Trophy 23

“Getting you hot, huh?” Bella asked in a shaky voice—she trembled the moment she was done saying it, like she was getting off on her own dirty talk.  “You like fucking me in the ass? Yeah? You like having your fingers in my ass and knowing that’s your little fuckhole? Yeah. Yeah. You can give me your cock, too, baby. You can fuck me right there; I bet you’re big and hard. Yeah. Spit on my hole and put your dick there. Enjoy fucking this dirty girl in the ass! Yes! I want you to pound my ass!”

Frank felt like spanking her again; how dare she enjoy this so much, titillate him so much, turn what he was doing to her into another of her games. But it was working. He couldn’t control himself. He ripped away his belt, shoved down his pants and his cock was out and ready and needing.

He pushed the tip into her sphincter; Bella let out a pained whimper, but that was only encouragement at this point. Her asshole was still tight, still reluctant. He pressed forward until he nearly heard the pop of making it past her seal, forcing in a penetration that was much larger than his fingers had been.

“Oh shit!” Bella groaned, her voice running away from her now, gushing from her like the sweat that poured down all her gleaming flesh. “Shit, it’s too big! Too damn big! It won’t fit, you’re just so fucking big! Oh! Ohhh!”

Frank grabbed her hips with both hands. He positioned her up on all fours, like a good little bitch, and flexed his forearms, pulling her back onto his lancing erection. He hardly had to bother. Bella was pressing herself into it, almost trying to fuck herself on his cock, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it—the impasse made her tremble, fresh sweat darkening her hair and dripping down to make the sheets as hot and sultry as the rest of this fuck.

He pressed forward. Bella let out a squeal that pierced the air. He was nearly in, and the moment his glans made it through her palpitating gates, he knew she would suck him right in. Unable to settle for anything less than being fully impaled. A true anal whore.

“Hh! Hh! Put it in! Put it the fuck in! I don’t care how much it’ll hurt! Fuck me! Fuck me! I want my ass full of your cock! UNHH! Your cum! Wanna be fucking full! Make me fucking SCREAM!”

It was only the very fact of his exhilaration, the realization of how frenzied he was, that made Frank hold back. An iota more effort and he’d penetrate her. Another jot of strain and she’d be his sheath.

It would be sublime, he knew. Exactly what he needed. And he’d come like a jackrabbit; he was too excited for anything else. And that would make Bella the winner.

Doubtless in her sexual prowess. Knowing that she had an even chance in all their future dealings. She’d tempt him into more trysts, knowing he was vulnerable there. He’d never again be able to present the unshakable façade that she had to prostrate herself before. She’d know that on the bedrock level of the animal, she had the advantage over him.

He pulled away from her, nearly gasping when he felt the suckle of her asshole closing up again in the wake of his retreating knob.

“No!” Bella screamed, pumping her hips into the mattress as if showing him what to do, how she’d like to be treated like a ragdoll. “I was just about to come! Bastardo! Don’t stop now, not now! I was giving you my ass! You can have my ass!”

Frank took a deep breath and forced his voice to be far more even than he felt. “You’ll get rewarded when you give me usable intel on the Belucci crime family. Not when you act like a whore.”

“Bastardo! Vaffanculo! Go fuck yourself in the ass instead then! Sei proprio uno stronzo!”

“I’ll see about getting you a vibrator,” Frank said, mock solicitously, and left to take another shower.

A cold one this time.

***

Bella’s room looked like something out of a high-class casino: dark-wood paneling, damson carpeting, and paintings on the walls. Only they were landscapes instead of portraits. No buildings in them. No walls.

Vito’d had sex with Bella in this room once. Just once. He didn’t quite respect Vincenzo, but he did respect how much hurt the old man could put on him. Now he found thoughts of that old pleasure… nostalgic. Not unarousing, but definitely part of the past.

And with Bella gone, there was really nothing in the way of him and his father having a more… robust relationship. He’d feel like a fesso, buddying up to the guy while he was fucking the man’s wife, but now…

And there Vincenzo was, sitting on Bella’s bed, drinking in the surroundings like Bella was too much a part of them not to show up. Like she was part of a set, so she must be here with her clothes and her make-up and all the gaudy things that made him happy.

He didn’t seem to notice Vito until he spoke, and then it didn’t sound like he was talking to his son at all. “I never rejected anything she cooked me. How could she reject this life I made her?”

Vito sat down beside him. “We don’t know the whole story yet,” he said insincerely. “Right now, let’s just keep the worrying to a minimum. Here. I have something to help you keep your cool.” He reached into his pocket and brought out the small baggy with its green contents. “The Purple Machine. It’s my favorite brand. Fifteen generations went into finding the right mix and I suggested some of the strains. This’ll make it so you won’t even notice she’s gone.”

Vincenzo’s face twisted. He seemed to be having an attack, his breath thrusting in and out from his lungs, his expression curdling and then shifting again and then spoiling again. But it was only him seeking out the right mask of contempt to face his son with.

“I gave you the best life. A life most people can’t even imagine. And all you want is to hide from it! With this shit made for niggers and spics, you sleep away how good you have it! Is it that much suffering to be you that you need to be numb for it?”

Any further invective broke off into a coughing fit. Vincenzo turned away and Vito reluctantly reached out to pat his father’s back—only in the hopes that it would put an end to this disgusting physicality. Imagine, a man like that with Bella, and he was shocked it had all gone to pot? Vito hoped he died before he was so old that a woman couldn’t take getting fucked by him.

***

Frank had returned to his ‘duck blind’ overlooking the cavernous meth lab of the Beluccis. He watched and waited, confirming to himself that the routine remained the same as his last surveillance.

Broken Nose emerged from the cave again. He lit another cigarette, alternating being drags and chugs from a can of beer. Frank watched him, feeling insulted that this caliber of man could be considered even one-half his equal. It was irrational, but Frank didn’t care. It stoked the flames of his wrath. He could sense it was almost time. His heart thundered. He was a cannon about to fire—all that remained was to aim himself in the right direction before the fuse burned down.

Broken Nose dropped the butt of his cigarette into the empty beer can and tossed it away. One more piece of trash, discarded as readily as any of the innocent lives that got in the Mafia’s way. He went back into the cave.

Frank was at the plateau. The roller coaster was chugging uphill. He got up and slipped his way down the slope, sneaking along the outside of the clearing to sidle up to the cave entrance. Thoughts of Bella stopped plaguing him. All that mattered now was blood and cordite: the kill. The first of many. There was a stand of junipers growing just a little past the mouth of the cave. Frank crouched behind them, gun at the ready. He waited, his cool deserting him. He knew this was the climax, the squeeze of the trigger… a gunshot was inevitable.

Seconds ticked by. Frank let them pass, slowing himself to a native cadence. Twenty-odd minutes until the moment. He held each instant, saw that it was not right, and released it. Sweat gathered under his arms. His breathing, cool and steady, was a focused effort. He was an avalanche about to launch itself down the mountain. It was an act of will to hold up the ice until the exact right moment.