Carol (Carol Schmidt Series) (7 page)

With three fingers she massaged it, gently at first. But seeing one
of Irina’s legs rise up off the sofa, she applied more pressure, until the
G-string was forced into the opening, the purple rim yielding easily and then,
a moment later, offering resistance.

Irina now yanked at her G-string, almost ripping it as it came off.
In a sudden chaos of legs, she tossed it aside and immediately assumed the same
position, but now with her legs further apart and her butt held as high into
the air as it would go. Her ass seemed to open up, that little purple ring
enticing and sluttish and begging to be entered.

Carol positioned her head directed over it and let a glob of saliva
fall there. Then she worked it in, her fingers moving along the whole crevice,
wetting the butt cheeks, the soft, pliable flesh quivering under her fingers,
until Irina was writhing with desire, her crack glistening.

When she entered the ass there was a momentary tightness, then two
fingers slid right inside. Her anus was so hot that the contrast with her cool,
sallow skin seemed too much, odd somehow. But the gasps coming from down on the
sofa were real enough, and so was the steady jerking of her hips.

Carol was glad to oblige. She moved her fingers in and out, slowly
at first, but deep, with each thrust the ball of her hand finding the flesh
directly below the butt hole.

It didn’t take long for the rhythm to intensify. The Russian clearly
wanted it faster. Before long Carol felt the ball of her hand slamming hard
into Irina’s crotch as she thrust her fingers in and out, making it as hard and
nasty as she could, using her finger tips to tickle the inside of the back
passage as she went.

Then, quite suddenly, she slid her fingers out and did nothing else.
The Russian whimpered and immediately she thrust a hand up between her legs and
rubbed her crotch hard, desperate for more.

But Carol also wanted more. She wanted to taste that plump shaven
pussy, which was now gleaming wet, so succulent and juicy that leaving it
there, unsucked, was a crime.

So she sat down on the floor, positioning herself with her back
against the sofa, and laid her head on the cushion, with Irina’s crotch
directly above her face. The Russian didn’t need any further invitation,
lowering herself down immediately, until her sex met Carol’s face.

There was not the slightest hint of hair on it. She must have shaved
in preparation for tonight. Her smooth, girlish pussy was red at the center,
the lips pouting, already sticky and glistening with juice, her entire crotch slippery
and creamy-sweet as Carol took its full weight on her mouth and lapped, her
mouth as wide as it would go, as if she’d never tasted anything so good.

Within seconds her tongue was deep inside, and juice was spreading
up onto her eyebrows and cheeks as Irina rocked and spasmed. There was no need
for delicacy. Irina wanted it hard, riding Carol’s mouth as if it was a cock.
Sometimes hard was good.

It was all Carol could do to avoid being suffocated. With both hands
she held Irina there, her tongue and mouth gobbling with a manic pressure that
couldn’t possibly last. She ran one hand up between the cheeks of Irina’s ass
and felt the butt hole, still wet and gloriously hot. Two fingers found their
way inside again and the Russian cried out, reaching back and pulling one of
her ass cheeks farther apart as Carol entered her up to the knuckles and began
to finger-fuck her with long, plunging strokes.

Irina was writhing uncontrollably by now, and her pussy was banging
into Carol’s face with such force that, even using a hand to hold it off, she
was gasping for air. Her fingers slipped across the slippery surface of Irina’s
sex then pushed inside. Her mouth was by now clamped onto the flesh between the
pussy and the ass, her tongue pushing hard into the skin there, as if it was
trying to force its way inside, to burst into the very darkest chambers of the
Russian’s wicked body.

It was exhausting work. Both of Carol’s hands were going hard, and
under such a massive, two-handed onslaught Irina was losing it, her whole body
being thrown up and down violently by the force of its own limitless throes of
ecstasy.

Then, inevitably, they slipped. The Russian first, with Carol
collapsing down after her, both of them ending up in a heap on the floor. Irina
now lay there on her back, panting, but not in the least spent. So Carol got up
on her knees and straddled her, pushing her own sex into Irina’s mouth then
collapsing down, burying her face in the glistening, smooth pussy of the
Russian, which was so swollen and raw that the whole of her crotch seemed to
have turned an intense blood-pink.

They ate each other with a hard, no-nonsense aggression, and instinctively
they both rammed two fingers up each other’s butt holes, writhing in painful
delight, pulling ass cheeks wide apart and using their tongues hard and fast on
their clits as they went, faces lathered with pussy juice, their mouths, noses,
and chins pushing deep into each other.

Carol could feel the Russian thrusting into her with a hard,
deliberate symmetry, her tongue reaching way inside the pussy and her fingers
stabbing into her ass; it felt as if the finger tips and tongue were going to
meet somewhere inside her.

Meanwhile, Carol pushed her face down as far into Irina’s sex it
would go. The Russian’s legs were spread wide, up in the air, resting on the
sofas on either side, the skin of her crotch tight and straining as again and
again Carol sent her tongue inside that engorged, hairless hole.

Irina’s legs seemed to strain yet further apart, and instead of two
fingers, Carol now got three right into the butt, feeling the ring expand as
she shoved down harder into it with her hand. It was as if the Russian’s body
was gradually yielding itself up, every last defense crumbling, and there was
no limit to what one might do to it.

With her other hand Carol now thrust her fingers into the soft,
shaved pussy, swirling and massaging, poking and fucking. Beneath her the
Russian was now having what seemed like a fit. Carol used her fingers to rub
the clit, which was standing proud, elastic and resistant, as if it wanted to
be squeezed and toyed with until it disintegrated. She rubbed and rubbed it
until Irina’s screams were indistinguishable from full-throated agony, each new
moan more like the response to pure pain.

But Carol didn’t let up. Her tongue went mad on the pussy, up and
down, in and out, as the Russian’s body was thrown into convulsions there on the
floor, her back arching so far into the air that Carol could only hang on
because she had three fingers firmly stuffed into her ass. On she went, working
the clit hard, and pummeling the back passage, the fingers gouging the butt hole
with brutal force.

When Irina came, it was so intense that she froze, emitting a high-pitched,
dithering yelp that went on and on. Her back arched, not as high as before, but
stiffer, remaining there for perhaps half a minute before she slumped back down
onto the carpet. Her body began to tremble, and there was a faint whimper
coming from her mouth, which had abandoned Carol’s pussy.

There was none of that “keep going” body language to Irina. None of
the self-indulgent expectation of orgasmic aftershocks to come. She didn’t want
bringing down gradually. She was totally spent.

Carol stayed right where she was, slipping her fingers out of
Irina’s well-fucked ass, which seemed grateful that it was all over. As the
Russian cried to herself in shocked, delirious exhaustion, Carol gave her some
peace.

They might have
been there ten minutes. The Russian was hardly conscious, and Carol, now
sitting beside her on the carpet, did nothing more than admire her shaved pussy
as it rose and fell with the rest of Irina’s body to the rhythm of her
breathing. A tangy aroma hung in the air, and Carol was happy to sit quietly, drinking
it in, and knowing there was still time for the final act.

“Hey,” Irina croaked, opening an eye and seeing Carol beside her,
still gazing at her pussy.

“Your sex,” Carol said, running a fingertip very gently up the
plump, hairless slit, and continuing up across the belly and up as far as her
pink bra, which was still on, “it’s amazing. But you know what?”

The Russian shook her head.

“I’m not done.”

Irina said nothing, her mouth open a little, something childlike and
accepting in her eyes.

“I’m not done. But you,” and with that she leaned over Irina,
reached under her back, and unclasped the Russian’s bra, “you can stay right
where you are. OK?”

Again, the Russian did nothing more than acquiesce silently,
watching as Carol helped her to ease her arms out of the bra, then cast it
aside. Irina, finally, was naked, apart from the silver crucifix around her
neck.

Carol moved herself into position, kneeling over Irina, her ass
above the Russian’s chest. Only now did she realize just how wet she was. She
made sure Irina’s arms were laid on the floor above her head, and held them as
she lowered herself down, letting her crotch slide over Irina’s belly.

She kissed the Russian slowly, their lips hardly touching at first,
Carol pulling away whenever Irina’s mouth got too hungry. Their breath
intermingled, hot and savory, the breath of intense oral sex, of pussy juice
and beautiful, writhing orgasms.

Their tongues played on each other’s lips, running along the insides
of their mouths, across the teeth and flicking each other, like two birds
dancing together in the sky. With infinite care, Carol took Irina’s upper lip
between her teeth and bit down on it, enough to cause a moment’s wince. Then
she pushed her mouth harder onto the Russian’s. Suddenly their tongues were
fighting to fill each other’s mouths, a big, sudden rush of saliva and hot
flesh.

After a while, Carol retracted her own tongue, then sucked Irina’s
tongue up, drawing it all the way into her mouth and enclosing it. She moved
her mouth back and forth on the rigid tongue as if she was fucking it. Irina
pushed it in harder than ever, long, hot thrusts deep into Carol’s mouth. She
tried to get a hand loose to reach down and finger Carol’s sex, but both her
arms were being held down on the floor. She was trapped, a sex slave, tongue-fucking
Carol’s mouth.

Then they switched. Carol sent her tongue so hard into Irina’s mouth
that she almost choked. Their faces rocked together, and saliva ran down the
Russian’s chin as she sucked on Carol’s tongue, which was going in and out,
hard and fast. Irina was now pursing her lips, as if her mouth was a tight
vagina, and Carol’s rigid tongue a stiff cock desperate to enter it.

In the end their mouths were aching, and there was no alternative
but to relax. There was so much saliva on and around Irina’s mouth that Carol
licked it off, loving the taste and the silky feel of it.

As the Russian recovered from the tonguing, Carol sat up and raised
her ass until she was squatting. She let some of the saliva in her mouth
dribble down onto Irina’s tits, and moved it about, running a couple of fingers
over the nipples, making sure they were firm and erect.

Then, very slowly, she positioned herself over them and lowered her
pussy onto one of the tits, her soft, wide open lips right on the nipple.

For a time she remained dead still, letting the warmth of her sex
sink into the Russian’s flesh. Then she began to move, small little rotations
of the hips, keeping her weight steady so the breast moved with her, its tight
little nipple enclosed in the folds of her vulva.

With a hand she reached beneath her and caressed the other breast,
squeezing the very tip of the nipple and running a finger around the small
areola, which was marked by a thin ridge around its outer edge. Meanwhile, her
movements were intensifying, and she could sense her sex responding to the
strange but undeniably horny sensation of having someone’s tit fucking you. She
lifted her ass, reached under, and rubbed the nipple against her sex, inching
it a ways inside her then sinking down on it once more.

A few minutes later she was doing the same with the other breast. By
now she was also playing with Irina’s mouth, letting the Russian suck her
fingers then running them around her lips and up onto her nose and cheeks. She
could have gone on like this forever. There was something about the Russian,
something she could have continued to enjoy, a willingness, a greediness that
would have allowed for absolutely anything.

But it couldn’t go on. There wasn’t time. It was only necessary that
Irina be utterly compliant, which seemed to be more or less the case already;
she was crying faintly to herself as she sucked Carol’s fingers, and sighed helplessly
as her own saliva was spread around her face.

Carol shifted position again, half-squatting, half-kneeling, her
legs as far apart as they would go, and her sex directly over the Russian’s
head.

There they remained, Carol’s crotch too far away for Irina to touch
it with her tongue, but the Russian clearly dying with desire to taste Carol
again, now that her pussy hung tantalizingly above her, the juices gleaming.

Carol, closing her eyes, reached down and ran two fingers right
along the slit, and let them disappear inside her. Then she slowly removed the
fingers and placed them on Irina’s lips, wiping them across her mouth.

She leaned further over Irina, running a hand through the Russian’s
hair, pinning her head to the carpet and holding it there. Her sex now came
within an inch of the Russian’s mouth. The tongue shot out, but Carol pulled
her crotch away, tutting, giggling, making it into a game. She lowered herself
back down, and again, when Irina tried to lick it, the crotch was raised out of
reach.

“Look at me, just look at me...” Carol whispered, as she began to
move her body slowly forwards, letting her ass cheeks and butt hole touch
Irina’s face, her legs so far apart that the taught ring of her anus pressed
into the Russian’s chin, and then moved up across her mouth and nose.

It was too much for Irina. She forced her head upward, mouth gaping
open. Carol groaned, unable to stop herself, as the Russian began to eat her.
There was such urgency in her tongue and mouth that it felt as if she was actually
devouring the flesh, cramming it hard into her mouth and chomping down on it.

Carol was already coming. Irina wasn’t exactly subtle. She sucked on
the clit, flicking it unremittingly with her tongue, so hard that Carol could
do nothing but sink into the sudden, intense build-up within her as the
mini-orgasms rolled into one big, unstoppable one.

It hit her like a train. Immediately there were tears in her eyes,
and she looked down to see her thighs out of control, slamming this way and
that, her whole body trembling so hard that she was in danger of losing
consciousness.

On it went, Irina showing no sign of stopping as the climax peaked,
then mutated immediately into a huge after-wave, the kind of forced secondary
orgasm that no one could possibly give themselves, mixed as it was with a
sharp, searing pain that almost split her in two. But the Russian just carried
on gobbling and grinding at her sex with a hungry animal lust that was
frightening to feel.

The effects of such powerful orgasms, several of them in quick
succession, had drained Carol of all energy. For a while she let the Russian
continue to slurp and lick her. But then she eased herself away, as if she
really couldn’t take any more. She reached behind her, rummaging in the pocket
of her pants.

It was time.

The Russian, lying there out of breath, looking confused.

“I just found these!” Carol said, a small enamel tin in her hand, no
bigger than a snuff box. “Let’s do it!”

As she opened the box she squatted over Irina once more and let the
Russian lick her sex, more gently now.

In the box were communion wafers, each one no bigger than a
half-dollar. Irina watched, eyes wide, as Carol took a wafer from the box,
holding it up in front of her as she recited:

“
Mea culpa,
mean culpa, mea maxima culpa...
”

She giggled, before popping the wafer into her mouth.

“Never taken communion?” she said, easing herself down onto Irina’s
mouth a little. Even in her confusion, the Russian’s taste for pussy had not
completely evaporated, and she moved her tongue up and down Carol’s swollen
slit.

“Come on,” Carol said as she carefully extracted a second water,
which had been kept between two sheets of paper in the box. “Commune with me!”

Irina smiled for the first time as Carol got to her knees beside the
Russian, who opened her mouth obediently as the wafer was placed on her tongue.

“For your sins, for your sins, for your grievous sins...” Carol
whispered as the wafer dissolved slowly in the Russian’s mouth.

There was enough LSD on the wafer to send a rhinoceros on a pretty
good trip. But Irina Lescheva, who had sold at least half a dozen young women
into sexual slavery, tricking them with the promise of a new life, was not
going to have a good trip. Not from now on.

She was about to have her worst nightmare.

*

There was a knock at the door.

By now Carol was dressed in Irina’s drab, nondescript clothes. She
cast one last glance down at the floor by the sofa, where her sexy, insatiable
trafficker of human beings was writhing in acid-aided ecstasy. Spittle ran from
the corner of the Russian’s mouth, and her hands were pressed into her crotch
as she rolled left and right on the carpet, her eyes wide and dilated, staring
into the abyss that she, without knowing it, had made for herself.

Then, as Carol was about to turn away, something caught her eye. The
small, slim crucifix around Irina’s neck suddenly glinted in the light...

She opened the door. Before her were two tall young men,
muscle-bound and thick-set, their complexions bearing the scars of acne, and their
expressions somewhere between impatience and outright contempt.

Ms. Lescheva’s latest human merchandise was to be sold to the normal
intermediaries, those who had dealt with her previous shipments of human cargo.
But this time that cargo would be Irina Lescheva herself.

As to the ultimate destination of the woman now writhing on the
floor, Carol didn’t want to know. She fingered the small cross, that she’d
taken from Irina’s neck and which now hung from her own, and stood back as the
men entered the room without a word.

“She’s over there,” she said in perfect Spanish, noticing that a
sports hold-all had been placed on the floor by the door. “Is this mine?”

One of the men grunted a reply. The two of them were already over by
the sofas, looking down at the woman who lay there, and wondering how best they
might carry her out without being noticed.

“Oh, she doesn’t speak Spanish,” she told them as she picked up the
bag, which was heavier than she had expected.

The men looked at each other and shrugged. Irina would not be doing
much talking from now on, their expressions seemed to say.

By the time they’d gotten the delirious woman onto the backseat of
their blacked-out SUV, Carol Schmidt was in a cab on the way to an airport
hotel, wondering what she was going to do with a bagful of cash at this time of
night.

As for Irina Lescheva, her difficulties were somewhat greater. When
she would escape the nightmare into which she had just been thrown, and which
was entirely of her own making?

That wasn’t Carol’s problem. Justice had been served.