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.