BETRAYED BY THE MAFIA DON

April

I stirred, wondering why someone was yelling.

No, shouting in rage.

Gaston?

I tried to sit but there was something heavy on me, a body on me, as I blinked and managed to finally peer, I saw, in growing horror, that it was a man who refused to move.

I pushed hard and managed to sit up, realizing,, belatedly in some shock, that I was naked.

Pulling the sheet up to cover my exposed breasts, I tried to keep my eyes open as I found that I was in an unfamiliar room.

With a man who was equally naked, and who I recognized slowly. The shaved head, the goatee, and above all, the dark , ugly look in is eyes and the smile, thin and sneering.

Stan Cummington?

Bree's fiancé?

Bree Jackson, Gaston's long lost sister who had turned up like a bad penny one day, with her muscular, sneering fiancé, Stan Cunningham in tow.

My skin crawled every time I met the black eyes, with a hint of maliciousness in them.

*

What am I doing here? I whispered, looking around in bewilderment. It was a cheap hotel room.

And that was when I became aware of people crowding into the room, Gaston standing in the room, his face like thunder, angrier than I had ever seen him before. With him was his sister Bree, the thick-set woman with eyes like Gaston. But there the resemblance ended. She was shrieking a string of vulgar obscenities and it dawned on me that they were abuses she was flinging at me!

Uncomprehending, I blinked and looked at Gaston, wordlessly appealing to him to understand, to help me. My mouth tasted awful, like I had swallowed sandpaper and I hurt all over.

"..Gaston..Gaston..." I whispered through my cracked lips. But the expression on my lover's face was fearsome.

***

And then, Bree had launched herself on me., pulling my hair, screaming, slapping scratching.

Dazed and dull, my senses heavy and trying to work my way out of the fog around my brain, I managed to curl into a ball, protecting my face, my chest, enduring the pain.

"Stop, her Pappa, stop her, PLEASE!!!" came my daughter's voice and I looked around, my eyes streaming, trying to call Gaston to help me. But my Master was standing frozen, his face like granite, fists clenched.

I shut my eyes giving in to the blows raining down on my back, my face, the stinging slaps, the nails raking cruelly across my body.

Gaston was not going to help me, I thought numbly.

Suddenly, Bree was hauled away and another pair of hands gripped my arms, shaking me like a rag, even as I clutched the sheet over my poor bruised body, trying to hide my nakedness. My head wobbled like that of a broken doll's on a stem as my lover thrust his furious face into mine and thundered at me.

"You f*cking WH*RE!" roared Gaston St Claire, my husband and I shrank back in bewilderment and shock.

Bringing his face closer to my terrified one, he snarled, in a lower voice filled with anguish and fury,

"So it was true, eh? You wh*re, you were sneaking behind my back, spreading your legs and opening your wet pus*y for other men, huh?"

I shook my head, trying to focus, trying to plead, the shock spreading through me slowly.

What was he talking about? I had no idea how I had gotten there, to that seedy looking room, how I had ended up beneath Stan Cummingham, naked and semi conscious.

Other men?

My head was pounding, my tongue was thick, and I could only manage a croak. I could taste blood, and my left eye was swollen from Bree's assault.

Gaston St Claire seemed to become increasingly outraged by my slobbering and confused look.

Without warning, he thrust me away with an expression of disgust with such immense force, that I fell to the ground in a heap, tasting blood, frantically hugging the sheet to my body. But he was not done with me.

Lucien towered over me, jerking me to my feet, his fist in my hair, as he hissed,

"And I loved you, you sl*t!"

I heard the pain and anguish in his voice, and I tried to plead, my head hurting, eyes streaming. I cupped my hands together before me, begging him to understand, but that only enraged him further. Gaston was a violent man, and my abject imploring only heightened his anger.

My lover and the father of my eight children flung me down in revulsion, and I hit my shoulder on the edge of the table, causing me to scream out in pain.

"SHE WAS CHEATING ON YOU, Gaston!" came Bree's hysterical voice, and I saw her approaching, preparing to kick me, raising her evil-looking black stilettoes, her face florid and ugly.

'You wanted a younger stud, you oversexed wh*re, how dare you cheat on MY BIG BROTHER? HOW DARE YOU TRY TO STEAL MY MAN!"

Terrified, I cringed, babbling,

"No, no, no!"

I tried to raise my arms to protect myself as I lay on the ground, a mass of pain.

But then, my sons were before me. One of them tugged me to my feet gently, wrapping me in a sheet, hiding my nakedness. I buried my face in Claude's chest, my shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

"Claude, I don't...I did not..." I sobbed softly, my eyes pleading with him to believe me.

"Sssh...Mumma.' he said lovingly, his eyes burning with hate as he raised his head and pinned Bree with his eyes, " We know , we know you..."

Ria and Piers stood before me, protectively, facing Gaston who looked crazed and wild.

Bree sank her head on my husband's shoulder as she sobbed, sagging into his arms.

"She's a two-timing bit*h, Gaston! She cheated on you and stole my fiancé, the promiscuous, over-sexed wh*re. Kill her, Gaston, KILL HER!!!"

I shook my head, looking at him beseechingly, my left eye swollen shut,

" No, No Gaston... Believe me...please..." I whispered, and he snarled and made to leap at me.

But Claude hugged me to his big chest, his big body shuddering in reaction as he lowered his head and placed his chin on my hair.

"Mumma comes with us," Piers announced coldly.

Bree turned to Lucien, her smoky grey-blue eyes narrowing into slits of rage,

'Gaston St Claire, if you weren't my brother, I would rip that wh*re's hair out..." she snarled, trying to get to me.

My Mafia Don clenched and unclenched his thick fists, his bloodshot eyes on me, lethal and condemning. I felt the world give way just as I saw the malevolent look Bree shot me before I lost consciousness.

My last thought was, "This has to be a bad dream, none of this is real..."

Fifteen months ago.

As the aircraft touched down at the Dulles International Airport in Washington, the old man in the brown robes smiled to himself. It was the mere twisting of his thin lips but it accentuated his sinister appearance. He had been away from the USA now for a few years, three and a half years, to be precise.

A lot had happened in the interim, he mused. But now, he was back. He turned to look at the two people sitting across the aisle; the young man and the beautiful middle-aged woman. They looked at him blankly. They had been well trained, he noted with pride as he turned to look out through the cabin window.

The flight attendant approached him and said softly, reverently,

"Would you like a drink of water, Father?'

He shook his head, and the girl glided away.

The ageing Monk had it all planned out. He had had plenty of time to do it. He had already set up a network in Europe, and only after things were in motion, had he made the decision to move to the States and cast the final die.

Paval Rudenko would avenge the deaths of his brother and his nephew.

***

April

I stopped at the door before Gaston's study and sighed.

There had been another failed attack on the life of my Mafia Don a couple of weeks ago. Luckily, Gaston St Claire, as agile as ever, although he was nearing sixty, had managed to escape with just a dislocated elbow and a knife wound to his side. Not a singularly deep gash either. Despite being wounded, my Mafia Don had wrestled the assailant to the ground, and killed him, strangling him with his bare hands.

Neither of which had incapacitated him or put him in a better mood, I thought, pushing my hair away from my face.

He was on a short fuse now, yelling at the young men, Philippe, Piers and of course, Claude.

I halted outside the door, hearing Schwartz's deep baritone and my husband's low growl.

Lucien had been discharged from the hospital just this morning, and the doctors and the family, had wanted to be sure that he was safe and well.

I had practically been living at the hospital all these days, but we had not had a moment alone together.

Gaston St Claire was as grouchy as an old lion, and I knew just how to settle him.

Pushing the door open, I stepped in, smiling.

*

Gaston St Claire was drinking, and bellowing at Gustav for another round of drinks. Even though it was just twelve in the afternoon. My eyes drank in the sight of my Mafia Don, his hair thick and silver, a few days stubble on his cheeks, the shirt opened to reveal his hirsute chest and the bandage around his waist. One arm, the left one, was in a sling. He looked up as I came in and scowled.

"The f*ck do you want, Woman?" he growled unpleasantly, annoyed at being disturbed.

I dimpled and moved to stand beside Schwartz's chair, placing my hand lightly on my friend's shoulder.

"Lunch will be served in a few minutes, Gaston," I said softly. Piers looked at me.

He looked harassed, while poor Claude looked cowed and unhappy. Only my son-in-law, Capo looked calm, but I noticed that he was holding a folder full of papers tensely.

'What does that mean?' snarled Gaston, draining his glass and glaring at me, narrow-eyed.

'We have work to do, Woman. I need to work, not just put my c*ck up your wet pus*y."

My face grew hot as I sighed.

The Mafia Don was in a dirty mood, alright.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Piers turned red and Claude looked embarrassed and unhappier. The Capo looked away.

Schwartz made a loud sound of disapproval, but I was used to my husband.

'No, I meant that Schwartz here has to return to Aiyana. It's her birthday tomorrow, right James?"

I smiled, and he looked up, beaming fondly.

"Hen, you remembered?' he said it softly.

I dimpled and stroked his shoulder as I added,

'There is a cake for her, the one made with brown sugar, the way she likes it.' I murmured. James Schwartz gave me a brilliant grin but Gaston cut through our moment with a gruff,

"Quit flirting with my Underboss, Woman."

I dimpled as Schwartz rose to his feet, grabbing his arm as he stumbled. He had not been the same after the dreadful accident, when he had suffered severe burns.

Now I felt the full force of my husband's annoyance as I supported him, even as Claude and Piers quickly stepped to Schwartz.

Handing over Schwartz's cane, Philippe said in a low voice,

"I can drop you off after lunch, sir."

Schwartz grinned and began to walk, an arm around Piers' shoulders. I linked my arm through his and helped him to the door, aware of Gaston's hot gaze on my body.

"He's growing older and testier," I dimpled teasingly, throwing my lover a look over my shoulder, moving my hair away with one hand.

I had trimmed my hair recently, and Gaston had been livid. He wanted to see me with my long brown hair falling to my hips. To sink his large hand into my hair and hold my head as I sucked him off, or to have it spread across the bed as she hammered into me...

Now I saw the look on his face and felt a quiver of apprehension.

Gaston St. Claire might be touching sixty in a couple of years and was wounded, but the virility he exuded was unparalleled.

"See you at lunch then, hen," said Handsome James with a fond twinkle when he was at the door.

I dimpled and watched as the men left, aware that Gaston St. Claire was watching me with a thunderous expression on his face. I shut the door and locked it, leaning against it as I smiled across at my Mafia Don.

He said nothing for a while, his eyes on my face and body, sipping from his tumbler.

Then he growled,

"Are you begging to be punished, sl*t?'

I dimpled and moved forward slowly, shedding my clothes as I walked. His grey-blue eyes were slits as he watched me, his thick, strong legs spread apart, a hand on the table, unmoving and still.

I tried to be nonchalant, but the silence and the steady gaze trained on me reminded me of a woman walking into the den of a hungry predator.

First, my flowered peasant skirt, which landed on the ground in a heap, then my white cotton blouse, and then I was beside him, clad in my pink lacy lingerie.

He grunted, raising his tumbler to his lips as he watched me.

Swivelling his ergonomic chair to face me, he said in a low, thick voice, hoarse with lust,

'I can smell your arousal, my little bi*ch."

And then, as I felt my face turn hot, he drawled, indicating my lace-edged panties.

"Take them off."

Delicately, I stepped out of them, obeying him.

He parted his strong legs, and I stood between them, my hands at my sides, waiting. I would be turning forty in a few years, but I knew, with a lack of pride, that my body had aged well. My breasts were large, firm, and the nipples were still thick and stiff. True, my belly was softer, but I had borne this man before me, eight children. And yes, I was still as crazy about him as I had been when we first met each other...

Gaston's cold eyes flicker as they travel over my tight a*s, my smooth calves, and my strong thighs. They move back to my lush, full breasts with the peaked nipples, awaiting his attention and he makes a sound, low and rumbling but the heat in his eyes gives him away. He wants me just as much as I do...

I blushed as the hot grey eyes drank me in. My thighs were wet, the creaminess pooling between my legs was trickling down, and I was aware that he could smell my arousal. and I was already waiting to be taken by my man.

Suddenly, he reached out and tugged at the soft curls at the juncture of my thighs, and I gasped at the slight pain. Then he thrust two thick fingers into me and I whimpered, moving to hold his shoulders, panting.

This was another of his diktats. I was not permitted to wax or shave my secret area.

I felt my face flame as he withdrew his fingers, wet with my juices.

He wiped his fingers on my pub*c hair as I stood, stock still, my large heavy breasts almost in his face, the nipples hard as bullets.

'Wh*re, get your fat a*s on my lap and stick my c*ck in your dripping wet c*nt,' he growled but his voice was thick with desire.

I sighed. He knew that I hated the way he spoke, dirty and vulgar. I knew that he was deliberately riling me.

I also knew that, in some way, it added to the excitement of our coupling.

I rolled my eyes and knelt before him, noting slyly, the way he stilled.

My hands went to his waistband, and I began to take his member out as he sat regally, his legs splayed to allow me access.

I shot him a quick mischievous look and met the cold eyes, unblinking in intensity as he watched me.

The thick, erect staff sprang out, and I mewled involuntarily. Leaning forward, I licked the bead of pre cum at the tip of his heavily veined, large manhood greedily, but my lover was swift.

Tugging at my hair, he stopped me from taking his erect staff into my mouth.

"Get on my lap, Woman."

He growled, placing the glass beside his elbow. Mutely, my breath coming faster, I obeyed him.

Carefully, taking his time, he watched as I made myself comfortable, my legs on either side of his thick thighs. A large hand went to my a*s and squeezed hard, and I gasped.

"Take it off," he said hoarsely, his eyes on my lacy bra, "I want to punish your big tits."

As I unhooked my bra, he made a low sound and moved, his head coming down hungrily on my thick, erect nipples. I moaned as I slid my hands into his hair while he held me with his one good arm, around my waist.

He gave a low laugh as he growled.

"Why did you come, Woman?'

I panted as I looked down at his harsh, uncompromising face, with a network of harsh lines and, in every way, an older version of the man I had married. But still, he was the only man I loved.

"For you,' I whispered simply," I knew that you were angry."

He gave a short bark of laughter.

" So you decided to offer your delicious body to me, eh, my little wh*re?'

I nodded shamelessly, leaning forward, running my mouth across his jaw, peppering his stubbled cheeks with soft kisses.

"Yes, my Master.' I sighed.

He grunted, and then a hand gripped my nape.

"I have a small toy, my little sl*t," he growled, his eyes glinting cruelly and I stiffened and sighed; " I want to try it on my toys here.' And he indicated my full breasts with his chin.

One of the Arab dealers whom Lucien had been meeting the past month, Sheik Abdullah was into the gun-running business, and Lucien had struck gold once he had partnered with the man.

The Sheikh was also into the distribution of sex toys.

He had presented my husband with some samples, and Lucien had laughed as he and I had lain in bed one night, while I studied them in horror. My shock and disgust had amused him and he had rolled onto me, taking me roughly as was his wont, turned on highly by my obvious innocence as he explained the use of some of the fancy objects littered on the bed.

Needless to say, Gaston St. Claire knew about all the sex toys.

Now he indicated that I should open the little drawer at his elbow, where he kept one of his guns. His member was like a thick, stiff rod, and I deliberately rubbed myself against him, knowing that the action was making him grow harder.

Dimpling mischievously, I took out the small green velvet box he indicated with his chin.

Opening it curiously, I tilted my head to the side, as I stared at what lay inside.

Diamond studded nipple clamps.

"Little sl*t, they are going on your thick teats,' he grunted in a rough voice, vibrating with satisfied amusement as he saw the look on my face, and I shook my head, pleading.

"No...."

"Abdu was particular that I should have them," he growled, his lips twisting in the way they did when he was going to make me do something I did not like.

I turned hot with embarrassment. The dealer had visited our house on one occasion last summer. Sheikh Abdullah had behaved like a besotted man, taken in by the exotic Middle Eastern delicacies I had prepared and unwilling to look away from me; in fact, he had kept staring at me, rather, my chest.

Until, of course, Gaston had grimly pulled me to sit beside him, and I stayed there, my head downcast, till the odious man had left.

'She belongs to me,' he had growled in a low voice, and the man had licked his lips nervously and continued with the meal.

Later, my son Piers told me that they had been executing a very crucial deal with the fellow, or he would have been thrown out.

Pappa had been this close to punching him senseless, he had added.

*