"And what half-assed psychology course led you to this conclusion, Quinn?"
"Listen to me. Whatever approach we eventually decide to take, there's one incontrovertible fact. Carrie cannot be allowed to go on like this. Her illness is no longer bolstering her intellect, Saul, it's destroying it. And more medication will soften her rough edges too much. The connections she's making between these new guys, there's nothing to link them to Abu Nazir, nothing. I went into her hotel suite yesterday and nearly got caught in a mantrap. Literally. She's got photos all over the floor and lengths of string connecting them, you can't move from one room to another without lacerating your ankles – "
"I've learnt never to underestimate Carrie's capacity to synthesize information and draw valid conclusions from it. I'd be a fool if I did. It's just her method of presenting her conclusions to others that needs working on, and this drive in her to pick and probe at a problem until she's turned herself inside out in the process."
"You trust her, don't you?"
"Of course you do. You know her. She's your protégé and you're the one who's watched her blossom. That's why I can't do this without you."
"Quinn – she's not gonna go for it. She doesn't think of me that way."
"You're lying. You told me yourself she once offered herself to you."
"When her bipolar mania was at its height! She'd have done anything to get what she wanted."
"Yet one of the first things she thought of was offering to sleep with you. How telling."
Saul sighed and hung his great head.
"What's the alternative? Leave her the way she is?"
"No, no, no – you don't understand." Carrie scurried around her 'art installation', moving the large print photos like counters on a game board. She angrily pushed back the long, vanilla-blond hair that dangled in her face yet was too distracted to go get herself a hairband. "There's a connection between these guys," she slapped the edges of two photos together, "but I have no proof, no proof."
"Carrie – I believe you," said Quinn.
"No, you don't. No-one gets it the way I get it."
"Saul's on the case right now. And you trust him, don't you?"
She was up and across the room, leaping athletically from one rare clear spot to another. She placed herself directly in front of Quinn and met him eye-to-eye.
He responded to her invasion of personal body space by putting his hands in his trouser pockets and raising an eyebrow.
"Why is action being taken that doesn't involve me? I'm a great field worker, I can crack this case. Take me to Saul."
"Eau de Nil."
"I've been trying to work out what colour your eyes are. Blue-green but not turquoise. Nile water. Eau de Nil."
Her laugh was part sarcastic gasp, part shy rejection of a compliment. She shook her head as if trying to shake off the blush that had tip-toed into her cheeks.
"How long is it since you last ate?"
"You're trying to suggest I'm incompetent!"
"You're not operating at your optimum because you've not been taking care of yourself. When did you last eat?"
Carrie turned from left to right, flapping her arms dismissively. "Yesterday. Lunchtime, afternoon, I don't remember. I had a Snickers."
"When did you last sleep?"
She didn't even attempt to answer that one. She only shrugged.
"When did you last come?"
"Come – where?"
"When did you last have an orgasm?" He leant forward, his serious look utterly belying the prurient nature of the question.
"Quinn – what the fuck! What has that got to do with anything? Stop trying to distract me from the case."
"You need to feel distracted – exhausted. Not in the way your bipolar disorder exhausts you but in an animal way. Then you'll be able to look at this case with fresh eyes and a clear mind."
As she stepped back from him, still laughing uncertainly, Quinn's physical presence came into focus, shadow become man. The top few buttons of his silver-grey shirt sat open. His height and the width of his shoulders made him loom shadow-large before the door of her suite, although he was not a heavily-built man. Carrie felt a sweet tinge of apprehension alongside the annoyance she felt whenever she spoke to Quinn. His honesty always made her feel like a hypocrite. But was he being serious? He was a serious man but when his sense of humour did make an appearance, it was Death Valley dry. How could she tell which he was being now? "Oh, okay, I was unaware a 'cure' has been found for bipolar disorder – Peter Quinn's cock."
"It will help."
She fixed him, frowning, with her sea-green stare. "Listen to yourself," she said.
He stepped forward and grasped her elbow; looked down intently into her bright face. "It's time to let go of all that shit, Carrie. It's not working for you anymore. Those guys you pick up in bars, all they ever do is scratch an itch, leave you wanting more, wanting better. You can let go and find that with me. You can't possibly shock me – you can be yourself."
Her entire face trembled with something like anger but not quite. "You arrogant bastard," she hissed. She pulled her arm out of his grasp and turned her back. Within three seconds, however, she had spun round again and she dived for him, tongue-first, pulling his dark head down to meet hers as she did so. It was a challenge – her eyes were wide open.
Quinn responded by clamping down on her tongue and sucking it into his mouth. He pushed her up against the wall so suddenly, her feet slid and he took the opportunity while she was unbalanced to jam his hips between her thighs. He drew back from the kiss and looked down at her hips as he grabbed them and jigged his crotch against hers – tiny electric movements designed to let her know exactly what was coming. Then he lunged forward and bit her neck hard.
Carrie screamed before she could stop herself. She felt like a pinned insect with her neck exposed and her skirt riding up around her waist. She bared her own teeth and thumped his shoulder impotently. "I hate you," she whispered.
He came up from her neck slowly, licking all the way, along her neck, her strong jawline, across her lips, defying her not to let him in. She kissed him back fiercely, their lips hard and fighting each other for dominance. Two strong hands slid up her blouse and undid her bra clasp. Breaking the kiss, Quinn stepped back and pulled off both her white blouse and her bra over her head in one. Throwing them to one side, he pushed her back again, his arms stretching up so his hands were flat on the wall above her head. He began to slide against her so the shiny fabric of his shirt grazed her hardening nipples.
Carrie found her face was pressed into the well of Quinn's throat just above that tantalising glimpse of bare chest. She began to rub her mouth – her whole face – against his skin, breathing him in, tasting him, finally showing the degree of abandonment he'd clearly been searching for.
A hand quickly found its way under skirt and into her panties, and two fingers suddenly pierced her opening.
Carrie had never been a fan of preamble-less digital penetration and decided now wasn't the time to start pretending she was. He needed to learn. She pushed at him with her shoulders, forcing back his squashing weight and for a moment, they struggled together, grabbing and pushing one against the other until Quinn got hold of Carrie's hand and pressed it against his gun in its holster just below his left armpit. Her fingers splayed as she touched it, its sinister hardness a language they both understood. She let out the tense breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding and looked up in a sultry fashion into his rain-coloured eyes. He returned the same hooded, avid look, the government agent in both of them pacing behind their eyes like tethered dogs. Death was in the air here, visibly, as it always is though lovers deny it with sweet nothings. Let those lies be gone, Carrie thought. Slowly, she began to move her hand up and down as if stroking his prick rather than his gun. They both knew he should take it off. He wasn't going to.
It was Quinn who broke the moment, dropping to his knees and thrusting his hands beneath her skirt. As he ripped down her panties, Carrie gasped, stepping out of them eagerly, her hand coming down to bury itself in his dark hair. Before she had time to tilt her pelvis towards him like the greedy pleasure-seeker she was, however, he was back on his feet again and lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, knowing full well her slenderness meant men could happily throw her around like a ragdoll on a rollercoaster, which she loved. Her knee grazed against his holster and she groaned.
He lifted her away from the wall and spun her round before smacking her against it again, this time much closer to the huge window that ran the length of her suite. They were ten storeys up, not visible to people on the streets below but certainly visible to the occupants of other tower blocks if they had the same array of telescopes and binoculars on the windowsill that Carrie had. She cringed a little at how on show they were, her eyes flicking nervously towards the light.
Quinn's eyes followed hers and he suddenly let her go, as if disappointed in her. He strolled over to the window, unbuckling his trousers as he went. With bold, no-nonsense movements, he pulled his briefs down at the front and drew out his cock. It was rock-hard, its acute angle a defiant challenge to an uptight world.
Well, that solved one mystery for Carrie. She'd never been sure he was genuinely attracted to her – how could you tell with Quinn? – but she doubted he'd be as hard as he clearly was if he wasn't.
He reached into his trouser pocket and drew out a small, square package. Carrie winced with disappointment as Quinn took out the condom and rolled it over his prick – it was logical, though, considering how promiscuous they both were. But she had so been looking forward (at least, for the last ten minutes or so) to the silky feeling of his cock inside her, the burst of cum against her womb.
Turning on his heel, he came back to her and kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth the way his cock would soon be probing her pussy. Joyfully, she opened to him, her mouth wide and accepting as she jumped up again to clasp him with her thighs. The head of his cock found her pussy and he rubbed himself across it a few times before pressing forward and sliding the head inside.
She cried out and then the rest of his cock followed, staking her and it was time for moaning. Quinn nuzzled into her neck and shoulder as he began to fuck her in earnest, occasionally turning his head to watch as he ran a hand appreciatively along one athletic thigh.
Carrie put her head back and gave herself up to the pleasure of being stoked, the relentless, pounding rhythm. Then an image flashed through her mind – Brody fucking her in the same position, exactly the same conflicting emotions of attraction and hatred flooding through her. The one difference was that this time, there was no love. It was just her letting fucking Peter Quinn fuck her. Her eyes flew open and she looked down at his jerking shoulders, felt his hollow cheek and neat hair brushing against her face. In that moment, she truly hated him, resented the way he made her feel. She dug her fingernails into his flesh and when his head came up, she turned away angrily from his kisses.
He was banging her faster now, his orgasm approaching. Carrie's eyes slid up to watch his face in a detached way, as one might watch a fly writhing in a spider's web. He was panting, great heaving gasps as if expelling all the air from his lungs with every exhalation. Those cold eyes were squeezed shut and that shutdown face showed pinpoints of vulnerability bleeding through. Peter Quinn – helpless? This was worth watching. Carrie began to drink him in, her lips curling in an unpleasant smile. She thrust back with her own hips, squeezing him tight over and over. When he moved in to kiss her, she took his bottom lip between her teeth and bit hard. He gave a shout muffled by her mouth and came, jerking his hips violently against her.
Quinn took a long time to finish his orgasm. When self-consciousness might have crept in with most men causing them to pull out sooner than they would like, Quinn continued to enjoy the fading spasms, still giving the odd thrust with his softening cock as the pleasure slowly dissipated. Carrie, who had not yet come, felt an urge to reach down and finish herself off right in front of him. Decorum piped up, however, before she could give in to her true feelings and when Quinn finally pulled out of her, she made haste to pull her skirt down and cover her bare crotch.
Quinn pulled off the condom, tied a knot in it and moved off to the bathroom without saying a word. As she slipped her blouse back on, Carrie caught sight of her flushed-cheek reflection in the window. She had no idea whether she felt proud of or disgusted with herself.
"Your shower's not working."
"Oh, yeah, it's not been working since yesterday. I meant to call reception but…"
"But I forgot! I've had a lot of pretty important things on my mind. Abu Nazir's followers are in this country, I'm sure of it. There's something –"
Quinn poked his head round the bathroom door. "We'll use my suite, then. You'll need to have a shower before this evening."
"Why, what's happening this evening?"
"What do you think?" He narrowed his eyes. "What do you think this was?"
She stared up at him from beneath a coy fall of hair. "I thought it was – pretty good actually!"
He came back into the lounge, side-stepping her 'art installation' and picked up the rucksack he'd brought with him. "This was foreplay. The serious fucking begins tonight."
"Quinn – I got a lot of things I need to be doing –"
"Do them tomorrow. Not tonight." He reached inside the rucksack and drew out two items, both of which he tossed to her. "Keys to my suite. Make yourself at home. And use that."
It was a black object that consisted of a nozzle and a squeezy bulb. "A douche?" she said with surprise. "But you used a condom."
He made a crisp, negative motion with his head. "I don't want you to use it on your pussy." He chucked her under the chin and left.
It was getting dark. Carrie's face was lit by the blue, faery glow of her laptop. She hadn't been able to resist bringing it over to Quinn's suite with her. She had just checked her email and was about to hit the underground areas of the internet when the memory of that cool pipe crept up on her. She had done as he'd asked, prepared that most private place for him. Now the anticipation of what he might do shivered through her, and she knew it was time to put away work and get ready for play.
Carrie stepped into the shower and began to lather herself up, working from the top downwards. She wanted to be thoroughly scrubbed, shaved and exfoliated then perfectly made-up and coiffed in readiness. She owed it to him to look her best if he were going to such lengths for her. She smiled as she thought of that steel of his bending to her will. Determined though she was, she found it remarkably easy to become distracted from her goal. As she soaped around her breasts, she found herself rolling her nipples between finger and thumb, putting her head back and letting the spray from the showerhead course down her chest. In her mind's eye, she stood in the doorway to her suite, Quinn merely an arm's length from her. He pulled down the cups of her bra and took both of those nipples in a pincer-like grip, twisting and pulling on them cruelly. Such honest sadism made her bare her teeth and breathe sharply. Then she remembered.
There'd been an incident several months ago now when she and Quinn had been on a stakeout together in an unmarked car, him with surveillance equipment in the back; her, driving. It had been a long night and they were taking it in turns to monitor or sleep. The manic phase of Carrie's bipolar disorder had just begun to flare, accompanied as always by a heightened libido. Combine that rampant energy with being expected to sit still for hours on end and it was bad news. As Quinn had slept in the back, she'd been overcome with an urge to masturbate. Her pussy had begun to throb as if from some relentless, delicious itch inside. She'd started to squirm. Her nipples had become hard inside her formal blouse and they, too, were plaguing her for release. For three quarters of an hour, she'd resisted, transforming her squirming motions into attempts to get more comfortable, focusing on the house they were watching with an intense frown, constantly checking Quinn's sleeping face in the rear-view mirror. He had always struck her as the kind of agent who slept with one eye open but his face had taken on the squashy look of someone deep in dreamland. Cute. How bad would it be of her to rub her pussy while Quinn slept in the back? How ashamed would she be if he caught her? Perhaps he'd lean over her, reprimanding her sternly while his hard cock strained against the material of his trousers and made a liar of him.
Carrie had found she could just about slide her hand under the waistband of her trousers and stroke her pussy over her panties. Her face had remained blank and her eyes, rooted to the front door of the house or her partner's reflection, belying the intense rush of excitement she was feeling. Despite the awkwardness of her position, her orgasm had approached fast. She'd decided to risk worming a second hand inside her blouse and pinching one of her nipples the way she loved best. As she'd come, she'd cast an apprehensive glance towards the rear-view mirror and seen Quinn's eyelashes flutter. Was he waking up? she'd wondered. It was too late, her compact orgasm had shuddered through her and as soon as it was done, she'd removed a wet wipe from the glove compartment, wiped off her hand and checked her own reflection for appropriate stoniness. It was good. Two minutes later, Quinn had yawned and opened his eyes. But Carrie had never quite been sure he hadn't woken up earlier and kept discreetly still.
In the most delightful transport now, Carrie watched the soap slip around in her hands, the lather building into a white film, then she pressed one hand against the glass wall of the shower and slid the forefinger of the other into her rectum. She gently probed, imagining Quinn behind her, pushing her towards the huge picture window of her suite until her naked body slammed up against it, exposed to the world. She pressed herself against the shower glass, sliding her slippery body against it. In her mind's eye, Quinn was preparing to impale her ass with his hard-on and she was crying out, "No, Peter, please, not there, you're splitting me open – agghh! – it hurts it hurts..!" And then it was all keening to the people in the buildings opposite, "Look at me, see me getting my ass fucked, I'm being sodomised…" With her other hand, she began to vibrate her clit –
Clunk! went the door to the suite. Carrie froze. Shit! How much time had she wasted in manic fantasising and self-abuse? All she'd managed to do was wash and shave – her hair was wet and she didn't have a scrap of make-up on. She jumped out of the shower and wrapped a white towel around herself. Wiping down the steamed-up mirror, she saw her own face reflected – shiny and pink-cheeked as a Victorian doll's. She cursed herself and splashed on cold water then sought out another towel so she could at least dry off her hair.
When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, she found the suite's curtains were closed but it wasn't dark in the bedroom. The whole place was lit by the warm glow of candles – Quinn was placing a long, elegant church candle in a holder on the bedside cabinet as she emerged. "You sure the management will approve of naked flame in the room?" said Carrie drolly.
He ignored the comment. Without looking at her, he asked, "You been playing with yourself while I was gone?"
Carrie's mouth opened and she felt the usual automatic denial jump into her throat. She decided to resist it, play things his way, see what happened. "Yes," she said.
Now that made him look up. His grey eyes twinkled with a warmth she'd never seen before. And was the suggestion of a smile playing around the corner of his mouth?
"I didn't come, though," she added.
It was definitely a smile. "You will." He turned to light a candelabra that stood upon a chest of drawers. He pointed to something white that was lying on the bed. "Put that on," he said.
It was a white cotton nightdress, rather old-fashioned but sweet. The neckline was low cut and the breast was ruched. The waistband would sit just beneath the breasts and the skirt would fall to just above the knee. There was startlingly white embroidery along the hem and the sleeves were short and capped. As Carrie put it on, she studied Quinn's back. He'd changed clothes, too. He'd put on a black T-shirt and jeans, and he'd already taken off his shoes and socks. The back of his neck was arched as he bent over the candelabra and she pictured herself reaching up and running her palm over that exposed skin. How thick his neck would feel, muscular and strong as that of a racing horse! How unassumingly powerful his whole body looked but with a length of bone that gave it grace. Suddenly, she could stand the tension no longer and she dashed over to him, spinning him round, grabbing that neck and forcing his lips down to meet her own.
He kissed her back, surprisingly eagerly. She'd wondered if he might not push her away, telling her it was too soon or not part of his game-plan. Very quickly, it turned into a kiss of a different calibre from the ones they'd shared an hour or so ago. This was lingering, exploratory. They sank into it and pressed their bodies tight up against one another. Quinn sucked on each of her lips in turn; Carrie reamed his mouth with her tongue. After a while, she realised he was shuffling her back towards the foot of the bed. She smiled in anticipation as she kissed as she allowed herself to be led. When they got there, he pulled back and looked at her face as he held it between his hands. This was familiar territory for Carrie. Her bone structure seemed to be the thing men found most attractive about her. She waited while he ran his thumbs over her cheekbones, down her jawline and along to her chin. He traced the just-short-of-aquiline profile of her nose and finished up with a thumb in the dimple in her chin. She'd always thought it made her face look too masculine but she'd been informed that rather than being incongruous, the cleft chin juxtaposed and so enhanced the feminine qualities of her face. She allowed herself to delight in his attention.
Quinn bent down to kiss her one more time. When he pulled away, he licked his lips, enjoying the taste of her, then his eyes turned into lasers. "Get on the bed," he said.
Oh Quinn,Carrie thought with amusement, either tundra cold or laser beam intense! Never just warm. Or dull.She sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at him, a dangerous gleam in her own blue-green eyes.
"Get on all fours," he said.
Wrong-footed, she hesitated for a moment then obediently clambered onto all fours in the centre of the bed and stared at the blank red wall.
"No – come back to the foot of the bed."
Jesus, he had this all planned out, didn't he? Carrie found herself trembling as she did as she was told, full of nervous excitement at the thought of an orchestrated fuck. When was the last time she'd had one of those? Maybe never…
Quinn took hold of the hem of her nightdress and folded it over her back so her hindquarters were completely exposed. There were a few quick strokes as he enjoyed the curve of her buttocks and the lean muscles of her thighs then Carrie heard the sound of plastic snapping, quickly followed by a squelching. She gasped, picturing what was to come. A long, cool finger entered her rectum. Quinn had one hand on her left buttock and was spreading her ass as he began to work the lubed finger in and out, twisting a little as he went. There was a pause as a little more lube was applied to the place where they connected, the excess sliding down over her pussy, then a second finger was introduced.
Quinn's fingers were bigger than hers and just two of them stretched her considerably. Carrie groaned and thought back to the last time she'd let someone play with her ass. It was an act that had always appealed to her with its intensity and darkness but as most of her partners had been of a very casual nature indeed, she was too sensible a girl to go down that road with them. She'd had full anal sex on two occasions – one a delight; one very uncomfortable indeed. Preparation was key. She might not trust Peter Quinn in any other aspect of life but here she did. He knew what he was doing. God – he knew what he was doing! How refreshing it was to let her heart relax!
The fingers withdrew and Carrie heard an odd snipping sound. She couldn't resist looking over her shoulder. Quinn had one of those long church candles and he was using scissors to snip off the wick. Once happy with it, he daubed it with lube and held it before him at groin height, moving towards her as if it were his own cock.
Carrie just had time to bunch the satin quilt in her fists before the candle plunged deep inside her, much further than fingers had gone. She cried out at the strangeness of the sensation. As Quinn began to fuck her with it, Carrie whimpered a little and bit her lip. She had the awful feeling she was about to shit. She shifted her weight from knee to knee and began to clench on the candle, which only served to make its penetration burn.
Her lover knew what he was doing. He knew that the concern she was feeling was only because this part of her body was used to the sensation of fullness meaning something was coming out rather than going in. Her fears were unfounded. Nevertheless, he slowed the pace and reached underneath her to frig her wet clit at the same time.
Slowly, the sensation passed and Carrie was able to focus on the fusing of the pleasure in her ass and pussy. She put her head back and pushed herself against his vibrating fingers, gently squeezing every now and then on the intruding candle. Before she knew it, she was instigating a change of pace herself, pushing back onto the candle, fucking herself on it, crying out joyously with every thrust while Quinn just held it steady for her. She made so much noise, she didn't hear the bedroom door click and it was only when she picked up whispered voices that she realised someone else was in the room.
Quinn second-guessed her movements before she made them. He lunged forward just as she began to rise and grabbed the back of her neck, pinning her in place. "Carrie!" he warned. "This is what you need – go with it."
This was what she needed? To be humiliated in front of a stranger? She cursed her idiocy in ever having placed trust in a man suspected to be black ops.
She recognised the new man's scent before she recognised anything else. Tweed and sandalwood soap; a hint of his usual evening whisky; the warm, masculine smell of –
Carrie burst into miserable tears. Her arms started to shake until she was near to collapsing. She reached behind to try to push back Quinn's candle-holding arm but he slapped her hand away. "Oh Jesus, no, no, please no!" she whined, the soliloquy going on and on ad infinitum. The humiliation! To be seen like this by Saul, her mentor, who thought so highly of her, who'd cherished and nurtured her since she'd begun working for the CIA and who treated her as if she were some gift from heaven… How disgusted must he be with her, seeing her with legs spread and ass plundered, revelling in it like some extreme porn star? "I'm sorry," she cried out. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
A wool-trousered leg appeared in the peripheral vision of her right eye. She dared not look up into his face. She shook her head and let her tears spatter onto the bedspread. A hand stroked her hair lovingly, pulling back the strands that had stuck to her hot cheek and laying them down her back. Then it dawned on her what was really going on here. She stared straight ahead, mouth trembling.
The leg moved away and soon after, there were hands on her nether regions, someone holding her cheeks apart as another withdrew the candle. She gave a whimper as she felt a leakage of lube follow its exit. How gross must that look to them? But all she could hear was the whispers as Saul and Quinn palpated and probed her, pointing out this and that, all the visible signs of her readiness and those things that still remained to be done. A finger passed over her clitoris and Carrie yelped. Had it been Saul's? Her secret place, her place of ultimate pleasure, Saul touching it… There came hot breath from two mouths so close to her behind and everything that lay between her legs. A finger probed her asshole again, and she bit her bottom lip and looked up at the ceiling. She had never felt more exposed, physically or psychologically. And what was hardest to deal with was the growing realisation that she had never felt more alive and her excitement was glistening before their eyes.
As the nozzle of the lube was placed against her asshole and her companions began to spackle her, Carrie felt her mind zooming across a void, swirling, tumbling. Everything was elemental. Muscular tension and muscular release was her language now. Fingers smeared the final drops of lubricant around the anus itself and then she felt a body thud onto the mattress beside her.
It was Quinn. He pulled off his black T-shirt and undid his jeans, allowing his cock to spring free. He grabbed several pillows and placed them under his head, wriggling down until he was level with Carrie. He took hold of her by the waist and manoeuvred her over to his side so she was straddling him. Gratefully, she began to sink down onto the sturdy support of his chest. That wasn't what he was looking for. Grabbing her this time by waist and shoulder, he expertly flipped her over so she was lying on top of him with her back against his chest. Disconcerted by the surprise move, she found herself staring up at the ceiling. Quinn reached down and grasped her by the shins, lifting her legs so her knees bent and her thighs lay against her chest. He forced her thighs apart so the bulls-eye of her anus remained exposed to the gaze of the approaching older man.
Saul stepped out of the shadows. His kindly eyes met Carrie's, empathy pouring from them. He removed his cap in a deferential gesture, twisting it in his hands for a few moments before dropping it at the foot of the bed. His eyes came down to rest upon the secrets that lay between his protégé's legs now open like a jewellery box before him. His gaze was like the caress of an adoring tongue. Then he took off his glasses and began to unbutton his check shirt.
There were a thousand words painted across Carrie's face as she watched her mentor undress. Don't hate me. Am I disgusting? Can you make me come? Do you love me? This is going to happen. Is it really you?
In the glow of the candlelight, he was the familiar Saul – soft-natured, avuncular, his heavy beard lending a wholesome cast to his appearance. But as his body emerged, another side of him came into view, that of a still vital man in his late fifties, his brawny frame and thickly-haired chest profoundly masculine. Sandalwood and musk washed over her. -This was the masculine animal Saul had sacrificed to duty and etiquette for so much of his life. Yet there was no shame as he revealed himself to her. The time had come to put aside disguises and become the natural animal.
Quinn let go of her right shin and slipped his hand between her legs. His middle finger found her erect clitoris and began to move it in slow circles. Carrie arched her back a little to show him her appreciation and dropped her head to the left, searching for his mouth. She couldn't quite reach it but his unseen, unshaven cheek brushed against her smooth one. His breathing was steady and even beneath her, making her wonder if this was just an experiment for him, whether he was getting a genuine erotic charge out of it at all. Then she realised she could feel his erection pressing against her lower back, girder-hard and leaking, and let that foolish notion subside.
There was a pause. Saul had unzipped his fly. He waited until Carrie's attention was back on him then with a conflicted expression, part proud, part apologetic, he pulled his cock free for her approval.
He was huge. She guessed he must be nearly ten inches long with a considerable girth. Any larger and he would probably have trouble getting hard enough. Saul had no such trouble – his erection stood up before him strong as a ship's mast, its heavily-veined length ending in an engorged, circumcised head that was wider still. The meatus pointed directly at her face; the opening from which would pour Saul's loving seed. My God, she thought, his cum inside me – in my belly, in my heart! Then she realised where the two men intended this beast to go.
Saul stepped up and placed the head against her anus, running his hands up and down the outside of her thighs to comfort her as he did so.
"No, Saul, you can't, Jesus, you're too big!"
He shook his head sadly. "It has to be there, Carrie, it has to be there. Trust me."
Fear making her mouth turn down at the corners, she began to let out a stream of cris de coeur. "Oh my God, oh my God, Saul, please…"
Placing one hand on the bed beside Carrie and Quinn's hips, he grasped the base of his erection with the other and began to push against his beloved's opening. At the same time, Quinn grasped her wrists and pinned them to the bed. There was no way out. This really was going to happen. With a gasp of surprise, she found her well-prepared anus stretching to accommodate Saul's cock, the lube making her body work in a languorous way her tense mind didn't normally allow. The head was now lodged just inside and her cries had turned into ragged breaths, her whole body quivering. Girding himself once more, Saul's eyes locked onto her face, drinking in every nuance, as he pushed forward and buried his entire length inside her.
Her head lolled. She thought of D H Lawrence, of the books Saul had insisted she read, of the worshipping of dark gods inherent in this taboo-breaking act. There was a smile on her agonised face. She felt herself transfixed by an oak beam inside her. And to know it was Saul – joy, joy!
The bearded man's arms were shaking. There was a sheen of sweat over the entire surface of his skin. His head hung as he caught his breath and prepared himself for thrusting, Carrie watching him in fascination all the while. He gave a few small, bumping thrusts that pressed his crotch against her pussy, pubic hair prickling and tickling deliciously, then drew himself almost all the way out before plunging into the deep embrace of her bowels once again.
As the steady thrusts began to move her towards ecstasy, Carrie let herself melt against Quinn's strong base, her face a blend of contrary emotions – a wide, bared-toothed smile; a frown; tears pouring from the corners of her eyes. But perhaps she was too far gone in the pleasures of the flesh alone, losing the exquisiteness of a situation that should be borne in mind at all times?
Quinn used his lips to move her blond hair away from her ear then whispered to her huskily, "Call him Daddy."
There was a small pause. Then, "No," she said, very quietly.
"You know what this is," he insisted. "You've always wanted to say it to him. Say it now."
She looked into that face that was all that was kind, all that was good. Her mouth trembled almost uncontrollably as she spoke the words. "Saul – Daddy – fuck me, fuck my ass, Daddy – oh God, Daddy, Saul, please…"
Saul cried out as if some ancient block had been torn from his insides and he looked deep into her eyes, laughing and crying at the same time. "My girl," he gasped. "My sweet angel girl-child." He brought down his right hand and began to move her clitoris with his thumb in time with his powerful thrusts.
Carrie's orgasm began to rise, a muscular, golden glow uniting pussy and anus. She didn't hold back from showing it. She began to buck, the pitch of her cries rising, rising. Quinn's iron grip on her left wrist was suddenly gone and he had her nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching it viciously.
He had seen her! He'd seen her playing with herself in the car and he'd remembered! Simultaneous shame and joy crashed over her as she was consumed in her orgasm.
The sight, the feel of Carrie's pleasure was enough to bring Saul to the edge and with a curious cry of, "Elsa!" he released his semen in a flood into his sweet girl's body.
As he hovered above her, still not laying himself on her for fear of crushing her though his body trembled on the edge of collapse, Carrie felt tension rising in the other man who lay beneath her. Saul withdrew carefully and with a last, loving look into her happy face, he disappeared into the bathroom. She was surprised to notice, just before he wrapped a towel around his waist, that mighty prick was still semi-hard!
Quinn sat up quickly, his arms clutching Carrie to him in a tight embrace as he cradled her in his lap. There was a sound of tearing plastic behind her – another condom being deployed – and then he was lifting her and bringing her down on his cock. Her poor, forgotten pussy immediately began to sing. Poor Quinn – how much self-control had he been asked to exercise during the last hour? She gave herself over to him completely, her head falling back onto his right shoulder, pulling down the top of her nightdress so he could run his hands over the pyramids of her hard nipples. His mouth found hers and he breathed his rising arousal into her. She let him manipulate her as he wished– it was time for darling Quinn, the arch-facilitator of extraordinary sex, to reap his reward. Very soon, he was fucking her rapidly, holding on to her so tightly she felt he was trying to devour her, and then he was coming, his whole body juddering this time as he ran his mouth repeatedly over her neck and shoulder.
All of Carrie was singing now. A saintly glow seemed to envelop her. As Quinn disengaged and lay her down gently on the bed, she allowed herself to revel in it and it was quite some time before she realised she was crying and tossing and turning like someone in a fever.
"Is she okay?" Saul, concerned.
"She's in a passion. She'll come down soon."
Sometime later, Carrie rose as if still in a dream and went into the bathroom. When she'd freshened up, she re-emerged to a room with a very different feel. The candles had been blown out and the bed was in shadow. Quinn sat with his back to the bathroom door and was eating Doritos while watching TV with the sound down and the subtitles up, apparently engrossed in foreign news channels. Apart from the TV's blue flicker, the only other illumination came from a green desk lamp. Saul sat in a wing-backed armchair, smoking a cigar and reading. He was wearing a navy blue towelling robe that was making a poor job of covering his magnificent chest and the hair on his head was damp as if he'd recently run wet hands through it. When he saw a shy face peer round the bathroom door at him, he immediately put down book and cigar, and opened his arms wide for her. His smile was just as wide as his arms. Carrie ran to him and soon she was right where she'd always wanted to be, nestled in his lap with her head tucked under his chin. The scent of him was the most comforting thing she'd ever known. Carrie was not a small woman but right then, she felt like a kitten curled up in the lap of a giant. For a few long minutes, they enjoyed their tender embrace then Saul lifted her chin with a crooked finger and brought her quivering mouth up to meet his. At last, they kissed, so softly, so chastely. Only for one brief moment did Carrie feel his tongue as it brushed against her lower lip. His soft beard seemed to surround her, as did the taste of cigar and whisky, the scent of woody soap. When he pulled back to search her face with those dark, twinkling eyes, she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face there, muffling her cries of love.
A rustling of paper brought her out of it. Saul was unfolding something, some oblong sheet of official-looking paper. Carrie saw the health clinic logo and guessed what it was. She put her hand over it. "You don't need to show me that."
"Yes, I do," he insisted.
"No. I know you would never hurt me. And the next time, if there is gonna be a next time -" she swallowed, uncertain whether or not she'd overstepped the mark "- I still won't want you to wear a condom. I'm on the Pill."
Saul let the HIV negative result flutter to the floor while he kissed her again, holding her face in his hands. But when he let go, Carrie dived for his whisky glass and took a naughty sip before he could even say, Hey!
Mm - single malt. It hit the roof of her mouth and she pressed it there with her tongue, savouring the first hit, the flood of richer flavour, the burn, the aftertaste in her throat. "Peat smoke," she said. "Good old Talisker?"
"Not bad," he said, taking a sip himself. "You got the peat right. Ardbeg – the Supernova expression, mind."
"I should've guessed," she grinned, resting her head on his shoulder. "How you love your Islay whiskies!"
He raised it to her in comic salutation then put it down and picked up his cigar again. "Is this bothering you?" he asked.
"Nothing you do bothers me," she said. Then she frowned and looked at him with mock suspicion. "Except one thing – Elsa?"
Saul smiled and nodded, chuckling inside. "I've never told you, have I?" he said. "Now don't get jealous."
"I'm not jealous!" she rounded, a humorous, warning gleam in her wide eyes.
"Many years ago, in the Fifties, I think, and before wildlife conservation became such a hot topic, a couple called George and Joy Adamson lived in Kenya where George was game warden. One day, they took in an orphaned lion cub and nurtured her until she became a stunning fully-grown lioness. They named her Elsa. When the time was right, they released her into the wild, though it broke their hearts to do so. It was the right thing to do. She often came back to visit them, though, never forgetting the kindness they'd shown her. You're probably going to think this is dumb but I've always thought of you as that lioness. As my Elsa."
Carrie said nothing. She only reached up and stroked his beard while a single tear rolled down her cheek. Then her head went down on his shoulder again and within ten minutes, she'd fallen calmly asleep while Saul stroked the bruises darkening on her wrists from Quinn's harsher ministrations.
It wasn't long before Saul began to shift his weight around, altering her position. Carrie rubbed her sleepy eyes, murmured, "I'm too heavy," and began to rise.
"No – you stay there," said Saul, setting her down in the chair alone as he got up.
"No, I need to go to the bathroom," she said, attempting to rise again.
Saul was surprisingly firm, pushing her back by her shoulders then allowing his hands to trail down her body to her thighs. He pushed them under her nightdress, revealing her pussy again as he got down on his knees. He spent some moments enjoying the play of muscle along her young, strong thighs then he took off his glasses and reached for a glass of water, taking a long drink.
Carrie had been with men who wear glasses before. She knew what taking them off meant. One way or another, she was going to get it – they had passed the point of no return! Yet for some unfathomable reason, her expression was pleading as she looked down at the familiar figure who was parting her thighs. Tentatively, she reached down and pushed her fingers through the grey hair at his temples, almost afraid he would push her silly, gauche hand away. Instead, he took it in his own, opened it and kissed the palm. Then, soft eyes aglitter, he parted the delicate lips of her pussy and took his first loving lick.
It felt so right! To have Saul's large, shaggy head between her thighs, his eyes open, closed, open as he licked her pussy softly from bottom to top over and over. There was no urgency. This was not just for her pleasure – this was Saul indulging his fantasy. She looked down to see him smiling dreamily as he plated her, once or twice dabbling her juices with his fingers and scooping them into his mouth. At one point, he sucked his thumb then rubbed her sore asshole with it, smothering it in soothing saliva. When he pushed his tongue deep inside her, he finally let out a groan – a groan so deep and soulful anyone listening might have thought it was his cock he was plunging to the hilt.
Anyone listening. Carrie looked towards the TV. Quinn's arm was resting on the back of the couch as he looked over his shoulder not just listening but watching their exploits, too.
Quinn. He'd made this happen! Bless him, bless him! Her ecstatic face could not help but pour love and gratitude towards him. His gaze broke from its silent perusal of a tongue pressing into gleaming pink flesh and met hers. He couldn't help himself – his mouth broke into a smile that was both warm and accepting. He enjoyed the sight of her pleasure for a few moments more then left them to it, turning back to the TV.
Saul's entire face was mashed against her now and he was kissing her cunt as if it were her mouth.
Carrie lifted her hips and touched Saul's shoulder. She really did need to go pee – the pressure in her bladder was becoming uncomfortable. "You'll have to excuse me a moment," she said.
He sat back on his heels and looked at her with an understanding smile. Her juices were glistening in his beard and moustache – a dreadfully sensual vision. His bathrobe had fallen open and much of his generously-haired body was visible. That prick of his was semi-hard again and Carrie gasped to see it was a third of the length of his thigh. "I'm not gonna fuck you," he reassured her.
He pushed her back again and spread her legs wider this time. Carrie let them hang over the arms of the chair, her wet pussy now completely splayed. Saul used his fingers to part her inner labia and expose the tiny opening of her urethra. Pressing his lips hard against her so his moustache tickled her clitoris and his chin and beard rubbed against the opening of her pussy, he began to pass the pointed tip of his tongue over and over her U-spot.
Suddenly, the pressure in her bladder was transmuted into pleasure. She let out an eerie cry as she felt the orgasm begin to build in that uncommon place, the rest of her pussy chorusing its support. Saul had her behind in his hands now, pulling her crotch against his face, his unrelenting tongue pressing firmly on the swollen flesh with every flick.
Clever, clever mature man! Carrie felt the fluid that was swelling out her urethra shoot back into her bladder as the pleasure in her U-spot reached its peak in a strong, mercurial orgasm.
As she bathed in the afterglow, Saul continued to tongue-stroke her with a feather-light touch, letting her shake out the last, luxurious spasms at her leisure. When she finally opened her eyes, she caught him rubbing the hinge of his tired jaw, a gesture he hastily turned into scratching his beard. He smiled at her. "Again?" he asked. Glimpsing her micro-frown, he changed tack and slapped her thigh instead. "Go pee," he ordered.
She scurried off to the bathroom.
Later that evening, as she sat cradled between the two of them on the couch watching mindless TV, Quinn hooked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him so her head rested on his chest. He stroked her hair for a while and then he said, "How are you feeling now?"
Carrie flicked an eyebrow. She'd been expecting this one. "Well, I'm not cured if that's what you're asking."
"Cured?" echoed Saul, rolling an eye towards them and wincing. He shook his head and snorted a laugh.
"Carrie, now, don't be jocular," said Quinn. "Did it help?"
Had it helped? She snuggled down between her two favourite people, squeezing her thighs together and reawakening the glow that tarried in the entire lower half of her body. "Yes. But I'm still the same person with all the same problems and idiosyncrasies."
Saul placed his hand over hers "I wouldn't want my Elsa any other way."