In the Mafia, It's Personal as Hell

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1) This story contains non-consensual sex. It is a work of sheer fantasy in all respects, and is intended for the purposes of erotic entertainment only. In real life it is incumbent on all of us to ensure consent in any situation, and to show respect and empathy to those around us--not just with regard to sex, but in every aspect of life.

2) This story engages with themes of impregnation and involuntary cuckolding. If these are not to your taste, please try a different story more to your liking.

3) All characters are over the age of 18.

4) I appreciate positive comments and constructive feedback. I hope you enjoy it.

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I pushed back from the table and slapped my gut. Looking around at my guests, I beamed. "Nothing like the old-style cooking, eh? Like nonna used to make in the village, with her cast-iron stove."

They all nodded agreeably and mumbled their assent. They couldn't really have done otherwise; but, the fat, happy expressions on their faces seemed genuine enough.

"Giulia," I boomed out, causing a young, raven-haired beauty halfway down the table to jump, "I hope you're not one of these modern women who want to spend all their time at the disco. Do you cook like this at home for Brunello?"

"Yes, Don Serafina," she stammered, startled at being singled out for attention. "Mamma taught me all the old recipes."

"Good girl. And tell me, are you a proper wife and God-fearing Catholic? After all, Brunello runs a number of people for me. I can't have any dramas going on at home that might distract him."

She glanced demurely down at her hands, clasped in her lap. "Of course, Don Serafina." Her tone was deliberate, cautious. She had a lot of self-control, that one.

Her husband was a different story. Landing such a charming woman seemed to have gone to Brunello's head in the months since their wedding. Puffed up his ego. He was pleased she'd earned a place in the spotlight tonight, but couldn't resist trying to snatch a piece of it for himself. "Yes, I'm a lucky man, uncle," he boasted. "Giulia is a diamond--an angel. God has showered me with blessings."

"Fortunate indeed," I said evenly. Then I rose and spread my hands to take in the entire group, smiling broadly once more. "But now, I think it's time we retire to the drawing-room for a few games of bridge. And," I added with a genial wink, "perhaps a drop of the good brandy for those who are so inclined."

With a rattle of chairs and shuffle of feet, my guests began drifting out through the double doors. As if in afterthought, I called "Oh, Brunello, stay a minute. You too, Giulia. I have a little surprise for the young couple."

Brunello's weak eyes and pasty bulldog face perked up. He was a greedy mug, always angling for more. If the capo took an interest in his wife, he calculated, then surely that spoke well for his chances at advancement. Neither of the pair noticed that my consigliere Pasquale remained in the dining room with us, shutting the doors and locking them discretely from the inside.

* * * * *

"Don, you don't need to give us anything. It's gift enough just to work for you. To be part of the family." The phony self-denial that oozed from Brunello's mouth seemed to fit, somehow, with the oily pomade that saturated his thinning black hair. He was a simple soul, who lacked the contradictions that make most people interesting. An empty vessel, always seeking to be filled.

His wife, on the other hand, was more intriguing. Deep currents ran beneath those still waters, I felt sure. A hint of wariness flashed in her dark eyes, and she held her delicate features blank, motionless, as if waiting to see what would happen. The woman must have intuited some hazard or threat, despite my best efforts to put the two of them at ease. It did her credit.

"Nephew, it is my intention to give you something," I said coolly. "But I'm still deciding what it will be."

Brunello bobbed his head in a little bow, mind racing to see how he might turn this opportunity to best advantage. "You honor us, boss. We would treasure anything you gave us. But perhaps... you might consider raising me up in the organization? I know Giulia would appreciate the income. Now that Di Silvo is off the table, I could-"

I broke in to interrupt his idle dreams. "I had in mind the overseas partnerships."

His face lit up. "Yes, I've been thinking the same thing--expansion! Maybe Baltimore..."

"One step at a time. Let's start with something simple: why have my shipments to Philadelphia come up short these last three months?"

It took several seconds for the man's brain to change gears. A frightened-deer look flitted across his face, which he tried to cover with bluster. "What are you telling me, boss? Are you saying those stronzi in the States have been skimming?! I'll murder them!"

My reply had an edge of quiet menace. "Toscano's men have been looking into it. We killed two on that side. But I am convinced the ringleader is over here."

Brunello lacked the good sense to shut up. He was sweating now, and his voice had a wheedling tone I found distasteful. "M-maybe you're right boss. Maybe one of my lieutenants is dirty. Let me get to the bot-"

I brought my fist crashing down on the table, putting an end to his drivel amidst a clatter of silverware and china. A wineglass overturned, causing the dregs of a hearty, blood-red Perricone to run down the tablecloth and drip onto the rug. "ENOUGH!!" I shouted. "You steal my money, you shit on my reputation, you sit here enjoying my hospitality--and then you have the nerve to lie to my face?!"

The idiot was shocked into silence at last, eyes wide and unblinking, skin pale and clammy. After a moment, his hand began to wander upward toward his chest, seemingly of its own accord. As if to nervously adjust his necktie, perhaps.

My voice was calm again. "I hope you're not about to go for that gun under your jacket. Because if you do, Pasquale will put a bullet through your head. I'll have no end of grief from Valentina if brains get splattered on the walls."

Brunello froze. With fluid efficiency, the consigliere relieved him of his firearm. Then I gestured for the worm to sit back down at the corner of the table, near me. Pasquale tied his hands behind his back with stiff wire. The man winced as the bindings cut into his wrists.

Throughout this exchange, Giulia had remained silent. I glanced over at her now. She was fidgeting nervously, torn between warring impulses. Part of her wanted to edge away from her husband, to disassociate herself from his crimes--but part of her wanted to edge closer, to demonstrate the fidelity and devotion that God expects from wives. In the end, she stayed put.

* * * * *

"Brunello, Brunello, what can I do with you? If I kill you, my sister will understand, but she will be very sad. In her heart, I know she will reproach me."

For the first time tonight, the cretin rose a notch in my estimation. "I understand, uncle. I betrayed you, and I gotta to pay the price... But, you don't have to tell my mother why, do you? Tell her the Salvate gang did it. And Giulia--you'll take care of her w-... w-when I'm gone?"

I took the lad's cheeks in my hands. "You know I can't do what you ask. If you fell in battle, then of course you would be remembered as a hero. Your widow would have the best of everything. But a traitor? No, his crimes can't be covered up, and he leaves only shame in his wake. My sister will suffer great pain. And Giulia will be damaged goods--penniless and friendless. I suppose she can work one my brothels, once she gets hungry enough."

I shifted my gaze to the woman. "What do you say to that, Giulia? You're a looker; you would make good money whoring. Shall I kill this Judas?"

Still too stunned by all of this to speak, she simply shook her head: no.

"So, your wife says let you live. And I would prefer not to kill you, if only for sentimental reasons. But what other options do I have? I could cut off some body parts, but what good would that do? After that, you'd be no use to me or anyone else. My sister would still be in pain, your wife would have half a husband, and I'd still need a new leader in Siracusa. Moreover, people who saw you might say I'd gone soft."

I bent even closer to him, squinting appraisingly. "And here's the thing, Brunello. When you apply your feeble mind and boundless greed to furthering my interests, you are capable of serving me well. I would prefer to keep you."

The man glimpsed a lifeline for the first time since I'd mentioned Philadelphia, and he clutched at it. "I swear, uncle--Don--on Giulia's life: I will never cross you again. I'll be the best employee you've ever had."

I straightened. "That may be so. But first, you need to learn there are costs for betrayal. You took from me--now, I'm going to take from you. Then, maybe, you get a second chance."

I turned to Giulia. "Take your clothes off."

* * * * *

Brunello's mouth opened and closed a few times. "Wha...? Leave her out of it. This is between you and me."

"There's a code, Brunello," I reproached him. "You know this. We never touch the family of our enemies. But treason is different. Even an innocent wife or child cannot escape the stain of that crime. That's how it has always been."

Giulia came from honorable stock in the south of the island, and she understood what I was saying, even if her dolt of a husband didn't. While he was still spluttering protests, she had already set quietly about the task I had given her--stepping out of her pumps, and unbuttoning the pink knit sweater that draped her bare shoulders. When the last button came free, she pulled her arms from the sleeves, and folded the garment over the back of a chair.

Beneath, she had on a strapless, gray-blue dress that was quite flattering. She reached graceful porcelain arms behind her back, but fumbled with the zipper, a tremble in her hands betraying the strain she was under. I snapped my fingers. "Pasquale! Help the signora." Moving easily, he sidled up close behind her and opened the back of the dress.

She gave no sign of appreciating the gesture, nor being offended by it either. Wordlessly, she bent to gather her skirt and then deftly pulled the gown up and over her head, laying it neatly aside as well. Her face was drawn and pale; but otherwise her manner was so businesslike, so matter-of-fact, that she might as well have been undressing at home, after the party was over.

Brunello grimaced at the sight of his wife in her undergarments. "Don't Guilia," he said plaintively. "You're not some floozy in a burlesque. Put it back on and go. Just leave. Don't worry about me."

I knew tension and anger had been simmering beneath Giulia's placid façade. At the sound of her husband's foolish words, they briefly surged into view. "Sfigato!" she hissed at him, all bile, smoky eyes ablaze. "You think I'm worried about you? Don't you see what is going on here? You stole from the Don. If I try to go now, he'll kill us both. So just shut your mouth and take your medicine!"

A fine woman, I thought. One who grasps when to obey, and when to mount a challenge.

What she had failed to mention--in deference to me, no doubt--was that she was being made to swallow that medicine too, and for a sin of which she was blameless. There was nothing fair about that, but it couldn't be helped. When you marry someone before God, you agree to take the consequences, for better and worse.

* * * * *

Looking away from her husband, taking a deep breath to quiet her roiling emotions, Giulia perched herself gracefully on one of the dining-chairs and unhooked her expensive silk hose. Her fingers remained shaky; but, with practiced skill, she removed the gauzy stockings, sliding them down first one smooth, shapely leg, and then the other. Rising again, she draped them carefully over her dress to avoid snags.

Under normal circumstances, of course, I never sleep with the wives of my associates. Bad for business. But I must admit: when considering the situation with Brunello, my mind had been quick to recall that attractive spouse of his. I'd only met her once, at their wedding the previous summer, but she had made an impression. So--I reasoned--he may have taken from me, but he possessed something that I wanted too. It would be only fitting to remind him of it.

Now, as the young lady unfastened her garter-belt, I felt my two lingering concerns about this course of action had been addressed. First--if the slug hadn't cared about his wife, or about his male honor, then the punishment wouldn't have been effective. But I could see that he did care about both of these things, very much. And second--if, in the end, I didn't feel properly compensated for his betrayal, then it would be impossible to forgive him. But the less clothes Giulia had on, the more confident I became that she would provide full satisfaction for my stolen heroin.

She wasn't perfect, of course. I'm an old-fashioned gentleman, and I like a girl with some meat on her bones--not like these go-go-dancers that are so popular nowadays. In that sense, Giulia didn't entirely fit my ideal; a tad on the skimpy side you might say. Still, now that she was reduced to her bra and panties, I could confirm she had ample hips and a sassy, round ass. More than enough for a fellow to sink his hands into.

She had a brief struggle with her bra-clasp, but when her breasts spilled forth at last, I was glad to see there was nothing meager about them either. Awkwardly, she corralled these beauties with one arm (as best she could), while tugging down her panties with the other. Eventually these, too, dropped around her ankles, and she stepped free, daintily concealing her crotch with her hand.

Giulia flashed some tantalizing glimpses as she executed these maneuvers. Still, on the whole, her efforts to maintain a shred of dignity proved irritatingly effective. She and I both knew it was a pantomime, though. Far more than her husband, she grasped that before the night was done, she was going to suffer much worse than simply being stripped naked.

Yet, she was a respectable woman, and had to at least go through the motions of preserving her modesty--for her own sake, if no one else's.

* * * * *

"Very nice," I mused. "You married a real Venus, Brunello. A real Aphrodite."

Then I turned to her again. "Don't be shy, sweetheart. Let your husband take a good look at you."

I kept my voice light, but Giulia understood it was a command, not a request. Self-consciously, she allowed her arms to drop to her sides. The louse groaned and glanced away as his wife was finally laid bare, covered by nothing but her pearl necklace.

She was everything that I'd once imagined she might be beneath that wedding dress of hers. Her chest boasted full, luscious, youthful teardrops, tipped with large round nipples of a deep rose hue. They were the kind of teats that would raise up strapping boys someday, I thought. Down below, she made the most of the flesh she had with a delectable set of curves--curves fashioned in such a way that they drew one's eye to her pussy like a magnet. A perfect triangular wedge of fur adorned her mound; yet, it was sparse enough that the line of her clamshell showed through, plain to view. That, plus the urgency with which she pressed her thighs together, made me impatient to pry her open.

"Much better," I said. "You are indeed a lucky man Brunello, as you told me yourself. In fact, I don't know how you found the time to steal from me at all, with a lady like that waiting for you at home."

"I'm sorry uncle," Brunello mumbled, face still turned away. "Truly. I'm begging you--just don't hurt Giulia. Let her cover herself and go."

I chuckled. "Did you hear that, Giulia? Your husband believes I intend to hurt you. What do you think?"

She had been suffering her humiliation stoically enough--eyes a bit glassy, perhaps, but jaw set and face expressionless. Now her gaze shifted to Brunello and she allowed a sneer to curl her lip. "Eh, this figa knows nothing. Husband, I almost wish Don Serafina did plan to hurt me. In a way, that would be a mercy. But one does not become don by being merciful."

Confused, Brunello glanced back at her with uncomprehending eyes. "W-what do you mean?"

Her composure wavered, and just for a moment her voice broke into a sob of bitterness and despair. "Idiot! Do I have to spell it out for you? Are you going to make me say it? The capo is going take my honor as payment for what you did!"

As the meaning of her words sank in, the traitor's face started to cave in on itself. "Ah, Brunello," I said with a tinge of compassion, "your wife is a lot smarter than you are. You may want to listen to her more often."

I snapped my fingers again. With an abrupt sweep of his arm, Pasquale cleared a wide space at the end of the table, directly in front of the prisoner. This sent a shower of plates and forks and glasses and napkins raining down onto the floor, and into Brunello's lap. The man recoiled as from a physical blow, but his restraints prevented him from dodging, and his natty suit was smeared with after-dinner espresso and half-eaten rum torte.

Then my consigliere grasped Giulia around her bare waist. She flinched, but didn't resist. He lifted her as he might a sack of flour--indifferent to either her comfort or dignity--and dropped her onto her back in the blank spot on the table, so that her legs dangled off the end.

This left her lying crosswise to her husband, right in front of where he sat tied to the chair. Brunello's eyes wandered bleakly over her naked body. When at last he met her gaze, his mouth turned down, lips quivering.

Feeling young again, I started unbuckling my belt.

* * * * *

People like to talk; and sometimes they say this or that capo isn't capable of performing anymore, as a man. That his equipment is shot. I wouldn't like to name any names; but if such a misfortune should ever afflict me (God forbid), I would at least have enough judgment to step aside and let Junior run things.

You see, this is a rough business. It's no place for the weak. A don needs smarts and self-control, of course, but also drive. He needs a man's instinct--the instinct to see something he wants, and just take it. So, to put the matter crudely: if you can't even fuck a woman, then how are you going to lead the family?

Fortunately, this has never been an area of concern for me. Seeing a sweet young thing take her clothes off gets me hard. Also, getting revenge against someone who has crossed me gets me hard. And on the evening in question, both of these things had been served up on the table, piping hot. Naturally, then, when I opened my fly, my organ was already swelled up big and red, and straight as an arrow. Anxious, one might say, to do what it was made to do.

Furthermore, I believe my member can be considered quite a large one, as such things go. This is only natural. It's like with a herd of wild horses--the fittest stallion, the breeding stud, that one will be more well-hung than the other males. It's the order of things. And so, likewise, God gave me a dick that fits my position in life.

Valentina has always been appreciative of this, as have the other ladies I've spent time with over the years. Yet, under the circumstances, I couldn't blame Giulia if she was less than eager to get intimate with my cock. She covered it well, but I could see her anxiety at the sight of it--how her body tensed, face froze, pupils dilated. She was a good girl, and lacked a wide experience with penises. Brunello's, it seemed, had not prepared her for an encounter with mine. Well, no matter; she'd be acquainted with it soon enough, as only a woman could be.