Trophy 22

Still, even with such a compromised view, the woman’s body was self-evidently perfect. Worth straining his eyes to memorize every facet of the sight. Especially when she turned her head, sweat-soaked loops of hair tattooing her face, to show him how her long lashes fluttered with the intensity of her sensations.

She rolled onto her back; Frank nearly jumped through his skin. Bella still didn’t see him, regarding the ceiling through eyelids squeezed shut. He could see now that she had two fingers pumping inside herself, hard and fast.

His questions—erotic imaginings that raced ahead of Bella’s performance, multiplied even though the spectacle alone should be enough to content any man—were all that prevented Frank’s appreciation from being totally mindless, animalistic. He wondered if she was just desperate to get herself off or if this was how she liked to be fucked, how she would undulate and flex and cry out if she had a man to please her instead of simply her hand.

Her pussy was wet, glistening in the light: his mind demanded to know how wet, how tight she was, how tight she’d get in the throes of orgasm, what that cunt could taste like if his own voracious mouth replaced those fingers.

“Mmm, Frank, just like that—fuck me—make me come for you—I want it so baaad.”

Her voice startled Frank, but his nerves didn’t spasm as they had before. Watching her had rewired him. Now the jump of motion went straight to his crotch, reawakening his cock to the same readiness it’d had for Divina.

His hardening erection pressed against pants suddenly too tight; Frank coiled his fists rather than tug his zipper down to release the straining force trapped at his groin. Bad enough he was watching this; he couldn’t help that. He could just stop himself from going further.

Bella took her left hand off her clit, reached up to prick her enjoyment with a twist of her nipples. Her brow furrowed with each twinge of pain, but then she squeezed her nipples harder and her mouth opened in an O that couldn’t manage more words.

Frank could tell she wanted it to hurt. She wanted more hands, so she could feel pleasure and pain all at once. When she took her hand away from her heaving breasts to attend her clit once more, it made her slam her head against her mattress in frustration.

“Fuck! Fuck! I want it, c’mon, give it to me, don’t just stand there, fuck!”

Frank’s eyes widened. He’d been so distracted by Bella bucking against her hand so hard that every curve in her body jiggled, he hadn’t noticed that she was staring at him now, perfectly aware of his presence and not slowing down her self-pleasure at all.

“At least take it out, Frank. Show me how big I made that cock. Stroke it for me—let me watch too.”

Frank didn’t move an inch. His cock was pounding like a jackhammer, trying to break through his fly. It took all his control just to stop himself from acting on what every nerve in his body was screaming for. He wanted to feel her, hear her, be inside this wonderful artwork of pleasure he’d been witness to.

But he wouldn’t let himself.

“What are you, a fag?” Bella demanded, giving herself three fingers now, pulling her own hair with her free hand. Her face flushed red as she hurled abuse at him. “Is that it, Frank? You’ve got that big dick, but it’s just not for me, huh? You should’ve took Vito instead. Yeah, he would’ve loved you. Two little invertiti, alone together all day, huh? Huh? At least you’re good-looking, my little purpo! Maybe if I pay you enough, then you’ll fuck me, huh? You can afford lots of checche with what I’d pay for a good fuck!”

Now Frank shook. Countless combat encounters, he’d thought his nerves were long since replaced by steel wire, but this was something else, an alchemy he’d never known before. Anger and excitement and lust. It gilded him with sweat that a hundred Mafia guns couldn’t sheen him with. It fired his muscles as no work-out ever could.

His mind—cold, analytical, now boiling—gave him the opening to escape this bodily death-trap. It slicked him free of it, like the snake in Eden. He couldn’t allow Bella anything she could hold over him: not fear, not sexuality. She needed to be left with absolutely no excuse to withhold information.

Right or wrong, he had to put her into place.

He went to her, already knowing a little roughness with this bitch would unknot his nerves. Bella sat up; he pulled her the rest of the way to him by the hair, nearly tearing it out, and kissed her with nothing but savagery and anger at how she’d made him want her. It only excited her, knowing she’d gotten to him.

He thrust her back down to the bed on her belly, facefirst, and separated her buttocks to expose the rosebud. Her pussy was wet, ready. Her asshole was as tightly closed as ever.

“You seem so sure I’m a fag,” he bit off. “Then you must know where this hard-on you gave me is going.”

He spat on her anus, began to massage the saliva into the tight whorl with his thumb. Bella struggled. Frank slapped her on the hip. The jagged note of pain shocked her out of any protests. She shut up and trembled. In her shaking, she was almost wagging her hips—gyrating them as if inviting his touch.

He gave it to her. His middle finger pushed inside her anus, carrying the lubrication of his spit inside her. He rubbed it around the ridged, sensitive flesh and she whimpered, her hips swinging a little with his touch—rolling with the sensation as when she’d been pleasuring herself.

Frank’s jaw clenched. He was rarely conflicted, but now there were multitudes in him when he was used to single-minded determination, all of his body feeding power to what he had targeted.

It was one thing to kidnap her. It was another to fuck her. It was still another to hurt her, because no matter how slow and how careful he was, this would hurt.

But he wanted to hurt her. And on some level, she wanted to be hurt.

The very fact that this wasn’t hurting her anymore—that the ring of muscles was loosening, letting him in—galvanized him. Frank pressed another fingertip against her sphincter, slowly adding pressure to the combination, the pads of his doubled fingers forcing her constricted opening to spread.

Bella cursed under her breath… spitting out pain and rage in both English and Italian… but she never said no. When her asshole finally let him in, both fingers holding the puckered hole open no matter how it throbbed to get closed, Bella bit into her own arm. Frank didn’t know if it was to keep from screaming. It could’ve been to stop herself from giving that no.

Two fingers inside her pulsing anus. The pressure was almost unbearable; Frank could only imagine the pain she was in. He drew his fingers out, spat on her splayed asshole again, and transfixed her once more. Massaging the straining confines of her rectum with warm saliva, to sooth it to the point of allowing him even more access.

Bella hissed and whined and swore softly: “Shit, shit, shit.”

Frank hauled his fingers back, heard her sigh in relief, then forced them back inside. Bella let out a shrill cry. Frank curled his fingers. He stroked the inside of her in a soothing, pleasuring pattern. And Bella began to moan, a note of satisfaction entering her curses.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, my asshole, oh God, you’re really in my ass! Fucking my ass!” Her voice was suffused with disbelief, but there wasn’t much difference between her words now and those she had uttered with a cunt full of her own fingers. And even as Frank watched, she began to draw a hand down the mattress, bringing it between her legs—

Frank spanked her again with his free hand. Bella shrieked; feeling the blow both on her ass and inside it, where her taut passage was buffeted around his impaling fingers.

“Don’t try to touch yourself,” he told her. “This is all you get to feel.”

He added a third finger. Bella stiffened, she keened, but her acceptance sung in her, in every trembling goosepimple, in how she held herself ready and eager for more.

Frank twisted his wrist as he plunged into her, his knuckles raking along her inner walls. Bella gasped and spat curses and for a moment, she seemed to be cursing herself, hating that her body was feeling so much.

Her cunt was wet. It was dripping. The temptation to touch it with his other hand, even to taste it, was almost unbearable. But Frank didn’t want Bella feeling anything but her sodomy. This, she had to know, was where her pleasure came from.