Chapter 3
Rachel's eyes were still blurry with tears as the beautiful teen
watched her father's back disappear around the bend in the dirt
trail. Composing herself, she thought of what she would do next.
Her father had decided it was best that she stay here for the
time being rather than face the uncertainty of the village to the
north. He said he would send for her.
In the meantime she was to help Padre Pietro minister to the
villagers, and help as he saw fit. She would have her own room
in the church annex and the run of the village. She turned and
walked back down the dusty road toward the old stone church.
Having spent the last few days learning her way around the
village, she knew there were more people than there appeared.
Brushing a pale hand past her face to dispel the ever present
flies she glanced down the alley that led to the open barn that
housed the cockfighting pit. As there had been on her visit with
the Padre she could see a number of men lounging in the sparse
shadows to escape the building heat. The Padre had said they
occasionally fought dogs there too. She shivered at the thought
despite the intense morning heat, feeling her large nipples
harden and lengthen into the long thick fingers that caused her
so much embarrassment. Her short walk had caused sweat to soak
her white blouse, making it fit her upper torso like a glove her
large heavy breasts joggling within her bra with each step. She
knew by the way they felt and from experience that soon her
puckered aureoles and long rigid nipples would be clearly visible
through the sweat soaked fabric despite the bra beneath. She
quickened her pace causing the fleshy bags on her chest to wobble
and swing from side to side even more, their liquid weight
rippling within the confines of her custom bra.
Half way to the church she passed the open fronted building which
sided the river serving as a communal laundry. The wizen old man
standing beneath the awning watched as she walked by. She
attempted to ignore the lingering stares of the old oriental man.
She felt his eyes roam over her like slithering tentacles. She
heard the sing song dialect as he called out to someone and soon
his eyes were joined by those of hulking figure of his son. The
Padre had said the son was slow witted. Neither said a word as
she walked past, but she feel their eyes worming over her probing
every curve and crevass. The thin wet cotton of her blouse was
clinging to the large firm cones of her breasts. The dark
ruddiness of her aureoles were clearly visible beneath the fabric
as her inch long nipples tented the saturated fabric. Her long
thick nipples in all their knobby beauty looked like reddish pink
rasberries. A blind man could have read the prominent Braille
written by her thoughts across the surface of her puckered
aureoles. Suddenly Rachel realized the throbbing in her swelling
breasts was being matched by a tingling between her legs. The
forbidden realization that the roaming hungering eyes of the men
excited her sent a gushing tingle through her vagina. Her face
colored as she felt her labia become slick from the excitement of
such shameful thoughts. What would her father say if he knew she
had felt nothing but repulsion at the hint of what those men were
thinking. She started to pray beneath her breath fighting back
her evil and shameful thoughts.
Another gushing tingle ran through her as her mind swam at what
they might be thinking, what they might want to do to her. It
was only after reaching the church standing in the quiet of the
dark stifling entryway, that the realization of what she had seen
entered her mind. She licked her lips as her breath came in
short gasps. Her mind flitted guiltily around the edges of the
thought as if it was too obscene to touch, to contemplate.
Finally her mind embraced it, the thought blossomed and she
accepted what she had seen in the loose pantaloons of the two
men. Her vagina flooded and wet the downy curls covering her
labia, as she remembered the bulging pantaloons of the men as
their cocks had hardened at the sight of her lascivious but
unintentional display".
Her mind was a tangle of confused thoughts which she couldn't
sort out due to the pulsing distraction in her groin and the
burning tips of her breasts. Confused and disgusted, she
eventually found room in the church annex and locked herself
behind the sturdy wooden door. Huddled in the corner of her room
she struggled with her feelings, how the gaze of the men repulsed
and thrilled her, how she was disgusted with herself, but craved
the new feelings coursing through her young body.
In anger and disgust she tore off her shorts to get at the
maddening center of her distraction. In anger she grabbed the
swollen throbbing nub of her clitoris and gave it a violent
pinch, forcing a moan to escape from her lips as she increased
the pressure between her thumb and finger.
Several hours later the old Padre knocked at her door to say good
night. A muffled response all he got in return, but he was
satisfied the teenager was safely behind a locked door. He took
his candle and waddled to his room at the other side of the
annex. "A Protestant gringo bitch", he thought, "Too good to
even open the door." Pushing his more prurient thoughts to the
the darker corners of his mind. He thought of how he could put
the young woman in her place.
The beautiful teen sat on her haunches on the bed, back pressed
against the corner of the wall. The flicker of the light on the
wooden night stand offered up a dim illumination in the room.
The light of the candle was caught in drool running down her chin
from her protruding tongue and was mirrored in the wetness on her
fingers. Her eyes were blind to the light, screwed up tight,
head lolled back, her face creased in dreamy concentration. The
room was silent except for the wet sticky sounds coming from the
fingers ravaging her vagina. The fingers of her other hand
worried at the inch long scarlet nub that was her clitoris. Its
sheath pulled back from its blood engorged length, nearly the
size of a cigarette filter. She shuddered, her fingers plucking
and rubbing the turgid cluster of nerves. A patina of fluid
coated her inner thighs, her hands were a mess of rich musky
juice. The room smelled heavy of musk. A glimmering ribbon of
liquid coalesced at the bottom of her crotch and dripped into the
spreading wet spot beneath her quivering bottom. The movement of
her fingers increased their tempo, her body pressed tighter
against the wall as she stiffened, a low moaning wail dribbled
from her parted lips climaxing in a choking prolonged shudder.
Rachel opened her eyes, moved them furtively around the room, and
closed them again and relaxed. Her breath caught, in her throat
as the lewd and disgusting thoughts once again spewed through her
mind like the stink of some sewer run amok, the thoughts and
their vileness pushed all before them. She licked her parted
lips as her wet fingers once more began the now familiar private
probing....
