by John Savage
“Got a case,” I said, gruffly.
She followed me into my office. Dumping the file on my desk, I immediately pulled out the first bottle my hand came to in the drawer. It was the Glenfiddich. I waited until some of it had burned its way down my throat before I told Susie about the case.
“Your old girlfriend!” she exclaimed. “Must have been before I joined you.”
“It was,” I told her. “But you’d like Linda. She is one hell of a woman.” I sighed. “And kinky as hell too.”
Susie smiled. It is a poorly kept secret about her own kinky tendencies, most of which I simply turn a blind eye to.
“So, when to do we leave for Italy?” she asked.
“Whoa there! Who said you’re going with me?”
“I did. This is the kind of case I decided to be a PI for. International skullduggery, a mob princess to rescue, and lots of action and danger!”
“And that’s exactly why you’re not going.” A big brother sometimes has to put his foot down when it come to protecting his little sister – even if she is an inch or so taller than he and could lick a dozen men in a fair fight.
Susie said nothing, but she picked up the folder. As she browsed through the contents, she did not look at me but muttered those horrible words: “I could ask mother to make you take me. She’s been very happy with the checks I’ve been sending her. You apparently didn’t do much to help our poor mom.”
I poured some more scotch. I hate it when Susie hits below the belt.
“What are these handwritten notes on the last page?” she asked.
I took the folder out of her hands. “Just some information I may need in Italy.” With a sigh, I added, “You got a passport?” hoping that she did not. I should have known better.
* * * * *
That evening we were on a flight to Rome via London. As usual when flying, I had to leave Wilma at home. Poor girl doesn’t like it when I have to go somewhere without her, but those boys at Homeland Security get touchy about really big handguns. Hell, they get touchy about a nail file. Took them fifteen minutes to figure out if my brass knuckles were a weapon or not.
Susie slept like a baby on the flight. I stayed up, drinking from those tiny bottles, just in case the pilot needed help or something. I really don’t like flying. I figure if we were meant to fly, we would have wings or at least safer vehicles that don’t crash now and then.
It was morning when we landed in Rome. I let Susie find us a hotel room since I was a little tired. She claimed I had a few too many of those little bottles of booze, but who can get drunk on one ounce at a time? Besides, she just happens to speak a little Italian, though where she learned that I have no idea.
We got some sleep, had dinner in the hotel restaurant and left early the next day in a rented car, driving north towards one of villas Savinio owned. I wondered what was happening to the girl I was supposed to rescue, but more I was wondering what was happening to Linda Goodbody.
Chapter IV
What is Happening to Linda?
“Damn, I wish the boss didn’t want her untouched! I’d sure like to poke her!”
One of the two guards always present in the warehouse where Linda Goodbody was being held prisoner was taking to the other, who simply nodded. He had noted how that redhead with the vivid emerald eyes was built and agreed that she would, indeed, be nice to poke. Probably several times in several places. He could just feel those pouty lips wrapped around his prick, teasing it and inviting it deeper into that undoubtedly wonderfully warm and smooth mouth.
“Well, at least we get to rough her up a bit. Get the camera and we’ll drag her out for today’s photo.”
While henchman number two went to fetch the digital camera, the other opened the door to the small room that was her prison. Linda was huddled in one corner, but looked up when she heard him.
“Well, asshole, you planning to take my picture again?” she said, dripping with sarcasm but also more than a hint of teasing. She had figured that they had orders not to screw her, for whatever reason, and took a little satisfaction in teasing them. She struggled to rise to her feet, then took a stance with legs spread as far as the legcuffs allowed and her wonderfully attractive breasts sticking out. Since she was wearing only bra and panties, they saw most of what was there. The fact that the bra and panties were semi-transparent only confirmed that she had delightful large and pointy nipples and was a real redhead.
He took her by the arm and led her out of the room. The legcuffs allowed her to walk fairly normally, and the handcuffs on her wrists behind her back made any real resistance doomed to failure. The legcuffs, just a pair of handcuffs with a longer chain connecting them, were not to restrict her movement but to assure that she did not kick either of them in the balls, which she had tried to do when first kidnapped.
The room she was taken into had very little in the way of furniture, mostly a single bed with bare mattress and a dresser. She knew from experience that the dresser drawers held various restraints and even possibly a few torture instruments. She had caught a glimpse of a black whip when one of them took out the legcuffs to put on her. The bed, she also knew, was not used for sleeping, but as a suggestive prop when they took her photos. Twice already they had set her up for a daily photograph, then returned her to that closet-like room. At least they gave her a blanket to sleep with and had not, so far, used her sexually or really abused her body, but otherwise were not very helpful hosts.
“What today, boys?” she asked, trying to keep up a brave exterior when inside she was cold with fear. She had been kidnapped before and even tortured a bit by a mad scientist, but, for some reason, these two scared her more. Maybe it was the professional, impersonal way they went about assuring that she could not escape and set her up for the daily semi-torture photos.
“On your back, bitch,” henchman number one said.
Linda lifted one eyebrow as if asking, “Are you serious?” But she went to the bed and sat on the edge. She would rather have delivered a swift, painful kick to their reproductive organs, but knew she could not. Obedience was better than having their hands on her body, forcing her down. She rotated around and lay carefully on her handcuffed wrists. It was not very comfortable but she had the idea that this discomfort would not be the worst of today’s session.
Of course, she was right. One of them took a short chain from the dresser, along with two padlocks. One end of the chain encircled her neck and was locked on. The other end went around the metal tube head of the bed and was locked.
“Great,” she told herself, “they’ve got me chained to the bed. Does the sex come now?”
In a way, it did. Two large dildos came from a drawer and were set down on the bed next to her. While one held the camera, the other unlocked on ankle and pulled down her panties. Then he spread her legs widely and told her to keep them that way. She did not like the feel of his hands on her, especially when taking off her panties. She knew they were not really seeing more than they had before, but it still make her more nervous being totally bare down there.
Picking up one of the dildos, he smeared a little lubricant on its head then pushed it up against the opening to her vagina.
“Keep your legs spread and let this in your cunt,” he growled. “Don’t fight me or I’ll have to get rough.”
She bit back a sarcastic retort and tried not to grin. Linda was a highly sexual young woman, and the idea of having that large dildo sliding into her was actually attractive at that point. For the last three days, she had been scared, kept nearly naked and pretty damned lonely in that room. Having a little sex, even just something to fill her lonely cunt, sounded good. She did, however, feel that saying so to these two lowlifes would not be a good idea. It might encourage them to try something else, something more personal. So she faked a grimace and closed her eyes.
At least the guy was gentle. He pushed it slowly in, allowing the lubricant to do its job, although, truth be known, she was already becoming wet, stimulated by bein
g nearly naked and handled by these big, strong men. He was surprised a little by the ease with which it entered and the depth to which it sank. When it was almost totally inside, he stopped and told her that she had better not push it out.
Picking up the other dildo, he held it before her face and ordered, “Open wide, bitch!”
Linda said nothing but opened her mouth. This one was smaller than the one currently residing within her pussy, and she had taken real pricks of that size in her mouth before. The memories of Sled Speed’s magnificent manhood came to her as the plastic penis slid in. Oh, if it were only him and not this adult bookstore marital aid.
When it was pressing against the back of her mouth, he halted without trying to make her deep throat it. Stepping back, he allowed the other man to take half a dozen photos, most of them covering the area between her head and thighs so that both dildos were visible.
When the photos were finished, both men just stood there, looking down at her. The lust within was obvious on their ugly faces, and in the bulges in their pants. Linda Goodbody had that effect on men. She just hoped that they would continue to obey the man they called “the Boss” and not fuck the shit out of her.
Reluctantly, the dildos were withdrawn. The reluctance was both on the part of the men who were stimulated by seeing her so stuffed, and, truth be known, on her part since she was just beginning to enjoy the full feeling in her vagina. When her mouth was empty, she had to make an effort to keep from asking them to leave the other one in. But it came out and her ankles were locked again in the legcuffs.
As she was being put away in her room, she noted that they had not bothered to put her panties back on.
Chapter V
Photo Session
Half way around the world, in a sunny room in Italy, another henchman was saying, “Damn, I wish the boss didn’t want her untouched! I’d sure like to fuck her!”
The object of his attention was Angelicia. In a remarkably similar manner to what was befalling Ms. Goodbody, this young woman was being taken out for her daily photo shoot. The main difference was that these men not only photographed her in tight restraints but also in pain. Today she was taken to a different room, one that looked more like a mechanic’s workshop. There were two benches with tools on them and hanging on the wall behind them. The concrete floor was dirty and oil stained. There was also an overhead beam with a large hoist.
When led into the room, Angelicia’s arms were bound behind her back, elbows tightly together and rope around her waist pinning her arms to her back, also having the effect of making her breasts stick out proudly. Once there, she was forced to sit on the floor while her legs were bound with more rope. The hook at the end of the hoist cable was lowered and her ankles bound to it. Then she was pulled up until she was hanging totally upside down, her long black hair reaching for the floor.
Slowly, she twisted half around to one side, then back. The oscillations died down and she was left hanging still. For a long time, the two men who had hung her up like a freshly killed deer about to be dressed, just looked at her, probably enjoying the nearly perfect, totally naked young woman. One of them finally knelt beside her and, grabbing one breast, attached one of those metal clips that dug into her tender flesh and caused her to gasp in pain. Without a pause, the grabbed her other breast and attached a second clip.
“That hurts!” she could not help saying. “Please take them off.”
“After your photo, sweetie. Smile for the camera.”
Angelica did not smile. In fact, the pain was clearly visible on her inverted face as the tears began to form. Several shots were taken, mostly from the front and showing all of her hanging condition, but with a couple close ups of the abused nipples.
After the photos were taken, they amused themselves for a few minutes by twisting her around and watching as she “unwound”. Her little cries of pain as the weighted clips tormented her nipples amused them.
“Could we leave her hang for a while?” asked one of them.
“Sure, why not? She looks pretty like that.”
Leaning over, he flicked one of the clips with his finger, causing her to cry out as the tiny metal teeth dug in more. He stood up and slapped her bare ass with an open hand but hard enough to bring forth a yelp of pain and surprise. A red handprint began to form on the smooth skin.
“See you in an hour or so, sweetie,” he told her. Then he laughed and added, “If we don’t forget about you!”
Chapter VI
Casing the Joint
The next morning we got on a commuter flight northward and landed at Milan’s Malpensa Airport. There we took a room at the Hotel Principe di Saviona, which was better than I expected. The room was good sized, clean and had sort of an old world charm. At least that’s what Susie called it. It seemed a little on the old side to me, but it did have a very nice indoor swimming pool – not that I planned to go swimming.
Before leaving Rome, I made a call to a phone number Riszini had given me. Fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door. Susie was in the shower when I opened the door to find a man standing there looking like a banker in his custom made suit and briefcase. He looked me over for a second, seemed satisfied that I was who he expected, and walked in without a word. He laid the briefcase on the table and opened it. Inside, resting on velvet, were two automatics. I picked up the larger of the two. It fitted nicely in my hand. Not quite as nicely as Betsy, but pretty good. Betsy was an older model 1911 standard issue but still probably the best automatic ever made. This one was a Gold Cup edition, which meant it was modified for additional accuracy and dependability. I put it down and picked up the other one.
This was shorter, only a six and three-quarters inch length compared to the Gold Cup’s eight and a half inches, but it still packed all the stopping power of a .45. It was a Colt Defender, a good carry and hide-away weapon. If felt good also.
“Your employer said that the second gun would be for a woman,” he told me in perfect English. “So I took the liberty of choosing a small, lighter weapon. It is still, however, .45 caliber.”
“Fine. What do I owe you?”
“Compliments of your employer.” He actually bowed his head. “There is ammo in the case under the weapons. Also concealed holsters.”
“I shall have to thank Mr…” He cut me off with a shake of his head. Okay, I got it, no mentioning names. Fine with me. “My employer when I talk to him again.”
He nodded again and departed.
I pulled off the first layer and found the promised ammo, four fifty-round boxes, and two holsters for under-arm carry. Also two belt holsters in case under the shoulder was impractical.
“Who was that?” Susie asked.
I turned to find her standing here, a rather small towel wrapped around her, far too small for a girl of her size, and drying her hair with another towel.
“A Greek bearing gifts,” I told her.
“You’re supposed to be wary of Greeks bearing gifts,” she said as she walked over to the table.
“An Italian bearing gifts then.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” she said as she reached for the Gold Cup.
“No way! The other one is yours.”
She snorted. “I can handle a full sized auto. Want to find a shooting range and have a contest?”
“Take the Defender. And get some clothes on.”
She smiled sweetly, picked up the assigned weapon and retreated to the bathroom. Later, when she came out I could hardly see where she had hidden the Defender in the belt on her jeans. It was covered by the shirt. Both shirt and jeans were black, and made her look rather on the sinister side.
Around noon we left the hotel on foot, looking for someplace to eat, and found a MacDonald’s only a block from the hotel, which suited me fine but made Susie sulk because she wanted something more Italian. And probably more expensive.
We stopped at a bookstore where I purchased a detailed map of the area. Back in the hotel room, we took it easy while we adjus
ted to the jet lag. I was pouring over the maps, trying to read the Italian words. Susie field-stripped her Defender, wiped all the parts, reassembled it, and then loaded it. I already had mine loaded and resting under my arm where the weight of it felt rather good.
I decided to call mine Gina. Seemed appropriate.
A call to the desk got us a rented car for driving to the place where Reszini told me this Alberto Savinio had a villa. I was hoping it was the right one because he had two of them, and might not have Angelicia at either of them. But still, I had to start someplace. We decided to have an early dinner and do our reconnoitering in the morning.
The hotel clerk recommended Ristorante Papa Francesco, not too far away. I ordered spaghetti with marinara sauce while Susie ordered something called “Tagliatelle con Astice”. It was half a lobster shell filled with something, a pile of noodles and a claw, presumably from the same lobster. The noodles had some kind of sauce with little chunks of who knows what. She said it was good. Should be; it was the most expensive thing on the menu. I would rather have gone back to MacDonald’s. At least there you know what you’re getting.
At least there was a bar in the hotel. I told Susie to go on up to the room while I spent some time washing away the taste with some good scotch. When I staggered… I mean, when I finally decided it was bedtime, Susie must have already been asleep for the door to her room was closed. I put Gina on the nightstand by the bed and that was the last I remembered until there was a loud knocking on my door.
Susie was dressed and ready to go. She had ordered an American breakfast for me from room service, so I didn’t have to eat something I didn’t know and couldn’t pronounce anyway. The coffee was good and I drank the whole pot. Which was fine with Susie, because she was having her usual health food breakfast of fruit, whole grain cereal and yogurt, washed down with carrot juice. Ugh.
I let Susie do the driving because she could read the road signs better than I could. They were in Italian, actually. We headed north out of Milan. I gave her directions from the map and we headed for a Lago di Dolore, which she said meant “Lake of Pain”. And who said the Italians have no sense of humor?
