Juror Ch. 03

Author's note: Chapter 3 is a continuation of 1 and 2. I recommend reading them first, but if you did a while ago, or don't have time now, here's a synopsis:

Theodora, Teo for short, and Frank met as fellow jurors, but she was a mafia plant who, by fucking him silly, set him up to be the only not guilty vote for mob boss Tony Galliano. When Tony got cold feet, he put out contracts on them both to ensure their silence. They ran. Though the start of their relationship was rocky, fraught with betrayal and deception, Teo and Frank teamed up to rescue her younger sister, Ana, who the mob kidnapped to use as leverage against Teo.

Their goal is to cause so much disruption around Galliano that his superiors will want him gone. Then when Frank kills him, the contracts will die with him. Much unfavorable attention resulted from Tony's soldiers being killed in D.C. when the Jurors rescued Ana. Then Frank, who has skills - he was in a covert ops unit in the Army - killed two of Galliano's capos at a Halloween party in Chicago. Life became more uncomfortable for Tony.

Getting to Galliano himself proved difficult, but Teo suggested a possibility. Chapter 3 begins with Frank pursuing her lead.

**

As I stood to welcome her back to our table from the Ladies Room, I admired how gracefully Angela Mancuso moved. Considering her condition. Feeling quite certain that I'd soon know, I also wondered how her 8-months pregnant pussy would taste.

We met when the alarm had gone off as she left Dee's Maternity Boutique on Chicago's Magnificent Mile. The store manager had rushed out and stopped her, but I intervened, knowing that the security tape footage would show another woman had put the diamond-studded hair clip in Angela's purse. Just as I'd arranged for her to do.

As predicted, Angela was very relieved and grateful, and accepted my invitation to have coffee. The Dearborn was close and nearly deserted at 2:30, as most of the lunch crowd had dissipated. I led her to a dark table in the back, and when she sat on the curved bench facing out, I slid in beside her. Rather close.

As it happened, I found I was more in the mood for a glass of wine than coffee. Was she? Well, she shouldn't. But maybe. One couldn't hurt. We talked easily, about numerous little nothings, carefully avoiding our personal stories, and I found her eyes entrancing. And told her so.

Angela is indeed truly beautiful, a precious waif, no more than 5 feet tall, and certainly less than 100 pounds before pregnancy. Her flawless, creamy skin has just a savory hint of olive, and lustrous black hair frames a face with a high, regal forehead, prominent cheekbones, and a narrow chin. Her vivid black eyebrows and lashes draw attention to her striking green eyes. Both lips are voluptuous, but I especially liked how, when she was pondering, musing over what clever bon mot to deliver next, her teeth lightly chewed the especially full lower one.

As the waiter walked away after delivering our second glasses, I began the game I knew she liked to play. Indicating the couple four tables away, I said, "I wonder what he does. Maybe a lawyer? And her, maybe a new client? No, probably his wife. I do wonder how they happen to be here drinking wine at 3:15 in the afternoon, though."

As expected, Angela played right along, her voice teasingly coquettish, "I think they just met. I bet they're not even a couple, I mean a married couple. See how they're sitting so close."

I slid a bit closer, so that our thighs just touched, and conspiratorially whispered, "Like this? And married people don't sit close?"

I was gratified that she didn't scoot away. After a long, serious sip of wine, almost a gulp, Angela said, "Some do, I suppose, but it's more fun to imagine that they just met today."

"Ah, a tryst in the making? That is fun."

Her emerald eyes twinkled appealingly as she went on, her voice playful, "Watch him sneaking peeks. He really likes her sheer blouse, especially that deep décolletage. Or rather, what it reveals. And he's often eyed that form-fitting dress. She is very attractive, don't you think?"

"Well, yes, Angela, but if I may say so, you are far more beautiful, much more alluring."

I thought Angela's classic face was even more lovely when flushed. Her voice quavered just a trifle when she replied, "Oh, you're being silly. Look at me, big as a house, and nothing I can find to wear seems to fit. Or look good."

"You look terrific, are truly beautiful, and very sexy, Angela. Your being pregnant just makes you all the more hot."

Angela's face grew a bit more crimson, but perhaps that was because my hand, which had innocently inched onto her thigh some time before, started brushing her leg. Her voice was softer, and she leaned closer. "Well, she is very pretty and he seems awfully attentive. Hmm. I wonder what they're saying?"

"I bet they're talking about us, wondering what we're up to. Why we're sitting so close and whispering. We do make a very attractive couple, don't you think?"

Angela laughed. It was an easy, natural laugh. I found I thoroughly enjoyed amusing her, making her smile. Seducing her. After another large sip of Pinot Grigio, which almost drained her glass, her voice was lower, more dulcet, but tinged with excitement when she said, "Perhaps you're right and they are talking about us, just as we're talking about them. How delightful! They probably are thinking us a couple, too. Such fun! Considering my condition, though, we'd have to be a married couple."

I savored the nervous eroticism suffusing the air, knowing that Angela felt it, too. Sometimes just telling the truth is perfect. "Maybe not. Maybe we just randomly met at some boutique, hit it off, and decided to have a drink." I timed my next utterance with a slightly more intense squeeze of her thigh. "And see what develops."

Angela's fingers brushed the back of my hand as she reached for her wine glass, but it probably was accidental. I noted her breathing was more rapid, shallower, and supposed her heart was beating harder. Like mine. "Oh John," it was the name I'd given her, "You are naughty, thinking such thoughts."

My hand kept tickling her thigh, edging ever upwards as I said, "Wait! I've got it! You've been right all along. They're not a couple. They just met today, hardly an hour ago, discovered their mutual attraction, and now they're talking about all the ways they're going fuck each other."

When Angela didn't respond beyond a small startled gasp, I moved my hand still higher on her thigh, leaned even closer, close enough that I knew she'd feel my breath tickle her ear, and whispered, "I wonder if he's going to enjoy eating her pussy as much as I'm going to love eating yours."

Angela stiffened and sat bolt upright. She looked at me with wide, wild eyes. "I don't believe you said that! It's completely improper, and I, I, I..." She gulped a big breath, drained her glass and found her voice, "I want you to leave. Now." Her hand trapped mine on her thigh, holding it fast.

But she didn't remove it.

"That's not what you want, Angela." As she stared at me, still in stunned disbelief, I wormed my hand free, took hers in mine, and put it on my erection.

Her sharp gasp was simultaneous with her hand freezing.

But she didn't pull it away.

Angela's uncertain tone contradicted her words, "Of course I want you to leave. Whatever could have made you think anything else?"

I curled her fingers around my cock, and naturally caught my breath as my squeeze sent a frisson coursing throughout my body. I squeezed again. I knew she could feel my penis twitch, pulse eagerly against her. After the third squeeze I whispered, "When you went to the ladies room 10 minutes ago you freshened your perfume and lipstick, teased your hair, and undid another button of your blouse. It's very sexy, Angela, and it totally worked. But you really didn't need to. I was hooked, totally into you already. I've been like this," my fingers contracted, pinching hers on the evidence, "for half an hour."

Her eyes stayed wide, maybe in amazement, maybe with wariness when she said, "This is very flattering, John, but I'm a married woman. I can't do this."

Despite her objection, Angela's fingers continued my rhythm of relaxing and gently tightening, even after I removed my hand and it returned to her thigh. She shuddered slightly when it alit. I looked deeply into her eyes and again simply told the truth. "Of course you can, Angela. You can do whatever you want."

Her hand froze, but remained on my cock. Mine eased closer to the juncture of her hips. Warmth, real heat was emanating from her. She eventually quit biting her lower lip and said, "No, I just can't. It would be wrong. I want you to leave."

"No, no you don't. You want me to do what I said, to eat your pussy. If you don't want that, why are you so wet, Angela?" The flickering of her eyelids and her soft moan as she unconsciously clamped her thighs together told us both I was right.

I dropped a 50 on the table as I stood. She took my offered hand and I helped her up.

**

Angela Mancuso's silky lips nibbling up and down my cock felt fantastic, and, even though it had already deposited two loads in her pussy and one in her mouth, her skillful tongue, and the avid, arousing sounds she made as she slurped, began to have their way with me.

The taxi had dropped us at the corner behind her father's building. I'd kept my eyes forward during the ride, impassive in case the driver glanced back. Angela's eyes also looked ahead, but they did glaze over several times when my fingers teased into the crease between her inner thighs.

She pointed out the security camera and I followed her lead, hugging the side of the building to evade it. I made a show of turning away when she typed in the number code which opened the outside door to Tony Galliano's secret escape elevator, but my phone recorded the series of beeps.

Yes, Tony Galliano's secret elevator. The one from his exclusive Hyde Park South condo taking up the entire top two floors. Angela Mancuso, née Galliano, was Tony's daughter. Theodora had run into her months earlier, when Teo had come to Chicago to assume the identity of Katrina Reese, potential juror in Tony's trial. As daughters of prominent mafiosi they'd met often and decided to have lunch to catch up.

After a couple glasses of wine, which Angela swore had her pediatrician's blessing, she had vented. First about her father, who was forever embittered that the complications from Angela's birth made his wife incapable of having more children. And that his own Catholic upbringing made divorce impossible. In addition to the years of psychological and physical abuse he heaped on Angela for not being the son he wanted, he had forced her to marry Federico "Manny" Mancuso, his favorite capo.

Manny flushed Angela's birth control pills on their wedding night and knocked her up soon after. He went into a rage when the ultrasound revealed she would deliver a useless daughter, and vowed to keep putting babies in Angela until he had a baseball team of sons. While Manny philandered incessantly, having sex with many women, he cut off Angela completely after she conceived. She became virtually a prisoner in their home, her celibacy and captivity enforced by Manny's domineering, controlling mother.

After she had purged her pent-up anger at her father and husband, Angela had felt better and began to play a game, making up fanciful life scenarios for various other diners in the restaurant. Sympathetic, having fun and liking the edginess of her friend, Teo played along. One guy in particular appealed to Angela, and she imagined that he was one of those fellows who just happen to love fucking pregnant women.

Giving her fantasy free rein, Angela predicted that, after they finished eating and Teo left, he was going to walk over, sit down, tell her how unbelievably beautiful she was, how irresistibly sexy, and then describe in minute detail how he was going to make love to her.

Teo had gone along, titillated and intrigued, but had foreseen the obvious problem. Where could such an assignation take place? It could be fatally dangerous to go somewhere unknown with a man she'd just met, and Angela certainly couldn't take him home. Mother-in-law-dearest ruled that roost, and, as The Outfit had eyes all over Chicago, a hotel would be very risky. When Angela suggested she might sneak him into the guest room at her dad's condo while he was out, Teo argued that the surveillance cameras and doormen would see her entering with an unknown man.

Angela had leaned close and whispered, sotto voce, that her father had a secret passageway, an elevator that went directly from his 9th floor study to street level, opening in a nook at the back of the building. Angela knew the key codes and could get both in and out of daddy's place unseen.

The morning after her parents and husband had left for a meeting in Vegas, I emailed Angela the 40% off coupon for the one-day-only sale at Dee's Maternity Boutique. I arranged for one of H's operatives to drop the diamond-studded hair clip in Angela's purse when she wasn't looking, and, when it set off the alarm as Angela exited, I saved her. Told the manager that she had to check her security camera footage, knowing it would show some other woman doing the deed.

Angela was very grateful, accepted my invitation for coffee, and now here I was, doing my best to embody every aspect of her fantasy. And surreptitiously recording the series of beeps while Angela entered the code to her father's secret elevator.

I did the same when she typed the different code at the door to Galliano's 9th floor study. She'd pointed out that there were no cameras in the elevator or landing areas, just before she kissed me. It was a hungry kiss and grew more ravenous as we rode to the top. My hands discovered just how firm and shapely her ass was, while hers went back to squeezing, ensuring I'd stay hard. Which was hardly necessary.

She took my hand and led me to her bedroom after I declined the offer of another glass of wine. I could tell she was nervous - it's one thing to have an erotic fantasy, another to have it suddenly come to life - and I kept my hands on her, touching exciting places. Once we had shed our clothes and she could see the genuine desire in my eyes, and elsewhere, she relaxed.

Well, sort of. It was hard for her to really relax with me eating her pussy. As promised. I'm very good, have taken to heart coaching whenever offered, and always loved doing it. As I predicted at the restaurant, Angela was indeed very wet, and my slurping no doubt communicated my delight.

I was pretty cruel, though. I kept my lips and tongue on everything except her clitoris for the first, oh, maybe ten minutes - who times such things? - by which time she was thrashing about, chasing my tongue with her sex, trying to get it on her clit.

But I denied her.

Until she begged.

Her third orgasm seemed the biggest and best, and after it she pulled my head up, and snuggled against me as we resumed serious kissing. She had a way with her fingers, and seemed to totally enjoy how she could make my cock twitch and me wince whenever she wanted. Which was often.

When it came time for fucking, Angela seemed surprised but very pleased when I arranged her on her side and put a pillow between her legs, the position my research had indicated was easiest in the last trimester. When I lay down behind her, she eagerly obeyed my directive to grab my cock and guide it into her. I didn't really think she'd get cold feet at this point, but just being eaten by a guy might not be quite as adulterous as actually putting his penis inside you.

I hoped Angela's complicity would be my insurance against her telling anyone. After having some wine, she'd spoken too freely with Teo, and I didn't want her to confess to a tryst with some mystery man at her dad's place. Just before he was killed. I needed Angela to be all in. Once she'd put me all in, so was she.

Angela wanted to try cowgirl for round two and I helped her mount up. Her frustration was evident when her swollen stomach kept her from moving easily, so I ended up doing most of the work, supporting her belly, fondling her breasts and thrusting up into her from below. She coddled my cheeks and kissed me sweetly as we recovered.

We took a break for some wine and caviar - her father had excellent taste in both - and it seemed to revive us.

She said she was just going to use her mouth to get me up for another go, but she didn't stop, even when I told her that what she was doing was just too amazing. Angela had a very satisfied look on her face when she kissed me after swallowing all I had to give, and had an even more contented mien after I'd performed another evidently passable job of cunnilingus.

Angela wondered aloud if caviar had the same aphrodisiacal powers as oysters as I hungrily dispatched a second jar. She giggled and allowed that she hoped so. She had plans... It was totally incongruous how she went from giggling and laughing one moment to awful, soulful weeping the next.

As I held and stroked her wracking body, mystified and at a loss for what to say, between sobs Angela began to talk. This had been such a wonderful, perfect day, perhaps her best ever. And she would never, ever have anything like it again.

After the next torrent of tears abated she went on. It was so amazing, so wonderful to feel treasured, desired, to have fabulous sex with a considerate, attentive lover. She was doomed, forced by her son-of-a-bitch father to a life of having baby after baby with a man she could hardly stand, who didn't love her, didn't care for her at all. Considered her ugly and unattractive. Especially when pregnant.

As she confessed more and more of her most intimate thoughts, her despair at her life situation, I felt more and more contemptible for using her. To get to her father. Even though I had no choice - if he didn't die, Teo and I would - I was going to thrust this lovely, kind, and beautiful young woman's life into chaos. I could not have helped but begin to like her at the restaurant, then like her very much as I came to appreciate her depth, inner beauty, and loving nature. Not to mention her very hot sexual allure and expertise.

Evidently also very intuitive, Angela read my chagrin, and the next thing I knew she was apologizing for burdening me with her troubles when I no doubt had plenty of my own. Then she was actually comforting me, holding me, stroking me everywhere, making me feel better.

Much better.

Once her hands began the job, she became even more inventive with her tongue, and, like a good soldier, my penis stood up and saluted. We began a replay of our first sex, me behind her, one arm around her shoulder with my hand on her breast, the other embedded in her pussy, fingers caressing her clit, but after two solid orgasms - my goodness, this woman could come! - she changed things up. I will always remember the look in her eyes as she whispered that she wanted to give me something. Something special.

The hand cream worked well enough, lubricating my middle finger as I worked it in and out of her ass. Angela purred nicely when I eased in two, and and even more lasciviously when I pushed in three. Loosening her up. She'd told me she wanted to give me her virgin ass as our souvenir of this day. Who was I to argue? But there is a protocol for how it should be done with someone about whom you care. Thus fingers first.

Once three fingers slipped in easily, her sphincter had stretched enough. Lying on her side, she turned and looked back at me as I lay behind her and guided my cock to her entrance. Angela's eyes conveyed the significance of her gift as she winced when the head popped into her. "Go ahead," she whispered after I'd given her anus a few seconds to get used to having a hard penis inside it.