Mafia Aphrodite

Xcite Books Ltd

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 55,400
0 Ratings (0.0)

An erotic thriller with ménage, interracial and girl/girl themes by O'Neil De Noux. She was slim, sleek. Over the years, several photographers suggested she go into modelling, a couple hinting she could make a lot of money if she wasn't afraid to show her body. The photographers quickly apologised after learning her father was Big Luke, saying they were mistaken. One even “left town.” On his death bed, Lucy, daughter of mafia boss, Luca “Big Luke” Incanto is set free to run the family “firm” and to explore her sexual fantasies in the real world as a Mafia Aphrodite.

Mafia Aphrodite
0 Ratings (0.0)

Mafia Aphrodite

Xcite Books Ltd

Heat Rating: Sizzling
Word Count: 55,400
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Excerpt

Standing behind her father’s massive cherry-wood desk, twelve feet by four feet with a marble top imported from northern Italy, Lucy Incanto closed her eyes and tried to think of anything, except her problem. Anything.

She tried focusing her senses on the open window behind her, smelling the salt water, listening to the sound of the waves outside, the rhythmic roll of the warm gulf water as it lapped against the shore. The sound was gradually overcome by the thundering of her heart, echoing in her ears. The pure sexual excitement rising inside drowned out everything. Her chest rose and fell with each breath as she contemplated what she was about to start.

Can I do this?

Her eyes snapped open and she moved closer to the large bay window to look down at the beach, at the people sunning in the sand and playing in the water. Lucy inhaled a deep breath. She’s always loved the smell of salty air and wet sand, scents so familiar they were almost reassuring. She remembered her papa explaining why the water of the Gulf of Mexico at Pass Christian was brown, instead of the pretty blues and greens of the Florida waters.

She could almost hear his raspy voice, ‘It’s Mississippi River water mixing with salt water in the gulf. This is actually called the Mississippi Sound.’ That was one of the many lessons her papa taught Lucy. She’d stood with her papa on the very beach below, as he waved his arm in a wide circle, explaining how the Incanto family purchased a great deal of this land right after Hurricane Camille ravaged the coast in ’69. Another lesson from Papa.

Today would be another, one final lesson. From his oxygen tent at Singing River Hospital, Luca “Big Luke” Incanto had issued his last order before slipping into a coma. He’d told his only child, Lucy, and the family consigliere, John “The Guag” Guagliardo, that it was time. As her papa so indelicately put it – she needed a man, someone to head the family business. The family needed a man at the top, even if he was just a figurehead. As she’d left her papa’s hospital room, The Guag gently, but firmly, informed her they’d selected a group of “candidates”.

Lucy turned from the window to the full-length mirror outside the door of the private bathroom and studied herself again. She’d exchanged her tortoise-shell glasses for contacts, her luxurious dark brown hair hung in waves to her shoulders, pinned up at the temples with barrettes. She leaned closer to check her deep red lipstick and charcoal eyeliner accentuating her dark, Mediterranean-brown eyes. Lucy had classic Italian looks with her mother’s fair, almost pale-white skin. Her full lips, which she disliked as a child, were probably her best feature, perfectly sculptured, her top lip rising to a slight point in the centre.

The trim, tan business suit, white blouse beneath the jacket, gave her a professional look, too professional for the business she intended this day, so she reached down and began unbuttoning the buttons running up the front of the fitted skirt. She stopped at the button just below her crotch. When she turned, the top of her thigh-high stockings could be seen. Excellent.

A petite five-three, Lucy didn’t have her mother’s full figure. She was slim, sleek. Over the years, several photographers suggested she go into modelling, a couple hinting she could make a lot of money if she wasn’t afraid to show her body. The photographers quickly apologized after learning her father was Big Luke, saying they were mistaken. One even left town, voluntarily.

At 23, Lucy wished she was more experienced with men. The desire was there, no doubt, but men were such … dolts. She would have had more experience, if the men who’d dated her hadn’t found out her identity. Even at Dartmouth, especially at Dartmouth, as soon as they found out who she was, she was treated like a porcelain doll.

‘Can’t put it off any longer,’ she said as she moved back to the desk, sitting in the captain’s chair. A deep breath later, she leaned forward and pushed the intercom button and said, ‘Send in Mr Perito.’

There. I’ve done it.

Leaning back, she tried too keep from squeezing the chair’s arms as the carved, oak door popped open. With a confident stride, Joseph “Little Joe” Perito stepped in, wearing a dark blue Armani suit, black hair slicked back, face freshly-shaved. Although six-three, he was Little Joe because his father, who topped off at five-five had been “Big Joe” since he’d taken over the family after the sudden demise of the former Don, a good five years before Little Joe was born.

Stopping in front of the desk, Joe planted his fists against his sides as if posing to show off his linebacker physique. He smiled, narrowing his green eyes and said, ‘We met at your ninth birthday party. You sprayed me with Silly String and I accidentally tore your dress.’ The smile warmed and he lost the cockiness, letting his arms fall by his side. ‘Glad you invited me.’

Lucy tried to keep her face expressionless, even with her heart pounding in her ears, and stared back into Joe’s green eyes.

‘Invited you? To my ninth birthday or here today?’

‘Both.’ He was smooth all right, charming and damned good looking. He knew it too.

Lucy pointed to one of the chairs in front of the desk. Joe sat, leaning back, his gaze still fixed on Lucy. The smile faded and for a moment, he looked almost vulnerable. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I have to tell you, Lucy. You are truly beautiful.’ Shrugging, he looked away. ‘Guess all the men tell you that.’

Lucy waited for him to turn back before asking in a voice husky with emotion, ‘Mr Perito. What is your offer?’

‘You come right to the point, don’t you?’ Joe straightened his blood-red tie. ‘Actually, I was hoping we could spend some time getting to know one another.’ The smile was back, but it wasn’t too wide, wasn’t overly confident. Maybe it was the wide eyes.

Joe Perito was a logical choice, being from so close-by, the son of Giuseppe “Big Joe” Perito, Boss of the New Orleans La Cosa Nostra family. But that wasn’t why Lucy felt goose bumps on her arms as she stared at his green eyes. So damn handsome, but was the shrug, the wide eyes an act? Actually Lucy liked his confidence. If only she had some. She hoped he couldn’t see her nervousness.

‘This is a business arrangement, Mr Perito. You’ve flexed your muscles and showed me your smile.’ Lucy put her elbows on the desk, her hands on her cheeks. ‘What business acumen do you bring to your offer?’

‘I might be only twenty-seven, but I’ve been a capo for six years. I’m running our interests in tourism – restaurants, hotels, bed-and-breakfasts, and some of our more lucrative operations in … well you know what I mean by lucrative.’

Lucy’s legs felt rubbery when she suddenly stood and walked around the desk. She moved in front of him and leaned back against the desktop, her ankles crossed so Joe could give her a good look up-and-down. He took in a deeper breath as his gaze moved up her legs, lingering on the tops of her stockings a moment before slowly returning to her eyes.

Up close, she smelled his cologne, a sweet scent. She waited to see how he’d re-start the conversation. His eyes softened and he gave her a boyish shrug. ‘You know how to take a boy’s breath away.’

Lucy Incanto sat up on the desk, still facing him. Even with her knees together, he was certain to get a good view of her lacy white panties. Her heart trembled as his eyes roamed over her, like tiny fingertip dancing across her body.

‘I don’t want to be crude,’ he said in a deeper tone. ‘But you’ll never want for ...’

‘What?’

‘I’m a very, very good lover.’ The cockiness was back but only for an instant, followed by an adorable half-smile. ‘Can’t believe I just said that.’ He stood and began to pace nervously and Lucy knew it was the power of the panty. She’d learned that years ago. A flash of panty was more than enough to disarm most men, or at least grab their undivided attention.

Her heart stammering, she decided to go for it, reaching down and pulling up her stockings, one at a time, lifting each knee, pulling the elastic-top stocking all the way up to her panties which were sheer enough to give more than a hint of her bush.

‘These stocking tend to slip down.’ She looked at Joe who was staring right at her crotch.

‘So,’ she said in a voice surprisingly smooth. ‘How does dinner tonight sound?’

Joe’s wide smile was back, along with a knowing look in those green eyes.

As Joe Perito stepped out of the office, The Guag came in. Lucy was at the mirror, buttoning her skirt. In his late fifties, balding and portly, John Guagliardo was a first cousin, on Lucy’s mother’s side. Dapper in a blue double-breasted, out-of-style suit, white shirt and blue tie, the family’s consigliere did a double take as he saw Lucy buttoning her skirt, as if he’d blundered into the middle of something.

‘Well,’ he said, taking a seat in the chair Joe had used. ‘What did you think of him?’

‘We’re having dinner tonight.’ Lucy returned to the captain’s chair. ‘He seems nice.’

The Guag smiled. ‘Excellent. I’ll notify the twins. Where are you going?’

‘Haven’t decided.’ She had, actually, but The Guag’d find out soon enough. She’d decided she’d bring Mr Joseph Perito to the yacht after dinner, which made her heart race again.

Someone on the beach screeched. A woman. Sounded like she was being tickled to death.

The Guag said, ‘We’ll need to go through all the candidates. Even if you like Perito right off.’

‘I know.’

‘We can’t un-invite these men.’

‘I know,’ her voice a little deeper.

The Guag pulled a notepad from a coat pocket. ‘Day after tomorrow we have another Joe. Joseph Cavalcare from Miami.’ He started to get up, sat back down and said, ‘You know how important this is.’

Lucy did and nodded but she was thinking about what she’d wear, or not wear, that evening.

‘You know under your papa’s leadership we’re 90 per cent legitimate. We own enough land, enough business interests, to sit back and let it all collect. Only we can’t. Sit back, that is. We have to keep building or the other families will overpower us. Nature of this Sicilian beast of ours. That’s why we need a business brain at the top of the family. Also, someone people will respect and fear a little.’

Yeah. Not a woman. Right, I know.

‘Your Uncle Leo is a good underboss and he’ll keep things together, but he’s the reason we’re not a 100 per cent legit.’ Leo was also 15 years older than her papa and not in the best of health.

Lucy couldn’t concentrate on what her cousin was saying. She’d heard it all before, from her papa. Uncle Leo was from the old school, still dabbling in loan-sharking, union control and his favourite … prostitution. High class call girls, primarily, but Lucy knew the family ran several hot sheet establishments along Highway 90. She kept thinking about the way Joe Perito’s eyes lit up when she’d flashed him. Her heart was really stammering.

The Guag finished his speech, slipping the notebook back into his pocket as he stood. ‘I’m going to see your papa now. Want to ride along?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘I’ll go later.’

The Guag gave her a thumbs-up on his way out. Lucy exhaled loudly and looked at the door as it shut. Beyond it were her day-time bodyguards: The Guag’s men, Louie Something and the short one, Eddie “Big Nose”. Sicilians, both were made men, very reliable.

She reached for the phone, but hesitated. She needed to call the twins, her night-time bodyguards, but wanted to be sure what to say. The only African-Americans on the payroll, Earl and Cal Duta were Lucy’s age, had attended grammar school with Lucy at St. Rita’s, before she was sent to board at Sacred Heart Academy in New Orleans. Quiet and serious, big for their age, actually huge, no one picked on the Dutas, especially when they were together, which was most of the time. Lucy was the only white girl who talked to them at St. Rita’s. She hadn’t realised that until she grew up and they started working for her papa and told her.

For men who weren’t made men, and never could be, not being Sicilian, the Dutas were completely trustworthy and took guarding Lucy Incanto with a fierce intensity. At six-four, both were three hundred pounds of mostly muscle.

She pulled her hand away from the phone and stood. No need to call them. She’d talk to them when they relieved her day guards at six p.m. That would be plenty time before her date with Joe at seven to let them know what to expect tonight. She might get a rise out of them, maybe even an eye-brow lifted.

Lucy moved back to the window and looked out at the dark gulf. A shrimp boat passed in the distance, nets lifted high as it returned for the day. Two boys on parasails were closer in-shore, with a motor boat puttering beyond them, but closer in than the shrimp boat. She couldn’t identify the woman who’d screeched, but the beach had a couple of dozen people lying on the sand or walking in the surf, some kids in the shallow water of the mid-summer afternoon.

She narrowed her eyes and tried to envision the sea from her recurring dream, a dream repeated last night. That beach had silver-white sand, so brilliant it hurt her eyes. It was the Aegean Sea, turquoise water lapping to shore, the sea streaked in aquamarine and dark green. She stood naked on the beach, a warm breeze blowing through her long hair, which was blonde in the dream. It wasn’t her and yet it was her. The Aegean and the sand between her toes were from an idyllic Greek isle.

She said the name aloud, ‘Aphrodite.’ It was the name her papa wanted to call Lucy. He took one look at his infant daughter and wanted to call her Aphrodite. Her mother would have no part of that and Lucy was the compromise name. Surely, her Sicilian papa could not have seen into her soul as an infant. Yet maybe he had.

Shivering suddenly, Lucy felt, knew, deep down there was a connection. She was very much like Aphrodite, goddess of beauty, goddess of love and desire. Aphrodite’s only thoughts were of love. It had taken all these years to realise the goddess of desire meant Lucy’s desire, more than the desire of mortal men for a goddess of beauty. And tonight Lucy would face that desire in all its naked glory.

Lucy read the Aphrodite myths many times. How Zeus brought her to Olympus and Hera demanded she be married off immediately for she was too beautiful and the gods would fight over her. How suitors came offering gifts. Lucy remembered Aphrodite’s solution to the problem. It was as if, at this moment in her life, she felt the feathery touch of that ancient Greek goddess deep in her heart.

Lucy didn’t believe in heavenly possession, didn’t believe in heavenly interference, but maybe, just maybe, Aphrodite’s answer to her suitors could be Lucy’s. The Incanto family had drawn suitors to their Mount Olympus, the gulf coast of the great state of Mississippi.

She laughed at herself.

Joseph Anthony Perito finished shaving and stared into the mirror for a long moment before telling his clean-shaven face, ‘I still don’t believe I’m about to fuck Lucy Incanto.’

He’d spent the hours since their meeting going over every detail, every inflection of her voice, every nuance of her expressions. Those lips, those eyes, those sleek legs and her panties. She’d played him like a yo-yo. Hopefully she’d spin him like a top, pick him up and spin him again.

His big brother called and asked how the meeting went. He couldn’t even tell Louie, the family’s underboss, he just might be fucking Lucy Incanto tonight. This was serious business. The joining of two families. Can’t let on his possible future wife may be a fucking hussy. He felt surprisingly nervous. Women had never been a problem for him. Since he was a kid, women doted on him, girls picked on him in kindergarten because they liked him, he knew that now. And when the hormones kicked it, they were drawn to him like moths to a brilliant light.

Lucy was stone-fucking-gorgeous. And this was her show.

He climbed into a pair of loose-fitting, off-white linen pants, readjusting his dick in his jockeys so that it pointed straight up for the inevitable erections. The pants were loose enough so it wouldn’t show. An open-collar sea-foam green cotton shirt would accentuate his eyes. A slim gold Bulova with an alligator skin band that perfectly matched his shoes, were the finishing touches. Joe wore no jewellery. Too many of the family back in New Orleans wore thick gold bracelets, rings on too many fingers, earrings in the left ear only because in the right was a signal they were gay, and the gaudy gold necklaces with their name cut out in lacy filament. His brother wore a gold nugget chain with “Louie” around his neck like a fucking dog collar.

Slipping on his black, wrap-round Ray Ban sunglasses, he called to have his car brought around and took the elevator down to the casino, taking his time walking through, automatically checking out the women and some of the men in a well-rehearsed defensive mode. He’d thought the Incantos were silent partners in the Bleu Marine Casino, before accepting his “candidacy” for Lucy Incanto. Recently he learned the Incantos owned none of the Mississippi Casinos, who were completely legitimate, with squeaky-clean owners as a matter of fact. The Incantos owned the land all of the floating Mississippi Casinos rested against. They leased the land through holding companies, made a killing off the leases not only on the casinos, but a great deal of legitimate businesses from Pass Christian to Pascagoula.

In French, bleu marine, was navy blue and the carpet inside the beachfront casino, the smallest along the coast, was navy blue, as were the mini-dresses of the waitresses and female dealers. The males were in all white. Built on a nautical theme with a huge ship’s wheel atop the roof, the Bleu Marine was actually the classiest of the Mississippi Casinos, with a four-star restaurant and a hotel to rival the best in New Orleans.

His car was waiting for him, air-conditioner on medium. He tipped the valet and climbed into his early-issue, mid-sized, titanium silver, 2006 BMW 530xi sedan. Plush with a maple wood dash, a GPS navigation system and a zooming 255-horsepower engine, it was still a mid-sized four-door car, unlike the full-sized Mercedes his father drove or the flashy yellow Hummer his brother tooled around in. That damn thing could be seen from the space shuttle.

OK, he thought, I’ll get the waiter aside and pay for the meal. No, this was her invitation. She might be insulted. He’d just ask to pay the check when it arrived. He suddenly realised he should bring her something. He should have been looking for something instead of napping this afternoon.

What do you get for a woman who could have anything she wanted? Something personal? Flowers? Candy? No, way. Lucy was thin and probably worked at it. Something personal but not over the top. No jewellery. Not yet, anyway.

He was about to turn around to return to the casino gift shop, when he spotted a small gift shop next to what looked like a high school in downtown Pass Christian. Inside he found something funny and bought it. Make a woman laugh and you’re on the right track.

Glancing at the dashboard clock he saw he was going to be early for their date, so he slowed down and drove past the marina, continuing along Highway 90, the scenic highway running along the gulf, water on one side, homes on raised ground on the other. Most of the homes were white, wooden, with covered galleries running around all sides. Some were brick, some mansions, some ante-bellum houses that had survived many hurricanes. He’s heard the Incanto estate was built before the Civil War, set back a ways from the highway, surrounded by a stone wall and separated from the noises of beach and highway by a splash of piney woods.

He made a u-turn, arriving at the small Pass Christian Marina dotted with shrimp boats on one side and pleasure craft along the other. He parked, got out and started for the gangway leading to the yachts. He spotted a large black man in a black suit, the tell-tale bulge of a semi-automatic under his left arm. Joe had left his .40 calibre Smith and Wesson in the glove compartment. The man watched him approach, nodded and said, ‘Miss Incanto will be here in about 60 seconds, Mr Perito.’

Joe nodded as he stood holding the small gift bag from the gift shop. Not a minute later, a black V-series Cadillac with blacked-out windows pulled up. The driver’s door opened and a man identical to the man standing next to Joe nodded their way. The man next to Joe stepped over and opened the back door for Joe, who took off his sunglasses before climbing in.

Lucy Incanto was inside, seated against the far door. He caught a whiff of her perfume as he slid in next to her. Facing him, her knees pointed in his direction, he took her in, from her hair hanging in long curls now, wide eyes glimmering at him. She wore a silky red dress with a lacy front that looked more like a fancy slip than a dress. Short enough to show the tops of her thigh-high stockings as she sat. But it was her face that was most alluring. Her make-up was subtle but dramatic, showing off her eyes and those kissable lips.

He took the gift out and handed it to her. Her brow furrowed as she held the small, super-soft stuffed animal in her hand. It was a hound dog, floppy ears, big eyes, red tongue sticking out as if it was panting.

‘Since I acted like a hound dog earlier, I thought it appropriate.’

She giggled.

That was something, at least.

She was braless, her pointed nipples pressed against the silky fabric, small nipples. She let him take a few seconds to drink her in as the man who’d been waiting for Joe climbed in front next to the driver, the Caddy eased through the parking area as Lucy smiled and said, ‘You look nice.’

‘You look great.’

She nodded at his crotch. ‘I can see you approve.’

He looked and his dick was protruding. He readjusted the way he sat so his loose-fitting pants wouldn’t be pressed so tightly around the front.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

She smiled again and took his hand. ‘What would you prefer, Caribbean cuisine or old-fashioned southern?’

‘This is your show, lady. I thought you’d show me your yacht.’

She gave him a wicked smile. ‘That’s for later.’

He could feel his heart stammering in his chest and tried his best to look as if he was, in fact, cool.

Over chilled Caribbean shrimp, Joe politely asked her not to call him “Little Joe” as they both ignored the glances of the other diners in the Martinique Bistro. She nodded, smiling warmly. Set on pilings over the dark gulf water a few miles east of the marina, the bistro was unpainted outside, looked funky with an interior reminiscent of a Carib beach bistro, but the food was magnificent, specializing in seafood and a surprising array of French dishes.

They said very little, letting their eyes talk and that seemed more attention-grabbing to the people around them, who seemed to sense something elemental was going on at their table, something that needed little talk. With Sadé, Bob Marley and Peter Tosh echoing softly in the background, Lucy and Joe spent their first meal together, holding hands on the way out, not saying a word once back in the Cadillac, not until they left the twin-tower bodyguards on the private dock of the Incanto family yacht.

‘Wine or something stronger?’ Lucy kicked off her high heels as she led the way into the main cabin of the 100-foot sailing yacht.

‘Wine’s fine.’ Joe knew little of yachts, but this one seemed to have all the bells and whistles, including a sumptuous living room with built-in sofas, a big screen TV, stereo system, VCR, DVD, everything except a robot-butler.

She brought them matching glasses of red wine, dry and familiar.

‘Valpolicella,’ she confirmed. ‘Bolla, of course.’

‘I’ve been there. Outside Verona.’ As they settled on one of the sofas, he took a few minutes telling her about the northern Italian vineyards sandwiched between the River Adige and Italy’s largest lake, Lake Garda, the bright green vines, the dark purple grapes.

He felt he was rambling and stopped. Lucy put her glass down and leaned forward, hesitating as her face neared his, a softer smile on those sculptured lips now, an almost innocent gaze to those alluring eyes. Their first kiss was feathery soft, slow and tender. The next wasn’t. Tongues working against each other, Joe reached over, brushed her bare shoulders with his fingers and pulled her top down. His hands moved to her breasts, caressing them, rolling over her nipples.

Finally coming up for a breath, he moved his mouth to her neck, kneading her breasts as her breath came out raspy, his hot and strong. He kissed his way down to her nipples, running his tongue over them. As he kissed them, back and forth, he saw how light pink her aureoles were and felt his cock throb as if it would explode.

Lucy lay back, pulling him with her as he continued kissing her breasts. He looked up at her face and her eyes were closed, those sculptured lips open and gasping. He lost his momentum, took the moment to sit up and start removing his shirt. His mind flickered on for a second, knowing he was giving her a second to reconsider what was about to happen next. Rarely would he do this for an ordinary woman, but this half-naked woman lying next to him was Lucy Incanto, daughter of … no matter if the old man was in a coma. This was family.

Lucy watched him take off his shirt, stand to kick off his loafers, unzip and pull down his pants, jockeys and shove off his socks. Standing naked in front of her, his cock sticking straight up like a flag pole, he could see her staring hungrily at it and knew there was no slowing down with this hot hussy.

But he forced himself to move slowly, purposefully, to satisfy this woman like he’d satisfied no other. He pulled her dress past her hips. She raised her ass as she stared into his eyes now. Cupping his fingers into the top of her white panties, he pulled them off and looked down at her pussy for the first time, the soft, silky pubic hair, the wet lips. He pulled off her stockings one at a time, dragging his fingers down her legs as he did, still staring at her open pussy. He kissed his way from one knee up to her bush, licked it, then kissed his way down her other leg. Raising her leg, he moved his head to kiss the backside of her knee, which seemed to send a shudder through her.

He licked his way back to her pussy and sank his tongue in it. She cried out and grabbed his hair. Joe worked her clit with his tongue and slipped a finger inside to roll around in circles within the hot folds of her pussy lips. She was so wet and sweet tasting, he wolfed her pussy, working it as she cried again and again, her hips bucking.

‘Oh, God!’ She came, bouncing and panting, yanking at his hair, then his ears, pulling him up. He rose over her and pressed the tip of his swollen cock into her pussy.

‘Condoms!’ She gasped. ‘In my purse.’

He nodded, reached down and picked up her purse, passing it to her before returning to the same position, pressing his cock against her sopping pussy.

‘Here,’ she said, yanking the wrapping from a condom.’

He took it but continued working his cock into her tight pussy.

‘I want,’ he gasped now, ‘to feel your pussy without a condom first.’ He shoved himself all the way in and she curled her back and cried out again. He stroked her several times, feeling the hot folds of her pussy pulling at him before he withdrew and slipped on the condom.

She reached down and guided his cock back to her pussy and wrapped her legs around him as he started a frenzied fucking of this gorgeous woman. He tried slowing down several times, but she wouldn’t, fucking him back, bouncing, pulling at him with that pussy.

He tried his best to hold on, to hold back but she wouldn’t cooperate and he came in furious spurts and continued pounding her until his flaccid cock slipped out. They lay there for a few minutes, catching their breaths, letting the air-conditioning cool their hot bodies.

‘Bathroom?’ Joe asked and was directed to a door at the far end of the cabin where he removed the condom and flushed it. Running cool water over his face, he ran his wet hands through his hair and looked in the mirror. For a second he looked 15 years old, like the first time he’d had pussy, looking so excited, so wide-eyed, so fully of discovery.

Lucy tapped on the bathroom door and said, ‘My turn.’

She came out a minute later, brushing her hair, taking him by the hand and leading him into a bedroom cabin where a queen-sized bed awaited them. She tossed the hairbrush on a dresser, pulled him to bed to curl in his arms. They kissed for long minutes until he felt his cock throbbing again. Pressed against her, she felt it too, reached down and stroked it as she laid him on his back and kissed her way down to it.

Her tongue flicked its tip, before she kissed the shaft down to his balls, kissed each ball and back up to the tip before sinking her mouth on his cock and sucking, head moving up and down. She worked it as his breathing increased, then she suddenly sat up, a condom in hand, the little minx, dressed it over his cock and climbed on, sinking on it and riding him.

He watched those luscious breasts moving up and down. He reached for them and she sank against his hands, her mouth finding his. The second time took longer in coming for both, but she came and he followed quickly. She sank on him and eventually rolled on her side to cuddle with him. He fought off sleep, staring at the ceiling, but when he looked at her she was dozing, looking angelic, so he closed his eyes.

Something moved next to him, waking him hours later and he saw Lucy propped up on an elbow staring at him. He blinked twice and said, ‘So, how’s my tryout going?’

‘Pretty good, so far.’

Thirds were slow and took even longer, with much kissing and little noises now, instead of the gasping and crying out. And it was nice, very, very nice.

Joe left before dawn, leaving Lucy in bed. She watched him dress through the open door before he came back in to kiss her goodbye.

‘When can I see you again?’ he asked.

‘I’ll call you.’

He laughed. ‘That’s my line.’

She reached up and pulled him down for a long French kiss.

‘I’ll call,’ she said as he left.

‘You’d better.’

She lay on her back, spread eagle, the AC cooling her, feeling the sticky perspiration on the sheets now. Mr Joe Perito had certainly done a number on her. Her pussy felt sore, pleasurably sore. It was a good fucking and more. Affection in those green eyes, gentleness. He really wanted this gig. She remembered the little hound dog she’d left in the Caddy and smiled again.

Mr Joe Perito would be hard to top.

She closed her eyes and smiled, wondering what the next one would be like.

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