Chapter 3
Carol was in bed-her own bed upstairs-when her mother came home that night, some time after ten o'clock. Carol wasn't asleep. She was thinking about her experience with Mr. Lecheur that afternoon, downstairs in his apartment.
After he was done with her and she had regained consciousness, she began to cry bitterly. When finally he quieted her, he convinced her to take off what little remained of her clothing, go into the bathroom and soak in a hot tub for almost half an hour. He tried to get her to come back into bed with him, but she grabbed up her clothes and left his apartment-but not until he gave her the five dollars that he had promised her.
Carol's first thought when she heard her mother come in and go directly to her own bedroom was to get up and go to her and tell her what Mr. Lecheur had done. But then she remembered the five dollars that he had given her and the promise that he had made to buy her a new bra, a new pair of panties and anything else that she wanted. If she told her mother about it she would never get all those pretty things. In fact, her mother might even make her give that five dollars back to him and not let her go to his apartment again.
As disagreeable as the things he did to her may have been, she didn't want to give up both the money and the other things that he had promised her. Besides, had those things that he had done to her really been so bad? She dozed off thinking about them, but did very little sleeping. She kept tossing and turning, scissoring her legs, unable to make herself believe that Mr. Lecheur's cock wasn't still inside her, throbbing violently in her belly. Several times she awoke from her sex-filled dreams to find her pussy wet and itchy and sore from his heavy penetrations.
Each time she woke up, she battled the same thoughts. Should she go to her mother and tell her and risk losing all those nice things that he had promised her? Or should she pretend that nothing had happened? Of course, Carol was old enough to know that what she had let him do to her was wrong and that if she didn't tell her mother, she must at least promise herself that she would never let it happen again. She would go there after school, same as always. She would clean his apartment, make his bed, do his laundry and prepare his evening meal. But no matter what, she would never take off her clothes in front of him again, or show him her panties, or get into bed with him, or let him kiss her or put his hands on her.
She finally fell into sound sleep with that thought in mind. When she awakened next morning, she was even more determined that that was how it would be, and she would tell him so. Maybe there was some other way that she could earn all those things that he had promised her. But it wouldn't be through sex.
After she had showered and dried herself off, Carol stood in front of the full-length mirror in the back of the door in the bathroom. The girl that she saw in the mirror was no longer a virgin. Yet she didn't look any differently, and certainly she felt the same way that she had the previous morning after showering. The soreness and the impression of Mr. Lecheur's penis in her vagina were both gone. He had even put her mind to rest as to the possibility of her being "caught" and not having his baby.
Just before she went into the bathroom the afternoon before, he handed her, of all things, a six-ounce bottle of warm Coke. She thought at first that it was for her to drink and quiet her sobs. Instead, he told her to first get into the tub, then uncap the bottle, place her thumb over the top, shake it and then shove the neck of the bottle into her pussy.
"A most effective, effervescent douche," he assured her.
After she came out of the bathroom and dressed for school, she had breakfast with her mother. As usual, her mother sat with the morning paper propped up in front of her, so they had very little to say to each other. Carol was glad. This morning she didn't feel very much like talking to anyone. Especially to her mother, because her mother had a way of worming things out of her and she wanted more time to think, to be sure that she was making the right decision about not telling on Mr. Lecheur.
Nothing very unusual happened for the rest of the morning. She caught the school bus and got through the morning class with nothing much out of the ordinary happening-except that she may have been a little more preoccupied than usual. However, at lunch time, she stopped in at a discount store in the vicinity of the school to see what her five dollars would buy that she might want even more than the charm bracelet. She spied a body blouse. It was red and just her size. It originally had been priced at $22.00 and was now on sale for $12.99. But including tax that was $8.00 more than she had to spend.
All during afternoon classes, Carol kept thinking about that red body blouse and how it would look on her. When school was over, she took the bus home and when she got there, she did something that she found very difficult to explain to herself. Instead of putting on the sweatshirt and denims that she usually worked in, she first showered, then doused herself with her mother's most exotic perfume. Next she put on a pair of her mother's black lace panties and her favorite micro-mini see-through crochet dress with a scooped neckline. She wore no bra, since the dress was -lined with sheer nylon. The dress clung to her young full breasts to outline the tight thrust of her large nipples. She applied just enough lipstick to give her nicely shaped mouth a little color and used her mother's liner to accentuate the blue of her expressive eyes. She combed her short black hair and posed a moment in front of the mirror to make sure that everything was in order. Then she went downstairs to Mr. Lecheur's apartment.
He always left the door unlocked when he was expecting her, as he was today, hoping that what had happened the day before wouldn't stop her from coming to see him again. The instant that he heard the door open, he turned his head and saw her enter. His eyes popped at the sight of her and he leaned forward in his wheelchair for a better look at her, ogling the sensuous bounce of her young, braless breasts as she closed the door and came forward.
Even from across the room, she could see his cock come to life under his trousers, like a dancing cobra at the sound of its charmer's flute. For some reason that she found very difficult to justify, her eyes fastened on the growing snake, as awareness of a strange, mild stirring in her own loins. But in spite of that and the elaborate preparations that she had made to make herself look seductive and attractive for him, Carol kept insisting to herself that what had happened the day before wasn't going to be repeated today. She wasn't going to take off her clothes for him. She wasn't going to bed with him. It was all very contradictory and confusing, she knew, but that's how it was going to be.
"Is-is there anything I can get you before I start to clean house?" she asked him soberly.
He looked at her bare thighs where the microskirt ended. She was showing him an awful lot of white young flesh. He shook his head slowly, "No. You go ahead and do your work. If I think of anything I'll let you know."
Carol turned and went through the rooms, picking up books, newspaper, articles of clothing and other things that he had scattered about. Each time she bent forward, she could feel the weight of his hot, eager eyes on the backs of her thighs as her short skirt inched up. When she faced him and stooped, the loose-fitting scoop neckline of her dress would fall away and offer him a generous glimpse of her magnificent young globulars.
After she finished "picking up" the living room and dining room, she went into the kitchen where she washed and dried and put away his breakfast and luncheon dishes. Then she came back into the living room, where he sat patiently waiting for her in his wheel chair.
"I think I'll make the bed now," she told him, feeling a little uncomfortable at the silence that had reigned between them almost since she had first come in. Not anything like the usual run of chatter that passed between them. But then she still felt very strange with him, after the previous day. A little embarrassed, too, that she had made herself up in such a fashion, still not entirely sure exactly why she had done it. She couldn't help but wonder if he felt as uneasy as she did. Especially since all he had said about her making the bed was a "good idea."
Aside from the strained silence, Mr. Lecheur had behaved himself very nicely. Certainly nothing like she had expected. Of course, he lost no opportunity to admire her legs and boobs and the rest of her stunning anatomy. But she couldn't blame him for that. He was simply acting the way that any other male, young or old, might act. Certainly so far, he had given her not the slightest indication that there might be a repeat of what had happened the day before. He didn't even follow after her when she went into the bedroom. She was glad about that.
Whether or not he had slept in the bed the previous night, he hadn't bothered to change the sheets that were stained with a few drops of her dried virgin blood and his lust. Base, devil lust. As she started to strip the bed, she could smell the strong male odor with which the sheets still reeked. She felt a strange burning in her loins.
She was on the bed, putting on clean sheets, reaching across it for the corner of the sheet, when she heard his wheel chair behind her in the doorway. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder and saw him wheeling toward the bed. She straightened on the bed and faced him.
"Oh, no," she told him in no uncertain terms. "None of that stuff!"
He halted beside the bed, his face a mask of innocence. "None of what stuff, darling?"
"What happened yesterday."
"But of course not, my dear," he said with a benign smile as he locked the chair in place and started to slide onto the bed. "I wouldn't think of doing anything you didn't want me to do. You know that."
She felt his hot palm on her bare thigh just below the hem of her short skirt. She pushed his hand away. "Please, Mr. Lecheur. I-I asked you not to."
"Sorry," he said with mock apology as he sat beside her on the bed now, his eyes feasting on her deep cleavage and the rise of her breasts over the scooped neckline. "By the way, did you tell your mother about the five dollars I gave you yesterday?"
Carol swallowed uneasily. "No, sir."
His smile deepened. "Smart girl. That only would have opened the door to a lot of questions, wouldn't it? She might have even stopped you from coming here-and we wouldn't want that, would we? Because that would mean that you couldn't make any extra money-or have any of those pretty things I promised."
Carol didn't answer him and she didn't like at all that he could so easily interpret her thoughts.
"I suppose by now you have that five dollars all spent?" he fished.
"No," Carol replied.
"Saving it?"
"Yes."
What for?"
She told him and sort of hesitatingly added how much more the body blouse would cost, "Oh, I think we can very easily find a way for you to get that eight dollars more that you need," he whispered oilily as he placed his right hand on her left shoulder. He brushed away the scooped neckline and put his scalding wet mouth to her gleaming white flesh.
Carol shivered and made a half-hearted attempt to draw away from him as he ran his lips up her neck to her left ear, then down over her straining white throat to the voluptuous swell of her breasts, inhaling the warm fragrance of her girlish body.
"Please, Mr. Lecheur, no ... you're making my tummy feel all icky and crazy again ... you ... you promised you wouldn't," she breathed laboriously. K
"I said I wouldn't if you didn't want me to," he pointed out to her as his right hand slid down from her shoulder to the back of her dress, to slide open the long plastic zipper that he found there. As soon as the zipper was opened, the dress slipped down to bare her luscious left tit. "But you do want me to, don't you, my darling? You want to earn that eight dollars you need for that pretty red body blouse."
She didn't argue, nor did she make any further attempt to stop or dissuade him, because she wanted that blouse more than she ever wanted anything. No matter how many false promises she made to herself, in her heart she knew all along what she was going to have to do to get the additional money to buy it. Why else would she have gone to so much bother to make herself look more desirable to him?
Carol just half-sat, half-lay there on the rumpled bed beside him, letting him work the top of the gown down to her waist, baring both of her lovely, milky breasts, the nipples standing out pink and stiff as if waiting for him to kiss them.
He didn't disappoint them but kissed his way down to the tingling nubs, then licked and suckled, first one then the other, until they glowed like lighted tapers. His left hand, meantime, worked its way up under her short skirt to stroke her pussy to wetness through the spider web material of her mother's black panties. A moment later the panties and the dress were off and she was lying there in front of him on the bed, stark naked.
He dropped his mouth to her breasts, kissing and licking them all over, nibbling at the points. Then he left a trail of his saliva behind as he warmly and wetly licked his way downward over her flat belly, tonguing her navel, and skittering through the crop of black hair that covered her sweet-smelling crotch area. He tapped her legs farther apart, gently, then he had her draw her heels in toward her lovely bottom. With two fingers, he then parted the pink-red lips of her vagina so that he could see into the dark, palpitating tunnel that led into the very depths of her being.
"Pussies as a rule aren't very pretty," he told her. "At least not to my way of thinking they're not. But yours is. Yours is by far the prettiest I ever saw."
And it was. The outer lips were dark pink and as nicely shaped as a sweet mouth. The hair that surrounded it was rich black and shiny moist, coarser and curlier than the hair atop her head. The inner lips were almost shell-pink and covered with a gauzy film. The pearly-white clit situated at the tip of her opening was excited now, standing stiff and straight.
Mr. Lecheur didn't take too long a look. Again his head dipped forward and his lips skittered over the moist lips of her moist cunt, his tongue creeping into the foyer of her vulva, slick now, warm and wet with her secretion. The sweet musky aroma of her pussy seemed to inflame him further. Clutching her lust-bloated lips with his fingers, he peeled them back and slashed away at the swollen boil of her clit.
Carol moaned, shuddered and thrashed as her body became suddenly alive with uncontrollable passion. "Oh, no, Mr. Lecheur ... you mustn't ... you mustn't! It isn't right ... it's evil ... Oh, Please ... please ... stop...."
He paused. "You like it, don't you? It feels good, doesn't it?"
"No!" she blurted out. "It's dirty ... and perverted ... It isn't nice ... I hate it...."
But it wasn't true. The feeling that his tongue rolling over her super-sensitive clitoris brought her as he returned to her honeycomb was incredible ... fantastic ... like nothing that she had ever known before. She wanted to scream ... cry. And if he didn't stop she was going to cum! And not more than ten seconds later, his lips siphoning her clit, his tongue sawing on its hot pearl, Carol experienced her first orgasm by cunnilingus.
Her hands jammed his face between her legs, suffocatingly; his head held imprisoned between her moist hot thighs until the throbbing and the erupting in her belly receded ... only then did she release him.
She lay there on her back, eyes closed, breathing through her mouth, unmindful of her nudity. She waited for his penetration, the feel of his hard cock easing between the hot, mucous-lined walls of her pussy. She was sure that she would have little difficulty accepting him today. His sucking down there had left her wet and open ... and maybe just a little more anxious than she should have been. But he didn't stay between her thighs and stick it in her as she had expected. Instead, she felt him drag his cast-encased leg up with great effort until he straddled her. She opened her eyes to see him moving forward until his bony asscheeks were positioned above her nude, upthrust breasts. For a moment, Carol didn't comprehend. She couldn't begin to imagine why he was positioning himself like this with his cock so close to her face. It was the first real close-up look that she had of it, and while it fascinated her somewhat, she couldn't help but be intimidated by its masculine strength.
And then, as he eased it just a little nearer to her face, it suddenly hit Carol what he wanted her to do-he wanted her to suck it! She had heard that some men liked it like this. But she had never dreamed that a man would ever ask anyone but a prostitute or a pervert to do it this way. Certainly she never dreamed that a man like Mr. Lecheur would ask a girl like her to do such a vile and perverted thing. But then, he had done the same thing to her down there!
It seemed even worse when he put it into words and said, "Kiss it ... eat it, darling."
"Please no, Mr. Lecheur," she implored him. "I-I don't even mind if you-if you do it to me like you did to me yesterday. But please don't ask me to do it like this. Please. It would make me deathly sick."
"It's all in your mind, darling," he said softly, but with unmistakable insistence in his voice. It was obvious that nothing would give him a bigger belt than having a pretty, young head like hers attached to the end of his cock, sucking on it. "You might even like it better than the other way."
She kept shaking her head, her expression leaving no doubt in his mind as to her abhorance. "I-I couldn't, Mr. Lecheur. The taste alone-"
"That's just it," he interrupted. "There's no taste to it, or hardly any."
She continued to shake her head. "No...."
"Tell you what," he suggested. "You try it ... just try it ... and if you don't like it, you can stop."
"No, please, don't ask me to."
"I'll make that eight dollars I promised-ten," he bargained as he eased forward, his buttocks pressing down, flattening her breast until the vermilion knob of his lust-swollen prick was less than an inch from her rouge-red lips.
Ten whole dollars, he had promised her! That was more money than she had ever had for herself in all her fifteen years. She felt him strain forward and brush the head of his cock over her lips.
She turned her face away with undisguised disgust and ran her tongue over her lips moist with the seepage from the slit in the livid red tip of his cock. She was surprised to discover that, as he had said, it had hardly any taste. A trifle salty perhaps but that was all. Maybe-just maybe-it wouldn't be nearly as bad as she had thought. And for ten dollars-!
Whether or not he surmised what she was thinking, he gave her no opportunity to reconsider. Reaching down he grabbed a handful of her short black hair and brought her face forward to his cock.
Her lips remained tightly until he gave her hair a cruel yank that made her lips soften and part slightly.
"I don't want to be rough with you, darling," he murmured between ragged breaths. "So don't make me." The sight of his immensely rigid cock poised at her half-opened mouth sent him suddenly wild. He rocked his hips from side-to-side and managed to let the lust-bloated prick slide lewdly over her lower lip and into the warm wet interior of her mouth.
Carol felt the underside of the throbbing insistent flesh slide over her tongue and its sensitive folds scrape against her teeth. She knew that it was futile to resist any longer. He was much too far along to stop now. Besides, as it had been when he fucked her, once the initial revulsion was past and she stopped thinking how degenerate it was, the mildly pungent taste and the heavy throbbing of him against her tongue and inside her mouth sent strange, intoxicating sensations into her brain. Once her taste buds became adjusted to it, the exotic flavor of his male juice was rather heady and not at all unpleasant. Maybe he had been right again? Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad, after all-certainly not when she considered that she was going to get ten dollars for doing it to him.
His right hand was still gripping her hair, but he had stopped tugging at it as he looked down again and saw her mouth filled and her cheeks puffed out with his cock. Adrift in a blood-red fog, he began instructing Carol in the fine art of sucking cock. He taught her how to torment the underside of his glans, how to slide her mouth up and down the underside of his shaft, suck and lick at the same time.
"Just the barest touch of your teeth, darling, as you go up and down," he panted. "Keep your lips tight and sucking all the time. Make believe he's riding your cunt and milk the hell out of him-especially when I start to cum. Wrap your lips around him and tug hard." He showed her how to turn her head slightly to the side so that she could get more of his length down her oral cavity.
Her eyes closed now, Carol's mouth went up and down the length of his desire-rigid organ, trying to remember all the things that he had told her, resigned and enjoying her servile chores more than she was willing to admit. Her jaws were beginning to ache and her lungs felt cramped for air-but she kept sucking, sucking.
He was wild now, pumping in and out of her suctioning mouth, heedless of the cumbersome cast thumping in rhythm. She coughed and moaned but she stayed right with it. Until all of a sudden she felt his hands grasp the sides of her head and keep her face locked against his sweating loins. She knew that he was starting to cum and tried to pull off him. But that wasn't his intention. He kept her face pinioned there, his prick deep in her throat as his cock exploded furiously.
Carol felt the hot, sticky wetness shoot out of him and splash the roof of her mouth. She again tried to dislodge his cock from her mouth but he continued to hold her there steadfastly, his cockhead banging and plowing her palate, her esophagus, the flat of her tongue, filling her mouth with his jetting sperm until she was forced to swallow it to keep from gagging. He kept pumping ferociously, until she had sucked every drop of cum out of him. Then he let go of her head and watched as she fell back onto the pillows, a trickle of his milk-like juice running from the corners of her mouth.
"Well, was it so bad, my dear?" Mr. Lecheur asked as he dropped onto the mattress alongside her.
She made no answer. She simply got off the bed and went into the bathroom. As she washed her face and rinsed out her mouth with a powerful wash, she could see why some women might prefer it that way.