American Girl

She felt so relieved to finally understand the information he wanted from her that she answered quickly, without giving it much thought. Now she worked backwards through her memory, as much to satisfy her own curiosity as his. "Six," she said.

A sly smile appeared on Mr. Smith's face and he made a noise deep in his throat.

Rafia felt her cheeks warm. It suddenly occurred to her that she'd been passed out this morning. It was humiliating to admit, but she had no way of knowing how many boys she'd slept with last night.

She met Mr. Smith's gleaming eyes. "Seven or eight. . . I guess."

Rafia swallowed hard.

". . . I really don't know," she said.

Mr. Smith grinned.

He lowered his head and nuzzled her neck.

"She doesn't know," he whispered in her ear. Rafia could hear him softly snicker. "Seven or eight boys," he said. "How about nine or ten? Maybe a dozen. A dirty dozen?"

He gave a lusty grunt, his cock throbbing between her legs. "Pretty little thing has no idea how many dicks she's had up in her belly in the last twenty four hours."

His cock grew thicker as he spoke and Rafia ignored her shame and focused instead on the orgasm rising inside her. It was maddening because although she was very close, each time that hot feeling began to take over, she would feel a small jolt of pain between her legs, just enough to distract her and make her start the long climb all over again.

Mr. Smith had been watching her carefully and suddenly he stopped. She gave him a pleading look but he pulled his cock out. It was hard and veiny and wet.

He took her hand and led her to another room with a king size bed and heavy drapes on one wall. Rafia stood with her hands clasped under her chin. He turned down the bed, then piled soft white pillows into a great stack in the middle of the mattress.

He had her drape her body across the pillows.

Rafia felt the blood rushing to her head and then he wedged his tongue into her ass. Rafia gasped and arched her back. She felt embarrassed that he should put his mouth back there, and she tried to twist away, but he held her ass cheeks firmly in both his hands. After the initial shock, she found she rather liked this sort of attention. She felt his fingers clutching and spreading her cheeks apart, his tongue darting into her anus. Tucking her knees on either side of the stack of pillows, she arched her back and groaned her assent. It was good. So good.

He soon stopped. As much as she was enjoying herself, Rafia felt grateful for the respite, the chance to catch her breath.

"This might hurt," he murmured.

Rafia felt something cold and wet on her ass. It didn't hurt. His finger went where his tongue had been. Rafia rocked her hips. By the time it dawned on her that he intended to follow his finger with his cock, he'd greased her ass and she'd assumed the ready position.

"Mr. Smith," Rafia whispered urgently. "Mr. Smith!"

She wasn't sure she was ready to have a dick in her ass. She tried to unfold her legs, but it was already too late. He clambered up on her, pressed his cock against her asshole, and with a mighty heave of his hips, buried his cock deep inside her slippery ass.

"Oh, Mr. Smith," Rafia cried.

There was sharp pain in her ass but it soon dissolved into a dull burning sensation. And then there were his strokes, which filled Rafia completely. She took fistfuls of the sheets in both her hands. He reached his hand down her tummy, fingered her clitoris, and Rafia groaned. She bucked her hips, riding his hand, making his cock slide in and out of her ass. He put his other hand on her nipples and Rafia felt the release start from way down in her toes. Raising her hips, she tried to escape his hand, the explosion of sensation in her pussy and ass. Even her hair felt as if it were exploding into fire, bursting in emotion.

Rafia moaned and writhed and finally came to a crash with her ass raised on the pillows, the weight of Mr. Smith on her back. Rafia pushed the hair from her face, wiped her sweat from her forehead. Mr. Smith gave her a moment to recover. Then he grunted, sinking his cock deeper into her. It hurt. Without the momentum of impending orgasm, it felt like he had his arm shoved up her ass. Rafia felt him pull back, and then he sank into her again.

"Mr. Smith," she cried. "It hurts. It hurts!"

"Why did you come?" he asked without hiding his irritation.

He moved his hips and Rafia gasped. "Please," she whimpered.

He stopped moving.

"I haven't come yet," he said.

"Mr. Smith," she begged. "Please."

He inhaled sharply. He shifted his weight and she could feel his fat cock lodged in her ass. She felt embarrassed for coming. Guilty for being unable to allow him to finish in the manner he had started. He buried his head in her thick hair. He didn't say anything for a bit and Rafia didn't want to risk annoying him.

"If I take it out," he finally asked, "will you put it in your mouth?"

"Yes," Rafia said. "Yes, yes."

She answered immediately, so grateful he had given her an out.

Without another word, she felt him shift his weight. He was almost off her when he changed his mind, lay his full body weight onto her back. Rafia gave an "oof" and fell flat on the bed. He gave her two quick pumps in rapid succession, making her squeal. He was being cruel, Rafia knew, but then his cock was out of her and she was free. She rolled off the pile of pillows and lay flat on the bed for a moment, feeling great relief.

He got off the bed and crossed the room. She listened to him in the bathroom.

He urinated. Flushed. Ran the tap.

As he strode back into the room, Rafia scrambled to her knees. Reaching for his cock, she briefly thought about where it had just been. She hesitated for just a moment before opening her mouth, placing his cock inside. He tasted salty. His dick was warm. Pliable.

She used both her hands to massage his shaft, fondle his balls.

Soon she felt his palm on top of her head. His cock was thick. She could tell by the way he planted his feet, the way he held her head, he intended to come in her mouth. Had she agreed to let him come in her mouth? She had said yes, of this she was sure. But her ass had hurt so badly and she just wanted him off.

Rafia put her palms on his thighs. She could feel her anxiety mounting.

He took her head in both his hands now. He was moving his hips, fucking her mouth. At any moment, he would erupt, splashing warm cream into her mouth. She thought about how warm it would be. How salty it would taste. How he would moan and hold her head tightly. How his penis would quiver as it sprayed its salty jets. The more she thought about it, the less it bothered her, the more it turned her on. Rafia made herself ready. She shifted her weight from one knee to the other. His hand went to his shaft and he worked himself. Rafia raised her eyes to gauge how close he was. Now that she was ready for it, she found herself wishing it would happen, but it seemed to be taking the longest time. She wished he would just get it over with. She wished he would just fill her mouth with his warm gift.

And then suddenly . . . Rafia got her wish!

The first shot went to the back of her mouth and down her throat. She had to concentrate on working her throat to accept the rest, to keep from choking. Her mouth exploded with his salty taste. She put her hands on his ass cheeks and felt him clenching his bottom in time with the spurts filling her mouth. He petted her head and groaned. Long after he finished, long after there was nothing left for her to swallow, Rafia nuzzled him.

He soon pried her head from his cock.

They ended up on the king size bed together. Rafia's whole body tingled. He held her in his arms and soon she heard his even breathing. She slid out from his arms and sat in an upholstered chair, watching him sleep.

For a man of his age, he had a reasonably athletic body.

She would let him sleep for half an hour, forty five minutes more. Then she would wake him. Meanwhile, she would go downstairs, make him a sandwich. When he woke up, she would get some protein into him. Hope he could go again. Once more before she would have to leave. Twice more, if she were really lucky.

Her pussy trembled with anticipation and she squeezed her thighs together.

She would have to find her dress, her panties. Her shoes. She would have to come up with a story to explain her overnight absence to her father. Rafia felt she could do it. It was all within her grasp.

Chapter 3

Three weeks later, Rafia discovered she was pregnant.

When her father found out, he clucked his tongue disapprovingly. For days he stormed around the house. Soon, though, he relented, and threw himself into the paternity suit. He petitioned the court. In this case, the "court" was the Justice of the Peace, Maynor Smith, Veronica's father, and the older brother of Mr. Smith, who Maynor ultimately named the father of the child. Maynor never liked his younger brother much anyway. After a review of the facts, the younger Smith was the only potential father capable of paying. All the other boys were attending Roosevelt on scholarships.

Mr. Smith protested his innocence.

He demanded DNA testing and the court duly sent technicians to both Rafia's home and to his, collecting swabs and blood samples. Maynor ignored the results. He was more concerned with the questions of his daughter's culpability than his brother's pride.

And as with most things in Carnal, it was all settled in the court of public opinion anyway. Everyone knew Mr. Smith - an arrogant and demanding prig of a man - had enjoyed sweet Rafia. And for that enjoyment he would pay a tidy sum. With the new child support laws, his obligation extended even to the child's college education, which (eventually) would come in the form of an endowment for Roosevelt, his mother's Alma mater. Mr. Smith never spoke to Maynor again, nor did he ever visit the child.

Rafia became a minor celebrity.

She moved out of her father's house and into subsidized housing-Hoover Homes - where the upperclassman from Roosevelt would visit her. They came alone. They came late at night, often in a drunken stupor. The first time it happened, Rafia peered through the peep hole of her steel door. It was Roy Talbot. Butterflies tickled her stomach and she fussed with her hair. He kissed her hard on the mouth and his hands went right to her swollen breasts. They necked in the hall for a few minutes. No sooner was he inside, he unzipped and leaned his back against the door.

Rafia knew she shouldn't, but she went right to her knees.

She would get two or three different boys each week. All upperclassmen. On rare occasion, she might get a second caller in the early dawn light. Soon her tummy grew to enormous proportions and she waddled when she walked. Rafia enjoyed the attention these men brought to her door. In fact, she knew it went beyond mere enjoyment - she needed them. Needed the affection, their adulation. She gratefully satisfied most of them on the threshold of her apartment, kneeling just inside the door, one hand atop her great belly. A few others - Roy, Logan, Chet - she invited onto her couch.

The night she gave birth was a trauma.

It was a difficult birth, extending for hours and hours, through three different hospital shifts. Always there was a new nurse hustling in and out of her room through the long night. The experienced hospital staff knew well what lay in store for her, but as the night unfolded they offered Rafia only their kind smiles, sympathetic nods of the head. There could be no reprieve. Somehow it reminded Rafia of the night she'd conceived the child. In the morning, when she woke, her bottom felt achy and swollen and a beautiful newborn lay by her side.

It was a boy.

Rafia named the child Morris Talbot Reese Saad, but she just called him Moe for short.

She didn't immediately take to parenting. It took some time. Infants, she knew, are forever born without guile, but it was hard, at first, for Rafia to think of this one as anything but a tyrant. He had needs. He demanded much. She tried to anticipate his requests, but she was new to motherhood and always unsure if she was ready for this thing or that, and there was so much more that she didn't even know. His cries felt like indictments. And then one day, Moe was about nine months, he looked at her, standing on chubby pink legs, crushing crackers on the end table with his fists, and he smiled. A toothless grin, from his wispy head.

Her heart melted.

From that point on, Rafia had a new relationship with Moe. She adored him. She nurtured and fed him. He was still a tyrant, but now he was her little tyrant. And Rafia served him well. He offered her many of the things she craved.

But he couldn't satisfy all her needs.

Sometimes in the wee light of dawn, after Moe had nursed and fallen back to sleep, she thought of Mr. Smith. Rafia held no animosity for him. She knew he wasn't the father, but she didn't mind receiving his support. Most of the time when she thought of him, it was with a wistful something buried deep inside her that was hard to admit. She ignored the talk around Carnal about him.

One afternoon Chet knocked on her door. Moe had just gone down for a nap and Rafia planned to nap herself. She wanted to shoo Chet from her door, but he'd brought her a grocery bag filled with diapers and perishables. On her stoop, Chet confessed that his mother had raised him on her own. Rafia invited him in for a quick cup of tea.

Soon they were necking on the couch. He had his hands on her breasts, his warm breath on her neck. Rafia took his face in her palms. She could feel her own needs rising, but she took a moment to inspect the bone structure in his cheeks.

Moe had Chet's nose, she could see that now. She fluffed the curls on his forehead.

"Lick me," Rafia whispered.

Chet grinned. He slipped to his knees. He took the waistband of her leggings and tugged. Rafia opened her legs, preventing him from removing her pants. Reaching between her thighs, Rafia took his ears in her hands. "Not my pussy," she said.

Chet gave her a puzzled look.

Rafia tugged her leggings and panties past her bottom, then lifted her legs and removed her pants. "My ass," Rafia said. "Lick my ass for me."

She took his head back in her hands, stroked his cheeks. He kept his face even, but his smile was gone. She felt embarrassed to ask for his attention down there. Rafia looked toward Moe's bedroom door. She knew he'd be up in a short while.

"Lick it," she cooed.

Rafia put her feet on Chet's shoulders. Scooted her bottom to the edge of the couch. He was such a nice boy, such a clean-cut American boy.

He closed his eyes and Rafia felt the first tentative licks from his tongue. She groaned appreciatively and he amplified his efforts. His fingers pried her ass cheeks apart. He sank his tongue deep into her asshole. It didn't shock her the way it did the first time Mr. Smith had done it, but it felt good in a different way now. It was the dirty feeling of asking another to perform a task such as this. It was acknowledging to someone else that you enjoyed something so shocking, enjoyed it enough to bear the shame of asking for it. Chet's eyes were closed, a look of concentration on his face.

She grabbed a hank of his short hair.

He cast his eyes up to her.

"Does Veronica know you're here?" Rafia asked. His hooded eyes and the long, sidelong glance that followed were all the answer Rafia needed. Veronica had no idea he was here.

Rafia laughed, a lyrical, happy noise.

"It's okay," she comforted.

Rafia took the back of his head and pulled his face into her ass. She stroked her labia and squirmed her bottom, riding his tongue. "It's okay," she said.

And it was okay. It was just desire, first his and now her own.