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A couple of years later as I walked into my first college class, I remembered the day I threw my framed high school diploma through my bedroom window. I hated my father.
I hate my father, I hate him! I looked around the room. A prison. I’m in a damned prison!
I kicked over the big teddy bear and threw myself on the bed, screaming, kicking my feet, and pounding the pillow. The chimes in the clock-tower at Warbonal College sounded, and I started to cry. All my friends were going there. I would not.
We were so happy after high school graduation. We went to parties, rode around town, got drunk–and I had sex for the first time. But that whole celebration was about getting out of the house, getting out on our own, living in the dorms. I wanted to be my own person!
I gnashed my teeth. I’ll pass by the damned college every day delivering Dad’s damned pizzas! I started to cry again. And I’ll see all my friends. It’s not fair. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! I slugged the pillow again.
I have to see Jack. Giacomo will know what to do. I ran out of the house, down the back steps. Life in the rooms on top of a pizzeria. I hate it! My car waited in the lot, and at that moment I even hated it–an Alfa-Romeo. Even my car is from Italy!
He hugged me as I sobbed.
“Our goddamn father won’t let me go to college.”
“Pietosa Selena. Things will be okay.” He smoothed my hair in long strokes all the way from the back of my head to my butt. “There, there, Selena.” He smiled. “You have such long, beautiful hair. Things always work out for girls with shiny, black hair.”
Stupid statement. He would always say something to make me feel better. “Oh, be serious, Jack! He wants me to get a job!” Jack had the same curly black hair, just shorter–and in that sexy widow’s peak.
Jack–the nickname he grew up with–hugged me closer. I’d burst into his apartment, catching him washing dishes at his sink in just a pair of basketball shorts. We stood hugging for a while as I calmed down and stopped crying.
His chest pressed against my breasts. Without a bra, just a thin t-shirt, my nipples tingled from rubbing against the coarse hair of his chest. It felt sorta good.
“So why don’t you just get a job, Selena?”
“No, no, no! I don’t want to! I won’t!” I didn’t loosen the hug–and my nipples got even harder.
“It’s just–it’s just obeying Dad’s will. Again! Everything has to be his way. He already has me out delivering his stupid pizzas nearly every night!”
I rubbed back and forth a little more. Mmm, my nipples are really sticking out now, bobbling back and forth over his–hey, his nipples are harder, too.
“But he bought you a car, cara mia.”
“He bought me the car so I could deliver pizzas!” Damn, my face is hot from this titty-play. He has to know what’s going on. But his expression didn’t change.
“Don’t be upset, bella Selena. Everything will work out.” At that moment I felt his chest moving back and forth! He is doing this, too! My nipples were so sensitive, I was almost on tiptoes to reach his.
His dark brown eyes hid under half-lowered eyelids. What a beautiful mouth he has. Like two luscious slices of melon.
Not saying anything more, we stood there, his hairy chest and my excited titties separated by only a thin layer of cotton, wallowing against each other. God, where is this going?
His beautiful lips curved in a smirk. I cleared my throat. “Jack, two years ago, Dad let you sign up for college, and you got your own apartment.” But I hugged him closer, rubbing even harder. Damn, I’m getting hot. “You’ve always been my closest friend. Help me get Dad to change his mind.”
Soft voice: “You have a beautiful mouth, Selena.” His finger moved over my lips, tracing the shape. Those dark, Mediterranean eyes bored into mine, and–My god, can Jack be hornier than I am?–the tip of his tongue slid out to touch my lip very lightly, like a feather. Ohmigod, he’s about to kiss me!
He licked my upper lip, then the lower. My heart pounded. When his tongue slid between my lips, I opened my mouth.
But it wasn’t a kiss. I tingled in anticipation. Will he? When his tongue withdrew, mine followed it out. I was horny, too.
I knew why. Two weeks earlier in Danny Creighton’s car, I let him past the usual titty-feel, and he started fingering my pussy . Wow, what a thrill!–way different when a man does it. He started a fire in me I couldn’t control. I couldn’t stop him–I even stretched out in the back seat for him. It hurt when he broke my cherry, but I was so hot for him, later I got a climax bigger than I could do with my finger.
So all of a sudden I wanted to learn what Jack could do besides help me scheme about Dad. And Jack’s much bigger than Danny Creighton.
But Jack pulled back and casino şirketleri winked, not allowing me to kiss him.
He teased me! Like he always did. His lips returned, but again he touched me only with his tongue. But that time he slipped his tongue over my teeth. When it withdrew again, my teeth tugged on his lower lip, and by then, too aroused to deny myself any longer, “Kiss me!”
His lips came down to mine, the same beautiful lips that smiled for me whenever I was sad, the mouth that spoke words of comfort in Italian, words in English to brighten my day. Dear Jack. We’d always been friends. Never fought like brother and sister. He was always the big, rugged one; I was always the playful kitten.
He smelled of Old Spice. I hoped the jasmine I’d worn the night before might still linger. Our lips touched, and I held my breath at the soft brush of his mouth against mine. I closed my eyes, in another world. Just too sweet.
But there was another element. I jiggled my tits more actively against his chest, and his tongue dove into my mouth in a real French kiss. I gasped but wrestled back with my tongue, fighting the heat rushing through me, knowing I blushed. Damn! Breathing faster. I can’t believe it. I’m hot for Jack. By that point I wanted to go past kissing.
I dropped my hands to grip his butt. Such a cute one. Hard buns like footballs under the slick nylon. Wickedly I felt around to pull at the straps of his jock–Ohmigod, he’s not wearing one! No underwear! I pushed my hips up closer to his. He’s hard!
While the kiss continued, the tongue-fight even wilder, Jack pulled up my t-shirt, baring my tits, and he kneaded one breast, then the other, rolling each nipple between thumb and finger. Too much! My head rolled back from the kiss, my eyes shut in ecstasy.
I squealed in pleasure at the sudden touch of his lips to my nipples. My knees grew weak when he started suckling, flicking my aching nipples with his tongue. He even dragged his teeth over them.
The next move was mine. I reached down and cupped his balls through his shorts. It worked: His fingers dove inside my cut-offs. Whoa, what a finger! He worked at my clit, lingering over the engorged hood, pressing down on it, making little circles, and Yes!
By then panting, hot, close to the cataracts of an orgasm, I hovered, waiting for him. He worked me at both ends. His devilish lips sawed over my nipple with the same buzz as his finger over my clit, and he drove me into churning waves of elation, going crazy. Couldn’t help myself: “Oh, yes, Jack. Yes!”
Still hugging each other, we shuffled into his little bedroom. My t-shirt lay on the floor behind us, and I pulled down my cut-offs as I lay back on his bed. He smiled. “Nice rack. What bra size are you now, little sister?”
He grinned. “Gianetti girls may be little, but they have colossal boobs.”
“Hey, I’m not little. Grew an inch last year.”
“So you’re now, what, five-foot-two?” About then he dropped the basketball shorts. I know my jaw dropped. The biggest dick I’d ever seen.
“And the Gianetti boys have big penises.”
Naked, he lay beside me on the bed and cupped one of my breasts. In a voice soft and low, “It’s called a cock, baby.” He nuzzled my ear as he tweaked my nipple. “You like this?”–I moaned–“They’re so hard, you must be wet. Let’s see.”
His hand dropped to my pussy again, and when a finger found my slit, it sank in and separated the lips. With another moan, I turned to kiss him.
When we broke that kiss, my voice was husky. “Giacomo. I want you to make love to me.” I can’t believe I said that! But such arousal burned in me, if he didn’t take me further than a fingering, I would go crazy.
His finger found my hardened clit, wet and thrusting out, and when he touched it, I gasped.
“You’re really wet, cara mia.” In my ear he gave a slow, deep chuckle. “I hear you’ve been a naughty girl.”
That damned blabbermouth Danny Creighton!
I looked over at him with my most seductive smile. “You’re the one with his finger in my pussy.” I moaned. “Oh, caro, you make me hot as a slut!”
Again the deep, erotic male chuckle. “You’re a cute little slut, Selena.” I would never allow any boy to say such vile things to me, but with Jack, suddenly I wanted it.
“You’re one hot piece, little sister. My hand on your cunt is fucking soaked.” He rubbed my clit, and I groaned again. I always hated the word “cunt,” but hearing it from him had me panting.
Breathing so hard, I could hardly talk: “All–for you–big brother. What–you gonna do–with it?” He teased my clit more, and I writhed in lust. In desperation I hissed, “Hurry.”
He thrust two fingers into my quim. “Oh, yes.” So good. The palm of his hand rubbed the little hood as his fingers burrowed deep. “Oh, Jack–you–so casino firmaları good.”
He brought his mouth close to my ear and in words like soft, black velvet: “You’re so wet, little sister, I know what you want.” He paused. “Do you know what you want, baby?”
“Want you–inside me.” His fingers were driving me abso-fucking-lutely nuts. “Hurry.”
“Ask me for it, Selena. I want you to beg me.” Oh, god. He pulled my hair back with one hand, and his mouth found mine. Our tongues instantly wrestled and writhed, and I couldn’t stop moaning.
When he finally pulled away, “Yes, Jack, fuck me, screw me, ream me out! Do it now. Ball me!” I’d never said any of those words in my life, but suddenly I had to.
He crawled down between my legs, but unlike Danny Creighton, who simply pushed them aside, Jack lifted my legs up at the knees. I heard a strange sound, like the unscrewing of a jar lid, and suddenly his fingers wiped something wet and slimy over my cuim. Lube. Jack is such a stud he keeps sex-lube by his bed?
Yes. The huge family scepter pushed between my wet, aching labia. He murmured: “I heard you did this once, but I don’t think you’re quite used to it yet. We’ll take it a little slower.”
“Jack–amore mio–doesn’t hurt–feels good–oh god–give more.” I pulled him down and kissed him, and as I did, I made him slide in a couple more inches.
“You’re beautiful, you know that, Selena?” I wriggled–working myself down onto a few more inches of his meat.
The bastard teased me, just like a big brother, driving me crazy. “C’mon, bro–doesn’t hurt–sock–to me–Plow me!”
He did. Sank in the rest of the way in one powerful thrust. I almost screamed in rhapsody, but I choked it back so he wouldn’t think I was in pain. I’d never felt so full. Or so aroused. Or so wonderful.
“C’mon, stud–fuck me–harder.”
He started long, hard, vitalizing strokes, something new–Danny Creighton gave me short jerks until he finally came about a minute later. Jack was masterful. Kind and considerate. He brought me slowly up to a powerful orgasm, and when I stiffened below him, he brought his mouth to my ear–“Are you going to cum for me, baby sister? Is my little slut going to juice my cock?”
His evil words drove me deeper into depravity. Passion surged through me like the thundering roar from the cathedral organ.
“Look at your titties bounce, Selena!”
“God, your cunt is tight!”
I couldn’t help it, I loved hearing him talk like that. The dirty words made my climax even stronger. I arched my back, electrocuted, shuddering out of control. I writhed under him, my fuckhole gushing my pleasure, snatching at him.
“And your muff likes me, baby, feel those juices!” He chuckled in my ear. “Now your pussy’s even wetter than before.”
“Oh, god–Jack–drive me–crazy.”
He grabbed at my tits. “Your hooters are gorgeous, baby.”
Then he really started to hammer me, gripping both boobs and squeezing them hard. Outrageous! Nobody’d ever done that to me before, but his body hit my clit with every powerful stroke, and the pain from my tits combined with the frenzy in my clit and–Ohmigod.–he drove me over the edge again. My head lolled back and forth in bliss, and my pussy spasmed, gripping him back.
Every orgasm I’ve had is stronger than the last. I alternated between moans and screams. The euphoria never stopped. Like from climax to climax.
Finally I looked up. Jack humped rapidly, his expression like an animal. He sank in deep, trembling, and–Oh. My. God.–in a wild, uncontrollable, delirious state, waves of orgasm rocked me to the core in a third orgasm when I realized he was cumming deep inside me.
Oh, yes! Breeding me! Filling me with sperm. I couldn’t stop cumming along with him–and begging for it, “Ohh, yeah, Jack–so good–in me–hot–so good.” Never so wonderful in my whole life. The intoxication went on and on on.
Jack collapsed down on me, and the sweaty, dirty, slimy feel of his chest and belly on me turned me on even more. Wonderful. I writhed under him. I wanted every inch of my body to rub against every inch of his.
I licked the sweat off his face, off his chin, off his neck. I brought my mouth over his Adam’s apple and sucked it, tickling it with my tongue, and when he moaned, I could feel it.
God, I am devoted to fucking. The pleasure never ends.
Finally it did, though, but it left me almost floating in air with the most relaxed, peaceful, satisfied feeling ever. I loved the weight of his body on me, I loved to be smeared with his sweat. His pole still in me, I prayed for it to stay there forever. I whispered in his ear. “Thank you, Jack. I loved this.”
Finally he pulled out that big, wonderful organ in a long slither like sliding güvenilir casino down a banister. And finally it popped out. When he got up, I moved my legs together, but a stream of cum dripped onto the sheet. Damn, am I glad I took Carol’s advice. I’d been taking The Pill for a couple of years–even as a virgin. Made me hip.
He looked down. “Seriously. Why don’t you get a job?”
“Get a job? What, as a hooker? What are you talking about?”
“Why don’t you get a job like Dad wants you to. With your own money, maybe you could get your own apartment.”
“Oh, that–I forgot all about that. You fucked all that out of me.” I reached over and gripped his slimy rod, and it lurched in my hand. “Down, boy. You’ve herded this cow back into the corral.
“It’s like this, Jack. I just can’t stand the idea of giving in to Dad. I won’t do it! I won’t, I won’t, I won’t!” Then I got a terrible idea.
“I know what I’m going to do. I’ll get Dad to hire me.”
“What? You’re already hired.”
“No, I mean as one of the waitresses.”
His smile faded. “You–wouldn’t like that. It’s hard work.”
“Well, all I really want to do is throw it back in Dad’s face when he finds out he hired the very girl he said was lazy and couldn’t get a ‘real job’.”
Jack pinched my nipple and made me wince. “Ragazza stupida. You’re going to walk in there and tell him to hire you? He’ll throw you out–or ground you for a week.”
“No, listen. Coming up is the big party for Carnevale. And since Dad’s from la bella Venezia, everybody comes in costumes and masks. I’ll send him a super résumé, he’ll tell me to come in for an interview, and I’ll arrange to meet him at the ball–wearing a mask. Then when he hires me, I’ll throw off the mask and show him he hired a lazy girl who couldn’t get a real job.”
Jack wasn’t smiling. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Hey, if he gets mad, I can’t feel any worse than I do now. And besides, I want to do something to get back at him.”
We lay together for a long while, kissing and caressing. I actually dozed off. When I woke up, Jack was gone. I looked at my watch. He’d gone to class.
Back at home, I typed up a perfect application, everything Dad could possibly want–“have assisted cooks–can make lasagna, zuppa di pesce, spaghetti carpaccio, and zuppa Toscana as well as pizza napolitana, pizza romana, pizza venezia, and pizza siciliana.” I told him I was born in Italy–I included some sentences in Italian–but had an American passport and was in Boston to go to college–I didn’t say which one.
“Have waited tables in Rome, Genova, and San Remo.” I went on and on, stopping just short of saying I was the CEO of FIAT.
Sure enough. Dad called me. He didn’t know my cell phone number and didn’t realize he called his own daughter. “Hello, signorina, I just read you sommario. Is excellent. You come in maybe for interview?”
“Oh, si, signore. Ora sona a Genova.–but I will be in America on February 16th.” The gimmick: I told him I was in Genoa on vacation–the reason I couldn’t meet him until the day of the Carnevale party at the restaurant.
“Eccellente. You come to Trattoria Due Fratelli. We talk then.”
I grinned, a grim smile. Perfect. Get ready for the fuck-over, Dad.
Trattoria Due Fratelli, once a two-story warehouse, had a huge dining room and party rooms, so it became a Venetian palace on the night of the Gran Ballo de Carnevale. Dancers swirled and pirouetted in rooms cleared of tables and chairs, to music from a band my father brought in all the way from New York City. Exotic, surrealistic costumes and masks swept everybody away to Venice. Venetia in the exciting days of Carnevale.
Twinkling lights covered the ceiling in graceful arches of color. The couples cavorting to the music were a Van Gogh-DaVinci-Dali dreamscape of colors, shapes, fantastic creatures, and beauty. Lithe women flashed skin in plunging necklines, bared backs, and long, long legs. Men wore outrageous costumes–kings, conquerors, moguls, and sultans.
I spotted my father the moment I walked in. Of course: il re dei demoni–king of demons. Wearing only a pair of Speedo trunks painted red. The rest of his muscular body painted crimson. Horns on his head.
Julius Caesar would’ve been proud of him–tall Roman soldier, broad shoulders, big arms. Very Italian face–Roman nose, thinning jet-black hair, olive skin. Also a pot belly. And hairy. A real man, nothing polished. I hate him, the big, fat brute.
I danced with a few men. Some of them I knew. And none of them recognized me. “What’s your name, beautiful princess-girl?”
“Principessa Angelica Celestina.” I wore an outrageous, exaggerated princess costume in cloudy white silk with a high, Elizabethan collar. Also a huge white headdress decorated with birds, fruit, and flowers–my hair completely hidden–and the ornate mask over my eyes made me a stranger in my own house.
They kept asking me for my telephone number. Kept writing theirs down for me.
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