Free Carol (Carol Schmidt Series) by Lori Cook Page B

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.
    Carol steadied herself, bringing the jerky movements of their bodies
under control. Then she took Irina’s hand in hers, guiding it to her sex and
letting the eager fingers force their way into her slit.
    It was too much, too hard. This Russian bitch had no subtly. There
was a tension in her movements, a desire that made her clumsy. She desperately
wanted to screw, and to be screwed. That much was obvious. But she needed
someone to show her how to get the best from another woman’s body.
    Carol stood up, her crotch still resting against Irina’s ass, so
that the Russian’s fingers could continue to explore her sex. Then she ran her
hand all the way down Irina’s back, pressing her fingertips into the ridge of
the backbone, feeling its knobby contours, down, down over the boney nub of the
coccyx, then easing down between the buttocks, using the pink cord of the
G-string as a guide.
    The flesh was a good deal warmer here. Her fingers stopped when she
came to the butt hole. She could feel its raised edges, poking out on both
sides of the G-string, and it seemed to be crying out for attention. Irina now
shifted her legs further apart and thrust her ass upwards, her little hole pushing
itself into Carol’s hand.
    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