Chapter 27 - Arlene Part 6
Felony Murder or Getting in Way Over My Head
Please take note! Adults Only Literature
The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for
adults only.
If you are an underage minor or offended by such material -or- if viewing this
file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story
now.
This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise
is purely coincidental, etc.
Email HarryBerg01@aol.com with your comments.
Copyright 2003
****
I thought about naming this part, "Going Undercover While Undercover" but what
happened was too serious for such levity. Besides I need to own up to my role is
what was a very dark deed.
Aunt Carol had warned me that the Pagans had become a much more sinister
operation with the advent of the drug business. We were eating a late lunch the
day after I had managed to connect with Kurt at The Side Car. Aunt Carol had
been impressed I had hooked up with the Pagan in charge. But she had something
else she needed to say.
"In the old days, the Pagan's relied on alcohol to get high, then times
changed and they moved on to marijuana ultimately to the harder drugs like
heroin, coke, PCP, and crystal meth. But now they're not just drug users,
they're big time drug dealers and that's a very serious and dangerous business,"
said Aunt Carol in one of her educational sessions describing the evolution of
the Pagans from a gang of misfits to a confederacy of organized crime.
Looking back, I now realize how right she was. Mention motorcycle gang and
most people think of Marlon Brando in The Wild One, a bunch of good kids
misunderstood by society. Or an out of control bunch of drunks who frequently
get themselves killed on the nation's interstates. Actually, they're a ruthless
criminal organization that will go to any lengths to protect and preserve a huge
business empire. But it took me a while to internalize exactly what Aunt Carol
was trying to tell me.
"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," I replied taking a bite of my
shrimp Cesar salad.
"When I was with Charlie, we drank and took drugs but we didn't deal them
except occasionally to one another. Sure, Pagans would get high and commit
crimes like pulling somebody's teeth out in an all night diner. There were a lot
of rapes when they happened upon people in out of the way places. That was
assault and you could get 3 to 5 years in the state penitentiary. Now, the
Pagans produce Crystal Meth by the hundredweight and take in millions of
dollars. But the Feds put dealers in jail for 25 to life. It's become a very
serious business."
"I guess I knew that. So what's that got to do with me?"
"They are much more cautious about who they let ride with them. They may
require you to do something criminal as a test. That way, they have something on
you if you should ever decide to tell the DEA what you know."
"You mean they'd make me participate in a crime?"
"Not exactly make you, just put you in a position where they expect you to go
along with something criminal," said my Aunt taking a bite of her Cobb salad.
It was about six weeks later that I discovered that Aunt Carol was exactly
right, not that her warning made any difference. I'd been spending my weekends
with Kurt. We hooked up at The Side Car on Friday night and wound up at his
condo in Methuen where we would fuck for hours. If Serge and his new girl, Wanda
were around, we'd do a group thing. Wanda was the first black girl I ever went
down on. Wanda grew up in an area of Boston called Roxbury in the heart of a
black ghetto. For a street wise girl whose first sexual experience was at the
age of eleven when her drug addicted whore mother sold Wanda's virginity for a
couple of rocks of crack, she was an amazingly gentle and easy to be around
person. She also taught me a lot about the art of eating pussy. She had these
large lips and soft mouth that sent me over the edge time and time again. I
guess I can honestly say that when I was with Kurt the sex was terrific on all
fronts.
Sunday afternoon, I'd head back up I-93 to Manchester. I'd be recovering from
whatever combination of drugs that Kurt had provided me that weekend. Crank was
the main one but sometimes there was coke or heroin. Thank God, the heroin was
the pure kind you could snort. I wasn't into sticking needles in my arm. That
particular Sunday as I rode my Harley, I was thinking about the conversation I
had with Kurt right before I left.
"Need a favor," announced my voluble stud right before I left.
"What?" I'd learned that Kurt preferred the minimalist approach to human
communication.
"Is that a yes?"
I nodded yes. Sometimes I prided myself on speaking even fewer words than
Kurt. I made it into a game.
"I need you to pick up a guy and his wife."
"Pick up as in?" I honestly didn't know what the hell he meant. Pick up at the
airport, the bus stop, what?
"Go to a club in Boston. Get them interested. Take them back to your place.
I'll handle the rest."
"My apartment is quite a drive from Boston."
"No, not your real apartment, dummy, just your place to use. Meet me here
Wednesday and I'll show you what to do. I can't afford for you to fuck this up."
Containing my curiosity until Wednesday took every ounce of self-control I
could muster. Either Kurt thought I could read minds or he considered me a
paranormal and able to divine what he really wanted. As I drove to Kurt's that
Wednesday, I decided I was going to drop my recently acquired penchant for
speaking in shorthand and make a real effort to understand what he wanted. He
was waiting for me when I got to his place. The conversation was less laconic.
"I need to clearly understand what I'm to do if as you say, I'm not going to
fuck this up," I said as I sat down across from him.
"Anthony and Rose Petrillo," said Kurt handing me a picture of a well dressed
man and woman. I studied the picture carefully. They looked to be in their late
thirties or early forties. They were an attractive couple. I would describe Rose
Petrillo looks as patrician. She had the high cheekbones and straight nose of a
girl who came from money. Anthony looked like one of those Italian stallions my
college roommate and I used to drive down to Revere Beach to try to meet.
The photo showed them exiting a downtown office building. A plaque on the wall
stated that it was the 75 State Street building. I assumed it was in downtown
Boston.
"Friday nights, they usually show up at a private club located above a
restaurant in Boston's financial district. The place is called "The Exchange."
"Private club, how do I get in?"
"You'll have a membership card."
"What do I do?"
"Meet them, leave with them."
"Why would they be interested in meeting me?"
"Rose likes girls and Tony likes to watch. They also like blow. You'll have
plenty of that."
"What do I do when I get them back to my place?"
"Eat Mrs. Petrillo's pussy while Mr. Petrillo fucks you in the ass. Whatever
the hell they want?" Kurt's voice had that exasperated tone like he was trying
to teach Algebra to a student too dumb to get it.
"And then?"
"I'll show up and handle it from there. You leave."
"All right. I'll do my best."
"Fuck your best, you better get this right," said Kurt in a tone more
threatening than usual.
"Understood, I'll need to know where everything is."
"We'll get to that in a minute. You'll need to look expensive, classy,
sophisticated and rich. The Petrillo's got a thing for money." Kurt reached down
into a paper bag at his feet and pulled out a half dozen jewelry boxes. He had
just set a record for speaking the longest and most complete sentence I'd ever
heard him utter. I flipped open the largest box. There was a beautiful diamond
watch inside. The box lid said it was a Chopard. I recalled that was one of
those companies that advertised jewelry in Vanity Fair. I couldn't afford the
products in Vanity Fair. I could barely afford the magazine subscription. I
glanced quickly at the other boxes. They contained diamond wedding rings,
earrings, bracelet, and necklace. I guessed the earrings four carats each. The
earring box said they were from Tiffany. The bracelet box said Bulgari. These
were all Vanity Fair advertisers. If the jewelry was real and not cubic
zirconium, it was worth a fortune.
"It's a lot of jewelry, " I commented. It truly was too much to wear at one
time.
"If it's too much, don't wear it all, just look like a rich girl who's out on
the town while your hubby is away."
"Clothes?" I asked since I didn't have anything to wear that would go with a
Chopard watch.
"Here, get a Versace or something," said Kurt reaching once again into the bag
at his feet to pick up a several inch thick stack of cash and hand it to me.
Later, I counted it, $15,000.
"Let's take a ride," said Kurt standing up. He drove me into Boston's
financial district and showed me the location of The Exchange. Afterwards, he
took me over to the Beacon Hill area to a townhouse on Louisburg Square. He
drove down an alley, pushed a button on a remote to open a garage door and drove
inside a two-car garage. In downtown Boston, a two-car garage alone costs more
than a large mansion in the suburbs. We went into the townhouse and walked
around. The place was way out of my league. This was the kind of place you saw
advertised as a steal for $8million in the back of the magazine section of the
Sunday paper.
I had some doubts I could pull this off. I'd never been a member of the rich
and famous, especially of the clique of Boston Brahmins that lived in places
like Beacon Hill's Louisburg Square. I was afraid the fact that I was a lower
middle class girl from a hick town like Manchester would be immediately obvious.
Kurt gave me the keys to the townhouse and told me to spend sometime there,
learning where everything is. I imagine the Petrillo's would think it strange if
I didn't know where the bathroom was in my own townhouse. I pointed out to Kurt
there was one more problem.
"Tattoos, little rich girls aren't inked head to foot."
"Shit, I didn't think of that."
"I could tell them I went to live in Los Angeles and during a rebellious
period from Mom and Dad, rode with the Hells Angels."
"Why the Angels? They're a bunch of pussies."
"But aren't they in LA?"
"I guess, fucking Angels, everybody thinks they're so fucking much," commented
Kurt.
When we got back to Kurt's place, I was rewarded with a couple of nice long
fucks that relaxed me to the point I felt like my skeleton had turned to silly
putty. God how I loved the way his cock felt inside me, it was electric. I was
so caught up in the miracle of Kurt Lambert's cock that I would have agreed to
join a conspiracy to assassinate the President. And they say only men think with
their sex organ.
The next day at the Union I looked the Petrillo's up on the Internet. I found
most of my information in the archives of The Boston Globe. The couple was the
founders of an investment banking firm called "Premier Boston, LLC." The society
pages of the Globe contained a good dozen photos of the two attending
fundraisers for various charities and the arts. Boston Magazine had a revealing
shot of Rose at a cocktail party for Boston Ballet. The woman had a good figure,
tall and thin. She was standing beside Boston's Mayor Menino showing a properly
tapered leg poking out the slit in her floor length ball gown. I felt my pussy
getting a little wet when I contemplated that I would soon have my head between
those legs.
Saturday, I drove into Boston to the Versace boutique on Newbury Street and
purchased a simple black dress. It showed some skin but not too much. I figured
would be appropriate. It also covered my tattoos. The skirt was short enough to
be sexy but looked expensive enough for a woman who would be wearing a Chopard
watch. All right, I adored the fucking watch. I actually wore it around my
apartment a few times. I've never had what you call "nice things." The dress
cost me $1700 of the money that Kurt gave me. That was $1500 more than I had
ever paid for a dress in my entire life. I picked out a pair of Manolo Blatnik
shoes to match for a paltry $750. I finished off my outfit with a $500 Valentino
purse that was on the clearance counter.
I'd realized that the Versace would clash with my Wal-Mart underwear. I walked
over to the LaPerla boutique on Beacon Street and purchased three bra and panty
sets. All right, I know I only needed one but having money was new to me and I
felt like I deserved it. God knows what I was getting myself into. Besides,
there's nothing like the feeling of raw silk on your crotch. Now I knew why rich
girls are such whores. I wore a pair of $125 panties out of the store just to
see how they felt. Just the sensation of the raw silk rubbing across my clit had
me ready to cum in the block it took me to walk to the LePli Spa.
I'd made an appointment for a complete treatment including a Brazilian bikini
wax. Rich girls don't have hairs growing around their assholes. When I came out
three hours later, my pussy was as smooth as a baby's butt. I finished my day at
a hair salon on Newbury Street. I told the stylist I was going to a black tie
affair at the Ritz-Carlton that night and needed a sophisticated hairstyle. I
watched him carefully so I could reproduce it. The new style made me looks
different from the old Arlene and that was a good thing. Kurt had muttered
something about trying to be less recognizable just in case.
I saved the receipts. I had no idea whether Kurt expected the jewelry or the
unspent money back. I decided to hold on to it until he asked me to return it.
As it happened, he never did. I wonder if my Mom is wearing my Chopard watch.
I drove to Kurt's place on the agreed upon night. If the Petrillo's didn't
show up at The Exchange, we'd try again another night. There was a Mercedes
600SL parked in Kurt's garage. Kurt handed me the keys. I suppose my Nissan
Sentra was a little too down market.
"You're early," said Kurt when I walked in carrying all my stuff.
"Fuck me and calm me down," was all I said.
Without another word, Kurt took me into the bedroom. I could tell that
tonight's job had him on edge. When he was calm, Kurt was an intense hungry
fuck, the kind a girl could get wet just thinking about. But when he was on edge
knowing that something big was coming down, the sex moved to a much higher
plane. I could lick the sweat off his nipples and smell his armpit and have an
orgasm.
We stripped and I mounted him intending to rub my clit raw on his washboard
abs. I have to admit it was the added sense of danger and excitement of what was
about to happen that made it the best fuck of my life. I climaxed so ferociously
I passed out for a few seconds. One minute I was slamming my pussy down on
Kurt's member and the next I felt like an astronaut experiencing seven G's as he
escaped the earth's gravity. There are fucks and then there are fucks. This one
set the all time Arlene Fairchild record for rocking her world. I was shaking
like a leaf when it was over. It took me a couple of minutes to recover.
"Showtime," was all I said as I climbed off the bed and headed to the shower.
Ninety minutes later I walked into the room to show Kurt what he got for all
that money and jewelry. He looked me over very carefully.
"Guess, you'll have to do," was his only comment. He wasn't exactly a
confidence builder. It was a good thing I had looked at myself in the mirror and
said "Damn, you look good, girl" before I walked into the room. Kurt handed me
something that looked like a credit card. It was gold and read "Exchange Club
VIP".
"That operates the elevator to go upstairs to the private club," said Kurt.
"Does it cost much to join?" There were times my curiosity got away from me.
"$25,000," was Kurt response. He gave me that look that indicated any more
unnecessary questions would not be welcome.
"Can you please show me the car?"
"It's an automatic, what's to show?"
"How to operate the windshield wipers would be nice. I've never driven a
Mercedes Benz."
Kurt showed me the controls. Thirty minutes later, I sped down I-93 into
Boston exiting at the High Street off ramp. I turned onto Franklin Street,
pulled up in front of The Exchange and gave my car to the valet. I made sure he
could look up my skirt all the way to my new silk panties when I exited the car.
At $125 a pair, I wanted as many people as possible to see them. So far,
everything was proceeding as planned.
I walked past the burly doorman into the restaurant and through to the private
elevator in back. It was located exactly where Kurt described it. The elevator
key card worked and in thirty seconds I exited on the third floor. The club was
all dark wood with high ceilings. It smelled of money. It was still early and
there were only a few members present. Someone was playing a grand piano over in
the corner. I walked over to the bar sat down and ordered a martini, straight up
with a twist.
"Shit, I thought to myself. I'd like to do this ever night. I was wearing
about gazillion carats of diamonds that I think were real. I looked terrific if
I do so myself. Maybe some millionaire businessman would come in and ask me to
marry him or at least live in his castle. That little reverie ended when the
Petrillo's stepped off the elevator.
For some unknown reason, I found Rose more appealing than her husband. Maybe
because to a hick girl from Manchester, NH, she looked the epitome of the rich,
successful, cosmopolitan woman I always wanted to be. It was my lucky night
because Rose sat down right beside me at the bar. She ordered a cosmopolitan
made with top shelf vodka, Grey Goose as I recall. Tony opted for a very dry
apple martini. I let them get their drink and settle in before I made a move.
After a few minutes in which I sensed they were checking me out, I decided to
start my run. I'd worked too many fern bars in downtown Manchester not to know
how to meet strangers. Unfortunately, most of the men I met in those bars were
married. Not that being married meant I wouldn't go out with them. But it did
mean that the relationship was going to consist of dinner and a fuck, nothing
more.
"Is this place always this quiet?" I asked Rose turning slightly in her
direction.
"It gets livelier later," said Rose, "Is this your first time here?"
"Yes, someone told Rashi it was fun," I replied beginning to unveil the cover
story I had prepared.
"Rashi, is that your husband?" It was hard not to notice the ten-carat wedding
ring on my finger.
"Yes, actually it's Rashad Alwahdia, I'm Adriana by the way. We just moved
here from Los Angeles." Arlene is such a middle class name. Besides, Kurt told
me to use an alias.
"Rose Petrillo and this is my husband Tony." Tony had struck up a conversation
with a man sitting to his left. But he quickly turned around and said hello. I
could tell by the way he and Rose were looking at me they were interested. I
just needed to keep cool and play my hand carefully.
"So what beings you to Boston, Adriana?" asked Tony exercising the good habit
of repeating a person's name immediately after meeting them. My dad always said
that was a big help in remembering names.
"I'm originally from New Hampshire. Rashi wanted a place on the East Coast in
case of a quake or something. Since I was familiar with the area, he thought it
would be a good idea to buy a place in Boston. I would have preferred Miami but
he insisted. He said that since he travels a lot. It would be better if I had
family nearby." I had just stated my reason for having a New England accent.
"If Rashi going to join you later. I'd like to met him," offered Tony.
"Not tonight, maybe in a couple of weeks, he's back home with his family in
Brunei. He likes to be there for at least a part of Ramadan." I'd done some
research and found out it was usual for wealthy Arabs to return home for
Ramadan. And for that matter, Ramadan had started one week prior. I'd thought of
all this on my own with no prompting with Kurt.
"And you didn't go with him?" asked Rose. Women are always the curious ones
especially about other women's marriages.
"No way, Brunei is one hundred degrees in the shade. Alcohol is strictly
forbidden, adultery is punishable by stoning and God knows what they'd do if
they caught you with some dope. Besides, Rashi's family isn't too crazy about
him having a non-Muslim American wife. Although they're thrilled that marrying
me has given Rashi an American passport. Something they might find useful if the
Islamists ever come to power."
"So where did you settle?" asked Tony.
"No far from here, Rashi got a good deal on a townhouse in Louisburg Square. It
was an estate sale." We Americans value people by where they live. I'd just
played my Louisburg Square card. Tony was impressed and he immediately showed
it.
"Nice area, you're lucky to find a place. Most of the time, those town homes
never go on the market."
"Rashi took care of all that. It's much smaller than our place in Malibu and
the garden's the size of a postage stamp. But we're only going to spend 2-3
months each year here, the rest of the time we'll be in LA."
"How long have you been married?" asked Rose. I told you women were the
curious ones.
"Thirteen months."
"Were you in film business?" God I must have looked terrific.
"No, but I wanted to be when I ran away from home. Girl runs away to
Hollywood, attempts to sleep with the right people but winds up falling in love
with a really bad boy who's exciting as hell. But you've heard that story before
so I won't bore you with it."
"Well, I'm not sure Boston can compete with Los Angeles but I always say you
make your own party anyway," commented Rose as she gave my forearm a little
squeeze that communicated exactly what I wanted to hear.
"Speaking of partying, I have some top shelf blow that Rashi gave me before he
left. I don't know the ground rules here in Boston but can we make a trip to the
Ladies Room and one of us play lookout while the other does some lines." I
leaned in close to Rose to inform her of this. My mouth was only an inch from
her ear. Her perfume invaded my nostrils, making me realize how much I was
turned on by this whole business.
There is nothing that makes friends faster than offering expensive drugs for
free. Rose promptly got off her barstool and whispered, "Sure, come with me." I
followed Rose to the Ladies Room. I detected a little added shake of hips as she
walked ahead of me. My instincts told me that Rose wanted my drugs and my body.
"You go first," I said to Rose as I handed her a large phial of white powder.
Kurt had informed me that it was first quality $1,000 an ounce coke. Rose
disappeared into a stall while I stood by the door. I heard the sounds of
someone inhaling expensive white powder grown and refined in the Republic of
Columbia. The DEA always tells people that cocaine impairs your judgment. I was
hoping for once that the DEA was right.
Rose came out sniffing. "That's truly excellent blow, Rashi must know the
right people," said Rose. As I passed by her, she put her hand on my arm and
stopped me.
"Do you have other vices?" asked Rose looking directly in my eyes.
"I cover the waterfront," I replied leaning in to Rose and kissing her on the
lips. We did the kind of serious tongue kissing that requires you to reapply
your lipstick.
"Tony gets his kicks watching me then joining in," said Rose when we broke the
kiss.
"He and Rashi have a lot in common," was my ever so cool reply. This was
getting too easy. I told myself to slow down and let things develop naturally.
Boom, just like that everything fell in place. When we got back to the bar.
Rose must have signaled Tony that I was their kind of woman, rich and utterly
without moral fiber. He immediately ordered us several plates of appetizers and
more drinks. I sent him off to the Men's Room with my vial of blow so he could
make the proper attitude adjustment.
I told them the phony life story I had memorized. Daddy and Mum were strict
New England Yankees. Dad was a chemist that taught at MIT. He invented and
patented something that made a lot of money. Parents sent me to Smith College
but I hated it and ran away to Hollywood to be in the movies. I did some
commercials, minor appearances in sitcoms, fell in love with a biker who
eventually got killed in a shootout with a rival gang, something about drugs,
met Rashi at a party and got married. Rashi was older, forty-six, and very rich.
I was twenty-three, a party girl, who liked older rich men. It was a Cinderella
marriage conceived in drug heaven.
The next time Rose and I went to the Ladies Room, Tony followed right along. I
followed Rose into a stall. As she took a seat, she pulled her skirt up and
pants down and let loose a stream of piss that a Jersey cow would have been
proud of. I reached down and grabbed her feet and rested them on my shoulders as
I kneeled down between her legs. Behind me, I heard Tony unzipping and begin
stroking it. He rubbed his cock on my bare shoulders as I pushed my face into
Rose's slit that was still dripping piss. I took a long delicious tongue swipe
that started at her asshole and ended at her clit. My time with Wanda had
perfected my approach to cunnilingus and Rose's hole was oozing the product of
her Bartholin glands in one minute. She climaxed in less than three minutes of
serious muff diving. After Rose climaxed, I turned my head and took Tony's cock
in my mouth just as it unloaded. I swallowed very drop then licked it clean.
Rose joined in to help with cleanup duty. We finished with some hot kisses that
smelled of girl piss and gland juice accented with the salty taste of semen.
Looking back on it, I guess it was pretty hot. When we finished, we saw there
was another lady who had come into the john behind Tony. She was the matronly
sort, a little heavy, but definitely from money based on the diamond bracelet
adorning her wrist. She was standing there quite nonchalantly with her skirt
hiked up, working her chubby clit. She had apparently happened upon our little
porno tableau and gotten excited.
I walked over to our masturbating voyeur, kissed her and slipped some fingers
in her cunt causing her to immediately climax. The suddenness of her orgasm gave
us all a good laugh. I gave her some blow that she snorted like a $2,000 a night
Hollywood hooker.
"Let's go to my place. I don't like to attract crowds," I said as the three of
us walked out of the Ladies Room.
"Great idea," said Tony. I could tell that Tony wanted to fuck me, preferably
while I was eating his wife. From our conversation, I had learned the Petrillo's
managed a venture capital firm that they founded some years ago. Business was a
little slow due to the downturn in the economy. They saw me as not only their
kind of whore but also one with a rich husband who might want to invest a few
million.
Rose and I rode up front. It's a good thing a Mercedes-Benz 600SL is easy to
drive because I had to cover the few blocks with Rose's hand working my pussy.
She kept getting her fingers wet in my cooze than letting Tony lick them dry.
These people were definitely out there. I concentrated on my driving. The last
thing I needed was to wreck a car that I had no idea who was the owner. Kurt had
assured me that the car was legitimate as far as the police were concerned.
I spent a few minutes showing them the townhouse. It was impressive as hell. I
wondered what it would be like to really live in a place like that. I think
about that a lot since I arrived at the Palace of Sin. From Beacon Hill to
Brazil's Amazonia all in a few short months. Oh well, nothing to be gained by
dwelling on the negative.
I grabbed two bottles of champagne out of the kitchen. The brand must have
been expensive because Tony was impressed. Tony put ice into a pair of silver
ice buckets and we headed to the bedroom.
"Charles Krug, Vintage 1972," said Tony looking at the label, "Your husband
has excellent taste in champagne."
I pictured Kurt asking a liquor storeowner to buy him a case of the most
expensive champagne available. If you're willing to spend the money, it's not
hard to impress people.
We got naked in the master bedroom. Tony definitely liked to watch. Rose and I
did a sixty-nine while he masturbated. After we climaxed, we attacked him with
our mouths. Two coked out whores with eager mouths sucking your cock and working
your asshole is most men's idea of a good time. Tony produced his second load of
the evening that Rose and I shared. If you've never worked a cock spewing boy
juice with another girl, it's something you should definitely try. Swapping
mouthfuls of semen and licking it off another woman's lips is high on my list.
Rose was a no holds barred type of girl whose limits could only be reached if
you measured travel in light years.
I opened the top drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a set of sex toys I'd
stowed there. I handed Rose a combination dildo-vibrator to amuse herself with
while I gave Tony the fuck I knew he wanted. We went at it in half a dozen
positions. Tony was well hung and the blow gave him both energy and staying
power.
Rose jerked herself off while I fucked her husband. When we finished, we
caught our breath partaking of more blow and champagne.
"Use this on me," said Rose surprising me by holding up a strap-on cock I'd
bought more for show than use. It was a double dildo but one made for a dominant
female to give her submissive partner an unforgettably painful fuck. It was
twelve fat inches of thick knobby latex on one end and six smooth inches on the
other. It was more of an S&M torture device than something for causing pleasure.
Rose might be tall and elegant, the picture of a wealthy businesswoman but she
was also a painslut that got off by being hurt where it counted. As it turned
out, watching Rose be hurt by another woman was on Tony's A list. I took the
smooth six-inch end and shoved it up my hole as I fastened the leather straps
around my waist. I tightened the straps to where the rubber cock wouldn't wobble
too much and eased the tip into Rose's opening. Wanda had given me the strap on
a few weeks before.
"Here, if you ever meet a whore who likes it to hurt, use this on her," said
Wanda.
"What kind of girl wants this in her box?" I asked looking over something that
looked more like a weapon than a marital aid.
"The kind that gets off when her pussy's hurting real bad," replied Wanda.
Tony approvingly rubbed his fingers over the hard rubber cockscomb that
decorated the tip of the dildo. He knew that plunging that deep inside a woman
all the way to her uterus would cause her intense pain. The kind of blinding
white penetrating agony that makes her grab her abdomen and beg God to take the
pain away.
Above the latex cock on the hard leather surface that fit over my clit was a
four-inch square of uneven and very nasty looking hard sharp, rubber spines that
you could grind against your partner's clit? The cock head was extremely uneven
with a surface modeled after the roughest kind of French tickler. You girls that
have been fucked with a French tickler designed to cause pain, know what it
feels like to have one of those gouging against your vaginal walls. It hurts
like hell and only real sadists truly love them. There were several jagged edges
and bumps along the sides. I could only imagine that a good hard fuck with that
baby and a girl walked different the next day. And maybe she developed several
leaks to go along with that walk.
"Rape her with it, I want to see the bitch's pussy fucked till it bleeds,"
whispered Tony who was behind me working a finger into my asshole, "but first
shove this in her ass so she's tight". Tony handed me a three-inch butt plug.
He'd reached that moment when seeing the wife's vagina in pain was a turn on.
Most men harbor enough resentment of their wives to get off on seeing the wicked
bitch's cunt being stretched to where it bleeds.
"Do it, Adriana, give it to me and make me scream," said Rose indicating that
she understood Tony's needs and wanted him to enjoy her pain. She was pulling on
her nipples, digging her expensively manicured nails in them and twisting them.
Her areolas were already looking red and bruised.
"Okay, bitch, get ready to meet the pain demon." Looking back on it, I now
understand that I'm the kind of person that enjoys hurting my partner during
sex. It took me quite a while to understand that about myself. I covered the
butt plug in K-Y and shoved it in her ass without missing a beat. Rose let out a
large gasp as it stretched her butt hole to a full three inches then allowed her
anal ring to clamp tightly on the base. I'd had a butt plug that size in my
butt. It causes you to concentrate on one thing and that's how your ass is
stretched to the max.
To be honest I was caught up in the moment. Perhaps, my passion to hurt Rose
was fueled by jealousy. She had everything I wanted but hadn't achieved. Rose
had money, a business she at least partially owned, and a husband that caused
other women to wet their pants. She fucked for her own pleasure and enjoyed the
kinds of luxuries I could only read about. I was just a little slut trying to
get an inch ahead in life by letting any man who wanted to slide his cock in
whatever hole of mine he preferred. Rose was the archetype of successful whore I
wanted to be.
I placed my hands on the tops of her shoulders to get the leverage I needed. I
dug my nails into her flesh for added emphasis. I understood that my success
would be measured by how loudly Rose screamed. Tony grabbed Rose's ankles and
spread her low and wide so that the strap on would cause maximum pain. He was
making a deliberate effort to insure that his wife's vagina would be aligned in
the least accommodating position to take in twelve hard inches of twisted latex.
I'd been fucked a couple of times with French ticklers which had a head like the
one I was going to use on Rose. Let's just say they get your complete and total
attention as they savage your vagina. I can remember crying like a baby while
Kurt fucked me with one at a party. He was demonstrating to the other Pagans
just how much they hurt.
Little old Adriana flexed her lean, powerful thighs she developed in spin
class and slammed it home to the point that I felt the rubber nubs grind into
Rose's clit. Her body went completely stiff with pain as soon as I enterer her
cunt. My God I bet that hurt.
Rose screamed appropriately loud and twisted from side to side in agony. I
backed off and delivered another violent down stroke twisting against her clit
to cause extra pain.
"Oh fuck, you're killing me, don't stop," screamed Rose. There were tears
streaming down her face.
"Man that's something, keep doing her," panted an excited Tony apparently
fascinated with the amount of pain his wife was experiencing.
I grasped her nipples between my thumb and first finger and attempted to lift
her by them. I managed to raise her enough to swing her side by side as she
moaned and screamed. Tony was totally turned on by what was happening. The head
of his cock replaced the two fingers he had in my ass. I was so into punishment
fucking Rose I hardly noticed when his cock sank inside my ass and I felt his
balls bounce into my pussy lips. I got into the rhythm of being butt fucked
while I screwed Rose with the strap-on. I was totally involved in watching this
beautiful woman with her elegant good looks and wealthy lifestyle moan in pain
each time I thrust inside her. On each down stroke, I made a point of pushing
the clit agitator against her little man in the boat and attempting to wear off
a couple of layers of skin. I wanted to tear the hide off her clit and lick up
the blood. You could tell from her screams that the grinding motion of my hips
was causing severe pain.
We'd already done so much fucking that the strap on fuck went on for some time
before Tony supplied my bowels with a load of warm semen. Rose eventually
climaxed by holding her legs wide apart in a split a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader
would be proud of. She moaned each time I rubbed the pad of hard rubber nodules
against her. There were big streaks of blood on the strap-on when we finished.
"God that was great," was how Rose described her experience when we were done.
There are times when you genuinely have to admire a painslut. If someone had
done that to me, I'd be out of my mind.
We did more blow and champagne. Then the two of them did what I called the
"Adriana appreciation fuck" where I got to lay still and they both worked on me.
For a well-educated MBA type businesswoman, Adriana had the sexual mores of a
Pagan girl. Tony bent my legs over my head so his wife could suck his semen out
of my asshole. It's definitely hard-core when a woman is willing to suck out and
swallow that nice brownish concoction that oozes out of your butt after a
prolonged ass fucking.
Sometime after that I passed out. A girl can only handle so much blow,
champagne, and sex, especially of a satisfying and sadistic nature.
"Wake up," whispered Kurt shaking my shoulder. I didn't want to move. I wanted
to sleep until late the next day. But I felt Kurt shake me harder and squeeze my
shoulder until I felt pain.
At that point, I remembered what it was all about and jumped up with a start.
Kurt and Serge were there. Tony and Rose were naked lying on the floor with duct
tape covering their eyes and nose. Their arms and feet were tied behind their
back with one of those plastic ties computer technicians use to keep their
cables together. Their feet were bent upward in what I recall was a sort of a
hog tie. It didn't look very comfortable but they weren't moving. At the time, I
remember wondering if Kurt had given them some kind of injection to knock them
out. The Pagans knew a lot about how to use chemicals to put someone under.
"Hurry, get dressed," said Kurt. I leaned over to kiss him. I was in the mood
to fuck some more. Frankly, my brain was not working but my clit was. He pushed
me back.
"Later, get the fuck dressed." Kurt's voice had that tone that communicated he
would beat the shit out of me if I didn't do as instructed. I got up and put my
clothes back on.
"Don't leave anything," said Kurt. He sensed how badly I was fucked up. He
helped me find my panties and bra and stuck them in my Versace purse. He put the
sex toys back in the canvas bag. Serge was busy picking up champagne bottles
and putting everything back where it belonged.
"Here, this'll get you straight," said Kurt handing me a packet of crank. I
sat down by the bed and poured the white powder on my tongue. Crank is a
dangerous body and mind-destroying drug but it is a hell of a pick me up and in
five minutes, I was aware, alert, and ready to go. I pulled out the list of
everything I brought into the townhouse and checked off that I had it packed up
and stowed in the trunk of the Mercedes.
Rose and Tony weren't moving. They were just lying there all trussed up. Kurt
took my stuff and me downstairs to the garage.
"You did good, here's your end," said Kurt placing several packs of money in
the canvas bag with my sex toys. I sped off into the night. It was 4:30 in the
morning when I managed to get the 600SL back into the townhouse garage without a
scratch. I transferred everything back to my Nissan and drove another thirty
minutes before I got home. The sun was coming up by the time I managed to crawl
into my bed for twelve hours sleep.
The next day I counted $20,000 in hundreds. I figured if I got to keep the
jewelry and it wasn't CZ, that I'd made $100,000 for a nights work.
Two weeks went by before I managed to get a new hit on the Petrillo's using a
Google search. It was a tiny little article in the Boston Globe that read as
follows (or at least this is the way I remember it):
"Prominent Boston Couple Missing" was the storyline. Family and friends of
Anthony and Rose Petrillo expressed concern at the disappearance of the founders
of one of Boston's most successful venture capitalist firms. The couple has been
missing for several weeks. They were last seen leaving a private club with an
unknown female.
Well, we all know who was the unknown female. Two weeks later, there was
another much larger article in the Globe. This was Page Two news. The DEA and
FBI had held a joint press conference to announce that the disappearance of the
Petrillo's was most likely due to foul play. It turns out that Rose and Tony
were busted several months ago while purchasing a large quantity of cocaine from
an undercover DEA agent. As it turned out, the Petrillo's were not averse to
using their venture capital firm to laundry money for people dealing drugs. In
order to avoid prosecution for the possession with intent to distribute charge,
they had agreed to work with the authorities to put away several big time drug
dealers who were their clients.
There was a quote from Rose's brother accusing the FBI and DEA of failing to
protect his sister and brother-in-law.
A Fed must have ratted out the Petrillo's. I'd heard rumors that someone on
the local DEA payroll was also getting a W-2 from the Pagans.
As far as I know, the Feds never found out what happened to Rose and Tony. I
hope Kurt and Serge didn't make their death too painful. I believe they were in
too much of a hurry to take the time for a long agonizing death. Reno once told
me that the Pagans preferred way of disposing of people was to place them in a
large drum of the kind used to store chemicals. Then they filled the barrel with
concrete, preferably while the occupant was still alive. After the concrete
hardened, they sealed the barrel. A Pagan owned a large fishing boat that worked
out of Gloucester, Massachusetts. They slip the barrels on to be boat at night.
Next day, the boat would head out to Georges Bank for fishing. Along the way, it
passed one of the deepest underwater trenches in the Atlantic. They'd kick the
barrels overboard where they would never be found. I suspect that's how Rose and
Tony ended up.
Looking back on it, I feel horrible about what happened. I did hear a rumor
months later that Kurt had been paid $1million by the Columbians for a double
hit. After that I understood why he hadn't been too concerned about the jewelry
and money he gave me. I never asked but I would have bet anything the jewelry
was stolen.
I hadn't questioned Kurt about what he was going to do with the Petrillo's. Of
course, I knew deep down that he planned to kill them. He went to too much
trouble and expense for anything else. I consoled myself with the thought they
were sexual perverts, druggies, and money launderers for drug dealers. However,
I recall an old saying from one of my college literature courses.
A guilty conscience is its own accuser.
