by Taylor Lee
She groaned at his shocking words, inadvertently lifting her hips, seeking his intimate touch.
He laughed derisively, mockingly, “Ah, fickle woman. Now your breasts must wait while I tend to your pussy? What a greedy little minx you are!”
“Bai, don’t tease me. I need you. I want you!” She trembled and reached up and tried to pull his head down to her groin.
He took her hands away and held them over her head.
“Non, non, bebe. I will decide what part of you I will feast on. And when. Right now, I want this.”
He ran his wicked tongue over her taut abdomen, circling her navel, and then buried the probing tip deep inside the ticklish indentation, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.
Elena yelped. Panting hard, she begged him to let her come. Bai ignored her pleas. He traced a lazy path with his tongue from her navel down across the top of her mound. The closer he got to her mons, the more he longed to bury himself in her pussy, lap up her juices. He could drown in her smell, the sweet, spicy smell of her aroused sex. With a heroic effort, he pushed away, wanting to taunt her, torment her further.
She moaned as he moved lower and lower, chasing his outrageous tongue over her squirming hips. She threw her head back in abandon, letting her knees fall apart.
“Ah qui, ma belle putain. That’s the way to open for me. Like that, bebe. Spread your legs, higher, wider. Open for me, Elena. Show me your pussy.”
She cried out. Her thighs were quivering and she arched her hips higher seeking, begging for his mouth on her swollen lips.
He laughed. A soft male growl rumbled deep in his throat. His hands pressed her thrusting hips back to the ground.
“Did you know your pussy lips are slick, shining? Gleaming in the moonlight? That is how wet you are, ma petite fille. Streaming wet. Ah, oui. How long have you been wet like this, Elena? Since you kicked your leg up in the air when we danced? Since you made sure that every man in the room glimpsed your bare thigh? This beautiful thigh that is dripping with your sweet juices?”
He ran his fingers over the crease between her swollen lips and her thigh, sopping up her juices. He teased the ends of his finger over her folds, then stuck them in his mouth, noisily sucking off the sweet syrup.
“Can you taste how sweet you are, bebe, how hot? Why I have to lick you, suck on you? Why you drive me crazy with the taste of you, the smell of you?”
He pressed between her knees and pushed up against her thighs, opening her cunt to his greedy mouth. He leaned down and swiped his tongue across her slit and buried his tongue between her folds. She screamed and writhed under him clutching at his hair to hold his head in place, begging him not to stop. He licked up one side of her puffy outer lips and down the other side then drove his tongue deep inside. His experienced tongue sucked, licked, and bit along the sensitive inner folds as he worked his way up to her clitoris. Slowly, methodically he ran his tongue around the engorged bud, then grasped the swollen nub between his lips and gently bit down.
She shrieked at the erotic assault and lifted her hips to press her throbbing clitoris against his ravenous mouth.
“Oh, yes, God, yes! There, Bai. Suck me there. Please, I need to come! Oh, yes!”
In a surprise move that wrung a choked scream from her followed by a dismayed sob, he flipped her over and covered her trembling body with his. Rolling her to the side, he spread out the tattered remains of her gown and lifted her up on the torn fabric. He pulled her to her knees, then pressed her shoulders against the ground. With a rumbling groan, he dragged her ass high in the air and knelt up behind her.
“Non, non. Not yet, ma petite, not yet. I will tell you when you will come and how. Ah, oui, my naughty girl. This is how I want you. This is how I will take you. From behind--rutting in you, like an animal.”
He pulled her glorious ass up in the air and marveled at the way the moonlight glowed on her pale, firm cheeks, begging for his touch. He smacked her hard on one cheek, leaving a bright red mark on her soft skin. She yelped and tried to duck, but he held her tight and smacked the other cheek.
She moaned and arched her butt up for the spanks to follow. He laughed a soft lascivious laugh when she tried to stifle her excited response when he spanked her again. One cheek, then the other, until both globes were bright rosy pink, and hot. He leaned down and licked her burning skin, then blew cold air against her stinging cheeks.
Elena shuddered and groaned, her ass trembling. She thrust up against him and begged, her voice strained with lust, “Please, Bai, please. Oh, God, darling, please, I need to come.”
He spanked her again and growled when she cried out.
“Higher!” he commanded. “Damn it. Put your ass up higher. That’s the way, ma petite putain, like that, just like that.”
She pushed her ass up gasping, groaning, her breath coming in deep, hard pants.
“Bai, take me. Goddamn you, I need you. I need you to fuck me!”
Ignoring her demands, he snarled, “You love this don’t you, Elena? You like me to spank you because you know you’ve been naughty, encouraging those men to hover around you, sniffing you, their tongues hanging out like randy dogs?”
The rage that had been building since the party rose to a crescendo. He was consumed with wrath at the thought of the men who crowded around her. He knew what they wanted. They wanted to touch her, to taste her. Christ, if they only knew how she tasted. Hot, spicy, a taste a man would kill for. But they never would, none of them ever would. He’d cut their tongues out first. Right after he cut out their tongues, he would cut off their pricks and shove them in their mouths.
His fury raged. He pulled her ass high in the air and shoved her legs wider apart. He was going to fuck her like she’d never been fucked, drive her out of her mind.
At that moment, he felt the rush of her cream run down his hand and heard her passionate groans, her sobbing pleas. She was trembling, her body shaking and he could feel the need in her rising to unfathomable heights.
“I love you, Bai, I love you. Please darling, please, fuck me, fuck me now!”
Hearing her voice pleading for him to take her, to love her, to fuck her, his rage turned to lust. His sweat drenched body slid against hers, the weeping end of his cock pushed against her swollen folds. With a guttural moan, he separated her puffy lips with eager fingers and pressed his cockhead past the lush opening to her pussy.
He rested there for a moment, hearing her excited cries, feeling her welcoming thrusts. With firm, sure strokes he began to move, drive up in her glove tight cunt, echoing her passionate moans as he drove in, stretching her, opening her inch by inch.
His need was so intense that he struggled for air, taking deep, gasping breaths. Christ, he was dizzy. He thought he might black out. All he knew was that he had to go higher, as high as he could. He needed to fuck her, press up in her, fill her to the hilt with his throbbing cock. More than anything, he wanted to bury himself deep inside of her where it was pure and good and filled with love--high up inside her beautiful cunt. His, all his.
Long after he began hammering in her, one harsh visceral thrust after another, her cunt squeezing, sucking, drawing him deeper, higher, they rose together to a blinding body and mind shattering climax. Their combined cries--pained, ecstatic, joyful--filled the night air. They were too engaged, too far gone in their rapture to know or to care if they were heard. They were alone, just the two of them, sobbing, laughing, gasping for air--trembling with one body shuddering reverberation after another as they lay together, bound together, as if they were one.
Many moments later, he rolled over and struggled to his knees. He leaned down and kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her swollen mouth, then picked her up in his arms and rose unsteadily to his feet.
She giggled and whispered, “You better not drop me or I’ll tell everyone I made you weak.”
He grinned and held her close. Carrying her back through the garden to their bed, his strong, sweaty body gleamed like gold in the moonlight. H
e laid her on top of the counterpane and went in the bathroom. He washed off his lust-covered body, then returned to her side with a wet cloth. He lay beside her and wiped the sweat off her face, pushing her damp hair back against the pillow. He rubbed the cool cloth over her breasts, smiling when she shivered and clenched at the tickling touch. He leaned down, separated her legs, and buried his face in her crotch, inhaling the erotic smell of their combined sex. He smiled when she whimpered and lifted her hips up against his face.
“Non, non, mon amour précieux, I should not tease you. That is enough, enough for tonight. Let me clean you, wash you.”
He wiped off his semen and the sweet juices from her thighs and groin, then gently spread her lips and cleaned the deep puffy folds of her sex. She moaned and sighed, shivers of pleasure rippling over her.
He threw the cloth to the floor, then lifted her up and pulled the covers back and laid her down on the soft cool sheets. He crawled in beside her and groaned in pleasure when she moved up next to him, fitting her soft curves against the tight sinews of his chest and thighs.
~~~
They lay together wrapped in each others arms, whispering, murmuring words of love and passion. After a while, she felt his body begin to relax, the tight muscles start to release. Hearing his even breathing, she thought he might be asleep.
She whispered in a soft voice so as not to wake him if he was sleeping.
“Bai?”
“Yes, Elena.”
She hesitated, and then said, “Can you talk about it?”
After a long silence, he said, “We went to Madam Torrento’s brothel in San Francisco. We took the Chinese prostitutes from the Costa Nostra.”
She was startled at first and then nodded. He had told her before what the mob was doing. How they were bringing young girls against their will from China in the holds of ships and selling them to the American brothels.
He tensed, rolled over, and sat up on the edge of the bed. She rose up on one elbow and watched him walk over to the bureau to find his cigarette case. In the flare of the match, she saw the strain tugging at the edges of his eyes and mouth. Without looking at her, he lit a cigarette and took several deep drags, blowing the smoke high in the air.
He brought the cigarette case and an ashtray over to the bed. She moved to make room for him when he climbed back in bed and propped himself up on a pillow beside her. He pulled her up tight against his chest, smoking quietly for several moments. She lay next to him, her head tucked against his shoulder, waiting for him to speak.
He took a last drag off his cigarette, then reached in his case for another and lit it off the end of the first. He took several drags. When he finally spoke his voice was soft, halting.
“Christ, Elena, there are at least forty girls, maybe fifty.”
He shook his head.
“The oldest ones can’t be more than sixteen years old. Most of them are ten or eleven.”
Elena gasped. She trembled and her voice shook.
“Oh, my God, Bai. Dear God.”
He continued in a flat monotone.
“We brought the girls back here. They’re in the infirmary. Many of them are badly hurt.”
“Oh, Bai, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, darling.”
She sat up and kissed him, then held him tight to her. She was silent, struggling to comprehend the horror of what he was saying.
After several minutes, she took a deep breath and asked,
“What did you do…to them? To the bad men?”
There was a long silence.
“I killed them.”
“Who?”
“All of them…I burned them up.”
~~
Chapter 8
Alex sprawled on his bed, unsuccessfully trying to find a position that didn’t send shockwaves of pain ricocheting through his body. Every breath was torture. Instead of getting better with time, the pain was getting worse. He heard the door open and looked up to see the shadow of a large man approaching. He saw the glow of his cigarette and knew before he spoke it was his father.
Wyatt lit the lamp on the side of his bed and said in a gruff voice, “Move over, Son. Let me take a look at you.”
Wyatt was a famed horse whisperer and all of his life Alex watched his father treat injured horses and wounded men alike. The Wyoming folklore, well known across the West, was that if Wyatt McManus couldn’t heal a man or a horse, you may as well save time and start digging their graves.
Alex stuffed down his cries as his father’s strong knowledgeable hands roamed over his battered body, as though he was following a map to a treasure trove of injuries. After he felt every bone, bruise and cut, Wyatt leaned over and opened the bag of supplies he brought with him. Pouring a large glass of whiskey, he helped Alex to a sitting position and handed him the glass.
“You better drink this down fast, Son. Then start chugging on another one. This is going to take me a while and if you think you hurt now, you won’t believe what making you better is gonna feel like.”
For the next half hour, Alex did his best to hold back his groans and whimpers as his father poked, prodded and began to clean and bandage the bruises and scrapes covering his body. When he hit a particularly sore place and Alex couldn’t hold back a tortured cry, Wyatt nodded in acknowledgment but resolutely continued his ministrations. Alex saw the grimace on his father’s face and knew that he was being as gentle as he could, but when he got to his ribs, Wyatt muttered under his breath that this was going to hurt like hell, and hurt it did. Alex was determined not to cry out, but it was useless. He uttered a low hard groan as Wyatt snapped the cracked ribs back in place and wrapped bandages tight around his chest. Ignoring the tears Alex couldn’t hold back, Wyatt finished wrapping his sprained ankle and twisted knee, then poured himself a glass of whiskey and offered to refill Alex’s glass. Alex nodded. He peered up at his father’s stern face and spoke for the first time.
“How did you know I was hurt, Father?”
“Bai stopped by my chambers to say good night. He mentioned that I might want to look in on you.”
Alex was silent, He didn’t know if he was angry or embarrassed that Bai had let his father know that he had beaten him. He thought with a grimace that he probably should be grateful. He took several more sips of whiskey, appreciating its numbing fingers easing away some of his pain.
“Have you seen him fight, Father?”
“Yeah, Alex, I have.”
“Does he always kill his opponents?”
“I’ve never seen or heard of any he left alive. Given what he does to them, I imagine they’d think dying was a blessing.”
“Why did you let me fight him if you knew that, Father?”
Wyatt snorted, “Would you have listened to me, Alex?”
Alex grimaced and was quiet for a moment.
“Why didn’t he just kill me?”
“Because you’re Elena’s brother, my son, and Wan’s grandson.”
“That’s what he said, Father.”
Wyatt took a drag off his cigarette. He blew the smoke up in the air and studied Alex through half closed eyes. His expression was grim.
“Knowing Bai as I do, I’m damned sure that’s a one time warning, Son. Don’t tempt that tiger, Alex. I know from my own experience, we grandmasters don’t make idle threats.”
~~~
The next morning, Alex ignored the firm knock on the door to his chambers. When he didn’t answer, the next knock was louder, more persistent.
Alex called out in a raspy voice from behind the closed door, “Who is it?”
“It’s me, Alex. I came to accompany you to breakfast.”
Alex opened the door to see Wan standing in the doorway.
“I’m not hungry, Grandfather. I’m not going to breakfast.”
Wan gave him a hard stare, looking at the dark circles under his eyes that Alex couldn’t hide and the agonized movements of his body.
Wan said in a firm voice, “It is unimportant if you are hungry or
not, Alex. What is important is that you show your face. You are, after all, my first grandson, correct?”
Alex stood in the doorway, then looked away, his anger rising, seeing that his grandfather also knew about his fight with Bai.
“So he told you, too, Grandfather? Did he tell everyone? Is it all over the compound that I got the shit beat out of me?”
“To my knowledge, Bai has told no one, except I assume, your father and Elena. As for how I know that you and Bai fought last night, you made it clear that you would not be satisfied until you fought him. Because I know how Bai fights, I don’t have to ask if you were badly beaten. I’m frankly surprised and grateful to him that you are able to walk.”
Alex grunted.
“Oh, great. I am supposed to be thankful that he didn’t kill me, that he just beat me so bad, I can barely move?”
“As I said, Alex, I am both surprised and grateful that you are on your feet. Now, please put on your jacket. It will mask the bandages around what I presume are your cracked ribs. I’ll wait for you by the fountain.”
With that, he turned away and stood at the corner, waiting for Alex to join him. Seeing that he had no choice but to go with his grandfather, Alex managed to get his jacket on, pushing down the nausea he felt when he tugged at the bandages on his throbbing ribs. He went to where his grandfather was waiting for him. Together they walked to the family dining room.
Wyatt, Lei, and the boys were already at the table. Wyatt looked up and nodded to them both when they came in then turned back to referee the argument Gabriel and Jacob were having as to who could run faster.
