A Wicked Summer for Carnal Girls Ch. 04

Donnell smiled.

"Bend over," he said. "Pull down your pants."

She looked at him with a pained expression. She was the homecoming queen. She'd worn the victory tiara, sat atop the fire truck in a splendid gown. She waved to all the cheering small-town faces in the home town crowd.

"Don't make me keep repeating myself," Donnell said with unmasked irritation.

She turned, hooked her thumbs into the waist of her tights, and lowered them to her ankles. Her body was perfect. Her ass and thighs were muscular and toned, her skin smooth, white and supple. Remaining bent over, she turned her head to catch Donnell's eye, a pleading look on her face.

"Spread your ass," he said.

She reached behind herself with both hands and lowered her head.

Donnell tilted his head, gazing at her bottom.

Joe was hard. He felt ashamed of himself, but his arousal at least tempered his fury, allowing him to hide his hope to protect Veronica. He wondered what she had whispered that made her feel so vulnerable. Donnell acquiesced to her, talking around her secret, explaining his expectations. She seemed genuinely grateful for his discretion. It was surreal to see her nude, holding both her ass cheeks apart with such an earnest expression on her face. Donnell was making sure she would do whatever she was asked, and she was buying into it completely. She was going to have to jump through some hoops tonight.

"You do what you're told," Donnell said. "You be okay."

She gave him a weak smile. His pep talk seemed to have helped. "It's time," Donnell said, indicating the adjoining room. "Go pay for your drugs."

He pointed his finger and the young men whooped.

She immediately sat on the floor and removed the tights from her ankles. She stood and held her bottoms before her for a moment. The light in the room danced off the muscles in her abdomen, the shallow indent of her navel, the nub of her pubis bone. And then she abandoned the tights, letting them fall to the floor. The fur between her legs was shaved into a short landing strip.

She glanced to Cutter but he ignored her.

Now that she had surrendered, she wouldn't look at Joe. He accepted this without qualm. A girl had to do certain things to prepare herself to be used by a roomful of men.

She strode into the other room, wiping her eyes with her forearm and palms. She did a familiar shuffle step that included a little twirl at the end and it took Joe a moment to realize where he had seen that step before. It was one of the cheerleader routines. He's seen the whole squad do that step hundreds of times on the sidelines or at half court, but this was the first time he'd ever seen one of the girls perform it in the nude, pumping herself up to be sodomized by drug-dealing thugs.

Both boys unzipped their flies.

Veronica went to her knees. Brushing the hair from her face, she immediately put a cock in her mouth. She wetted it and then the other. She engaged the boys, looking them in the eye, speaking to them as she moved her attention from one to the other. The boy she'd struck had his arms folded and a smirk on his face. He was still her biggest threat. The other boy, though, was falling under her spell. He grinned, eagerly engaging with her. He even elbowed his partner, helping her elicit short monosyllabically responses from him.

She was manipulating the two of them as surely as she'd manipulated the men at her birthday party. Only tonight she wasn't looking for sips from long-neck brown bottles of beer. Tonight she was working for her life.

"You know her?" Donnell continued to look at the forms.

A long silence followed. Joe didn't know what to say. For the second time tonight they were calling into question his allegiance. He felt indicted, as much by the question as the erection smoldering in his pants.

Cutter was eyeing him again. Waiting for an answer.

"Everyone knows her," Joe said, his voice tight. "She's a cheerleader." He shifted in his seat, trying to hide the erection throbbing in his lap. Meeting Cutter's eyes, Joe held his gaze. He shrugged, glancing toward the powder she'd left on the table.

"Now she's a whore," he mumbled.

He hated himself for betraying her. For betraying her father.

Veronica was making choking noises. The boy she'd struck had her head in his hands and was fucking her mouth. He let go of her head, and she coughed and sputtered and gasped for air. He asked her if she'd ever had her mouth fucked. When she could speak, she grinned at him. She had a mouthful of white teeth, the most perfect smile. The local paper always seemed to run pictures of her smiling face to celebrate hometown wins. One time Joe had asked her father about the paper's penchant for using Veronica's smile in victory articles. Maynor laughed and said he'd paid over six thousand dollars for orthodontia so that she might possess such a smile. Now she grinned up at this boy, with her perfect white smile which had cost so much. "No," she said. She coughed again but continued to grin at the boy who had just used her mouth for such a rude purpose. "Never," she added.

"Have now," he laughed. He held his wet cock in his hand and snorted.

She laughed, but with less enthusiasm. Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, she let the other boy lead her to a thin mattress he'd dragged into the middle of the room.

"Cutter know what she whispered," Donnell said, a grin spreading across his face.

He said it loud enough for the table to hear, but not loud enough for anyone in the other room to catch. Donnell grinned to his partner. "Cutter know what she want," he said, his voice playful. He was taunting the big man.

Cutter remained silent.

He continued working the powder, his eyes flat and hard.

Donnell grinned. He was holding all the cards. He had all the questions and all the answers. "She wants to fuck a black man," Donnell said.

Cutter snorted, a look of disgust on his face.

"What?" Donnell laughed, mock indignation spreading across his face.

Cutter glared at Donnell for a brief moment.

"She ain't never fuck a black man," Donnell said. "That's what she whispered."

Unhooking his mask, Cutter let it hang from his neck. He shook his head. He stood, went into the kitchen and peered into the refrigerator. Getting out a can of beer, he snapped it open, drank from the can, and then scowled at his partner.

Veronica groaned. The Puerto Rican boy had her on all fours, licking her ass. She kept trying to turn around and smile, get him to talk or interact with her, but he wanted none of it. He held her hips in his hands and kept his chin buried in her bottom. Every so often his tongue would touch some secret chord and she would groan, arch her eyebrows up, and her mouth would form a soundless little round circle. She would squirm like this for a bit and then catch herself, try to compose her face, put on that fabulous smile again. She would twist around and try to get the boy to relent. But it was no use. He held her hips fast, relentlessly perusing his needs. She looked at Joe once, shame etched across her face. And then she bit her lip and groaned, the boy's tongue spurring her to new heights. Soon she gave up trying to resist and just buried her head in her arms, her bottom high in the air, the boy using her tight little hole.

"She going to fuck some black men tonight," Donnell whispered.

He laughed to himself and went back to the paperwork. He had fine facial features, long slender fingers. He looked like a girl. The first time they met, Joe found him out in his garage, getting a blowjob from the sitter. She was an attractive girl, a neighborhood kid from Saint Barnaby's. Joe watched Donnell finish, then threw him out. He raced from the garage, ignoring his girl. His cum was in her hair, on her chest. He left her in the garage, left her on her knees.

He left her with Joe.

Cutter took his seat, setting two unopened cans of beer on the table. Donnell reached for one. Snapped it open. Cutter put the lid on his bin of powder. Taking a long draught from his own can, he watched the girl.

The Puerto Rican boy rose on his knees and slapped Veronica's rear.

She rolled onto her back, looking relieved to be finished with the rimming. Eager to be on her back. If her earlier smiles had been pretense, the passion in her face looked genuine now. She lay with her legs open, making tiny rolling motions with her hips. His tongue had started her engine and now she wanted to race.

The boy stood and stripped, revealing a muscular body. He looked magnificent. He was hairless. He had even shaved between his legs which made his already large cock look massive.

He knelt between her thighs and rubbed himself on her. Veronica opened her legs and he mounted her, settling into an athletic rhythm. Raising her head, Veronica wrapped her arms around his neck. She looked between their bodies and watched as he speared her again and again.

Cutter looked at Joe evenly and sipped his beer.

"She fucking black men now," he said.

Joe smiled. It was easier to remain professional when the girl was enjoying herself. He looked at the unopened can of beer, knew it was meant for him, but he didn't reach for it.

It was easy to imagine how Veronica's desire to sleep with a black man could produce such anxiety for her. Her father was an intolerant man. He once asked Joe to help him drain his swimming pool because a young black girl had accidently fallen into it during one of the cheerleader parties. Joe couldn't imagine it. Had she bled? Thrown up? It didn't make sense. "Why drain it?" Joe asked. Maynor just stood silently, watching the crystal blue pool water wash into the gutter. Finally Joe asked about the cost. The fire department would have to come all the way out to the house to refill it. "Damn expensive," Maynor sighed.

It crossed Joe's mind that this might all be an elaborate ploy. Perhaps Veronica orchestrated the whole thing to allow herself the opportunity to sleep with a black man. She was the girl who had everything, but maybe she didn't have the courage to ask one of her classmates for sex. Or maybe she didn't think of herself as the kind of girl who could date black guys. With her dad the way he was, maybe she felt guilty. Maybe unconsciously she needed a way to compensate for his narrow-mindedness. Growing up in his house had instilled this fantasy in her. To feel whole, she needed to fuck a black guy. But because she was Maynor's little girl, she couldn't just fuck a black guy. Someone had to force her. She wanted that black cock, but to enjoy it, she needed someone to shove it down her pretty little throat.

Cutter was looking at him again. Waiting for a response.

"Girl wants to fuck black men," Joe said. He paused, not sure where he was going with it. Cutter watched him. Waited.

"You're black," Joe said.

Cutter narrowed his eyes. The silence in the room was deafening.

Donnell looked up, half astonished. Half amused.

"Maybe you should give her what she wants," Joe said.

Cutter snorted. He shook his head. He wore a look that was hard to read. Half smile, half frown. He wanted whatever he wanted, but he didn't want permission. Certainly not Joe's.

Veronica made a high pitched sound that clearly meant lust. The boy slapped her haunches, the way you might show affection to a big dog. He moved her legs over his shoulders. Veronica mewled, tried to move out of the position, but the boy held her legs in place and grinned.

"She likes it," Donnell said.

"She does," Joe said. No point denying that. The boy resumed his strokes, and Veronica whimpered, her legs draped over his shoulders. Her small breasts and the fleshy parts of her thighs wobbled with each of his strokes. He rode her hard.

Joe took a deep breath. "Let's hope she continues to like it," he said.

There was warning in his voice. He hadn't known he was going to say it that way until it came out of his mouth. Now it was too late to call back. Looking at Donnell, he grinned to deflect the menace in his words a bit.

Donnell snorted, a thin smile creasing his face. He sat back in his chair, an irritable look on his face. "Do we have a problem?" he asked.

Cutter reached for a backpack at his feet. Pulling it into his lap, he opened the main compartment, and reached inside.

Joe felt all the blood rush to his head where it throbbed uncomfortably in his ears.

"No problem," he said. He kept an eye on Cutter, the hand in the backpack. Nodding to the pile of drugs Veronica left on the table, Joe said, "Just business."

Veronica groaned huskily from the other room. The boy held her legs tight to his chest, relentlessly pumping his hips. She spread her arms wide, as if she were being crucified. Her head pitched from side to side and she cooed.

"Dirty business," Joe smiled.

Donnell glanced at Cutter, then returned his attention to the paperwork. Cutter put the backpack on the floor. He opened the last can of beer, making a loud snap. Settling into his chair, he watched the girl.

The boy put his hands behind her knees and pushed her legs to her chest, rolling her into the shape of an egg. Veronica looked mystified, but allowed him to have his way. Keeping his cock buried inside her, he made small jerky movements with his hips.

First he glanced at his friend on the couch. Then he looked into the other room. Soon he stopped moving his hips. He grinned, still squatting over her.

He exhaled.

His eyelids fluttered down, and the muscles in his haunches flexed.

For a beat, he held himself perfectly still.

And then he pulled himself from her, but kept her knees pressed against her chest. He said something to the boy on the couch in Spanish.

They both laughed.

The boy wearing the hat told Veronica that his partner had four children to three different women. The Puerto Rican boy smirked. He couldn't have been more than twenty-two, twenty-four. He told Veronica he wanted a fifth child, a boy.

Veronica's face suddenly crumbled with the realization that he'd come inside her. And he was holding her legs up to make certain he impregnated her. With a startled cry, she twisted her legs free from his hands.

Joe's cock throbbed and he no longer felt compelled to hide it. The little girl he once knew was gone. She'd transformed herself from a playful teenager experimenting with sex in her daddy's backyard, to a young woman, with real appetites, getting fucked on a mattress in Hoover Homes. She dated Chet Morris, the same boy she'd been dating for years. He was an All American quarterback, and she was the homecoming queen. Those two were a storybook couple in Carnal. How shocking then to see her like this—used by a pair of . . . thugs.

Joe settled back into his chair. Rubbing his chin with his hand, he felt the weight of his cock between his legs. Who was he to judge? She was just a stupid kid, in over her head. His own lack of good judgment in his teens and his twenties had driven him, the same way this girl's needs were driving her now.

The Puerto Rican boy grabbed his penis. It was soft, but still rather large.

"Potente," he said, in his thick accent.

Veronica lay on her side and shook her head in dismay. The boy laughed. He reached between her legs and then brought his finger to her mouth. She rolled her eyes. She was sweaty. Wet. She grudgingly laughed and then lowered her eyes.

Taking his finger in her mouth, she licked it clean.

With a loud scrape, Cutter pushed his chair back. Pulling the surgical mask from around his neck, he stood, then tilted the back of his chair against the table. "I'm gonna take a break," Cutter said, his eyes on Veronica.

"Nobody sit here." Cutter said. He pointedly looked at Joe, then moved off toward the adjoining room. Donnell grinned and glanced at Joe, but Joe wasn't much interested in Donnell. Cutter was the problem. He'd been goaded by Donnell and seemed capable of almost anything. For some reason, Veronica's interest in black men made Cutter furious. In a situation like this, if anything bad could happen, it probably would.

Joe sat up in his seat.

The backpack sat on the floor, on the other side of the table.

"Child, child, child" Cutter said, making his way toward the girl.

He stood at the edge of the mattress and spoke softly, honey in his voice. His body squat and hard, his skin so black it shone in the dim light. Veronica gazed up at him, plainly intimidated. "You," he whispered, lowering the timber of his voice seductively, "are the most amazing girl." Veronica scrambled to her knees to face the big man. She hugged her arms across her chest, searching his face.

"Such gorgeous eyes, such pretty hair. . ." Cutter cooed.

He had so many tattoos. A scar or welt of some sort ran down the triceps on his left arm. Hardscrabble and rough, he was the complete opposite of Veronica, young and sweet, her skin unblemished, her body a pale picture of perfection.

He kept his voice soft so that Veronica had to remain focused to hear him. She knelt before him, her hands resting in her lap, her head titled up. She wore a look of mild astonishment on her face. For a brief moment, Joe pictured her as one of the Catholic school girls from Saint Barnaby's, lined up on their knees at the front of church, waiting for the priest to lay the little wafer on their tongues. It did seem like a spiritual moment. It had the appearance of something higher. Maybe she was just frightened, her look of reverence a way of begging for safe passage through the wastelands she knew she had to travel tonight. She was negotiating with him to lead her, to guide her. She was placing all her hope and trust in him.

The Puerto Rican boy chuckled, breaking the spell.

Cutter's face suddenly turned hard. Violent. Turning to face the boy, Cutter barked: "What funny?" The lieutenant hung his head, quickly pulling on his pants.

Cutter collected himself. Looking back at Veronica, he softened his face.

"You the whitest white girl I ever seen." Cutter laughed.

Bowing her head, Veronica's cheeks flushed. She was brimming with privilege, affluence, and opportunity. All the good things her father could give her. All the good things this world had to offer. "Can I touch your hair?" Cutter asked. He rubbed the fingertips of one hand together, waiting for her permission.

Veronica nodded and scrambled forward on her knees to give him better access to her head. Moving too fast, she fell and had to use his thighs to steady herself. She gazed up into his face, running her fingers along his shorts. Cutter gathered her hair in one hand, then allowed the backs of his fingers to brush her cheek.

An animal growl came from somewhere low in his throat.

Veronica's eyes widened in fear, followed almost immediately by a look of embarrassment and shame. When Cutter saw her reaction, his face went solemn. "Help me," he whispered, his voice urgent. "I need your help."

Veronica swallowed hard.

Letting go of her hair, Cutter reached inside his shorts. A large round knob appeared, tenting his basketball pants. He kept his hand inside his waistband and that knob traveled along the inside of his leg, across the front of his shorts, like a shark fin closing fast. Tugging his waistband out, he swung his cock out.

His dick was huge.

It was so black it was almost purple, a thick vein running down its length. He held it in his fist. A shock of nappy hair rose from his groin like a tornado. Cutter raised his t-shirt with one hand, exposing the low bulge of his tummy and his dark navel.

He stroked his fat, dark cock. "Help me, baby," he cooed.

Veronica glanced at Joe, an intense look on her face that was hard to decipher. Fear. Guilt. Probably. But it seemed like more was in play than just Veronica giving herself to a black man. The boys were her age, Cutter was a man. He seemed to understand what she needed from him. He kept his eyes on her, patiently waiting for her to get her emotions under control.