Karim al-Zib - Wild in the country book three

"Clete," Mark gasped. "Why Clete?"

Nancy panted, sliding her pussy again over his penis. "A girl…" she gasped, "a girl has to have somebody, doesn't she? You, you had DesirЋe, and I was too young for you." She reared back, squeezing her lovely tits and tossing her hair back while she went on fucking him. "Wasn't I?"

Mark grabbed her and flipped her over so that she was under him. She drew her knees back and opened her cunt to him and he started to shaft her with everything he had. "Nancy, you're not too young for anything anymore. You're all woman." He fucked into her again and again, drawing joy and pleasure from her pussy as he thought he never had before even with DesirЋe. He bridged himself over her, his hands closing on her breasts and gave her every inch he had. Looking down he could see his cock disappearing into the furry split of her cunt, felt his balls slapping wetly between her asscheeks.

DesirЋe parked her car in the parking lot of the small shopping center and walked up toward the sheriff's office. She certainly didn't want anyone to see her car in front of the police station. Her feet seemed so unsure as her high-heels clicked along the sidewalk, and her knees felt wobbly. When she drew abreast of the station, she stopped and looked carefully up and down the street to make sure that no one was watching her. She waited a long time before she found the courage and then walked quickly up and went through the door.

She had never been in this place before. There were chairs for waiting and a long counter, a computer at a desk immediately behind that. And a long window running the length of the room, the dark, shadowy area beyond covered by thin venetian blinds. The place looked empty though she thought she saw movement in the back office, behind the blinds, but she was not sure. What was going on? She was frightened, very, very frightened. What did Clete want? She was sure that he meant to blackmail them with some evidence of an affair that Mark was having. She felt in her purse for her checkbook.

She stood there a long time, gazing at the bell on the counter, unable to bring herself to ring for service. This was insane! She had no business in a place like this. Why should she have to get Mark out of a jam that he had gotten himself into? Mark was the one being unfaithful, let him bail himself out.

DesirЋe turned to leave, her eyes fixed on the door to the outside world, away from a no-good bastard like Clete Anderson. This was no place for a good girl like her. She would send Mark to deal with the crooked sheriff and she could stay home with her music and art. Yes…

Her hand was on the doorknob when Clete's commanding voice brought her up short.

"But DesirЋe, you just got here," he said, and she felt his hand on her arm.

She spun around, fright sucking the breath from her lungs, and looked into Clete's dark face and eyes. He had a heavy, masculine, feral odor to him, a strong scent not altogether unpleasant but intimidating at the same time, a reek of pheromones. He was a mountain of muscle and his grip on her arm was inexorable. The fear and the heady African aroma of him drained away her strength.

"You weren't thinking of going before we had a chance to talk, were you?" he said, drawing her away from the door and toward the counter.

"I… I didn't see you, so I was leaving," she said feebly. She felt a trembling begin in her entire body. She felt that she was in some danger here. Because of the strangely vivid dreams she had had of him, though he was the sheriff, she felt that he was not altogether trustworthy. There was a sheen of perspiration on his black cheeks and his strong hips seemed to be thrusting forward even as he was walking backward.

"I was in my office in back. You didn't give me time to come out."

"Oh, well, I thought…" but what she thought she knew not, for her only desire when she entered this place was to get out again as soon as possible. She saw that he was leading her toward the gap in the counter and the half-open door to the inner office. "I needed to know, Sheriff Anderson…"

"You can call me Clete, DesirЋe."

"Clete, I have to know if this… this video tape concerns my husband, before I see it. I have to… to…"

"Brace yourself?" He moved to the door and she could see that the light in Clete's office was lower than that of the outer, sunlit front office, which made it hard to see through the glass and the half-closed venetian blinds from the front area. "Maybe you should."

Clete released his gentle grip on her arm and walked into the dim back office, and DesirЋe, spellbound to his riddle, and on tenterhooks for knowing what all this had to do with Mark, followed him in, fighting to control the rhythm of her breathing. The wide desk was strewn with papers and a television was playing a soap opera. His pistol hung on a hook with his hat, with a small iron weight with a thong strung through it. Clete folded his arms and half-sat on the corner of the desk, crossing his feet at the ankles. Her eyes were drawn to the huge pectorals that he must have used the set of weights in the corner to develop. His biceps and triceps were congruent with the rest of his solidly – and vainly – muscled body. He was a powerful man and he appeared to have no reticence to using his power to coerce what he wanted from anyone. His obsidian eyes burned into her and he waited smugly for her to speak.

"Sheriff Anderson," she began, searching for the words and the courage to communicate. "I'm here now, and you say you have some information I should know. Now, I'd like to know what it is so I can be on my way."

Clete smiled thinly and picked up a remote control on the desk, pushed a button, and looked into her eyes. DesirЋe heard the dramatic dialogue of the soap opera abruptly cease, to be replaced by nothing but heavy breathing. Heavy breathing and higher-pitched sighs of a woman, and the deep, bass grunts, pants and groans of a man. Still, at first she didn't grasp the true context of the passionate sounds.

"Sheriff Anderson…" she started again, then glanced at the screen. It took a second glance to discern what was playing on the screen. It was a pornographic video! Yes, a dirty film and she could see the luscious, white upturned buttocks of a young woman in close-up, and horror of horrors, the mammoth, black penis of a man thrusting between her rosy asscheeks into her tender, pink vagina! "Sheriff – Sheriff Anderson! How dare you bring me here for this! I have no interest in pornography. What kind of fraud…"

"DesirЋe, please, this is no cheap pornography." Clete put his big hand on her shoulder and gently turned her toward the screen. "This is a very important film for you, and it has a lot to do with your husband."

She looked at the screen, watching closely, with revulsion, the wet and glistening black shaft disappearing smoothly again and again into the girl's ivory womb. "That's – that's not Mark's – That isn't Mark."

"No, honeychild, it isn't Mark." He smiled and DesirЋe caught it. "It's me."

DesirЋe shivered at the fact that she was in the presence of this powerful and immoral man, watching as he exhibited himself to her on the film. This was positively the most obscene thing she had ever seen, and the most sordid situation she could remember ever being in. She, a married woman, alone with this burly black man watching him perform sexually with a white woman. Her eyes stayed glued to the screen only because she was afraid to look elsewhere, while the frame widened to reveal more of the girl's darling, ripe body. He saw the great, full, hanging mounds of her pink-nippled tits jiggling beneath her to the boffing of the heavy body driving the black cock into her, revealing the flexing, pinkish halo of her tight anus between her flared buttocks, the scarlet vaginal lining clinging lovingly to the shining penis that was giving her so much joy she seemed unable to restrain her cries of passion.