Karim al-Zib - Wild in the country book one

"Are you ready yet, DesirЋe?" her mother called from down the hall. "You don't want to be late."

DesirЋe patted her golden hair into place, smoothed her modest, Sunday suit down over her flat belly, and adjusted her bra again. Her breasts were a liability to her, big and melon-like, the kind of feature that screamed "Slut!" to everyone who looked on her. That was why she always wore a jacket to conceal them when she went to church. It was because Pastor Hemmings, who was also the local MD with a practice on Main Street, depended on her to sing a spiritual aria – or two – at every weekly meeting that she was in such a hurry this morning. She had been out late with Mark, her fiancee.

Since DesirЋe had moved to Pickford's Meadows and begun singing for the pastor's congregation, attendance had grown so much that he had begged her to make her vocal contribution a regular performance. She didn't mind, for she rarely missed Sunday meetings. Indeed, when they had moved from Chicago to the country, Thurston Mitchell, her father, had chosen the community based on the church that they regularly attended at home.

At home. She still thought of Chicago as her home, but father had taken her away from that, and she was too dutiful a daughter to defy him and go it alone. It had been difficult to leave her young friends and life behind, her university education and her music studies, and she often wondered why it had had to be. But she was an obedient daughter.

But she was eager to get there today and see Mark again. He was her love, and it had been hard to kiss him goodnight at the door last night and leave him for the night. It was so hard to be away from him for even an hour. Today was an easy, restful day, and they always enjoyed a picnic somewhere out on her father's enormous ranch.

"Are you ready?" Mother was at the door, a smile on her face. She was proud of her young, sweet-faced daughter with the elegant soprano singing voice.

"Yes, Mom," she said, following the older woman through the large, rambling house. Dad was waiting in the crescent-shaped driveway in the big Mercedes. DesirЋe got in the back and they moved smoothly away in the direction of the small town that had become the center of their lives since having moved here.

Mark would be there, waiting for her.

Clete Anderson stood cocksure and grinning by his pickup truck, pushing out his big, hairy chest against the uniform shirt he wore and the badge that gleamed on the left side of it. This Sunday morning, he chewed on a donut and watched the people filing out of the church house while the pleasantly-smiling Pastor Hemmings shook their hands. It was a fine, sunny day and going to church was not exactly what Clete would have done to pass the time, but despite his being the sheriff and one of the very few black men in this town of rich retirees and well-to-do farmers, he had few friends among the people he served as lawman.

Clete was a hard man, not very well-mannered, but he had his finger on his job and no one could take that away from him, and he was proud that he had succeeded in landing himself a fiancee just eighteen months after his arrival. Well, at least Nancy Pace, his new love, didn't care about his race and seemed more than taken with his capable lawman's image. Yes, Nancy was his, or soon would be, when he had broken down her resistance to his sexual demands. She was a sweet little innocent and he was sure that her protestations about her virginity were real, but he had no intention of waiting until their marriage to make use of her luscious, young body. He had to admit that the lovely girl, just nineteen years old, was one of the loveliest around, with but only two or three equals that he knew of.

But there was one girl that interested him more than any, and it galled him that someone else had found her first. The problem was, she had never warmed to his approaches and his flattery, but had always just shyly smiled and acted as if she didn't get the idea.

That girl was DesirЋe Mitchell, the rarest flower he had ever cared to pick. She had lightish, honey-blonde hair that dropped to her mid-back, a body of a model's proportions but with a hint of sexy baby fat, and a big pair of round, fruitlike breasts that begged to be stroked and sucked. Her eyes were wide and blue and her lips full enough to be sensual without being bimbo-ish, for there was no denying her intelligence.

Clete knew that she had had to pass up a musical scholarship at Northwestern U in Chicago when her father, a successful corporate lawyer and a puritan fearing for his daughter's chastity, sold their home in the Windy City and moved to the safety of the massive farm he had bought her in this county, taking her from the danger of fraternities and sororities and drugs and college orgies to the serenity of the country. Not that DesirЋe would have fallen in with all the "sin", for she simply was not the kind. It was just that her father couldn't trust her and thought she should spend another couple of years under his wing. Clete knew all this from listening to the gossip around town and it interested him to find out what this lovely girl was doing.

So every Sunday he stood outside the church where she dutifully and willingly attended, and she was always up front with the choir, singing solos for the congregation in that heart-melting soprano voice that had made her the recipient of three university scholarships. Today, Clete had stood in the door while she sang and smiled broadly when her eyes fell upon his dark face. He wondered if his lust for her showed too strongly in his eyes, for, even though he had found a future wife in Nancy Pace, he had every intention of fucking DesirЋe Mitchell, at least once in his life, if not more.

The main obstacle in that lay in the fact that it appeared that twenty-year-old DesirЋe had already found love, if not yet a sexual relationship, with Mark Denning, the chairman of the local town council. Denning, like Clete, was in his early thirties, a law school graduate with political aspirations, cutting his teeth on local government before moving into state politics. Tall, handsome, clean – and white – Mark Denning seemed to be everything DesirЋe's father wanted for her, and the girl herself appeared to be more than happy with the arrangement. While no one had seen the pair doing any more than holding hands and speaking quietly in the corner of the cafe or movie house, Clete was feeling jealousy on behalf of the huge, twitching, black cock he kept in his uniform pants, and today he thought he might satisfy his curiosity about the couple.

Mark came through the door, shaking the hand of the pastor. Hemmings was about forty-five, wore glasses beneath a thinning hair-line, and was beginning to show a middle-age paunch. But why shouldn't he have a bit of a belly. He was not only the pastor, he was also the town physician, the man that cured the sick in body on weekdays and the sick in soul on Sunday. Clete noted how Hemmings' eyes followed DesirЋe as she and Mark walked away toward the young man's car. If seemed even the married preacher was at least a little attracted to the ravishing young blonde with the heavenly singing voice. Clete burned with envy as Mark opened the car door for her, oh-so gallantly, and helped her in.

Clete checked his watch. Nancy was waiting for him, near the old house down by her uncle's farm, where she and Clete would meet privately and talk while the latter plucked impatiently at her clothing in an effort to bare her sexy body and relieve her of her virginity. Perhaps today he would be successful, would introduce her to the pleasures of the flesh, and make the matter of marriage a little less pressing for him. Clete knew that Nancy's family didn't really approve of him, neither of his job nor of his color, but they were a bit more enlightened that DesirЋe's father, and this was, after all, 1996.