As the twins moved in rhythm, Cal pumping in while Earl pulled back, then reversing the stroke, Lucy stopped moving and let them fuck her mouth and pussy. For the first time – two men reamed her out, sending waves of pleasure through her. She had trouble catching her breath and thought she was going to pass out, the ecstasy growing by the moment until Cal pulled his cock out of her mouth. She sucked in a deep breath and heard Earl grunt and say, ‘Here it comes, baby.’
‘Yes. Yes. Give it to me!’ And he did, jamming his cock in a frenzy as he came in her and kept coming until she nearly collapsed, Cal grabbing her hands to hold her up. When Earl finished he leaned over and kissed her on the lower back, then pulled out to get rid of the condom.
Cal had his condom already on and guided her to the sofa, where he lay on his back. Lucy climbed on, grabbing his cock and directing it to her pussy. She was still so wet, she felt it slide in and continued filling her until she felt it was in her stomach. She rose and slid down, pumping the cock, riding it, up and down, up and down until Cal began to buck and it was bucking bronco time as he bulled her with his cock. Lucy bounced on it as Cal grabbed her breasts and pulled them to his mouth so he could suck them, his cock pounding her.
Lucy had no energy left and just lay atop him as he bounced and slammed his cock in her, coming in long strokes. She looked down at his brown eyes and he rasped, ‘Oh, Lucy Lou!’
When he was done, she lay atop him as they both tried to catch their breath. She saw a movement and realised it was a pair of white legs coming closer. She looked up at Sal’s cock sticking straight up and smiled.
She climbed off Cal and lay on her back, Sal moving between her legs as he donned another condom. He slid in and fucked her in such a frenzy it surprised her. It was with abandon, like a youngster getting his first piece of ass and she liked it very much. Sal took his pleasure and gave her more and both came quicker than she thought.
Sliding off, Sal nestled next to her and kissed her cheek again and again.
‘You liked watching, didn’t you?’
He nodded and kissed her again. She patted his shoulder and pulled away from the sweat of both their bodies. The air felt cool and she noticed the rain was still pouring outside.
‘I think a tree was hit outside,’ Sal said. ‘Sounded like an explosion.’
‘When?’
‘When you had two dicks in you at the same time.’
She laughed and settled on the comfortable sofa, legs still open, staring up at the ceiling fan. Sal was staring at the ceiling too. When she blinked, Lucy realised how tired she was and knew sleep was reaching for her. She wanted to think about what she’d just done but she was so weary, so worn out, so good and fucked.
What have I just done? For the first time she thought she just might have had enough cock for one night.
A voice drew her back to the edge of sleep. Sal whispered in her ear, ‘Lucy. Lucy.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’ll make a good … partner … a good husband for someone pretty like you. I work hard.’
She looked at him and saw his eyes were damp.
‘I’ll never let you down, Lucy. Never.’
Chapter 6
The Shower’s Big Enough For Two
AN ARM OF THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA, the Aegean was a multi-coloured dream, changing from brilliant sapphire and bluish-green aquamarine into deep cerulean before morphing into cobalt blue with streaks of azure like the clear blue sky, and turquoise, pastel greens and sky blue near beaches so white they hurt the eyes of mere mortals who tried to look at the sand for more than a moment. Rocky sandy islands dotted the sea where Poseidon ruled from the Aegean’s greatest depth of nearly 12,000 feet east off Crete. The name Aegean has been attributed to several sources, from Aegae, a city of Evvoia; from the father of Theseus, named Aegeus, who drowned himself in the sea believing his son had been slain by the Minotaur; and from Aegea, the Amazon queen who also drowned in the sea. The sea’s ancient name, Archipelago, now applies to any island group, much like the isles that dot the Aegean from Greece to Asia Minor.
Lucy Incanto loved looking at photos of the Aegean on the internet. She’d gone there once, with her parents when she was nine and remembered it as a super-heated daze of bright light, white buildings and even brighter waters. She discovered, in her research, how Aphrodite was born in the sea, out of a primal murder, when Cronus murdered his father, Oranos and threw the dismembered body off Mount Olympus into the Aegean. From the foam created by the body of Oranos, bleaching as it floated on the waves, came the most beautiful maiden in creation. Golden-haired Aphrodite walked naked out of the sea and wherever she stepped she turned sand into grass and flowers bloomed, the air suddenly full of birds.
Mortal men gazing upon her naked beauty fell under her spell, many losing their wits and babbling like idiots because they could never have such beauty in their life. Unlike other Olympians, Aphrodite was never distracted from her duties. She thought of nothing but love and desire and those twin emotions accompanied her through eternity.
Zeus brought her to Olympus and his wife Hera seethed at Aphrodite’s beauty and hissed to her husband to marry her off, without delay, before the gods took to battle over her and destroyed the Earth. And so the suitors were called and came bearing gifts.
Lucy Incanto sat in the captain’s chair and looked at the gifts from her candidates atop her papa’s massive cherry-wood desk with the marble top, imported from northern Italy. Her first suitor, Joe Perito of New Orleans sent three roses again, this time in a crystal vase. Three roses for three fucks, she thought. He’d also sent Elvis’ 1957 album Don’t Be Cruel, a pristine copy of the vintage record. Track three was “Hound Dog”, as in “You Ain’t Nothin’ But …” She had to smile at that.
Next to the record stood another vase, white with a blue glaze, cobalt-oxide medium developed in Persia, more commonly know as a Ming Dynasty vase. She’d looked it up on the internet when she read Joe ‘Ox’ Cavalcare’s note that accompanied the vase and the eighteen yellow silk roses inside. His note read: Lucy, baby, at least these won’t smell like a funeral parlour. The vase is from some old Chinese Dynasty called The Ming or Ping, I’m not sure.
She’d looked it up to make sure this wasn’t some ancient treasure and discovered the vase cost about a thousand dollars. That in itself was too extravagant, no matter how good the sex.
Al “The Thrill” Racconto sent a curio from the 1920’s, a solid silver roller coaster, about a foot long with flat ashtrays at either end, ashtrays big enough to be drink holders. She’d placed her coffee mug in one.
Lucy picked up the magazine lying next to the roller coaster. It was a vintage nudist magazine filled with black and white images of naked people on a beach, playing volleyball, or otherwise cavorting with nature. Joe ‘Speedo’ Furfante sent it with a note that read, For my favourite nudist. Damn, I should have brought a camera!
The gift from her fifth suitor stood in what may be its permanent position on her desk. In an elegant depression glass 5 x 7 inch frame stood a sepia-toned portrait of Pier Angeli, autographed and dated July 19, 1953. Pier’s dark eyes gazed straight into the camera lens, her long wavy hair falling past bare shoulders as she looked over her shoulder with the wide-eyed expression she was best known for. Her lips looked almost velveteen in the picture.
Her phone buzzed. She touched a button and said, ‘Yes?’
Donna said, ‘Guag’s hea’.’
You could send that kid to charm school but she’d still sound like an inner-city slut.
‘Send him in.’
‘Shora’ thing.’
The Guag entered in a green pin-striped double-breasted suit with matching green patent-leather shoes. He smiled as soon as he saw the gifts and sat shaking his head. She noticed he was doing a comb-over now to hide the creeping baldness atop his crown.
‘I thought a couple would have dropped out, uh, withdrawn by now.’
‘Why?’ Lucy sat up straighter.
‘
These are men who can have any woman they want. I know we’re talking about a lot of money here, but …’
‘But what?’ Lucy tried to keep her voice down.
He seemed stumped.
‘We’re talking about me here.’
‘Of course, they get a pretty girl too, but marriage that’s a big commitment.’
‘Consigliere.’ She got up and paced next to the window, catching the scents of sea and sand now. ‘I need your advice, not comments from the peanut gallery.’ This time she snapped at him.
He sat back and smiled warmly at her. She glared but saw his smile wasn’t patronizing, but warm. ‘Lucy,’ he spoke softly, ‘You’re not the boss and you know you can never be the boss.’
She shot him a hard stare but the smile didn’t wane.
‘Your papa is our boss and he’s made sure you’ll want for nothing for the rest of your life.’ His voice even softer. ‘But this is a business transaction. We need a figurehead for now.’
‘So who’ll be the real boss when my father dies?’
The Guag took in a breath. ‘Your Uncle Leo wants to retire to Alaska, of all places. I think he’s been on too many of those cruises up there. But he likes it cold and we all want to retire one day, so he can do that. No problem.’
‘So, who’ll be the real boss, if it’s not my husband, the figurehead?’
The Guag leaned forward and asked her to sit down. She stood with her arms folded. He let out a breath and said, ‘It takes a special man to be a Don. Takes more than toughness and intelligence. It takes a passion for his family and the ultimate sacrifice if necessary.’ The Guag leaned back. ‘You Lucy own most of our assets. You will own us, but your husband will be the front man and I will be there to make it all work. Capiche?’
She gave him a long stare. The Guag had never seemed ambitious and this didn’t sound like ambition. He could have sabotaged this arrangement easily and moved in to take over but she knew he loved her like the daughter he never had. And he was too old to start running things, especially in the 21st century with the family going legit.
‘We’ll do this together, Lucy. Until you and your husband work out who’ll run things. But please, don’t try to boss me around and I’ll promise never to do the same to you.’
Her shoulders relaxed and Lucy went back to the captain’s chair.
‘If this works out,’ The Guag went on. ‘Your husband will move into the position as we planned. Soon as you start having babies, a boy hopefully, he’ll be the next real Don. We’ll steward the family until then.’
Lucy felt her heart pattering now. She’d been using her sex as a pleasure machine, careful with the condoms. Now she had to think of her sex’s primary use, reproduction.
‘We discussed all this, remember?’
‘Yes. Yes.’ She’d been a little befuddled lately, by all the sex, by fucking her bodyguards, which she couldn’t stop thinking about and by her papa’s condition. She’d just left the hospital and could see him slipping away, so much weaker, as if on the edge of death.
Waving at the presents, The Guag said, ‘So, who have you eliminated?’
‘None.’
‘None?’ He sighed. ‘Lucy, we have time constraints here.’
‘What time constraints?’ She was getting hot again.
‘These aren’t ordinary guys. They’re future underbosses, future Dons. They don’t have a lot of patience. They won’t want to wait.’
‘Yes they will.’
The Guag seemed to expect her to continue, but she left it there so he said, ‘What, you want another sit down with each of them? You know we’re footing the bill, flying them in, putting them up.’
‘This is the rest of my life and you’re talking money.’
‘OK. OK. But if they start butting heads. If they start acting like tom cats, ready to fight over you, we can’t have that. You want to start a war? Go to the mattresses over this? These are alpha males.’
‘Go to the mattresses? And you never saw The Godfather.’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re so full of crap.’
The Guag’s eyes went wide, a comical look on his face now.
‘But you’re right,’ she admitted. ‘We’ll bring them back one at a time.’
‘We’ll go back to Perito, all right?’
She nodded as The Guag got up, it all settled now. Turning to the window she heard his soft footfalls as he crossed the room and the door closed. Lucy got up and looked out at the gulf. It was another blustery day with tiny whitecaps on the waves. Several pleasure craft were meandering in the distance. A man was trying to keep his beach umbrella upright. Every time it fell over, his two daughters laughed loud enough for Lucy to hear.
She thought she heard something, turned and saw Donna holding the Elvis album.
‘Can you believe how big these records were?’
Lucy kept her anger in check, watching her cousin studying the rear of the album cover. Donna looked younger than 19 in a frilly top that stopped just below her breasts, flat pale stomach exposed. Donna wore a denim miniskirt that was too short but she had the legs for it.
‘That a new skirt?’
Donna didn’t look up from running her fingers over the silver roller coaster. ‘Whaddya think about maybe, uh, since you can’t have all these guys. Maybe introducing me to a couple of ‘em?’
Lucy went over, picked up her mug of coffee and took a sip. ‘Which one you got your eye on?’
‘All of ’em. You get first choice, a’ course.’
Lucy sat. ‘Well, it’s a little complicated at the moment, but I have an idea.’
Donna looked up. She was a pretty girl, a little garish with the heavy rouge and only one eye made up. When she smiled she looked a lot better. She needed to put on weight and Lucy hoped she wasn’t skinny from using drugs. Then again, Donna was always skinny.
‘Two suggestions,’ Lucy said. Donna sat down and crossed her legs, right leg moving back and forth with excitement.
‘I’m all ears.’
‘I’ll set an appointment at my beautician,’ Lucy said, although she didn’t have a regular beautician. She’d used a couple over the years. ‘You need to look like a woman, not a little girl.’
‘Okey dokey.’
‘And elocution lessons?’
Donna sat back. ‘Whadda I need to know ’bout electricity?’
Lucy tried not to laugh. ‘It’ll teach you to speak English properly. Refined. Like a lady.’
Donna sighed. ‘I guess so.’
‘Good. I’ll set it up.’
Donna smiled again and got up. ‘I like it better when you’re nice to me.’ She left quickly, probably before Lucy changed her mind. Lucy was too confused to say anything else to her cousin, sitting there wondering when she’d been mean to her. She’d snapped at Donna but that was about all. Maybe her not including Donna in things, maybe never being close to her mother’s side of the family.
Lucy shook her head and picked up her phone, dialling directory assistance for the Shane Cody Beauty Salon and Jeff Davis Community College where she discovered there were no elocution classes. It took two more calls for her to locate one at the University of Southern Mississippi’s Biloxi campus. She enrolled Donna in the class, which began later that very week.
She went out to Donna with two appointment slips, thinking, as she crossed the carpet of Cal’s face hovering over her as he screwed her and Earl panting as he came in her.
Joe Perito took the scenic route from New Orleans. Tooling his titanium-silver BMW 530xi sedan with its maple wood dash, 255-horsepower engine and CD player giving up a little U2. Highway 90 dissected New Orleans, worming its way through the city before easing past Bayou Sauvage National Wildlife Refuge, the only living swamp within the city limits of a major American city. Reaching across narrows called The Rigolets between Lake St. Catherine and Lake Pontchartrain, past the old Confederate Fort Pike which hovered over the narrows, the highway continued east.
&
nbsp; The unpainted wooden camps, elevated on creosote pilings that lined either side of the highway between Lake Pontchartrain and Lake Catherine, gave way to swampy marshland and then piney woods for the last few miles before the BMW crossed the Pearl River into Mississippi. The winding blacktop eventually widened and civilization returned, albeit tin-covered one-stop tourist attractions with piles of shells outside.
Passing through Waveland, he couldn’t see the water, but knew it was there beyond the treeline, homes dotting the highway now. Eventually Perito passed through the village of Bay St. Louis, crossed the bay to Henderson Point to run along the gulf to Pass Christian, the big houses on the left.
It was a relaxing drive, leaving the bright lights and headaches of New Orleans behind, looking forward to seeing Lucy Incanto. He had to laugh, thinking of the problems he’d left, the city council’s raising of the hotel-motel tax that put a squeeze on the Perito Family’s legitimate hotels and bed-and-breakfasts. In the old days, they’d grease the palms of the politicians to get what they wanted, or strong-arm the Vieux Carre Commission, which ruled the French Quarter like the SS with an attitude – do it our way or you can’t do it at all. A year ago, he’d spent five weeks of wrangling in order to put a new elevator in one of the smaller hotels but gave up putting a skylight in the lobby of another.
Profits were up and that’s all that mattered and without reverting to bribery and strong-arming he slept better at night, knowing the pain-in-the-ass FBI could investigate the family’s legitimate business dealings until that transvestite J Edgar rose from the dead and would find fucking nothing. Not that the bureau had the time to do that any more, after 9/11. La Cosa Nostra seemed like cuddly teddy-bears compared to foreign terrorists. Mafiosi tended to kill rivals, fellow gangsters, not innocent people. And just last week, capo Joe Perito eased the rest of the illegal shit he’d been handling, the loan sharking and sports betting, to another capo who was happy to dip his beak.
Mafia Aphrodite Page 9
