The Widow's Gift Pt. 02

She had once spent half an post-game celebration sitting and wiggling in Derek Mason's lap until the football quarterback had been so worked up that he hospitalized his own teams wide-receiver for winking at Carmen from across the party.

The poor guy had only been returning the lust-laden smoky gazes she had been sneaking at him all night but Derek hadn't known that as he pummeled his one-time-friend into bone splintered oblivion on the frat house lawn.

Carmen had trimmed herself silly to the video she had captured on her phone for weeks after the ordeal. Great gushing climax after climax as she ground upon her thrusting fingers or rode her pillow to pussy soaked satisfaction.

Derek only avoided academic suspension by the good graces of the schools disciplinary board and the not inconsiderable number of field goals he had tallied throughout the football season.

It was even more thrilling when she actually got her own hands dirty, on and off the field...

"Please excuse, is this the women's locker room?"

The feminine voice was exotically accented, probably eastern European and warm as Mexican hot chocolate. Carmen glanced over her reflection's shoulder in the mirror, ready to vent some of her ever-present vitriol on the unwelcome gringo but paused at the intruder's official-looking appearance.

The woman was tall, blonde and radiantly beautiful, poured into a dated office outfit that looked like it belonged to another decade and/or continent. A midnight black double breasted skirt suit with polished brass buttons, shoulder pads, ivory white cuffs and lapels hugged the stranger's curvy figure like a glove.

The tight pencil skirt ended past her knees and tall black pumps adorned her small feet. Carmen couldn't tell if she wore a blouse under the close fitting jacket but plenty of creamy bounty was poised to spill out of the straining garment as the lady reached into her abundant cleavage with two delicate fingers and smartly snapped out a business card.

"This area is for players only." Carmen said carefully, eyeing the woman up and down. Was she perhaps a scout for the US Soccer Federation? "How did you get back here? Stadium security is supposed to--"

"Do you mean the nice men in orange vests?" The blonde fanned the air as though batting away pesky insects. "No bother. Once I told them why I am here, they directed me how to come on you."

"They did what?" Carmen finally spun to face the strange woman, only to find her standing an arms breadth away. "Woah... back up a step, 'kay?"

"Apologies, I am told my English is passable but sometimes my words are confused."

Carmen found herself looking up at the formally attired beauty. She had to be over six feet in height even before factoring in the added boost of her tall heels. Her golden hair was full, luxuriously long and naturally wavy. Carmen could see it swishing like a burnished blanket around her slim waist.

But what held the sadistic soccer starlet's attention was the woman's eyes.

They were the cool hard gray of pewter or maybe even steel. Despite the welcoming smile on the strangers lips, her transfixing stare had all the warmth of a Siberian winter behind it. Carmen shivered even as she fought to look away. It wasn't easy, there was a magnetic pull to eyes so clear and captivating, then suddenly there was a small white card being held in front of the young midfielder's face.

"My card." Was all the explanation she got but Carmen leapt on the distraction.

It was a simple rectangle of eggshell cardstock with a name printed on it and nothing else. It felt oddly weighty for something so inconsequential, as though the swirls of black ink that formed the fancy text and flowery bordering was ground from the heart of a neutron star.

"Alina Makarova," She read out loud, then checked the other side. Blank. "That's all it says."

"You must call me Ms Makarova on first acquaintance." The newly introduced Alina said. Her wide smile bared a lot of teeth. "I am here to discuss your future."

Carmen knew it, this was a scout or potential sponsor. Perhaps representing an overseas interest? It wasn't unheard of. She didn't have the best player reputation in the state but it was said that bad press was equally as valuable as any good press if you spun it right.

"So you're looking for a piece of the Bad Girl of Illinois soccer, huh?" Carmen grinned and cocked her hip, making sure all her best assets were on display. "How much are we talking about here?"

Ms Makarova was rummaging through a rouge red leather handbag she had placed on the players bench. Was that a genuine goddamn Hermes Berkin? Carmen could practically smell the dollar signs wafting out of it.

"Bad girl. Yes, Carmen. Your actions have caught my interest." The dazzling blonde said dryly, straightening up and returning her mesmerizing metallic scrutiny to the preening coed. "I say to myself 'Alina, you have left this part of your life behind in Russia. That is for the best' but then I hear about you, Miss Perez and here I am again."

"Ha, couldn't resist getting back into the biz?" Carmen smirked, this had all the hallmarks of opening negotiations. The double talk and vague flattery. The Russian angle was a new one though. "Took one look at me and came out of retirement, did you? Just so you know, I can't use team or university names and logos in any promotions I feature in. The NCAA forbids it. Not that you'll need them, people will recognize all of this."

She gestured up and down the length of her uber-fit body with a waved hand and turned to present her profile; chin high, buns clenched and perky tits pushed out.

Alina gave her a skeptical once over but her smile and steely stare never faltered. "You are young and pretty, this thing is clear. But you are also a hard woman, no?"

"The hardest." The vicious Latina confirmed with a slap on her own toned hip. Dios but why was it so hard to look away from those intense gray eyes? She felt like she was falling into them. "It takes more than fancy footwork to get all those bums in seats out there."

"I understand something of bums but little of their relation to seats. It matters not at all, I am here to talk about you, Miss Perez." The taller woman stepped up so close that Carmen had to lean back a little to maintain eye contact past the stupendous bosom thrust in front of her face. That felt important for some reason. "You asked how much we are discussing? My answer to you is... all of it."

An exclusive contract then? Well, that sort of arrangement had its pros and cons but it wasn't as if Carmen had prospective sponsors knocking down her door. While half the putas who played for the Bobcats had contracts with Adidas.

One benefit of being the division three leaders, she supposed. Carmen would love a chance to go all Tonya Harding on a few of their ankles...

"You... you haven't told me who you represent." She could smell Ms Makarova's perfume, a fresh springtime scent like the air after a storm, and those big mesmerizing eyes kept boring into her. It all made Carmen feel a bit dizzy. "You don't sound like a local..."

"I am here for you, Miss Perez. It is a private interest." The alluring woman absently brushed a stray strand of Carmen's raven hair back behind her ear and she leaned into the warm touch. "Tell me, why did you hurt that poor girl today?"

"Was an accident." The answer was automatic, if a bit more abbreviated then usual. Lacking the standard false indignation and faux remorse.

"A lie. Any person with eyes saw it, many cheered." Alina said with a regretful sigh and a shake of her head. "Why do you speak falsehoods to your new friend, Alina? Tell me again. Answer truthfully."

New friend? Carmen didn't really have any friends. Her teammates were too scared of her and even Britney and Kimmy were closer to co-conspirators than anyone she could actually trust.

But this gorgeous, older woman with her soft cherry lips and soulful penetrating eyes was making Carmen feel positively mealy-mouthed in her presence. She was standing so close, nearly pressing the young soccer player back into the mirror with her soft, generous breasts...

Oh, fuck. Wait, was Carmen gay after-all? She didn't think so but she really wanted to make Ms Makarova happy for some reason she couldn't quite articulate.

"Because I wanted to hurt her. I like hurting people, it makes me feel good."

Shit... she articulated that fact well enough, damning as it was. Carmen struggled to order her thoughts and get hold of herself but it was difficult to think of anything with those deep gray pools drawing her into their icy depths.

"Thank you, Miss Perez. I feared as much but needed to be certain." Alina purred down at her, though she didn't sound scared at all. More like... smugly self-satisfied? "I have something special for you. It will help I think."

The beguiling blonde held up her perfectly manicured hand and in it was a small plastic drink bottle. Unlabeled and sized to fit in a child's lunch box. Was this the product she wanted Carmen to promote? Where was all the loud, colorful branding?

"Wha--what is it?"

"You Americans call it a 'thicker shake'." Ms Makarova's reply sounded like a distant siren song. "It will soften some of those harder edges."

Did she mean a thick shake? Carmen was on a strict high protein, low sugar diet that precluded junk food all together. She had dodged the freshman fifteen all together through a punishing eating and exercise regimen that made her fellow soccer players turn green around the gills when she explained it to them.

"Don't...don't wanna be soft."

Carmen's blurted protest was weak, even to her own ears. It was as though her own mind and will had already been reduced to mush under this incredible lady's overwhelming presence. Trapped in the gravitational well of her forceful personality and those two brilliant hypnotic orbs.

"Women are meant to be soft, Carmen." Alina said kindly, raising the Latina athlete's hands in her own and pressing the plastic bottle into them. It was warm. "We cannot be like men, so big and hard. Strong, large and rigid all the time. This thing is not in our nature as women. We are soft and pleasing. Stupid little girls only hurt themselves when they struggle against this thing. Are you a stupid little girl, Carmen?"

The way she kept saying Carmen's name in that rich, sonorous accent was unexpectedly thrilling. As though she were stroking the young student's whole identity with her breathy words and those full, kissable lips.

"No, Ms Makarova. Not stupid."

Somewhere in their deeply intimate conversation, the threaded cap of the drink bottle had vanished. The contents smelled terribly sweet and decadently creamy. Hot saliva began to pool on Carmen's wagging tongue...

"Good girl, Carmen. Please drink it all down, don't waste a drop."

"Yes, Ms Makarova."

She lifted the bottle to her lips, unusually eager to please and never taking her eyes off the older woman when Alina abruptly stopped her by placing a gentle hand on her wrist.

"One moment, dear Carmen. Do you know a fine young man called Levi Millard?"

Carmen blinked in confusion. She was desperately thirsty for the milky heaven that hovered mere inches from her lips and Ms Makarova wanted to know about that puny anglo wimp?

"Who... Mill-tard?"

"Ah, never mind. Now drink up, dear."

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