Carol (Carol Schmidt Series)

by Cook, Lori

  “Wow,” she said, nodding, impressed at this guy’s enthusiasm. “And you’re gonna work for him?”

  “Hope so,” he said as he took a gulp of his drink, “I’m here to pitch an idea.”

  “Some code?” she said.

  She knew what code was. They’d had IT classes at the convent. They’d learned some Visual Basic, and a bunch of other stuff. They’d even written little programs that drew shapes and other pointless stuff. She’d been pretty good at it, but she didn’t want to seem too smart with Jason, so she tired to play innocent.

  “Streaming,” he said, his eyes now burning, as if he couldn’t quite believe he’d gotten such a fabulous girl into his hotel room and she was asking him about code! “I write code that rationalizes streaming protocols. A protocol, ehm...”

  “Yeah, like a procedure, the order of the commands.”

  “Jesus! I’ve never met anyone outside of the department that was interested in this shit!”

  “I’m not really that interested,” she told him. “I just read Scientific American!”

  They both laughed.

  His exuberance was infectious, if a little over the top. And then he seemed to realize that he’d gotten a bit too excited. There really weren’t too many people who got turned on by streaming protocols.

  “So,” he said, swirling the drink around in its glass, “what’s your story? Up here at the Marriot on your own. How old are you? I mean, if that’s not, like, rude or anything...”

  There wasn’t a hint of embarrassment about the question, though. It was as if he was back at college, that full-on openness that students have, cocooned in their safe, nurturing environment, still unaware that the world is full of cruelty and crushing disappointment.

  “I’m eighteen,” she said. “And I’m traveling.”

  “Alone? In this place! Cool.”

  She didn’t want to lie to him, and she was glad she didn’t have to.

  “I came into some money,” she said. “Not a fortune.”

  He nodded. He wasn’t interested in money, that much was obvious. Even his interest in code had now subsided as he looked down at his glass and lowered his voice, a note of reticence in it:

  “So, do you wanna hang out? I know some pretty cool places in Manhattan, and over in Brooklyn...”

  He felt her lips on his, smothering his words, moving slowly against him like slivers of peeled peach, so soft he almost cried.

  They made out for what seemed like ages, sitting there on the floor, leaning into each other. He was a considerate kisser and his tongue tasted faintly of bourbon, the saliva sweet and delicious as he explored her mouth. He took it nice and slow, and she sank into him as if she was finally letting out one long, never ending sigh.

  Back at the convent, girls over sixteen were allowed out into the city unaccompanied during the day. They were the ones who stayed on because they had nowhere else to go, and the ones who tended to be the most trouble. They would tell tales of local boys so fervent that just making out with them for five minutes was like a wrestling match, as they grabbed tits and thrust their hands up you skirt, desperate to cop a feel, like there was some prize for how fast and hard they could do it.

  Jason was not like that. He was tender, speaking to her between kisses, telling her how beautiful she was. He let his hands glide up and down her back. The touch of his fingers sent shivers down her spine and deep inside her, until she ached for him. She wanted to tell him just how much, but instead she pushed her lips harder into his, their mouths rubbing against each other until they were hot.

  Then he pulled her onto him and they fell sideways onto the carpet, their heads pressed together as they touched the floor. She felt his thigh move between hers. She yielded, allowing him push her legs open, running her hand around his neck, her fingers digging into the flesh, letting him know she was loving it, her nails pushing harder and harder into him as his thigh eased its way up between her legs.

  He edged himself part-ways onto her, and as their crotches met she could feel him stiff beneath his jeans, his cock squeezed awkwardly to one side, the bulge nudging the top of her thigh until she thought she was going to burst with anticipation. He was rock hard for her, and he moved his trembling hands across her breasts, trying not to be too rough, but his desperate need to have her impossible to control.

  He got a hand up underneath her top. A second later he pulled her top up, her tits in his mouth, one then the other, getting them out of the cups of her bra and sucking them so hungrily that he groaned, his pelvis thrusting itself involuntarily into hers as she gripped him with her thighs and felt her sex ooze with pure physical longing.

  By the time he pushed a hand down the front of her panties, she was already stroking his penis through the fabric of his jeans. It felt just right, not like the huge throbbing monster in that magazine she had seen, which had been impressive in itself but not the kind of thing she wanted inside her for this, her first time.

  And that’s what it was. She had to keep reminding herself, down there on the carpet as her head rolled and her eyes fluttered. It was going to be her first time. But she felt no apprehension. It seemed so natural, as Jason’s fingers made their way into her sex, that she couldn’t imagine that anything else could feel so good, or so right.

  It wasn’t long before he was pulling her panties down, kissing her stomach gently then fumbling behind him and getting a condom from his bag. Jeez, she told herself, gulping with delight, he’s even got that bit right. She’d been worried about the contraception, and what she would tell him no if he didn’t have a rubber.

  Seeing him get the condom made everything perfect. This guy was so horny for her it seemed to hurt him. He rolled the rubber onto his shaft with one hand, propping himself up with his other arm, a mixture of lust and wonder in his young eyes. He was dazzled by her young body, but in control as well. He was young. He was smiling. He was exactly what she wanted.

  They both let the moment take its course in silence, just the sound of their breath audible as they kissed and cuddled their way into position, she on her back, legs apart, tender and traditional. But then, suddenly, she needed to tell him something.

  “Jason,” she said, pulling him down onto her.

  She felt his fingers part her vagina, then the end of his penis slowly enter her. Its thickness made her gasp, not with pain but amazement, because nothing could have prepared her for the feeling that now coursed right up through her pelvis and into her backbone.

  “Jason, fuck me...” her eyes closed and her mouth hung open. “Just fuck me...”

  And as she murmured to him, the same thing, over and over, he moved in and out of her, following the rhythm of her words, the two of them clinging so tight that it seemed they would never be able to let go.

  They fucked, and they fucked.

  A few hours later, their faces still flushed and shiny with elation, they were in an old Jewish-Rumanian place he knew down on the Lower East Side. They ate chopped liver with schmaltz, plus pickles as big as your fist.

  They goofed about, making egg creams, which Jason explained contained no eggs, just milk, chocolate syrup, and seltzer, which you squirted into the glass yourself. The drinks looked weird, but were fantastic. They had three each, giggling as they ate and drank, the guy at the piano singing show tunes loudly and sometimes not too well.

  Jason ordered himself a Coors, said he only ever drank the odd beer.

  “And the occasional Jack and Coke?” she added, remembering how he’d knocked back a couple of the things in the Marriot, right after their first time together, which had ended with him going absolutely berserk on top of her, crunched up in what looked like the most excruciating ejaculation imaginable.

  Then he’d slumped onto his back, the rubber wrinkled on his exhausted penis, and laughed so sweetly that she knew right then that she was in love with him. And although they both needed a break, within fifteen minutes they were at it again, another rubber, missionary position again. This time
, though, they were more adventurous, and by the time Jason was on the verge of his second orgasm, he was kneeling behind her, slamming into her with such force that she had to hold into the bed with both hands, muffling her own squeals of delight with a pillow.

  That day in the Marriot set Carol on a very steep learning curve. And whereas Jason would come to his climaxes in a long, dramatic (and totally horny) crescendo, she discovered that she could get a series of little ones, her sex gradually moving into a state of chaos, until she hardly knew where she was, only that she didn’t ever want it to stop...

  “Right,” he said as their plates at the Jewish-Rumanian place were taken away. He looked at his watch. “I have some bad news.”

  “OK...” she said, slurping on her chocolaty egg cream.

  “Tomorrow morning at nine I have a meeting with Mr. Alex Strange.”

  “Master of the universe... the tech behind the tech...”

  “You know what that means?” he said, frowning with mock apprehension.

  “No,” she said, expecting something about code, or how great this company was.

  “It means we only have twelve and a half hours left before I have to get up and go see him. And to be honest, I’d like to spend that time lying naked with you in bed.”

  He expected an embarrassed giggle. Instead she was up out of her seat, a couple of fifty dollar bills tossed onto the table. There was nothing remotely giggly about her now.

  As they made their way out of the restaurant, he could feel an embarrassing stiffness inside his pants.

  They screwed half the night, but finally she told him she was going to leave him to get a few hours’ sleep. He begged her not to, but she promised him she’d be waiting in her own room, and that he was to come and see her as soon as he’d finished his presentation with Alex Strange.

  Back in her room, she slept soundly for the remainder of the night, a pillow between her legs, dreaming of Jason.

  The next morning she showered and grabbed a late breakfast in the restaurant. True to her word, she then went back to her room and waited. She stayed in her clothes and tried not to fantasize; she didn’t want to appear too keen when he arrived.

  Around twelve there was a knock on the door. When she opened it, Jason was standing there with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other.

  “You got the job!” she squealed, ushering him in and kissing him all over his face, as he struggled to keep hold of the bottle and glasses.

  He couldn’t have cared less about the job. His cock was already straining to get out of his Chinos, and he was kissing her hard, and letting her tug at his belt.

  Without thinking, she knelt there, unzippered him, and helped his erect penis out into the open. It was so firm it seemed to be made of steel. She’d sucked him off a little the previous evening, but only briefly as they caressed and fondled each other, hugging and exploring each other’s bodies playfully.

  Now it was different. She eased back his foreskin and admired the pink helmet, squeezing the shaft with one hand and hearing him moan. As she opened her mouth and guided him inside, he dropped the bottle and the glasses onto the carpet, his hands balled up, and his pelvis in little spasms.

  There was something she wanted to try, but she didn’t now if he’d like it; she didn’t know anything about men apart from what she was learning with Jason. She wanted him to come in her mouth, to feel his hot liquid spurt over her tongue. Apart from anything else, she wanted to know what it tasted like, and to feel herself getting screwed in the mouth.

  He began cooing and purring as she moved her mouth carefully on his shaft. Quite clearly, he was loving every second of it. And as she went on, exploring his cock, letting her tongue run along its length and dig tentatively into its slightly grooved underside, a thought occurred to her: where had she learned to do this so well?

  The answer, obviously, was nowhere. But now she realized that there are people who just know certain things. When it came to sex, she didn’t need to watch porno or read sex manuals. She didn’t need to learn; she was a natural. As soon as she took his cock in her mouth, letting it ride against the insides of her cheeks and on her tongue, she instinctively knew exactly what to do.

  It must have been a reasonably good first attempt, too, because before long he was crying, unable to control himself. His pants around his ankles, his legs were wobbling, and he was dying with pleasure...

  Well, she told herself a few minutes later, discretely spitting his semen into a tissue. It tastes salty and a bit like badly made grits without the grittiness. Not exactly nectar, but she could put up with it, she reckoned, now that she knew that she absolutely adored giving head.

  Then Jason pushed her onto the bed, yanked her pants off, and went down on her. At that moment, her understanding of the word “adore” underwent a very serious and very profound revision. She had thought that she adored chocolate; now she realized that she just liked it. She adored this.

  It took only a couple of minutes for her to come, loud and horrifically strong, the feeling so deep within her that it actually frightened her. After a little break, he gave her more, on and on, until the sensation was so overpowering that she had to push him off. She curled up into a ball, shivering, in a state of shock. Jason wrapped his body around hers, as if to comfort her.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon sprawled naked on the bed, discovering that oral sex could go on more or less forever, even for a man, if you treat him gently. They made each other come many, many times, with big, full-throttled sixty-nines, squeezing and pummeling each others’ buttocks, their tongues going mad, juices lathering to a froth in their mouths.

  But they also discovered that they could go at it with infinite slowness, playing, kissing, stroking their genitals with immense fondness. It could be bliss. It was that simple. This, she began to realize, was what all the fuss was about!

  At some point, however, they both found themselves incapable of taking any more. So they popped the champagne and drank. By now the wine was as hot as the room. But they didn’t care. He’d got the job with Strange Tech. His future was bright, brighter than he had ever dared to dream.

  They toasted the glorious future that lay ahead of them both.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Those few days with Jason had been perfect. But then he’d had to fly out west to start work for Strange Tech. On Times Square, they’d kissed so long and hard that the enamel was almost chipped off their teeth. They promised that they’d be together again at the first opportunity, and they tried not to cry.

  For both of them, their meeting had been an awakening, and as they said good-bye they were still only emerging from the delirium of each other’s company. Finally, though, he swung his big sports bag clumsily over his shoulder and went in search of the airport bus.

  Not long after that, the Cardinal had turned up. Carol was just eighteen, but she had already crossed the threshold into womanhood. His manner was calm, and he asked few questions about the young man that she had just said good-bye to. The Cardinal always seemed to know everything, and he knew that Carol’s first few days of freedom had been important to her. As they discussed the future, he made it clear to her, right from the start, that she was free to do whatever she wanted, and that her life was now entirely hers to live as she pleased. She was free.

  However, he also made it very apparent, without having to spell it out, that if she decided to work for him, there would be no half measures. She would have to commit herself completely and be available anywhere in the world at any time. What she did between jobs was entirely up to her, the Cardinal explained, but his work must come first. Without exception.

  She could have continued seeing Jason, she knew. But would it really have been fair, when she would always have a massive secret to conceal from him? Because even then, she was beginning to understand the opportunity being offered to her. And she loved the very idea of it.

  So she decided not to see Jason again. How could she have exp
lained to him what she had done back in Mexico City, and the kind of satisfaction it had given her? How could she have shared his bed, his body, in the knowledge that her new career would entail sharing herself with others? She wanted him, but she wanted more. The Cardinal knew it. He had seen something in her, and he had offered her the means of achieving it.

  Thus had the young Carol Schmidt made her choice. And she made it in full knowledge of what it would entail. Even in her brief voyage of self-discovery, from the bulb shed behind the convent to the glorious sexual awakening with Jason, she knew where her true skills lay.

  Over the months and years that followed, she would quickly come to master those skills, like a child prodigy learning the piano or violin, not gradually, but in leaps and bounds, rapidly outclassing all those around her. She would become, then, a seductress.

  Setting Jason free had been the right decision. Anything else would have been a cruel deception. As the years rolled by, whenever she arrived in a place, Istanbul or Moscow or Monaco, emerging fresh and well rested from another first-class trip, she would take comfort from the fact that simply explaining the endless stamps on her passport would have been impossible. She was a seductress, first and very much foremost.

  *

  Ten years later and Carol was walking up Broadway, alone. Her hair was now relatively short and blond. It was not the only thing that had been changed in anticipation of this job, either. She was an entirely new person, her disguise complete.

  You can tell a lot about someone, she told herself as she looked up Broadway, by their choice of Manhattan hotel. Alex Strange, already a millionaire, was about to join the ranks of the world’s billionaires. Yet he had foregone the predictable opulence of the Waldorf-Astoria and the Ritz-Carlton; so too had he ignored the almost endless array of chic, up-scale places that the city had to offer, any of which would have been a cool, left-of-field statement of his independence of mind, just days before his impending elevation to the financial stratosphere.