it really wouldn’t stop this time, that it would just go on and on, harder, more brutal, two, three fingers thrusting into him until he passed out from the excruciating, mind-bending pain.

  But then her cell rang.

  Fuck it, she thought. Another few minutes and he’d have been past caring. Whatever he’d done to all those widows, however much he deserved what was coming to him, she wanted to take him past the edge, to give him absolutely everything, then more.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  “I better take that,” she said, leaping from the bed and getting the cell from her bag on the floor.

  She knelt beside him as she took the call, not saying a word.

  Then she handed him the phone.

  “It’s for you,” she said.

  He pressed the cell to his ear, too far gone to register surprise.

  “Yes?”

  Trying hard to concentrate, he listened to the voice of the Cardinal. Meanwhi
le, she straddled him and took his cock in her hand, rubbing it up and down her sex, which was swollen and glistening.

  “Who?” he said. “I mean, yes...”

  The confusion began to assert itself, his eyes half-closing, his body suddenly tense.

  She felt his penis hot against her clitoris, spreading her legs and wishing she could grab a rubber and feel him all the way inside her one last time. But it was too late now. He was still hard, but it wouldn’t last long. Not now.

  Jerry Hobbs listened to the Cardinal as he calmly read out the names of fourteen dead women, each one an ex-client of Hobbs, and each one the victim of his scheme to rob them of their modest life savings before they died.

  The Cardinal was obviously enjoying it, taking his time, because a minute later and Jerry was still looking confused. But then, slowly, he figured it out. He started rattling the handcuff, yanking it so hard that for a moment Carol thought he might break free.

  He didn’t, though. He was exhausted, and after each sudden jerk of his body he slumped back down onto the bed, drained.

  If only the Cardinal had waited another few minutes...

  She lowered her head for the last time, and, as Jerry Hobbs came to realize exactly what had just happened to him, she took what remained of his erection in her hand and gently brought him off for the last time.

  He cried as he came, sobbing quietly to himself. As semen dribbled slowly down his shaft, his penis was already shriveling, his legs flat out on the bed, his whole body prone, defeated. He tugged on the handcuff until his wrist began to bleed, but he couldn’t get free of the bed.

  She dressed quickly. A minute later she stood in the doorway and looked at him for the last time, the aluminum beside her. He’d let the phone fall to the floor, and tears were streaming down his face.

  She carefully set the combinations on the case and flipped the locks open. A dozen old, moth-eaten encyclopedias tumbled out onto the floor. She watched them fall, then raised her head. He was looking at her, at her large, dark eyes, and the body that he’d devoured for the last two days, the best two days of his life, forty-eight hours that would haunt him forever.