index


Message-ID: <47868asstr$1084842604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "E. Z. Riter" <ezriter@hotmail.com>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
Subject: {ASSM} {EZ}Vinnie's World 1: Sonya (BD,MDom, Rom, Cheat)
Lines: 1727
Date: Mon, 17 May 2004 21:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

This work was originally published at www.ruthiesclub.com in
2001.

The attached work of fiction is intended to be entertainment for
adults in locations where it is legal.  If it is illegal in your
location, DO NOT read.  This is a copyrighted work.  Reposting or
any other use strictly prohibited without the express, written
permission of the copyright holder, except may be posted as part
of a  review or posted to free-access, noncommercial archive
sites.

Copyright 2001, 2004 by E. Z. Riter.

E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com

The works of E. Z. Riter are archived at www.asstr-mirror.org and
www.storiesonline.net

The works of E. Z. Riter writing as Ezra Zane as archived at
www.ruthiesclub.com, the web's premiere illustrated erotic pay
site.

Please!        Give me your comments!

Many thanks to Ruthie for editing. Good reading. E. Z.


Vinnie's World 1: Sonya

By Ezra Zane

{Author's Notes: This is the dark world of Vinnie Costello, a
36-year-old lawyer and entrepreneur who was born into a Mafia
family. There will be other stories of Vinnie and the other
inhabitants of Vinnie's World. Each story is stand alone, i.e,
it's a series, not a serial, but they're best read in order.
E.Z.}

The Sunset's my home.

It's not like your home. There's no picket fence on a nice quiet
street, no neighbor kids playing next door, and no dogs barking
in the back yard. But my world isn't like your world. My family
isn't like your family. If it were, I'd know your family and
you'd know me.

I'm Vincent Costello. Call me Vinnie.

I grew up in an Italian neighborhood on the crowded and dirty
streets of the city. Street ball. Street toughs. The parish
church and school two blocks away. Neighborhood grocery store on
the corner. Bookie next door to the grocery.

My mother loved and cared for me, teaching me right from wrong,
giving me standards, religion, and solace when I needed it. My
father loved me, too. Even when he was away, his presence was
always there. He taught me right from left and how the streets
worked. He gave me different standards - the ones I'd need in my
world. They were good parents to my three brothers, my three
sisters, and me.

My father's job wasn't like your father's job. He didn't go to a
factory or office every day. His job was eliminating problems for
his employers. Call him a troubleshooter because that's what he
did. Shoot trouble. And trouble comes from people.

My mother's dead now. She went early from the ravages of disease.
She saw me graduate from college, but she didn't see me get my
law degree and she never saw my world. I like to think she
would've been proud.

My father's never seen my world either, but he's heard about it.
He lives inside the four gray walls of a state facility upstate
built for people the state feels have earned it. Maybe he did,
but he earned a lot of other things, too. He earned the respect
of his peers and his kids. He earned the money to support us all,
paying for our home and education.

My education began at parochial grade school in the parish church
and ended at the best high school in the city, public or private.
It's Our Lady Catholic High School, run by The Order of Mary Our
Lady. Those nuns, devoted to education and service to the church
hierarchy, demanded of me and taught me a lot. They're still in
my life and the order's my favorite charity.

College was at Loyola University, another good Catholic school. I
graduated magna cum laude. I attended law school at Notre Dame. I
earned a scholarship, but my father made me give it up. He said
some poor kid might need it and that he'd pay my way.

After law school, I started my own firm. Vincent Costello and
Associates I called it.

The only associate was Lorena. She was short and stacked, with
big black eyes. She's one of those women who played the fool, but
I didn't learn that until she'd been with me a while. What I
learned first was that she could suck the brass off a doorknob,
and she liked giving head as much as she liked fucking. Lorena's
still there. She runs the firm, but she's smart enough to let the
partners think they do it.

Some of my father's friends recommended me to their friends and
families. They recommended me to their friends and so on. The
firm grew. It's Costello, Rao, Schwartz, and Moreno now. I'm
still the lead partner and I go there if they need me.

I built The Sunset along a busy highway leading from the city to
the suburbs on a large parcel of vacant land. I sold the land I
didn't use for a shopping center and an HDFM property. That's
high-density, multi-family, or apartments, as they're normally
called. The profit from that sale paid for The Sunset.

The Sunset's a bar, restaurant, and motel. My living quarters
were attached to the motel and my office was above the bar. Home
and office. The center of my world.

There were more expensive bars in the city than The Sunset Bar.
Bars where the yuppies rub elbows with the corporate executives
and their expense accounts. Bars where the golden folks went to
be seen.

The bar had dark, cool booths along three walls and the bar
itself on the fourth. The stools were packed closely together. In
the center was the dance floor. The music was live. The lighting
was right to be seen or unseen.

The Sunset Bar was where the players went, where the action was.
The yuppies and preppies went there, too, when they wanted to
play. They came to play or to deal, to dance and have a good
time, to make new acquaintances for a night or a lifetime. Often,
the yuppies and preppies came to rub elbows with the elite from
the shadowy other world that folks with white picket fences don't
meet in their world.

The Sunset Motel adjoined it. Three stories tall and clean with
prominent highway frontage, the Motel was a place a tourist and
his family could stop for a good night's rest. It was a safe
place for those needing a place safe from this trouble or that.
And it was the place the players went to fuck.

The Sunset Restaurant was wedged between the bar and motel. The
main dining room was five star, with food as good as anywhere in
the city. The coffee shop, open twenty-four hours a day, was
nicer than any Denny's or IHOP. In addition to the main dining
room, there were large private dining rooms for wedding
receptions and some small ones for a private meal or meeting.

Besides The Sunset, there are other operations in my world.
Things I own. Things like Costello Construction and Harley's
Mansion.

Most of the people in my world are like the people in your world.
There are waiters and cooks, bartenders and cocktail waitresses,
managers and maids, and the patrons. God bless the patrons. These
were good people. Honest people. And there are not-nice people in
my world, just like in yours.

There are some in my world you don't see in your world. Some of
them work for me. More don't. The ones who work for me know
Vinnie Costello and they know my word is as good as gold. They
know I'm behind them and with them and for them.

Loyalty. Fidelity. The importance of friendship. That's something
they all taught me. My mother, my father, and the nuns. The
people who know me know I live by that. There's another side to
that coin. People know if they're against my friends, they're
against me, too. Those people know if they cross me, they'd
better find a deep hole to hide.

Let me tell you about two of my people because they're the two
closest to me - Mica and Bigun. My bodyguards and companions. My
men. My friends.

In my second year of law practice, I was at the jail bailing out
a client. As we walked past the holding cages, a fight broke out
behind the bars. Two big ugly black guys against one little one.
The little guy danced back and his fists flew. He reminded me of
Sugar Ray. He was about the same size and build. He had the same
quick hands and feet, the same beauty in his movements. In
seconds, one big guy was holding a broken nose as his blood
poured down his arm. The other was sitting on the floor groaning
and holding his balls.

The little guy walked to the corner cot and sat down. He didn't
strut or preen. He walked, like a workman who's done the job he
needed to do, and now he's going to rest until the next job comes
along. He looked at us impassively but with intelligence.

After we did the paperwork and my client hightailed it for home,
I went back to the desk and asked to see the kid who'd won the
fight. They gave me an interview room and brought him in.

"Vincent Costello, Attorney-at-law," I said. "Call me Vinnie."

I handed him a business card. He didn't say anything.

"I enjoyed the fight. You move well. Are you a boxer?"

He shook his head.

"What's your name?"

"Tyrone Washington," he said with a hint of pride.

"What are you in for?" He didn't answer. I said, "I'm an
attorney. Anything you tell me can't be used against you in a
court of law."

"Armed robbery."

"Did you do it?"

"Yes."

"Why?" I asked.

We talked for an hour. He was eighteen and in trouble, but I
liked him. I paid his bail and took him home to a slum that
should have been condemned years ago. We walked up three flights
to a dark and dirty hall lit by a single bulb. As we walked down
it, we heard a scream.

He exploded down the hall and I was right behind him. We burst
through an apartment door. A beautiful young woman, with skin the
color of dark chocolate and eyes that were huge and black, was
standing on a small bed screaming at a rat the size of a
dachshund, which was devouring a piece of bread on the floor.

Tyrone leaped, caught the rat, and broke its neck. In your world,
there probably aren't rats. Not four-legged ones anyway. But
they're a real part of his world. If you'd been around rats,
you'd know how quick they are. You, like I, would've been amazed
at Tyrone's speed in catching it.

The young woman was Leekeysha, his wife. She was eight months
pregnant and hungry. He'd done the robbery to buy food for her
and the baby inside her. It was his first felony offense.

When he held and comforted her, he was gentle with her. The scene
with her sitting on his lap, one of his arms supporting her, the
other stroking her c heek, his soothing words bathing away her
fears, was touching.

As I watched him in the harsh glare of the dangling overhead
bulb, his skin, deep black and smooth as glass, was tight over
his high cheekbones and the flat of his forehead. His skin glowed
with a metallic sheen, like a mineral in a rock formation that
attracts the eye with its hard glitter.

Like mica. That's what I called him.

He carried Leekeysha to my car. I took them to HoJo's to fill
their bellies. She was sweet and shy and desperately in love with
him. He was proud and worried and equally in love with her. I
couldn't afford an assistant like Mica then, but I knew I could
one day and men like Mica don't come along very often. They moved
into my townhouse that night and lived with me until the baby was
four months old. Then I could afford to pay him enough to get his
own place. He's been with me ever since.

Mica and Bigun are like night and day. Mica's smallish and dark
black; Bigun is huge and pale white, with light brown hair and
limpid blue eyes. Mica is taciturn; Bigun is loquacious. Mica has
one woman and is faithful to her; Bigun is promiscuous.

Yet they're alike because they're best friends and both are my
friends. Intensely loyal friends. The kind that would take a
bullet for me. Or for each other.

Bigun's name is Johann Schmidt, and he came to this country from
Germany. We met because he had some legal problems at home and in
the states. I ironed them out for him.

His nickname, which I gave him, is a contraction of "big gun."

Bigun and I had only been together a few weeks when these two
big-titted cowgirls from Texas twitched into the bar we
frequented in the city. In minutes, the four of us left for the
apartment on Third Avenue that I keep for my purposes. When we
closed the door behind us, I started stripping one of them. He
pushed the other to her knees. The slut fished out his cock.

"Oh, my God," she exclaimed, drawling out the last word. She
looked up at his face and licked her lips. "Cowboy, ya'll pack a
big gun. I've never seen one this big."

Bigun's cock is big. The biggest I've seen or heard of. Bigun and
his cock have starred in several porn films. That's a fact he
uses to his advantage. His seduction routine is often limited to
telling a woman he's a porn star and offering to let her enjoy
the star attraction of his films. I've seen woman so turned by
the thought of fucking a cock that large that they walk like a
corncob is stuck up their cunts and they can't get their legs
together.

I've got other friends, too. I've got a lot of friends and not as
many enemies as you might imagine. But I was telling you about
The Sunset and me.

Most of what happens at The Sunset is happy and fun for the
patrons and for the people who work there. That makes it happy
and fun - and profitable - for me. But sometimes things happen
that aren't fun. I have to deal with those problems when they
arise.

I had to deal with Sonya and it was eating me up.

I called Lorena about five in the evening.

"Hi, Vinnie," she'd said softly into the phone.

"I want you. When can you be here?" I said.

"Where's Sonya?" she asked.

"In a safe place." Lorena knew better than to ask any more
questions.

"How about eight? That'll let me get the kids settled and Phil's
dinner cooked. Should I plan to spend the night?"

"Yes."

"I'll be there, Vinnie."

When Lorena arrived, I was in my quarters. Mica escorted her from
the front desk and through the steel security doors. We hugged
like old friends, which we were. Lorena used the bathroom before
coming back to my bedroom where she began to undress.

"How are the kids?" I asked.

"Great. Teresa's blossoming. She got the lead in the school play
and it's done wonders for her. The only problem is the boys. All
of a sudden she looks like a woman and they're thick as flies
around her."

"Should I speak to Sister Mary Katherine?" I asked.

"No, thanks. I talked to her. Sister knows Teresa's yours and
she's thrown a protective net around her."

"Should I speak to the boys?"

Lorena frowned. "No, Vinnie. She's growing up normally. Let her
explore on her own. I'll call you if she needs you."

"How's Carlotta?" I asked.

"Doing well. So's Phil Jr."

She was naked now. She blushed slightly as she slipped on the bed
beside me. Her breasts, normally a DD, were swollen. They sagged
a bit from the ravages of age and nursing three children, but
they were still beautiful. I stroked her right breast before I
caressed the fullness of her stomach. I kissed the eagle tattooed
on her lower belly.

"When's this one due?" I asked.

"Two more months. We had an ultrasound and it's a boy. We're
going to name him Harry after my father."

I put my ear to her pregnant belly, but I heard nothing. Maybe I
wasn't listening.

"This is the last one, Vinnie. I'm going to have my tubes tied."

"That's too bad. You're beautiful pregnant and you have beautiful
children. When are we going to tell Teresa that her Uncle Vinnie
is really her father?"

"Phil and I talked about that. We don't think we should ever tell
her."

That was the problem with other men's wives having my children. I
was Uncle Vinnie to two of my kids. The others didn't know me at
all. I guess I was getting old. Sometimes I wanted to have little
rugrats calling me daddy.

"You need to start your own family, Vinnie," Lorena said softly.

"Some day."

"I was hoping Sonya would be the one for you."

"Yeah. Me, too."

"Do you want to talk?"

"Later. Right now, I want you to work your magic."

She gave me her wonderful slutty smile. "Lay back and close your
eyes," she said, as her fingers wrapped around my cock. "I'm
going to suck your troubles away."

Lorena was five months pregnant with Teresa when she told me she
wanted to marry Phil. He and I talked. He's a small guy, but
feisty. The important thing was he was crazy about her and would
take good care of her and all her children. We three made an
arrangement. Lorena would come to me anytime I called, but the
first child would be the only one I fathered. Except for me,
she'd be faithful and he'd be faithful to her.

"That's one of the big differences between you and Phil, Vinnie,"
Lorena said when we talked all those years ago. "You're always
going to fuck any woman you want. Phil will be faithful to me."

Lorena's talented mouth had me hard, and thoughts of yesterday
went away.

"Do you want to cum in my mouth?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied.

I've never had a woman who didn't suck my cock, but none can
deepthroat me. My cock's too big. Lorena comes the closest.
Maybe, it's because she loves sucking cock so much. People do
well at those things they love. When she felt the throbs
indicating my cum was on the way, she swallowed it without
spilling a drop, and let me soften in the tantalizing warmth of
her mouth.

She curled up against me with her leg over mine and her big belly
resting against me. We talked. We dozed. We fucked in a tee with
her legs over mine and my hands caressing her breasts. We talked
and dozed some more. Donnie took her home in the morning. I
finally got to sleep about six a.m.

When I awakened, it was mid afternoon. The weather was cold and
crisp that autumn day. The weatherman promised the first snow of
winter was still weeks away.

I left my quarters about three and stopped at the motel desk to
talk to the manager before going to the coffee shop. I had ham
and eggs with dry toast and an endless pot of coffee. Raoul, the
restaurant manager, sat with me and we talked business.

It was four thirty when I walked into the bar. Eddie, the
bouncer, greeted me and I gave him instructions. He called J.D.
on the walkie talkie.

"Boss wants you upstairs," he said.

I went up the back stairs to my office and left the door open.
The alarm signaling someone was on the stairs buzzed before I
heard his footsteps.

"Hey, Vinny," J.D. said. J.D. looked sharp as he always did and
his black eyes were calm.

"Hi, J.D. We've got an assignment. Do you remember the little
redhead who calls herself Candy?"

 "Sure. Big tits filled with jelly. Loves to fuck. Doesn't like
to suck or swallow as I remember."

"Yeah. That's the woman. Her husband knows she plays around and
he doesn't care if she keeps him happy at home, but she's being a
bitch with him. Since he bought her those tits, she's using them
and what's between her legs as a weapon rather than as his
pleasure toy."

"Common problem with big titted women," J.D. said with a grin.

"He wants us to bring her down a few pegs and he'd like for us to
teach her to be a good little cocksucker."

"We can do that."

"She's hot for Donnie. I've talked to him and he knows his part.
He'll take her to 203. Then here's what I want to do."

J.D. listened intently as I explained the plan to him.

"I'll set it up," he said with a laugh.

"She'll be here about eight."

"Great, but why are we filming?" he asked.

"Her husband wants to watch her getting fucked. How's everything
else?"

"Rolling fine. Bar take's three per cent over the same day last
week. The restaurant's up a point."

"How's the band?"

"Good. The people like them."

"Any problems?"

"Not really," he said.

We both knew there was a problem by the way he said it. J.D.
wasn't lying. He was telling me it wasn't big and giving me the
option of asking about it. I had things on my mind so I let it
pass.

"You're doing well, J.D. Keep it up."

"Thanks, Vinnie. I'll buzz you when Candy gets here."

When he left, I locked the door behind him. There was a small
bedroom off the office. In the back of the bedroom closet was a
hidden door. I went through that door into the maze above the
complex. From those rooms, I could hear, see, and record
everything that went on in the bar, including the rooms in back.
Some interesting things go on in those rooms.

The maze went over part of the motel, allowing observation of two
rooms, 201 and 203. Rooms 202 and 204 contained recording
equipment. I could film action in 201 or 203 from the sides and
from above. I'd shot film of some great pornographic action in
those rooms. Nobody saw those movies but me and a few choice
people who either joyed or despaired when they discovered the
film existed.

After checking everything out, I returned to the office, made a
drink, and sat at my desk with my feet up. When I looked at the
clock again, an hour had passed. I buried myself in the latest
financials, using them to drive Sonya from my mind. I burned an
hour and a half that way, but it didn't work.

I walked downstairs to the bar. The action there was already hot
and heavy. I mingled with the crowd. Some were regulars. Some
were new. None of the unattached women appealed to me.

I knew I was killing time, procrastinating so I wouldn't have to
deal with Sonya. I hate that. I told Mica to bring the limo
around. Bigun nodded when it was ready, and I joined him.

When we reached the limo, Bigun opened the back door for me.
"Where to, Boss?" he asked.

"The warehouse," I said, sitting back in my seat and fastening
the seat belt.

Don't think the limo's pretentious. It's armored, and Mica and
Bigun carry. It's good insurance.

For those of you white picket fence types that don't know my
world, when I say they "carry," it means they carry guns. For
Mica, it's a nine millimeter Glock automatic with a fourteen
round magazine in a shoulder holster under his left arm. For
Bigun, it's a .38 revolver with a two-inch barrel in a belt
holster in the small of his back and a .32 automatic in a holster
attached to his right ankle. I've only seen Bigun draw the
revolver once. His physically imposing size is usually enough.

I don't carry unless I'm expecting trouble. A gun in a holster
ruins the cut of my thousand dollar suits.

There are six warehouses in a row in an old industrial area near
the wharves. When containerized shipping became popular, they
were surplus and abandoned. I bought them for a song. Costello
Construction Co, which I control with my brother, Constantine, as
the minority owner and manager, refurbished them. They're used
for record storage. We provide climate control and
twenty-four-hour security. They're full enough to be nicely
profitable.

In one of them, I built a suite for my purposes. That suite is a
self-contained building inside one of the larger buildings.
There's a master bedroom suite identical to mine at The Sunset,
and two other nice bedrooms, each with its own bath. Both those
bedrooms have large mirrors that are two-way glass. I can watch
and record whatever goes on in them.

There's a large conference room, a full kitchen, and a dining
room with seating for twelve. There's a TV room and a living room
with comfortable couches and chairs.

There are three other rooms. One is the lounge. It houses all the
electronic video and audio surveillance equipment. It also has a
card table and some comfortable furniture because it serves as a
lounge for the guards.

One I call the cage room because it contains a steel cage three
by four by three. The room is small and completely soundproofed.
There is an intercom if I want to listen in.

The cage itself is very special. All four sides can be moved
hydraulically until they touch in the middle. Someone could be
squeezed to death in that cage, although I've never used it for
that. And the cage is electrified with the intensity and
frequency of the shocks controlled by computer. I have used that
feature.

The other room I call the interview room. It's soundproof, too,
but considerably larger. I call it the interview room because it
has tools and devices to encourage people to talk. If I were a
dominator, I would've called it a dungeon. I suspect you know
what's in it.

It's a forty minute drive from The Sunset to the warehouse. Sonya
filled my thoughts every second of it.

When we arrived, the security guard admitted us into the outer
warehouse. Mica drove to the inner door and pushed the remote
control unit. That opened the garage type door and activated the
alarm in the suite. After the car stopped, Bigun opened my door.
The three of us rode in the elevator to the upper floor where my
suite was located.

Prissy greeted us. "Hi, Vinnie. Hi, boys."

Prissy is another of my security force. Mica and Bigun are always
with me, but Prissy, Donnie, and the others are there when I need
them.

Prissy's real name is Priscilla, a name given to a darling little
girl with black curls. That little girl grew up to look like a
middle linebacker with tits. The name Prissy didn't fit any more,
but she was stuck with it.

"Hi, Prissy. Where's Sonya?" I asked.

"In the cage," she replied.

"Put her in the interview room. Suspend her in an x and hood her.
Is there anything to eat around here?"

"Plenty. The fridge is full. Do you want her feet off the
ground?"

"No. Let them touch, because I may be a while. Have you eaten?"

"Sure. It's late, Vinnie."

Mica made the three of us Caesar salads and Bigun poured some
white wine. I watched on the video monitor as Prissy led Sonya
into the interview room using a chain locked around her neck as a
leash.

Sonya's hands were cuffed behind her and she looked wrung out.
She'd been crying and, from what Prissy had told me, hadn't slept
well. Sleeping in a cage with your hands bound is probably
difficult. I've never tried it.

Sonya had another reason to be wrung out. The guy she fucked
turned her on with cocaine. It was an old addiction for her and
one she'd kicked a couple of years ago. Since she'd been in the
warehouse, she'd dried out again.

Prissy slipped the hood over Sonya's head. Those big, sky blue
eyes I adored disappeared behind a sack of cloth. Sonya didn't
resist when Prissy attached the restraints to her wrists and
ankles, and she was spread and bound.

Sonya's body looked good, but it always looked good. I felt a
stirring in my loins as I watched her on the monitor.

"Salad, Boss?" Bigun asked.

I turned off the monitor and had a light dinner with my people. I
wasn't very good company because Sonya was on my mind.

When dinner was over, I told them not to turn on the monitors for
the interview room. I removed my coat and tie, and Prissy took
them to hang up. I was quiet as a mouse when I eased into the
interview room, but Sonya heard me. She froze in place with her
head up.

I'd only taken a few steps when she said, "I love you, Vinnie." I
didn't reply. "I know it's you. I do love you. You know that. I'm
sorry for what happened. Please believe me. Please forgive me."

"Tell me what happened?" I said.

"I've told you."

"Tell me again," I commanded, cold and dead. I started
undressing.

"He was my high school history teacher. We had an affair, a long
affair. He knew I did coke. When he saw me the other day, he gave
me some. I told you what it does to me."

"You didn't have to take it."

"I know. Oh, God, how I know. But I took it. Then he fucked me.
Once. That's all. Just once. It was mechanical. He didn't fulfill
me like you do."

"He filled you with his cock."

"Please forget about that, Vinnie. Remember the good times.
Remember how happy we were together and how much I love you."

I pulled the hood from her head. She blinked from the light and
tried to focus on me. When she did, I saw regret in her face. And
sorrow. And honesty. But I saw him, too. In my mind, I saw him
fucking her. I saw the joy she had when I fucked her, but she was
fucking him.

I turned away to stumble to the cabinet. I opened it and fumbled
through the pain-causing toys. Riding crop. Horse whip. Flogger.
Straps. Butt plugs. Clamps and rings and restraints. Piercing
equipment. Miles of chain and rope.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked.

"Whip you."

"Good. Whip me until your arm falls off. Whip me until I bleed.
Get your anger out of your system and then take me back."

"I can't trust you."

"Keep me locked up. . . like, like in the cage. Get a cage for
The Sunset. Keep it in our room and lock me in it unless you want
to use me. But, Vinnie, you can't leave me. You can't. I love
you."

I'd whipped men and women. Whipped them for different reasons and
with different results. All the men had been for punishment. Some
of the women had been for punishment, but some had been because
it brought them, and me, sexual satisfaction. I'd used these
tools. I knew what they'd do.

I'd whipped Sonya once. It was early in our relationship and she
was playing the bitch with me. I caged her for a few hours before
stretching her in an "x" as she was now. She'd never felt the
bite of a whip. She'd never screamed as stripes appeared on the
soft flesh of her belly and the rounded fullness of her ass. But
she did that day. Sonya isn't a pain lover. She didn't like it,
but that's why it's called punishment.

I'd never whipped her again. She'd been spanked several times.
That had been with my hand or the soft leather paddle I kept in
The Sunset. She liked it and so did I. But this was to be like
the first time. I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to hurt her like
she'd hurt me.

I picked the riding crop. Short, thick, and made of hard leather,
it would bruise, cut, and provide pain I didn't think she could
take. I took the crop from its holder and swished it through the
air.

"That's it, Vinnie. Whip me and then love me," Sonya said, but
her skin was pale and her eyes terrified.

As I walked toward her, she flicked her head. Her long blonde
hair settled like cornsilk around her. In that instant when her
head was up and her throat exposed, I saw it. The locking
necklace with the diamond V pendant that marked her as mine.

God, I wanted her. I wanted to hold her and fuck her and sleep
with my head on her breasts. The bitch! The fucking, goddammed,
slutty, bitch! Why did she have to cheat? Why?

"Go on, Vinnie. Do it. Whip me. Whip me, damn you. I deserve it,"
she shouted at me.

I dropped the whip and staggered toward the door.

"Come back, Vinnie. Come back. I love you," she screeched.

They were waiting for me in the lounge. They looked shocked and
puzzled when I walked in, but I didn't make a habit of walking
around naked and I'm sure my face was out of control.

"Boss, are you all right?" Bigun said as he stood.

"I'm going to my bedroom. You can use her however you like. When
you're finished, put her back in the cage."

I got a bottle of Makers' Mark and stumbled down the hall. I
didn't need a glass. I'd have a hell of a headache tomorrow, but,
hopefully, tonight I'd forget about Sonya.

* * * * * * Phyllis Green brought Sonya into my life.

Phyllis was sixty, but she looked forty, thanks to good genes and
a helpful surgeon. When she was younger, she'd been the best call
girl in town. Now she was madam of an elite call girl ring. She
usually had six to eight girls who were in it full time and
another twenty or so housewives who did it part time. The
housewives were interesting. They claimed to do it only to help
the family budget, but they liked the thrill of fucking someone
other than their husbands and they liked fucking for money. I've
done all of her regulars and some of the housewives.

While Phyllis was as attractive as a surgeon could make her, I'd
never fucked her. Phyllis was a lesbian and didn't do men any
more since her stable brought in big bucks, but she was a friend.
I've got a lot of friends.

"Vinnie, where have you been?" Phyllis asked over the phone one
day.

"Trying to make a living, Phyllis. How's your business going?"

"Couldn't be better. Thanks again for sending new customers my
way."

"You treat them right. That's what counts with me."

"Say, Vinnie, Claudette's daughter is coming to work for me."

Claudette, one of her regulars, had been married when her husband
realized neither of the kids were his. He threw her ass out. One
of her girlfriends brought her to The Sunset one night. When I
first saw Claudette as she squirmed on a bar stool with men
buzzing around her, I knew I wanted to fuck her. I eased my way
beside her. When our eyes met, I gave the inside of her thigh a
not-too-gentle squeeze.

"Let's go fuck," I said.

"I may not want to," she replied with a delightful twinkle in her
eyes.

"You came here to find a big hard cock to fill your pussy. You
found him. Follow me."

I walked away without looking back. In a few seconds, she took my
hand and accompanied me to one of the rooms. Claudette and I were
an item for a short while before I tired of her and introduced
her to Phyllis.

Claudette had been with Phyllis a long time. She was over forty,
but damn good looking and she knew how to please a man. Claudette
was one of the fortunate people in this life. She loved her work.

"Her daughter? How old is the girl?" I said to Phyllis.

"Sonya's nineteen. Claudette says she's been giving it away since
she was fourteen so she told her she might as well charge for it.
I thought you might like to be her first professional customer."

"Sounds like fun, but you know I don't pay for sex."

"I've never charged you, Vinnie. This'll be on the house, like
always. What do you say? Sonya's a good looking girl, and she's
got her mother's smile."

"When?"

"Friday."

"Let me keep her overnight," I said.

"Keep her for the weekend," Phyllis replied.

"Anything special?"

Phyllis chuckled. "She's going to be a whore, Vinnie. A high
priced whore, but a whore nevertheless." I waited as Phyllis
decided how to phrase what she wanted to say. "Remember how girls
are at that age, Vinnie, particularly the beautiful ones. The
boys have been fawning over them so they think the world revolves
around their pussy. It'll be good if someone brought her down to
reality."

"How far down?"

"Enough. I'll let you be the judge of that."

"It might be easier on her if you talked to her," I commented.

"I've tried. So has Claudette."

"Why me, Phyllis?"

"Claudette recommended it."

I'd wondered if she had. "I'll do it my way," I said.

"We knew you would, Vinnie. You always do."

Phyllis and I made arrangements for me to pick up Sonya at
Claudette's house at eight Friday evening. Then I called
Claudette. We talked for an hour.

On Friday, Mica drove my limousine and Bigun was in the front
seat beside him as always. When we arrived at Claudette's house,
Bigun walked to the door with me. Claudette greeted us and gave
me a hearty hug. We followed her to the parlor where I met Sonya.

Sonya was picture-perfect. Elegant. Classy. Heart-shaped face.
Blonde hair roped on her head and held by a single diamond-topped
hair pin. Floor length, form-fitting black dress with a
square-cut bodice showing the tops of her ample breasts. It was
tight around her long and narrow waist, and open to the waist in
back, tight over her rounded rump, which was high and firm and
oh-so pattable. A slit up the side ended slightly above the knee,
revealing a shapely leg. Black open-toed stiletto-heeled pumps
over sheer black stockings completed the picture.

I recognized the jewelry. I'd given it to her mother as a present
one holiday. A gold strand with a carat diamond solitaire tucked
in the hollow of her throat. Matching earrings with a diamond
dangling half an inch below her ear lobe. A gold bracelet
sparkling with diamond chips gently encompassing each wrist.

Sure, she was beautiful. So what? In Vinnie's world, beautiful
women are a dime a dozen and women with big tits are everywhere.

Sonya had that something extra. That something that took her out
of the "I'd like to fuck her tonight" category and put her at the
top of the more elite "This is a special woman" group.

It's her face. The angle and tilt of her head. High cheekbones.
Flawless skin. Lips of medium thickness with the corners softly
curved with a hint of a smile. And, most of all, her eyes.
Sonya's sparkling, sky blue eyes.

A woman's face sends the tiny signals, some given but for an
instant, that let a man see her and what she thinks of him.

I read Sonya's face. Apprehension and fear were there, then a
subtle pleading with me to like her followed by a shy, warm
smile, and a tiny twinkle that told me she liked me.

Had the signals stopped there, I would've been pleased beyond
expectations. What I saw next was an insolent sexuality. You know
that look. It says: "I got the pussy so I'm the boss."

My face expresses what I want it to express. My expression said:
"I'm always the boss and I don't like bitches." She blanched, her
eyes widened, and she stepped back.

"I'm Vinnie Costello," I said, extending my hand.

"Sonya Simpson," she whispered in a throaty, sexy tone as she
took my hand.

Her grip was firm and ladylike. I wrapped my other hand over
hers. I applied pressure where I knew she'd feel it all the way
up her arm. The pressure was light, just enough so she'd know
it'd hurt like hell if I wanted it to.

Sonya's frightened eyes jumped to stare at Claudette, who was
watching her daughter intently. There was a knowing sadness on
Claudette's face, but no fear of what was going to happen.
Claudette was an old pro. She knew the score and she knew her
daughter needed to learn it.

When I extended my crooked arm to escort Sonya to the limo, she
hesitated. I took her arm and put it through mine with my hand
around her wrist.

"Vinnie, can I talk to you?" Claudette asked.

"Certainly. Bigun, escort Sonya out please."

"Sure, Boss," he replied with his ever-present grin.

After the door shut, Claudette said, "Vinnie, I know what she is,
but she's my daughter." She spread her hands with the palms up
and shrugged. "Please, Vinnie."

"I'll be as gentle as she lets me be, but no promises."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. She kissed me lightly on the lips.

I put my arms around her and crushed her to me for a long, deep
kiss. If the circumstances had been a bit different, I would've
fucked her there in her hallway. She would like that and so would
I. Claudette would've made someone a great woman if he could've
taught her to say "no" once in awhile.

Sonya was in the back and Bigun was waiting patiently when I
joined him at the limo.

"Sit in back with us and follow along," I said to him.

He grinned and nodded. Sonya was surprised when Bigun sat next to
her and I sat opposite. I thumped the interior window and Mica
eased the car from the curb.

"What were you and mother talking about?" she asked.

"She told me you're an arrogant bitch and asked me not to hurt
you too much," I said in a neutral monotone.

Sonya blanched. "What do you mean?"

"This weekend is a rite of passage for you. Like Marine boot
camp. You'll change from being a girl to being a woman."

"I thought that happened when I lost my virginity," she countered
defensively.

"You're kidding? A fourteen-year-old girl who's not smart enough
to use birth control?"

She gasped and pulled away. "How did you know that?" she asked.
Her eyes were disbelieving.

"Your mother and I are old friends. I know the baby went up for
adoption. I also know your I.Q. is 140 and you flunked out of
school because you refused to study."

"It was boring," she sneered.

"Is that why you got into drugs?"

"I like coke."

"It cost your mother ten grand to bail you out."

She started to say something, but thought better of it.

"How many boys have you fucked?" I asked.

"That's none of your business," she said. Her voice had a slight
bark but there was no bite in her eyes. They were uncertain.

I slapped her. She recoiled and her hand covered her cheek.

"This isn't high school and I'm no boy. This is the real world
and I'm your first man. We'll do it my way," I said.

I learned long ago that the voice is a masterful instrument in
dealing with people. It can soothe or shred. I'd spoken in the
cold, fear-inducing voice well-known by my enemies. Sonya heard
that voice for the first time and quaked.

"Take me home," she said, but she was near tears and not at all
challenging. Her neck was splotched in red, and goosebumps
covered her arms.

"No, Sonya. You're mine for the weekend."

I watched the emotions play on her face. Those emotions started
to harden into resistance.

"Don't do it, Sonya. Don't fight me. You'll lose," I said with
the quietness of a snake.

Her lower lip was quivering as she fought for control.

"Didn't your Mother tell you about me?"

"Yes, she did," Sonya said. Tears welled in her eyes and her
voice quavered.

"What did she say?" I asked.

"That I'm a whore and that you're the man who's paying for me.
You deserve my attention, appreciation, and a happy attitude."

"Not about men in general and your new profession. About me."

"That you're a gentle man if the woman deserves it, but that your
bite is worse than your bark so be warned. Most of all, she said
to trust you."

I could see her relax as she remembered what her mamma had said.

"And that's all?"

Her eyes twinkled. One crinkle of a laugh line appeared beside
them. "She told me to keep my 'damn smart mouth' shut unless you
wanted to stick your cock in it."

"Good advice," I said.

Her face changed again, this time to a solemn questioning.

"Did you really spank Mother until she couldn't sit down?" she
whispered.

"She could sit, but it was painful."

"What did you spank her with?"

"A wooden ruler. When it broke, I used my hand."

She flinched and squirmed in her seat.

"Why did you do it?"

"She needed it."

"Will you do that to me?"

"If you need it."

"She thinks I'll need it. She thinks I'm a bitch."

"Are you?"

Her lips pursed as she fought a smile and that twinkle was
unmistakable.

"Sometimes," she said.

"Good. I wouldn't want a woman without any fire in her."

"You like that?"

"I love the fire, but. . . I am going to control the
temperature."

She studied me intently before she relaxed and her face became a
picture of sweetness, but with the hint of the devil in her eyes.

"You didn't answer my question," I said.

"Boys? I never counted them. Maybe ninety or a hundred."

"It sounds like you enjoy sex."

"I love it, and I'm damn good, too."

"I'll be the judge of that."

She rose to the challenge. Her eyes flashed with a sardonic humor
and her lips twitched in a sexy smile.

"Anytime you're ready, Mr. Costello," she said.

"Are you wearing pantyhose?" I asked.

"No. A thong and thigh high stockings," she replied.

"Let me see," I said.

She hesitated and her eyes flicked to Bigun.

"Have you ever had sex while someone watched?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Tell me about it."

"I pulled a train once," she murmured as she turned a scarlet red
that colored all her flesh not covered by the dress and probably
some I couldn't see.

"How many guys were there?"

"Seven."

"A lucky number," I replied with a grin.

"For them and me," she said with a musical laugh.

I touched the soft inner flesh of the inside of her left thigh
just above the knee. She scooted her ass toward me and opened her
legs. The fire my hand caused as it slowly trailed up her leg was
reflected in her eyes. I stroked her pussy through the sheer
material of her thong to find her wet and her lips bloated.

I wanted to fuck her, but I wanted that since I first saw her.
There'd be plenty of time. I stroked her pussy until I saw desire
rising. I sat back and she gave me a nasty look. She started to
sit up, but a waggle of my finger stopped her. She waited like
that, with her legs spread and her soaked panties clearly
visible, until I told her to sit up. We looked at each other, not
speaking, until the limo slowed and stopped.

Dinner was in my private dining room at The Sunset Restaurant. We
talked as we ate salmon steaks with rice and a vegetable medley.
We adjourned to The Sunset Bar where J.D. had reserved my
favorite booth. When we danced, she was light in my arms. We
talked on the dance floor with our bodies pressed against each
other. We talked in the booth with her breast against my bicep
and my hand on her thigh. We didn't drink, and she objected to
that, but I wanted us both clear-headed for what was to follow.

She was intriguing. She was naive, fresh, and new to the world,
and apparently uninterested in it except for sex. Sexually she
was older, with a broad experience that included women as well as
men. She wasn't tarnished by it. She sparkled like a diamond and
pleasure bubbled from her.

The other men in the bar noticed her, of course. Strutting for
the crowd, she caught the eye of several. She was enjoying
flirting with one in particular and egging him on. It was subtle,
like a cheating wife when her husband and her lover are in the
same room, but I don't miss any signs.

I motioned and Bigun joined us. In a moment, he escorted the
young man she was flirting with to our booth. The fellow's skin
color was a sickly gray and sweat beaded his forehead.

"Hi. I'm Vinnie Costello," I said extending my hand.

"Mr. Costello, I didn't mean any harm. I didn't know it was you,"
the guy whimpered.

"No problem. The little lady's been giving you the come-on,
hasn't she?"

Sonya was red-faced with humiliation. I suspect she was
frightened, too. I knew the guy was.

"Eh, yes, sir," he said.

"She's a three thousand dollar a night whore," I said.

He looked at Sonya with loathing, which is a typical response
from the hypocritically pious. If a woman cheats on her husband,
that's romantic and sexy. A woman who puts out after the guy
gives her a lousy trinket is someone special. But if she's an
honest working girl, she's not worth spitting on.

Sonya's humiliation rose to a bright and shiny hue. She was rigid
and tears floated in her big, blue eyes.

"If you'll give your name and number to Bigun, I'll arrange for
her madam to schedule her for you," I said.

"No woman's worth that kind of money for one night," the guy said
disgustedly.

"She's probably not worth it," I said, looking at her. Her mouth
dropped open in surprise before snapping shut. Her eyes blazed at
me as she seethed with anger. "But she will be after I give her
some training," I continued. "Tell you what I'll do. I'll see if
I can get you a discount."

"No, thanks, Mr. Costello. Look, I'm sorry I bothered you. Can I
go now?"

"Wait a minute. Bigun, get our friend a voucher at the restaurant
for dinner and champagne for two, and pick up his bar tab
tonight. Come back and visit us, will you?"

"Sure, Mr. Costello, and thanks."

The guy hadn't looked at Sonya since he learned her price and he
didn't look at her as he left.

"Sit right here. Don't get up for any reason," I said to her.

Bigun sat in the booth with her to keep the wolves away from my
ewe while I went to the bar and visited with the patrons. That's
good for business. And stewing in the booth was good for Sonya.

About fifteen minutes later, I called Bigun over and gave him
some instructions. In a moment, he escorted her out. She looked
back at me with big, frightened eyes.

I schmoozed the patrons for another half hour or so before
heading for my suite. I knew what I'd find there and I was
anxious to get started.

I was walking through the steel security doors to my quarters
when I realized this sexy, slutty little bitch had hit some chord
in me. Something deep that I didn't understand.

Strange, isn't it? They've all got tits and asses and pussies,
but those things aren't all that important. It's their faces that
get to you because faces reflect feelings and personalities, and
those are what are important. My mother would've said it's their
souls.

You can fuck as many as you want without your gut aching for that
special one. You can leave them crying when you walk away, or
with their bellies growing with your child when you send them
back to their husbands. Then one comes along. You don't know why,
but she reaches you and something inside you pops.

That hadn't happened to me in a long time. It felt good.

My instructions to Bigun were specific. He was to escort Sonya to
my suite, and have her remove her jewelry, dress, panties,
make-up, and let her hair down, leaving her only wearing
thigh-high stockings and high heels. He was to pull the heavy
straight chair to the middle of the floor facing the door and
have her sit with her feet flat and together. Her hands were to
rest on her thighs with palms up. Then he was to lay my leather
strap across her hands and tell her not to move. And I'd told
Bigun if he had to tie her up to keep her that way, to do it.

That's how I found her and she wasn't bound. That pleased me.
She'd been crying but the waterworks had ceased. Her
vulnerability and helplessness, her waiting submissively for me
to tell her what I wanted, was erotic. My cock and I had been
thinking about her for a long time.

I stood a pace away from her. "Anything you want to say?" I
asked.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I was toying with him."

"And with a few others."

She nodded.

"Why?" I asked.

"Stupidity. Immaturity. Whatever it was, I won't do it again."

"I'll hold you to your word."

"He was frightened of you," she said.

"Yes. Were you?"

"I was angry at you. You humiliated me."

"No, I didn't. You humiliated yourself by coming on to him. I
only pointed it out."

She reddened a shade or two.

"Are you going to spank me with this strap?"

"You earned it."

She nodded again. "I know," she said softly. "But will I get it?"

"You don't think you can seduce me out of it, do you?"

"No, but can you blame me for trying?" she asked seductively.

She lowered her eyes slowly, letting them trail down my body.
When she got to the tenting in my trousers, she stopped and a
tiny smile flickered. Her eyes flashed up at me and I liked what
I saw.

"Stand up and put the strap on the seat of the chair," I said.
She did it and waited for further instructions. "Come undress
me."

"Yes, Mr. Costello," she murmured sexily.

I was ramrod straight and still as a cigar store Indian. Sonya
knew time was an ally of great sex and she took her time. Each
stage of my undressing, beginning with my suit jacket, was
leisurely, accompanied by touches, caresses, and her sexy
expressions.

With each item of clothing, she swayed to the closet to hang it
up. She had one hell of a sway. Her lower half was pressed
against me when she undid my tie. Again, I watched her sway to
the closet. Fingers teased my skin as she unbuttoned and removed
my shirt.

She didn't start on my trousers immediately. She examined my
torso with eyes and hands and, occasionally, mouth. She was good,
damned good. My need was rising like a thermometer on a hot day.
I felt her fingertip in the small, hollow scar on the left side
of my back just below the rib cage.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Exit hole of a .38."

Her fingers slid around me to find the entrance hole scar.
Gently, she kissed me there. Electricity flickered over my body.

She knelt in front of me to dispatch shoes and socks. She looked
into my eyes as she fumbled with my belt. My trousers slid down
my legs and I stepped out of them. She took them to the closet.

As she twitched back toward me, her Cheshire cat smile and cool
eyes told me we were playing a game. It's called: "I'll bet I can
make you lose control." I like games.

She suppressed a smirk as her hands slipped around my waist. She
flattened her breasts on my chest and her diamond-hard nipples
were hot on my skin. She raised her head to be kissed, but I
tangled my hand in her long blonde hair and pulled her head away.

"Are we playing a game?" I asked.

"No," she lied.

"I have a pet peeve. It's being lied to. You didn't know that,
but now you do. The next lie will cost you dearly."

She looked confused and trapped, afraid to say or do anything
because it might be the wrong thing. She remembered her Mother's
story of being spanked and the strap she held as she waited for
me.

"I've never met anyone like you. You frighten me, Vinnie
Costello. You frighten me to my core."

She lay her head against my chest and held on to me for dear
life. I folded my arms around her and gently roamed her body with
my hands.

"And you excite me," she whispered.

I didn't answer. None was expected. I enjoyed the feel of her
against me. Her heat. Her smell. All of her. She sighed and
tilted her head back. Her lips parted and her eyelids fluttered
as I kissed her.

"Finish undressing me," I said softly, but in a tone she knew was
a command.

She took a long time to slip to her knees. She tasted my nipples,
teased my chest hair, and stroked every inch of skin before she
knelt with her legs spread. When she dropped my trousers and let
me step out of them, she seemed to ignore the bulge in my boxers.
She gracefully stood and hung the trousers in the closet. Her
face was alive with anticipation as she returned to kneel before
me again.

She tugged on the hem of the boxers and they slid to the floor.

"Oh, my, he's a big boy," she murmured. Her eyes flashed up at
me.

"Do you like sucking cock?" I asked. I retrieved the armchair,
set it down, and splayed my legs on each side of her.

"Yes."

"Are you a good cocksucker?"

"Of course."

"Let's see how good you are. Put your hands behind your back,
right wrist in left hand." I yanked her golden hair and her face
contorted in pain. "I said right wrist in left hand. If you let
go, I'll use the strap on you."

She knew then what the new game was. More importantly, she
accepted it.

How erotic she was on her knees working on my cock. When her long
hair fell to block my view, I gently pulled it aside. Seeing her
effort was a major part of the thrill. It always is.

Her cheeks hollowed and expanded. Her eyes closed as her lips
slid down to take me in as far as she could. Twice, I held her
head and pushed my cock in her mouth until she gagged. The third
time it lodged in her throat, she didn't gag. Her sky blue eyes
watered and her face reddened as she stared up at me, but she
made no attempt to move until I released her.

Her jaws tired. She nibbled down the shaft with tiny little
kisses to let herself rest. My cock slid along her cheek, leaving
a trail of her spittle along side her nose. When she felt the
first beads of sweat on her forehead, she looked up at me and sat
back. It was the first time some part of her wasn't touching my
cock.

"You have absolute control, don't you?" she said hoarsely.

I yanked her up. When my palm met her ass cheek, it sounded like
a rifle shot. I pushed her ass back against her heels.

"I didn't give you permission to speak," I said.

Passively happy eyes. Eyes that said, "I like being the woman
between your legs." Eyes that twinkled at me before she closed
them and wrapped her lips around my cock again. She sucked me
until her skin was red and sweat-covered, and rivulets ran down
to fall from the erect tips of her nipples.

She squeaked with surprise when I lifted her in the air. I lay
her in the center of the bed and guided her arms over her head.
The restraints were attached to the top frame of the bed. Two
locking leather wrists bands. She turned back to see as I locked
the first one in place. She smiled as I locked the second.

"Feel free to talk," I said in response to her unasked question.

"Are you going to fuck me now, Vinnie?" she said. Her tone was
lyrical.

"Yes."

"Are you going to make me beg for it?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Other men have tried that and failed."

"I'll succeed."

"Yes, you will. You're not like any other man I've ever met."

I pulled her toward me, stretching her arms. I was going to give
her what she'd given me: slow, tortuous, sexual pleasure.

"Don't play with me, Vinnie. Fill me with your cock." Soft,
loving eyes. "That's begging. I'm begging you to fuck me until I
can't take anymore."

It would've been so easy to jump on her, to drive my cock into
the hot wetness of her woman's soul and flood her with cum, but I
wanted more. I wanted her forever.

Slowly, I rolled her stockings down her leg, and my caresses made
her twitch and whimper.

"Now. Fuck me now," she pleaded.

I lodged my cock head in the bloated and dripping entrance of her
sex, and she squirmed to get me in her.

"Please, please," she whimpered.

With my hands on her thighs, I forced her legs wide and back
until her knees touched the mattress. I pinned her there. She
strained to move, to draw my cock where she so desperately wanted
it, to fill herself. But I controlled the rhythm, the depth, the
fucking.

I fucked her as a man should fuck a woman to make her belong to
him. By wrenching orgasms from her yet never letting her cool. By
maintaining her need until she lay soaked with sweat and her
muscles were limp with exhaustion. By giving her pleasure until
her eyes were glassy and dazed, her voice incoherent, yet, like a
creature with its own heart and soul, while her pussy throbbed
around the stiffness pleasuring her.

She shivered as I pumped her full of cum with my cock hard
against her cervix. She sighed as if in death and her eyes
closed.

I removed her restraints, lay down beside her, and covered us
over.

The next morning, I awakened her by swatting her lightly across
the ass. "It's a bright new day. The sun's shining and the birds
are singing."

"You're insane," she grumbled as she turned over and put her
pillow over her head.

I lifted her dead weight from the bed, carried her into the
bathroom, and stepped into the extra large Jacuzzi tub that was
full of bubbling, hot water.

"Oh, this feels good," she murmured as she slowly sank into the
water.

"Coffee?"

"Please."

I gave her coffee before joining her in the tub. When she was
sufficiently awake, I said, "Let me explain how it is in my world
between a man and a woman."

"Your world?" she asked.

"My world, Sonya. Vinnie's world. It's not like the white picket
fences of suburbia."

"Somehow, I knew that," she replied as she sipped her coffee. She
looked well-fucked and sleepy, with puffy eyes. She wore no
make-up. The tips of her golden hair floated in the swirling
waters, which covered her breasts and left only her shoulders and
head exposed.

"I want a special woman. A woman who's mine."

"She'd be lucky," she said and her eyes shone softly.

"Would she? I'd expect her to do what I said when I said it. If
she displeased me, I'd punish her. I'd dress her the way I wanted
to see her and mark her as mine. I'd use her when, where, and how
I wanted, and I'd have other women when it pleased me. I might
share her with my friends, but if she ever cheated on me, I'd
throw her away and get another. Or I might kill her."

She put the coffee cup on the tub side ledge and slid toward me.
Her legs went around my waist, her arms around my neck.

"Vinnie, would you look at her like you looked at me last night?
Or talk to her like we did? Or fuck her until she's inert? Would
you take pride in her and show her off? Would you let her enjoy
your life, too, by being with you?"

"Yes."

"Then she'd be a very lucky woman indeed."

We shopped that day, buying her new clothes and jewelry. The most
important jewelry was from my old friend, Mort Cohen. Mort had
made a pendant in the shape of a V an inch high. It was in
twenty-four carat gold and the V points were half-carat diamonds.
The necklace was a twenty-four carat gold chain with a screw-type
fastener. It was snug around her neck and the pendant lay over
the hollow of her throat. Before I put it around her neck, I
dipped the male end of the fastener in adhesive. The necklace
would have to be cut from her to take it off.

That's how Sonya became mine. For thirteen months, we laughed and
played and fucked. I thought we had something special until she
betrayed me.

When I awakened in my bed at the warehouse with a half full
bottle of Makers' Mark beside me, the anger was gone. I knew what
I needed to do. As much as I wanted her, I am what I am. A
woman's all mine or not mine at all.

I showered, shaved, and dressed in a white shirt and black
slacks. Mica, Bigun, and Prissy were in the dining room eating
when I walked in.

"Morning, Vinnie," Prissy said. "Bacon and eggs?"

"Please. Lots of toast and coffee, too, Prissy."

"How are you, Boss?" Bigun asked solicitously.

"Fine now. What happened last night?"

"We put her back in the cage just like you said."

"Nobody used her?"

"It didn't seem right," he replied. He shrugged. "She's yours,
Boss, even if you've decided she's not."

Breakfast filled my belly and dulled the throbbing hangover.
After I ate, I went into the cage room and opened the door of the
cage. Sonya didn't move until I motioned for her to get out. When
she crawled out, she didn't try to stand. She knelt at my feet.

"Stand up, Sonya."

She stood and faced me.

"I love you, Vinnie," she said.

"It's over. Hold still."

When I removed the wire cutters from my pocket, she screeched.
She lunged at me, digging her nails into my shoulders until my
shirt ripped and the blood came, pounding her fists on my chest
with all her strength, as she wailed her sorrow. I didn't try to
stop her. It was a release for me, too. She sobbed and cursed and
thrashed until she collapsed and slid down me to lie in a lump at
my feet.

"Turn your head, Sonya."

She didn't protest. She sat still as I used the wire cutters to
snip the necklace, the thing that marked her as mine, from her
neck. She watched as I filled a syringe from a medicine bottle.

"What is it?"

"It'll make you sleep."

"Forever?" she asked.

"No. For a couple of hours."

"I love you, Vinnie. I love you, Vinnie."

She said it over and over, like a mantra, until she lost
consciousness.

Bigun helped me get her naked body into the trunk of the limo. As
always, Mica drove. When we arrived at the convent, we went to
the back entrance used by carters and porters.

Sister Mary Brigid, the Mother Superior, greeted us. When I
opened the trunk, Sister smiled. She squeezed one of Sonya's
breasts and let her hand trail down her body to feel the flesh of
her ass.

"A little contribution to the order, Sister," I said.

"Very nice, Vinnie. She'll be a wonderful nun for us." She smiled
that oiled snake's smile. "Why hasn't she been whipped and
bound?" she asked.

"I'll let you do it. She was given a sedative instead."

"I've got a ripe nun who's finished her training. Twenty-four.
Redheaded. A small, lean body. Would you like to try her out?"

"No, thanks, Sister. I've got to go," I replied. "Maybe in a week
or so."

"Vinnie?" a voice behind me said.

"Kate. What are you doing here?"

"I brought over a girl from the high school who decided to enter
our order. How have you been?"

I shrugged. Sister Kate watched Bigun lift Sonya from the trunk
of the limo.

"Good heavens. It's Sonya. Is she yours?" Sister Kate asked.

"She's ours now. Vinnie's giving her to the order," Sister Mary
Brigid interrupted.

"She's a slut, Vinnie. Oh. I see you know that." Sister Kate
smiled knowingly and put her hand on my arm. "Vinnie, you need to
take them young and train them like you want them. The girl I
brought in is a fourteen-year-old virgin who's developing nicely.
Brigid will train her for six months to a year and then we'll
give her to you, if you like."

"Thanks, Kate, but, right now, I don't know."

"Sonya bit you that bad, huh? All right, Vinnie, but let me know
if I can do anything for you." She felt my cock through my
trousers. "And call me, Vinnie. It's been a long time since I've
seen you."

As I rode in the back of the limo toward The Sunset, I forced
myself to think about all I needed to do and about all the women
who were available. Tall women. Short women. In all the hues of
the rainbow and with standard equipment in varying sizes and
shapes. But my subconscious kept forcing one woman into my
conscious.

Men don't cry. Particularly not macho Italian men who live in the
dark otherworld people with white picket fences don't see. So it
must have been someone else who cried in the back of my limo that
day.

Poor bastard.

The End 

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+