Carly On Her Knees

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Two years prior…

“I knew your mother,” had been her opening line.

An open air café in the heart of Paris. The girl, Carly, was dressed in a shabby summer print that hung on her body like a gunny sack, and a short thin yellow sweater that looked a size too small. Her hair is blonde and long, held back with a cloisonné clip. She gave off the s****l pheromones of youth, innocence and frailty, a vulnerable tension in her slight body, quavering with natural eroticism, although it had not been significantly challenged until that day. The woman, Dana, held her cigarette like an extension of her elegant fingers, and in a place where smoking was still chic, not the subject of disdain, she brought her unfiltered brand to her red painted lips and breathed in. As she exhaled, the cloud of smoke that swirled around her lent a mystical aura to her natural poise. That the day was cloudy and the air wet lent its hand in that poignant first encounter between the woman and the girl.

“In fact, I worked for your mother at the embassy, my first job.”

Carly didn’t smoke during lunch, cigarettes were for s*x: before to seduce, after to calm the nerves; at least this was what the romance of smoking meant to her. But she was just twenty-two when she met Dana at the open air café and she had a lot to learn about s*x, seduction and the powerful effect of Dana and her cigarettes.

That afternoon, they spent in bed.

“A girl needs at least one lesbian assignation in her s****l history,” Dana told her as she was led to the walk-up flat. “I think it’s best to happen early on before a lot of bad one-nighters taint the appetite for good s*x. It’s no mistake that women know women.”

Still dressed in Parisian haute couture, the woman came on ruthlessly, pushing Carly to the wall with a vengeance, her red nails like talons moving with savage efficiency. She planted kisses on her mouth, delicate ones to start then others with her tongue poking through her teeth into Carly’s parted lips.

The girl was hungry for the experience, for the smell of Dana’s strong perfume, and the feel of her iron will taking her own and casting it off like yesterday’s refuse.

“When’s the last time you f****d a man?” she grilled the girl.

Carly stood with her back pressed against the cold grey wall, the woman in shocking scarlet just inches from her, towering over her in stilettos that gave her fluid body its birch-like grace.

“Tell me, when was the last time?” she took the question serious enough to repeat it.

“Last night.”

For the first time since the encounter began in the café the woman took a moment to pause, as if for one brief second she’d lost control of the scene she’d so carefully orchestrated. She took control back a moment later and moved on effortlessly.

“Well, we’ll need to do something about that, won’t we, my naughty girl?”

Her red lips beamed with a smile so broad and demanding that the girl’s eyes could do nothing but stare. Carly smiled just timidly in return, her body quickening, embarrassingly so, at the mention of the word naughty. The woman was too sharp not to notice that insignificant shiver.

Dana stood back and began loosening buttons, stripping away the scarlet jacket and the silk beneath until she was down to her skirt and bra and stiletto heels. “Take off the dress,” she said as if she was giving orders.

The yellow sweater was already stuffed inside Carly’s bag. Now she felt like a street urchin shucking the only thing she wore; no bra, no panties, no drama in this simple act of surrender. The watching Dana was immediately impressed.

“Turn around,” she said, “your hands on the wall.”

Once the hesitant Carly obeyed, the svelte brunette tucked her body in close to Carly’s naked rear, with her groin pressed against the softness of the girl’s ass. With her silky hand gliding over the plump flesh, she said: “One thing you’ll learn about me right off, I like to spank young girl’s behinds.” She gave a first startling slap to Carly’s right ass cheek, and followed it with a soothing caress.

With a sharp intake of breath Carly froze in fright, then she breathed out willing her horny body to relax.

“That’s it, darling.” Dana smacked her again, harder this time, then again, and a third and a fourth time until the sting was hot and the caress that followed a welcome relief. But the girl wanted more. As weird and wicked as the scene became, she needed more. More than smacks and deep caresses, a fondling hand and breathy whispers.

Dana, being Dana—and smart enough to guess the truth—the spanking came hard and fast from that point on, fueled by a fury rising up from the woman’s strident center, perhaps an inner demon that needed assuaging, one that rarely had a chance to speak with such forceful eloquence.

Once she finished the spanking, Dana’s long fingers inserted themselves into Carly’s wet portal with one sharp nail insistently invading the dark rosette of the girl’s anus: a place of latent passion, a first time for the twenty-two year old.

Carly’s first orgasm exploded so fast and produced such a bath of liquid coating Dana’s hand that the woman stepped back laughing. “Ah, you are a blessed treasure. We’re going to have so much fun. Now get on the bed and prepare to use your tongue.”

The bed, yes. What that meant came roaring toward her in a wave of disgust, momentarily souring her stomach, until she deliberately took control and forced it back.

A girl needs at least one lesbian assignation in her s****l history…

Something huge had been awakened within her and Carly turned on like a tigress. Meanwhile Dana lay back on the bed and raised her skirt. “See,” she said as she showed off her bare shaved mons to the waiting nubile tart, “you’re not the only girl in Paris who walks the streets with her crotch wide open to the breeze.”

Carly’s real s****l education began that day.

She loved the taste, the sweet and the sour, the fragrant aroma of a woman’s s*x. With one keen eye on Dana’s face, she lapped the woman’s gathering dew like a thirsty cat, turning on a s****l charm that would soon carry her places few would suspect the winsome girl to travel. Her efforts were not wasted. Carly had hardly begun her first oral exploration of a woman’s body when Dana suddenly orgasmed, back arched, head thrown to the mattress, her groin twitching and dancing on Carly’s tongue as she cried out, “Yes, yes, do it! Suck it, slut!” like a hungry animal in heat. Grabbing Carly’s blonde hair, she forced the girl’s face into her snatch and thrust her p***y into the lapping mouth, riding her little victim hard until every spasm finally died away.

The woman took some minutes to recover, minutes she guarded so jealously for herself that she paid no attention to the bewildered girl with the rank-smelling lips.

“I’ll just slip into the bathroom,” Carly mumbled when she thought the woman was cognizant enough to hear her. Then she slid off the bed and pattered naked into the white-tiled room to pee. By the time she quickly washed herself and returned to the room, Dana was on her feet, doing up the last of the buttons on her silk blouse.

“You won’t mind if I call you from time to time,” the woman said—not a question exactly, more like a preemptive strike. “We get along well, what with your need to submit and mine to dominate. I promise, I’ll be kind.” Her hazel eyes were lit so darkly that they took on a smoky hue. “That is kind before and after. I’m really not a b***h, even though I imagine you’ll come to believe that from time to time.” She gave herself another long and lingering look at Carly’s naked body. “Yes, I can see that this lovely body of yours will benefit from a little rough abuse. Hm?”

Really? She could see that?

Dana’s jacket was on and her handbag over her arm; she was about to leave. Then almost as an afterthought, she suddenly moved on the flustered Carly and gave her a motherly kiss on the cheek: the kind of kiss that owns you, that the defiant would angrily wipe from their cheek; and the bewildered, like Carly, might savor. Though, lord knows, they’d wonder why.

Their affair was much like their first encounter: sporadic, earnest, challenging and s****l; hotly s****l. Dana gave the orders, Carly obeyed—all very new to Carly, but a relationship she tacitly agreed to out of boredom, intrigue and the need for a lesbian affair to set the stage for the rest of her life—or so she told herself in moments when she wanted to flip-off the arrogant woman and leave. She didn’t really like her much, but she did enjoy Dana’s body. And, secretly, she did enjoy being dominated—which nearly led to their break up when James Battles stumbled into her life a year later in a crowded bar.

Carly wanted a man more than she wanted a female lover, and handsome, dashing Americans like James were just the sort to turn her head. At first she toyed with him, flirting recklessly, because she knew she’d eventually pay for her saucy quips and rude retorts and the times she was often late—busy men don’t like being kept waiting for s*x by young trollops—his words—when their important lives adhere to a strict schedule. She wanted to toss his Blackberry into the Seine.

Carly blatantly refused to be controlled by James, until the day she pissed him off enough that he laid into her with his spanking hand and had her coming in about fifteen astonishing seconds. Their affair took a sharp shift that day, beginning its rocky road through dominance and submission, one that took Carly to her very last date with James Battles in the Paris garret.

She had to leave quickly that day, as did he, neither realizing that they are going to wind up at the same embassy party. Little did she know that coming out of that event her life would take another sharp shift and James Battles would be resigned to a place in her personal history, hardly more important to her than a library book she checked out, read and promptly returned.

Ending s*x with Dana would be more dicey than ending her affair with James. Their involvement was complicated. It had never been clear to Carly if Dana wanted her more for s*x or for business. In the business area of their association, she’d become a paid escort for powerful men who wanted a pretty Parisian girl to help them suffer through their nights in Paris hotels—all arranged for by Dana. For most men, these were platonic dates, although others assumed that s*x was the whole point of the evening. It didn’t matter to Carly whether they f****d her or not—rudimentary s*x was easy enough. After all, she was being paid, and ‘found’ money like this couldn’t be turned down.

But just to clarify – to assume that Carly was a ‘Parisian girl’ would be incorrect. Although she was the daughter of diplomats and had lived her entire life in Europe, she was a bonafide American, carrying an American passport. Her mother died when she was sixteen following a long and difficult illness. Her father went much faster, taken down by a heart attack just as Carly was finishing school at the Sorbonne, and just prior to her meeting Dana Durrant. Carly had been scheduled to return to the United States that fall when her father retired from the foreign service, but having been left an orphan on her own at twenty-two, she had no reason to return to a place she’d rarely been and did not know. Options with relatives were few. Her mother had cousins in the South that were pretty strange as far as Carly was concerned, so she wouldn’t be leaping into their household. Her father’s sister Grace in New Jersey suggested that Carly come live with her until she got settled. But she was settled enough in Paris and Naples, and even London where she’d lived at the time of her mother’s death. Finding a life in places she knew seemed more reasonable than landing in the complex vastness of the United States with no clue about what she wanted to do. More than that, however, Europe had a comfortable though exciting mystique for a girl who’d yet to taste all it had to offer.