“You sucked your finger, what do you expect me to do. Just let me go.”
“Not going to happen.” I let go of his cock and ran a finger down his balls and along his crack, stopping on his hole.
He yanked on the ties again. “Don’t you dare.” As soon as the last word came out, he swore. “Just don’t, just don’t!”
I smiled, then shoved my finger inside of him. He yelled out, his hole... oops, his whole body going stiff for a moment, then he started struggling against the ties like a crazy man, spewing a vitriol of Italian obscenities at me. I placed a second finger at his entry and shoved it in, watching as his face contorted, his lower body thrashing about, trying to expel me. I’d been grossed out when I’d first done it for Matt, but after a while I’d learned to like it, the reaction from Matt a turn-on, but Frano’s reaction was beyond a turn-on, it made me want to come.
“Does that hurt?” I breathed out.
“You dirty bitch, take them out!”
“Like this?” I said removing my two fingers, then shoving them back in—repeating the action over and over again.
“Stop it, just stop it,” he panted, looking so damn good, the man making me wish I had a cock, so I could shove it inside of him instead of my fingers, filling him like he’d filled me.
“STOP IT!”
Ignoring his demand, I shoved my fingers back inside, now seeking his prostate. He gasped as I brushed it. I pulled my fingers out then repeated what I’d done, but this time hitting his prostate full on. Frano yelled out, his cock exploding a second later. A load of cum shot out, hitting him in the chest. He started panting and groaning like the bitch I was making him, more cum hitting him in the face. It ran down his cheek, making me want to lick it off him.
“Gay boy liked that,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, because he was torturing my pussy looking like that.
He blinked at me, his expression stunned, no come-back over the cum on his face.
I placed a third finger at his hole.
“No,” he croaked out.
“You didn’t listen to me when I begged.”
“I’m not begging, I’m telling you.”
“Really?” I shoved the third finger in, Frano biting back a yell. “Still no scream? Maybe I need to shove my whole hand up there.”
He started shaking his head wildly, but instead of begging words, he continued to demand I stop, as if he still thought he had control over me.
“You are a proud man, Frano, but what happens when you’re made into a real slave and can no longer demand anything from anyone? After what I saw them do to Jagger, I think that will happen, and, bello,” I said, accentuating the Italian word for handsome, “that sick priest will love your beautiful body. Do you know what he was doing to Jagger?” My stomach twisted at the thought, my arousal disappearing in an instant. “He had your cousin’s cock and balls roped up, and was tugging on them. Will you scream when the priest does that to you?”
He stared back at me, his expression horrified, then he turned his head to the side. “I should’ve believed him,” he said.
I pulled my fingers out of his body, his anguished expression hitting me. He was thinking about Jagger while I abused him, more concerned about his cousin than himself. My expression hardened, remembering what he’d sent Matt to. “You only give a shit about your own, but everyone else can go to hell for all you care. Well, fuck you, Frano, karma has finally bitten you on your ass. Now it’s your time to hurt—like you made Matt and all those women suffer.”
He turned his head to look at me. “You will suffer more than me, because I won’t live long if the Donatelli choose to make me into an example.”
“You don’t deserve to live at all.” I placed a hand over his mouth and nose, knowing I could kill him now, but also knowing it would lead to my own death. He kept still, his eyes watching me, the hazel coloring far too familiar. I’d seen his picture many times, but looking into his eyes now, there was a different kind of familiarity. I knew in that instant that I’d seen him in person a long time ago, just the where or when remaining hidden from me.
I removed my hand and wiped it on the mattress, getting rid of his cum, then pushed off the bed and headed for the bathroom. I shut the door behind me and turned on the tap to wash my hands, my mind wondering where I’d seen him before. And it wasn’t just that, it was his expression, which was so familiar. He thought he was going to die. I remembered that look in someone else’s eyes. Or was it his, just younger? I didn’t know, because I couldn’t remember.
I placed my hands on the basin and leaned over, wondering what the hell was wrong with me. Was it because I’d almost been drowned? My mind went to the priest holding me under the bath water as I struggled to get free. Jagger had begged for my life, begged for the priest to stop and for Alberto to help me. I remembered someone else begging, but it hadn’t been Jagger—and it wasn’t recent. I closed my eyes, a male voice coming to mind, begging to save me, saying he would do anything, but I couldn’t place who it was, just that he was Italian and not Jagger, and I wasn’t being held down in a bath, but a lake. I opened my eyes, not understanding, because the only lakes I’d seen were with Matt on our camping trip. I frowned, trying to remember the lake in my mind. It had a forest next to it and the air smelt heavily of lavender, the smell so strong I had wanted to throw up.
Frano let out a shout of alarm, making me turn around. He started speaking rapidly in Italian, demanding that the Padre... I opened the door, finding the gray-haired priest standing over Frano, smiling down on him.
“You are truly a gift from God,” the priest said, reaching for Frano.
Frano jerked his body away from the priest. “Don’t touch me!”
“It would be sacrilegious if I didn’t.” He ran a hand down Frano’s stomach and grabbed him below, making Frano shout out, the priest looking like he was squeezing him hard. “I’m going to enjoy filling you up with my love, bello.”
He let go of Frano and lifted his garb. My eyes widened, shocked by the ugly cock jutting out from his body. An angry red scar circled his thick shaft, the jagged line only an inch away from his balls, which hung low between his thighs. It looked obscene, not only because of its deformity, but the fact that I was seeing a priest half-naked. And not only that, the man’s legs were like tree trunks, thick and muscular, resembling a body builder’s more than a priest’s. It was almost as though he was playing dress-up for some sick sexual game.
“I’ve only just finished filling my angel Gabriel with love,” he said, referring to Jagger, “but you, ragazzo, have replenished me with enough love to fill you both.” He dropped his garb and climbed between Frano’s legs.
Frano started struggling against the ties like a maniac, screaming at the priest to get off him. I continued to stare, unable to make myself move. It was what would’ve happened to Matt, something that Frano had caused. Karma, I thought. But as the priest slipped a hand under his garb, and Frano started screaming louder, something he hadn’t done with me, his voice pure terror, I snapped, all thought of revenge fleeing my head. I ran at the priest, shoving him off Frano. The priest yelled out as he fell to the floor. Letting loose, I kicked him in the head, then in the stomach, my assault too rapid and harsh for him to get up from. I imagined him raping Matt; I also imagined my husband’s screams for mercy and his cries of pain, which the sick priest would’ve got off on. I aimed for his balls, wanting to crush them, but instead got the priest’s rear as he rolled onto his side.
Before I could right that wrong, heavy footsteps caught my attention. I spun around as the two Donatelli sons entered the room, the oldest pointing a gun at me. I backed up, knocking into the priest. The man hit out at me, causing me to fall onto the bed. I scrambled over Frano, knowing that I was dead.
Frano yelled out: “Don’t shoot! She’s Salvi!”
“Don’t lie, Frano, we know she’s just a slave,” the oldest son said, Marco from memory, although our informant called him Lucky. My boss also wanted to take Lucky�
��s family down, but unfortunately the Donatelli were out of our jurisdiction, the scum acquiring their slaves from the European continent instead of America.
“I promise she is,” Frano continued. “Look at her face. See ... you can’t deny she’s not.”
“I admit she looks like one,” Lucky said, “but there’s no living female Salvi her age.”
The priest pushed to a sitting position, his face bleeding profusely, one of his eyes already swelling shut. “She’s been resurrected! Send her back to the Devil!”
“No!” Frano yelled. “You can’t kill another Salvi; there will be consequences—like the last time. The Salvi slaughtered the Rizzos for what happened to their daughter, blaming them for what the Padre did. You lost a great ally that day, and what will happen when the Salvi find out another of theirs have been killed and you’re responsible? They will kill you all.”
Lucky frowned. “If she is Salvi, then why is she naked and with the slaves?”
“A game, just a game she enjoys. She’s kinky.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?”
“It’s the truth, that’s why I said your famiglia couldn’t use her, unlike the other slaves. She’s not right in the head. She’s been in a mental hospital for a number of years,” Frano said, sounding so convincing that Lucky looked as though he was falling for the lies. “She’s also obsessed with me, which is why she attacked the Padre when he tried to fuck me.”
“Tell her to come here,” Lucky said. “I won’t hurt her.”
The priest pushed to his feet, his eyes blazing. “No, kill her! She is a demon.”
“Uncle, please, just go back to Jagger’s cell. You were told not to come in here.”
“You don’t give me orders; I only abide by God’s law—”
“—and what my father tells you, and he said you were not to touch Frano. You broke a direct order, and paid the consequences at the hands of a woman.” Lucky smiled, looking amused. “One of Eve’s daughters whipped your unholy ass.”
The priest’s face darkened, then he turned and limped out of the room, his nephew’s laughter following him. His other nephew trailed after him, trying to assist the psycho.
Lucky looked back at Frano. “You are fortunate your woman can whip a priest’s ass or we all know what would’ve happened to your ass.” He laughed, then turned and headed for the door, locking them in by themselves again.
Frano turned to me. “Grazie,” he said, “Grazie mille. You could’ve left me to that monster, but you didn’t. I am in your debt now.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I snapped, now angry at myself for saving him. I started talking in Italian, telling him he didn’t deserve my help, spewing out all the wrongs he had done: to me, to Matt, to the other women...
His eyes went wide. “You speak Italian like it’s your first language.”
“I had Italian foster parents,” I said, cutting my rant short.
“No, you speak like the people from this island. Are you lying to me? Because right now I’m thinking you are a Salvi.”
“I’m not.”
“But you look too much like them, even the red hair I shaved off your pussy resembles their coloring. Everything about you speaks of the Salvi.”
“Who are they? They are not on the file I was given.”
“They’re from a neighboring island. They used to live on this one, but left after their daughter was drowned. They have only returned twice, and both times people have died. It was them who killed Jagger’s parents over a business disagreement. And when they found out Jagger was secretly seeing their daughter they ordered the Donatelli to kill him for them, but they didn’t realize how close the Padre was to Jagger. Instead, their daughter was the one murdered. The Padre did it, which is why he hates you. You look too much like her, just older.”
Noise came from outside our cell. I moved down to Frano’s feet and started untying them, wanting him to help me again when they returned for me, because he’d just stalled them with his story, nothing more. Once his feet were untied, I moved up to the headboard and started untying his hands. He made a sound, making me look down at him. The man was staring up at my breasts, his mouth open as though he wanted to suck on them.
Frowning, I resumed untying him, then jumped off the bed before he could do anything to me. He lowered his arms and started rubbing his wrists. The skin was red and bleeding in areas, much worse than what mine looked like. He pushed to a sitting position and checked the redness around his ankles, his somber expression, his nudity ... I was looking at a man, not the monster I’d made him into. My jaw clenched. But I still hated what he was, what he had done. I couldn’t move on from that, especially not after what had happened to Matt.
“I should’ve let the psycho priest fuck you,” I said, boring holes into him.
He stopped rubbing his ankles and looked up at me. “You should’ve, but I’m grateful you didn’t.”
“I don’t want your gratitude.”
“I know, but you still have it.”
I walked up to him, and slapped him across the face. He winced, but didn’t tell me off or raise his hand in retaliation. Not wanting his gratitude, I went to hit him again. He grabbed my wrist and jerked me onto him. I yelled out as he wrapped his arms around me and rolled me onto the bed, blanketing my body with his. He started kissing me hard on the lips, ravishing them, no other word fitting what he was doing. Then he pushed his tongue inside my mouth, thanking me with his passion, his cock growing hard against my leg. I remained still, knowing I should hit him, should hurt him, but preferring to fuck him instead, but he didn’t have a knife to my throat, and he had nothing but his arms wrapped around me. He pushed my legs apart and lowered a hand, his cock prodding at my opening a second later.
I yanked my head to the side and yelled “No!” as he plunged inside of me.
He went still, his body jerking. “What?” he gasped, looking pained.
“Get out of me!”
He blinked, looking surprised, then pulled out, muttering, “Stupid woman.”
I shoved him. “I’m not stupid, you are, you sex-mad freak!”
“I thought you wanted it,” he said, pushing to his feet, “and you called me your man when you saved me from the Padre.”
“I did no such thing! I don’t want you, and never will.”
His jaw clenched. “You’re a liar. You were wet for me.”
“A physical reaction.” I waved my hand at his body. “You are beautiful, but your personality is uglier than your brother’s face.”
His eyes flashed. “How dare you?!”
“I dare all I please, you chauvinistic ass!”
“I saved your life!”
“Only for a few minutes. And I saved you from being raped after you raped me!”
“You raped me too!”
“I did not!” I yelled, pushing off the bed.
“You fucked me with your fingers, you dirty bitch. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I saw your eyes; saw how much you loved taking me, having control over me.” Sneering, he ran a hand over his chest, abs, and cock, cupping his balls. “You want me, we both know it; so you use any excuse to touch my body.”
“Shut up!”
“Or what? You’ll knock me out so you can tie me up for your pleasure.” He smiled, his expression mean. “What did you do to me while I was unconscious? Did you rub your body against mine, did you run your hands over my ass like you did when you sucked my cock?” he said, opening his mouth, imitating what I had done for him.
My hand whipped out, slapping him again.
He ran a hand over where I’d hit him, then smiled wider. “I bet you want to slap my ass too, to feel my flesh under your palm.”
“You’re full of yourself. And the next time that fake priest comes in here I won’t interfere.”
His smile dropped, then he turned away from me and walked to the door.
I followed him. “Fingers up your ass, a priest trying to rape you, your household tak
en. What’s next? You at the priest’s feet, sucking him off like I was forced to suck you?”
His back tensed, his muscles pulling tight. I wanted him to snap, to lose his temper, to make him so angry that he would attack me, which meant I could hurt him without remorse, because if he threw the first punch, the last would be mine.
I stopped behind him and ran a fingernail up his back, making him jerk away from me. He crossed his arms over his chest and headed for another corner off the room, not saying a word, my taunts over the priest obviously hitting a raw nerve. I followed him, running a hand over his ass. “You have a lovely ass, just ripe for the priest to plow.”
He turned around, his eyes flashing at me. “Stop being vulgar.”
I smiled, happy with his reaction. “From a don to a puttano,” I said, emphasizing the Italian word for a male whore.
His jaw clenched. “Says the FBI puttana.”
I grabbed his crotch, making him hit my hand away. “You have big balls, but no brain allowing your house to be taken so easily. Pathetic.”
“Is this a slanging match? You insult me then I insult you back.”
“I have plenty of your shortcomings to use against you, whereas you have very little to use against me, which is why you haven’t replied with much.”
A smile spread across his face, not something I wanted to see: I wanted anger, not amusement.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You want me to hit you.”
I frowned. “No.”
“Sì, you do, which is why you’re taunting me, so you can have an excuse to hit me back.” He opened his arms wide. “Hit me, FBI bitch, I give you free rein to touch me to your heart’s content.”
I clenched my hand.
“I’m daring you.”
“You go first.”
“Why is there a need? I’ve fucked you, forced myself on you, that’s enough for you to strike me without any more provocation. Or maybe you do need extra provocation since you’re now part of the rapists’ club.”
“Rapists’ club?” I spat. “What sort of sick joke is that?”
“You raped me with your fingers.”
My Masters' Nightmare Season 1, Episode 3 Page 4
