Carol Ch. 08


I met her one morning... I guess it would be week eight, in our relationship. Our weird, intense relationship.

She was wearing a loose little frock. It was designed to be worn over something else, like a body suit. Of course, she'd bypassed all that nonsense. It had a low, square scoop in front, and big arm holes. At the tops of her thighs, it had little v-shaped cuts up her legs, with two larger ones by each hip.

Her legs were the first thing you noticed. They were bare, gleaming, muscular, and the eyes naturally flowed from her round calves, up to her knees, up to her defined thighs, up to her hips. Before long, you realized that you were admiring her thighs, hips and stomach through her dress. It was gray, of a light, loose fabric that pressed against her body when she walked forward. When she was standing still, it hung off the curve of her breasts, hiding little.

It was one of those outfits that you sometimes see on the street -- that make you want to change your plans for the day, and go where that girl is going. What's her story? What does she like? It's surreal, how showy clothes can shock your system.

She floated up the stairs of the subway, with her customary crowd of admiring commuters behind her. She put something in my hand, a little scrap of paper, wet from the perspiration in her hands.

I looked at it: a five dollar bill. I stared at it uncomprehendingly for a moment.

"Holy shit," I breathed. "You finally got the nerve?"

"Yes, Tyler," she said. Her eyes were tearing.

Damn the bottleneck we formed, I had her in my arms in a second. My hand felt every ridge and wrinkle of the five-dollar bill she'd given me. She had, twenty or thirty minutes earlier, sucked off an old man. She was a swallower, so somewhere, deep inside this warm, curvy, bundle of girl -- somewhere deep inside her, a load of cum from a stranger. People eddied around us, and I ignored their inconvenience.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," she sobbed.

"Are you happy?"

"Oh, yes, Tyler," she had her face buried in my chest. I patted her head, letting her cry.

I guided her away from the subway, where the hot air from the stairwell was wreaking havoc with the hem of her frock.

"If I told you to rip off your dress, and throw it into traffic, would you? Stand here naked with no clothes?"

"Oh, yes. Now, I'd do anything, oh yes."

"I won't ask you to do that," I said.

"Thank you for that," she said, then laughed.

"Tell me everything," I prompted.

"I went up to him, the newspaper stand," she said, wiping her eyes. "I asked him if he was still my friend."

She told me the whole story.

* * * * *

"Yeah, I'm your friend," he said. He was, so help me, licking his lips.

I took a breath, then made the plunge. I'd been visiting with him since that first time -- when I kissed him. I was just hanging out and then kissing him good-bye. Something inside me was keeping me from taking the next step. I knew you wouldn't be impatient, Tyler.

After the first few kisses, I felt less naughty. It was getting to be a routine, the way I kiss all my guy friends. I know that's part of the plan. Make things routine: first the skirts. Then the no-panties. Then the talking to every guy I meet. Then the kissing. Then the blouses and my breasts. It's all supposed to get routine. And it is: I hardly notice it anymore. I'm changing into something else, slowly but surely.

But could a blow-job get to be routine? I wasn't sure. I guess part of me was waiting, escalating it in my mind. There would only be one first blow-job. At least for this guy.

I told the man, "I need to borrow five dollars for the subway today. I forgot my wallet at home."

He looked at me, shocked for a second. Then suspicious. Finally, he said, "I don't just give money away to people on the street, honey. But you know how you can earn it?"

I had to hear him say it. "How can I earn it? You want me to sell papers for you, or something?"

"Polish my knob, girl. That's a hot dress. I know you're looking for action. Well, you can start early today."

"What do you mean?" I insisted. I gave him a smile. "You want me to go back there and blow you?"

"You bet," he said. He pulled a five dollar bill out of the register. That one you're holding there.

I pretended like this was shocking news to me. My face kind of froze, in the smile. "You're not serious. You really want me to...?"

Shit, I was making it as easy as possible for him.

"Yes I want you to suck me," he said, much encouraged.

I bit my lip, and glanced uncertainly up the street. The subway entrance seemed to beckon me. I could just turn, walk away, and go to the subway. I have a student pass. I didn't need his dirty fucking five dollars. I said, "No, really, I have a test today. I have to get to the city."

He just gave an evil sort of laugh. I could tell he was enjoying himself, like he was a hunter. He was probably patting himself on the back, having a girl like me in a tight situation. He let me stare up the street, then glance back at his eyes. I dropped my eyes to his pants, then glanced away again, as if embarrassed. He laughed again when he saw that. He had a raging hard-on, under his slacks.

Keeping my eyes on the ground, I pointed to the door, and stepped over. In my head, my voice was singing, 'What the fuck are you doing!?' I could feel my weight on my feet, with each step I took.

He opened the door, and I stepped in. He closed the door.

I was still staring at the ground, as he took my face in his rough hands and tilted my head back. His thumb on my jaw opened my mouth, and then he was kissing me full on the mouth, his tongue brushing against my lips. Our teeth grated, and I had to start moving my lips to react to him. The whole thing felt rough and unfriendly, from his hands on my face, to his mouth on my mouth. But I realized that this was just the beginning.

And why was I doing it? Not because I wanted his package. I wasn't, like, horny for his cum. I was doing it because you and I agreed that I should do it. And we agreed, because we thought this mean old guy should be satisfied. We'd decided, weeks ago, that he ought to have his fantasies fulfilled, and shoot off in my mouth.

I couldn't even hide behind a good excuse. I wanted him to shoot his cock off, in my mouth, because I had agreed that he should shoot his cock off in my mouth. For no other reason than that he ought to be able to do it if he wanted.

I kept that in mind as he pushed me down to my knees. I felt the ridged rubber floor on my knees. I was hoping the floor was dirty, so my knees would get stained. I was hoping the ridges would make little bumps in my knee skin. I remember how you told me you love my knees, Tyler, and I was thinking that you'd like to see them all marked up.

Look at my knees, Tyler. See how messy they are? I want to keep them like that all day. So people will see, and know, or guess. I get hot, and a little lost feeling, every time I think of my knees. It's a new emotion: turned on, but bleak. I didn't know I was that deep, that I could feel an emotion like that. I blew him just for the hell of it, for no reason, and that makes me hot.

We were in the corner of the newspaper stand, so nobody could look in. There weren't many people on the street at that time anyway.

He held my head in place, and popped the buckle of his belt. His pants dropped. He waited.

So it was on me to pull down his underwear. I could smell his cock before I saw it. It smelled like yours, only with a stronger odor.

I pulled it down, and his cock sprang out and slapped me on the cheek.

"Oh, yes!" he said immediately.

It was only when I took it in my hand, that I realized, 'Yes, I can do this!' It filled my hand, feeling warm and smooth. I was thinking, this is easy, this is perfect, what a great way to start the day! I could hear him breathing above me.

I put my lips on it, and let it slide in, forcing my mouth open. Like it was an invader or something. It tasted salty and hot, and I wanted him to know all the ridges felt good on my tongue. I liked the taste. I glanced up at him with brave little eyes, and he was staring down at his cock in my mouth.

"You gotta swallow," he added. "I shoot in your mouth, and you swallow, or no five dollars. Otherwise, I get it all over your dress."

For a second, I didn't know which I wanted more: in my mouth, or on my dress.

Then I went to work on him. I grasped his tool in my hand, holding it tight, and started yanking. Slowly at first, but then I got a rhythm. His skin moved over the ridges and curves of his cock, his pubic hair sliding up and down his stomach as I tugged on him. I had the head of his cock in my mouth, where I was tonguing underneath the glans -- that sensitive part you like? Well, I did it with him too, and he liked it.

I was not thinking straight, it was all so surreal. So I didn't try to deep-throat him or anything at first. I just yanked him into my mouth. Finally, I was in my groove. I was smelling him, I was feeling him shift his weight. I was listening to traffic pass by the newspaper stand. I heard footsteps pass by on the sidewalk. You know that girls can get drunk on cock, when they're in their zone? So I started alternating, yanking him, then bobbing forward and taking the whole thing in.

He was loving it. Talking about cock-sucker this, slut that. My dress fell down my shoulders, and I didn't fix it. He liked seeing my tits right there, and he helped himself. I can still feel it -- his rough fingers playing with my nipples.

In fact, I can still feel the whole thing. If I look dreamy, or talk stupid, it's because I can still feel and hear everything. What a way to start the day!

I can still feel it. You know how you go to an amusement park, and you ride the roller coaster? And how, late at night, you're in bed, and you still feel the roller coaster? Like you're still on it, getting slung around, going up and down? That's what I feel. It's not going away -- I'm standing here, talking to you, and I'm still sucking cock. A part of me hopes it never goes away.

Before five minutes had passed (a dollar a minute), he grabbed my head in his hands. He just bodily pulled and pushed my head, as I let go and rode his cock. He was mouth-fucking me, like a pro.

When he came I felt the first gush in the back of my throat. He let go, and allowed me to take his cock again. I gave like twenty hard pulls, with him shooting off on my tongue like crazy. His cum was salty, thick. It was weird -- I felt proud, like I'd done something really good.

He finally pulled away, and left me kneeling there. He seemed to enjoy seeing me on my knees, my tits out, breathing hard, his cum on my tongue. I swallowed it -- you said you wanted to imagine the cum in my stomach. It was a big mouthful, and I felt it go down.

He dropped the five dollar bill on the ground, and I had to sort of bend over and crawl to it. Even that turned me on. I stood up, got back in my dress, and let myself out.

You want to know something weird. Even then, as I walked down the street, he started yelling at me again. I guess with some guys it's just natural.

* * * * *

I barely knew what to say to Carol after that. I shook my head in pride and disbelief, and kissed her.

"Are you happy?" she asked.

It was only fair, I'd asked her the same. Even admitting I was happy, though -- it was hard. Like I was confessing something about myself. I felt a new wave of admiration at her, how she had unselfconsciously answered when I'd asked her the same thing: Oh yes. She must really trust and need me.

"Yes, honey," I said. "I feel weird and happy."

"Me too. I feel the same way," she said. "I knew I'd feel naughty and dirty. What I didn't expect is to feel so happy. How in the world could all this be connected!? I feel ready to go to class, ready to meet new people, ready to do homework."

"I want more," I told her. She nodded without hesitation. "You know what I want more of."

"You like slutty girls," she shrugged. "What could be more slutty than blowing some guy in the street? You want me to start blowing more guys."

"I don't think of you like a slut," I said. "I love your slutty actions, and how you just jump into everything we talk about. But you're no slut. You're like... you're magical."

"Magical," she laughed.

"Next time, I want pictures. Before, during, after. For tomorrow. Maybe we should get a polaroid camera today. I'll do that."

I said this just to see how she would react. I did plan to buy a polaroid camera, but later. I had plans coming to fruition in the next five days.

She didn't veto the camera idea. She had a silly smile on her face, like she was pleased watching me: I was like a child with a new toy. Moreover, she was finally done crying. I took her hand and guided her down the street. I wanted to spend time with her, so I took her the long way to her building. Up one street, down another, just strolling.

Men of all flavors turned to watch her pass. They all wanted to see the girl with messed-up lipstick, disturbed hair, tear-reddened eyes, in the not-there little frock. Even women glanced twice -- we were getting used to that. The women's stares were either surprised, jealous or appalled, and sometimes a little wanton.

"I feel like everybody's looking at the cum in your stomach," I said to her.

She gave a surprised little grunt. "You think people are staring at me? You think they know?"

"I know people are staring at you," I said. "I'm watching them stare at you."

She shrugged. "I didn't notice. You think they guessed my secret?"

"With your dirty knees, your smeared lipstick? Your crazy hair? Yeah. You've been used, and they're seeing it."

"Good," she said, with a satisfied air. "I'll take your word for it. The cum feels hot in my stomach -- I know it's just psychological. But I feel like I have no secrets from the world. I feel like I'm see-through."

Her voice had a note of warning.

"What are you thinking?" I prompted her.

"We're in the no-judgement zone?"

"The no-judgement zone, yeah," I said. We were. How could I judge her?

"I'm thinking, if someone asks what I've done, I'll just tell them. I don't want to have to think, and fabricate, and tell lies. It's too much work. If they ask why my knees are messed up, I'll just tell them why. If one of my guy friends asks where I went with Cappy and Alphonso, I'll just tell them."

"I'm fine with that," I said.

"You know what will happen. Pretty soon, they'll ask why they don't get the same treatment."

"I'm fine with that also," I said. "I hope you are too."

She shrugged, and we turned into the building. "It seems like the next natural step, doesn't it? I have my excuse, which you gave me: Just because. If I make out with a guy, it's because they needed to get made out with. If I blow a guy, it's because they need a blow-job."

We paused by the stairs. In a moment, she would leave me and go up the stairs, to meet with The Carol Admiration Society. A bunch of her regular admirers, seeing her walk in, peeled off the walls and stood ready to follow her up the stairs. The foyer might have been empty, for all Carol seemed to notice them.

I said, "We're coming up on our two month anniversary."

"Really?" She gave a light little laugh. "It feels like much longer."

"Two months ago, you were a totally different girl," I said.

"I don't even remember that girl from two months ago. All of this, loving you, spending time with you, it just feels so right. It's like I've been brainwashed or something." She looked at me tenderly, and stroked my cheek. "I can't believe how lucky I am."

Me neither, I thought. My gaze drifted over to the ring of guys waiting by the stair well. They were staring at her unabashedly.

"Since we started going out, you've been great with all our experiments."

She nodded, "They're so much fun."

Just because I liked dwelling on it, I reviewed all our little rules, which had been recently simplified to:

Wear short skirts and dresses. Talk to all men who want to get talked to. Touch and be touched by people she talked to. Kiss people hello and good-bye. Wear no underwear, ever. Wear tiny tops on certain days. Wear no bra, ever. Make out with one guy, at least, every class day. Blow the newspaper stand guy in Queens, every week. Oral sex assignments.

The last few were new. She nodded when I said it. "It just seems like the next step, doesn't it?"

"For our two month anniversary," I said, "let me take you out to dinner."

"Yeah!" she said. "Sounds like fun!"

I smiled. "I'll set up the whole night. That day, we'll use all the rules we've made. And that night, we'll make some more."

"Shit yeah," she said.

"We will meet tomorrow night, six o'clock. Can you meet me in Grand Central Station?"

She nodded, waiting.

I continued. "Wear the smallest dress you have. Tiny. I don't care if it's from when you were fourteen years old. It has to be the hottest thing you've ever worn."

"Oh, a challenge!" she giggled.

"I'll take you out for drinks. I'll give you dinner. Then we'll put some strangers' cocks in your mouth. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah, I guess it does," she said. "But we'll still meet today at the library?"

"Sure." I hugged her. I was too turned-on to just let it go at that. "Why don't you make out with someone today, again? And tell me about it? And then, at the library, I want you to get more cum in your stomach."

"You talk so dirty! Never stop!" She kissed my cheek, and pulled away. "You want me to swallow your cum?"

"No, not mine."

"Thought so." She grinned, then turned around and sped up the stairs. Her collection of guys followed her.

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