Carter: A Mafia Billionaire Romance

by Shanna Handel

  His hands are back on my hips. I feel him roll up close behind me. Then the head of his massive cock is teasing the entrance of my wanting pussy.

  He pulls me toward him and the chair rolls forward. Plunging his cock into me. My eyes roll into the back of my head. My mouth drops open in a silent moan.

  Then he’s doing it again. Faster now. With his hands holding me tight, he’s rolling back and forth, back and forth. His cock shooting deep within my pussy with each lunge. Hitting that special spot that makes my knees weak with every thrust.

  With each penetration, I let out a breathy groan of pleasure. My head is woozy, my legs trembling. My pussy constricts, tensing around his cock every time.

  With the freedom of the wheels, he’s able to move faster, pound harder. Having him behind me is giving him full access to my G-spot. Within minutes, I’m crying out, dying to come. The tension is unbearable. I think I’ll go crazy. But then one more thrust and—

  “Sweet mother of the gods!” I scream, slapping my opened palm against the wood. I shudder, tremble. Sweat breaks out on my forehead and my mind blanks as I come in a fiery surge. His cock is pumping and releasing. He’s coming inside of me and his hot seed runs down my leg.

  I collapse against the desk. My eyes close. My breathing begins to slow.

  My muscles begin to relax. My pussy warm and tingling with satisfaction. His hands are rubbing soft circles around my lower back.

  But all I can think is, how the hell am I going to get through the rest of the day?

  I’m still in so much trouble.

  * * *

  Carter

  I had to get that release. I need to be able to focus when I’m punishing her.

  I need to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she knows she can’t run away again.

  If she did, her life would be in danger. Maybe even over.

  Once a Bachman, always a Bachman.

  I have to teach her.

  An afternoon of punishment, unpleasantness, to keep her safe.

  I have her bent over the edge of the bed.

  Every inch of her is bared to me. She wears nothing.

  In my hand, I hold a cloth, warm with water. I lean over her. Taking my time, I clean her intimate areas. Wiping what’s left of our earlier sex. I’m careful to add gentle pressure as I go over her clit, the entrance of her cunt... her sweet little bottom hole. I say, “You need to have a clean bottom for your punishment.”

  A shiver runs through her. She makes that little mewing whine I love so much.

  I snap the wet cloth against her ass. She gives a cry. A red mark wells up. I toss it to the side.

  There’s a glistening between her legs but it’s not from the water on the rag.

  I say, “Tell me what happens to little girls who run away?”

  Her voice trembles, but she says the words, repeating what I told her on the plane ride home. “Plugged, paddled, pantied?”

  “Good girl. Let’s start with the plug. Your bottom will be nice and full when it gets the paddling you’ve earned.”

  She whimpers.

  I almost feel sorry for her.

  But then I remember what is at stake.

  Her life.

  Before we exchanged vows, I sat her down. Explained how things work in the family. Made sure the danger was crystal clear to her. Now to drive the message home. I have everything I need ready and at my disposal. I tell her to lie on her back on the bed.

  She stands, looking at me with a furrowed brow.

  I’ve always plugged her from behind, as she lies over something.

  She doesn’t question. Instead, she obeys.

  She crawls across the bed, lying on her back. Her arms go behind her head. Her legs cross at the ankle.

  She looks quite comfortable.

  A little too comfortable.

  I snatch her foot, throwing it onto the bed so her legs are spread.

  Her arms instantly fly from behind her head to cover her exposed breasts. Her eyes are wide now.

  She’s getting the idea.

  I tell her to grab her knees and hold her legs against her chest.

  She does.

  I hold the plug in front of her. I take the light green tube of jelly—the one with the hint of menthol that will leave her bottom burning, her cunt confused and pulsing with desire—and apply a generous dollop on the head of her bullet.

  I kneel on the bed before her. I put my hand on her hip, turning her slightly. With her ass cheeks together and her hands holding her legs against her chest, I get to work.

  I slide the minty bullet between the cheeks of her ass, finding her bottom hole. I press in. She resists, and the bullet comes out. I give her one look, the raise of one brow, and suddenly, she’s relaxing and the bullet is sliding up within her.

  I give it a good push—one that leaves her gasping—and ensure the handle is in place. I move her hip and press her back into the bed.

  Like a good girl, she still holding her knees.

  “Plugged, now it’s time to paddle.”

  She gives a gulp.

  I take the heavy paddle in my right hand. With my left, I grab her ankles, pressing them together and locking them in my fingers. I hold her legs up.

  She says, “Carter, what are you doing?” Her hands go to her sides, pressing into the bed. Her fingers clutch at the fabric of the comforter as she looks at me, wide-eyed and wild.

  “This is the position you get spanked in when you’ve been a very, very bad girl. Running off and leaving the country earns you this.”

  Her gaze leaves mine, a red flush rising in her cheeks.

  “This position pulls your skin tight. So you can feel the fullest extent of each punishing spank of the wood of the paddle. Only the naughtiest of girls get spanked like this... the diaper position.”

  She’s squirming now. From my words and the mint that is beginning to warm the inside of her bottom. She gives a little whimper.

  I bring the paddle down, careful to avoid the handle of the plug. Her eyes widen and she cries out as it lands. A red welt pops up on her skin. Her fingers grab at the fabric of the comforter. “One,” I say.

  I give her nine more good hard strokes with the wooden paddle. Each one leaves a long red welt. Each one has her crying out, promising to be good. By the end, she’s a sobbing, pleading mess. I help her from the bed and she goes to me to be held. My arms wrap around her and hold her for a minute. Then I say, “No more cuddles, I’m afraid. You aren’t finished with your punishment.” There’s a tug in my chest at the sight of the tears rolling down her cheeks. At her poor, paddled, plugged bottom. But I’m determined to teach her a thorough lesson. I say, “We have one more step left. What is it?”

  She says, “Now I’m to put on my naughty girl panties.”

  “That’s right. Go and get them from the drawer.”

  She turns and I watch as she walks on tiptoe, the inside of her ass plugged and fiery, her bottom perfectly reddened by my paddle.

  She returns to me, white ruffled panties in hand. I take them from her. As they always do, her hands go to my shoulders, steadying herself as I hold the panties out for her to step into.

  I pull them up. She winces as I put them in place over her sore curves. I pat her bottom. My eyes gaze over her breasts, her soft stomach, that little pink bow.

  “Now the window,” I say. I take her hand and lead her to the front of the room. I place her in the windows, her pantied, punished bottom on display for all the village to see. Ruffles out. She lifts her hands and places them behind her head, as she should.

  I leave the room.

  My cock throbbing the whole time.

  * * *

  Sasha

  He says, “What you did worried the entire Village. As I’ve told you before; if you offend the Village, they will witness you being punished.”

  I gulp. I want him to hold me in his lap. I want to cry into his chest. Instead, he says, “I have work to do. Don’t move an inch. I want you thinki
ng only of what you did. And how you will never do it again.” He gives me a stern look, and he’s gone.

  My ass is absolutely on fire. The paddle left me throbbing.

  I want to rub it.

  The menthol-covered plug is stuck up in my ass. With every punishing thwack of the paddle, it felt as if it were digging in further. The mint has my ass burning.

  I want to reach inside of my panties and yank the damn thing out.

  My pussy, so well fucked early in the day, is now a weeping, begging mess. I keep clenching the muscles of my pussy, looking for relief. But that only serves to tighten my ass around my bullet and further drive me crazy in that department.

  I want to put my fingers down the front of my naughty little panties and rub away all the tension.

  But I wouldn’t dare.

  He would know.

  Or worse—someone would see me pleasuring myself and report it to Carter.

  But the pulsing and clenching is killing me. How much could they see from the back anyway?

  I shake the thought of self-pleasuring from my head. A terrible idea. I don’t even want to think about what he would do to me if he walked in and found my hands down past my pink bow—

  I’m supposed to be thinking about what I did.

  And how I’ll never do it again.

  I wouldn’t dream of leaving—even before the punishment! After seeing Carter’s face at my parents’, when he came to get me, I could never leave him again.

  And even though I’m a mess of horniness, shame, and pain, I’m glad for this punishment. Who knows what I’d do in a fit of rage if Carter hadn’t taken to teaching me this lesson?

  The lesson involving... the diaper position.

  A flush creeps into my face now, as it did when he first said it.

  I can’t believe there’s such a thing.

  But... it works.

  Shame filled me like I’ve never felt before when he locked my ankles in his hand. Holding my legs up. Exposing my plugged bottom and wet cunny.

  He was in complete control. And I was at his mercy.

  Every time the paddle fell, it hurt twice that of when I’m over his lap. My skin pulled tight.

  I give a shiver.

  My arms are getting tired. I want to take them down and shake them so they don’t fall asleep.

  But I don’t.

  Instead, I’m Carter’s good girl. I stand, ruffle-covered red ass exposed to the world. Proud to be Bachman. Proud to be his baby girl.

  He’s back.

  His arms are around me. He’s carrying me to the bed.

  He’s kissing me and murmuring sweet nothings in my ear, promises of pleasures to come.

  A smile stretches over my face.

  I am so loved.

  Epilogue

  Sasha

  Six months later

  He’s talking babies.

  He’s dreaming of little blonde, olive-skinned toddlers, marching down the beach, looking up at us with my brown eyes.

  Laughing his deep belly laugh.

  He’s wanting a little girl. With dark hair like mine. And my fire within her.

  And it’s not just one.

  Or two.

  Or three.

  He wants a whole flock. A herd. Hell, a stampede!

  He wants a big, vivacious family. Kids running underfoot, babies crying to be held and bounced and soothed. Toddlers tripping over toys strewn about a massive living room.

  He wants a yard. With thick green grass. Soccer goals. Playsets and kiddie pools.

  He wants to work from home. Teaching online. I didn’t even know he had his PhD in anatomy. He’d never even told me.

  He wants me home. Cooking my mother’s recipes. Teaching the children how to make her melt in your mouth baklava.

  He wants my parents to move to America. Live in a ranch-style home not far from ours.

  And he wants it all as soon as possible.

  Even if we were to get the go ahead, it would still be at least a year before we were released.

  But I’ve just become Bachman. Just gotten used to the ways of the married women in the Village. Gotten into a routine as a newlywed woman. Working at the gym during the days, cooking half decent meals at night. Curling up at the end of a long day in front of a roaring fire, Carter holding me in his arms. My glass of wine in my hand.

  But... when he speaks of those babies. The way his eyes light up... it makes my cervix open. My ovaries drop eggs double time.

  Growing up an only child in a village of big, loving Greek families, there’s a tug at my heart. A welling at the very center of my being, just thinking of children.

  But it would mean moving to the Hamlet. With the other procreating Bachmans. Those who I’ve never met.

  It would also mean Carter would be free of his duties to the Village.

  He says, “Sasha, I knew I was meant to be Bachman. A part of the village. To work beside my brother. But if I could stay in the family, and lose the crime ring element, I’d be all for it. And if Bronson says no, I’ll continue to work just as hard as I do now—with the same dedication. But since we’ve fallen even harder in love with one another, I can’t ignore my desire to start a family with you. Just imagine those brown-eyed babies.”

  He’s giving me that look. I’m melting. I swear I’m ovulating.

  I’m almost convinced, but my doubts creep up. “I know you would be a great dad, but... do you really think I’d make a good mom?”

  He says, “You’d make an incredible mother. You’d be one of those tiger moms, protecting her kids at all costs. And playful, too. I can see you chasing and tickling the girls. Wrestling with the boys.”

  He takes my hand. Asks me for my permission to speak to Bronson on our behalf.

  And I say... yes.

  The End

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