Smuggling Raisins

Madeline O'Hare drove to Irving Street with dread. The Cook lived above a Seafood place on Irving and spent most of his time in the kitchen. Now in his forties and heavy set, he no longer did street-crime, he did politics. Supplicants sat on a stool near the prep table and pleaded their case. It was said they all left alive, although some disappeared later. But death was not what she was afraid of. Nobody in her the restaurant industry could do business without touching Irving Street in some way, so Mrs O'Hare knew his reputation. The Cook was famously a gangster for perks. He ate free across the city, and when men fell foul of him, he had their wives. But Madeline O'Hare wasn't afraid of rape, at least not that she would be raped, she was afraid for her son Alan, who was newly in Folsom prison.

Maddie found Short Order at the door. He patted her down and her sent back to the kitchen. The Cook was there, of average height, but broad, with thick hairy fingers and a blunt, stubbly face. He pointed to a stool, the stool, she supposed, and finished peeling his onions. He leaned on the steel counter next to her, the knife still in his hand. He spoke so low it was almost a whisper, barely audible over the kitchen fans and that she had to lean in, her head even with his chest. This must be so he can't be recorded, she thought, and with her face so close to his apron she could smell him, onions and masculinity. The Cook looked down on the top of her head, her hair shiny and dark brown, almost black, famously thick and beautiful, men who watched her cooking show imagined they were looking down on her hair while she sucked. But the Cook had never heard of her taking a male lover, she had her husband and son, and was a proper woman, a celebrity without dirt, until Alan was arrested. She kept her gaze on the counter, his fist sat there with the knife in it.

"Madeline O'Hare, owner and chef at Maddie Cakes, restaurant and cooking show." He said, as though putting a name tag on her with his voice. The he said nothing.

She could hear his breathing, and the longer he paused the more uncomfortable she got. "Yes?" She whispered, still looking down at his hand, and the knife, and the stainless counter-top.

"Irving Street owns legally restricted goods in this town. I hear your son was sent up for selling from the bar in your restaurant?"

Madeline nodded.

"You have friends in the police - do you know why he got arrested?"

Madeline shook her head.

"Because we knew he was selling, and we told the NARCs to send in a buyer."

"Why? Why did you do that?"

"Because we told him to stop, we told him with thunder, nobody ignores us like that unless they have a strong motive. So when he kept on I knew he was doing it for you, Mrs O'Hare, he was selling for Mommy. Now I like you Mrs O'Hare, everyone in this town likes you. Woman want to be you. Men watch your show, I know I do. I sit on my sofa with my pants down, watching you handle fruit, or maybe peel a banana real slow, then wiggle your bottom." She blushed, now thankful she couldn't see his face, but she was getting frightened. She felt the tips of his fingers run over her buttocks, outside her skirt. She closed her eyes and whimpered, struggling not to move. He dug his digits under her ass-cheeks on the stool seat and wedged them in under her, rubbed her gently, hitting her mons perfectly. Madeline squirmed, but didn't dare protest. His thick meaty hand slid from under her bottom, fingers pressing her panties on the way out and slid up her side to her plump bosom. His fingers found her puffed nipples through her blouse and he tweaked them.

She grabbed his wrists, but couldn't dislodge his hand. "Are you... going to... me?" She couldn't say the word out loud.

He leaned in close, she could smell his body and feel his strength. She knew some women were frigid when terrified, but she became receptive, she always had. He smiled, a smile of huge white teeth under his mustache. "I want to, but I'm not. You know why?" The Cook took his hand off her so he could gesture while he talked. The hand with the knife gestured also, close to her face, then her neck, then her teats. "Once this guy Andrew Acetto? he owed us money and we couldn't find him. Fuck if he didn't elude us for weeks. Eventually I sent Vinnie over to see his wife. They lived in Noe Valley, near the J Church. Vinnie climbed in her window with a ski mask and found her asleep. He tied her splayed out on her bed legs and arms apart, and asked her where Andrew was. She didn't know, so he told her that her husband owed us, and could she tell him to call us please? Then pushed up her nightie and raped her while she screamed and cried. Then Vinnie's out the window. Next week still no money. So Vinnie goes back and picks the lock on the back door, starts up the stairs and here she comes racing down the stairs in her nightie making for the front door. So he gives a big black eye, sweeps the bric-a-brac off the coffee table and rapes her again, this time from behind in her living room. She had a really big housewife ass, and each time he stuck it to her a wave rolled through the fat of her buttocks. It was amazing to watch, I can show you if you like? - I have the movie on my phone."

She shook her head, sick to her stomach but also a little excited.

"Your loss. So they pushed the coffee table into the sofa from her trying to crawl away and him banging her rump, and she hid her face in the cushions, but from the sounds he thinks he's getting through this time, maybe she'll tell her husband to come in and talk with us. Then he busts his nut and it's awesome, his hair stood on it's end and ol' Vinnie thought he had just died and gone to heaven. So he had a beer and watched the street through the window for a while. The wife just lay there over the coffee table with her nightie up around her tits. Vinnie thought maybe she died, but when he checked she was just hiding still. Her nightie was still up on her back and there was her great big ass there still in position, and he remembered how the waves rippled her fat and he thought he needed to see that again. So he got down behind her again and fucked her once more. Still she doesn't know where Andrew is, she says. So Vinnie tells her he's gonna come back with two other guys and they'll spend the weekend with her doing an "Open House"; they'll fuck her in every room so for the rest of her life, no matter where she is in her house she'll remember them sticking it to her, and he's gonna bring sadists with big dicks and everything and she'll have to move because the house will be nothing but horror for her. Then he leaves her on the coffee table, to tired to cry. That week we found Andrew and got the money, but it turns out his wife knew where he was the whole fucking time. So Vinnie goes over to her house the next day, no mask, rings the front doorbell and when she opens the door she says "Where are the two other guys? The ones with the big dicks?"

The Cook stooped down and lifted Madeline's face by the chin. "See Mrs O'Hare, I know your tastes, because I do business with Sergeant Doll-face."

He must mean Jane, Maddie thought. Her husband Horace stopped having relations with her a years ago and she thought she would never be touched again. Then one day she was at a fund raiser in the park and Jane was there too, in her police uniform. When Maddie left, Jane followed. She pulled Madeline over on 19th Ave, still in the park. It was three AM and pitch dark, dry and cool, with a sea breeze that filtered through the trees. She cuffed Madeline for DUI, dragged her into bushes and spanked her bare bottom draped over a bench. Then she forced a vibrator between her thighs and held her in place until she came, the first time in Madeline's life. After that Madeline went to Jane's house for nights with handcuffs and ropes and vibrating devices and crops and whips. Always Jane worked on Maddie, never the other way. Then Alan got arrested and Jane stopped answering her calls. Madeline was frustrated again.

"You understand me?" He asked.

With the threats, the waving knife, the terror, and most of all the Cook's hairy, meaty hands holding her roughly in place, Madeline was very turned on. The Cook pointed at Madeline's blouse, her nipples popping through the silk, erect and conical. "If I rape you you'll just do bad things to get punished again, won't you Mrs O'Hare?"

She said nothing, praying her nipples would soften, but they didn't.

"Won't you?" He repeated.

"No."

"No?"

He dropped the knife on the table and, holding her by the back of the neck with on hand, he pushed her forwards on the counter, hoisted her skirt and slid his other hand between her thighs, his thumb planted on her anus through her panties and his fingers reached under to rub her mound.

"Not fair..." She panted on the steel counter, fogging it up while he talked and touched.

"I don't want to make an example of Alan, not like normal. And I don't want him to die without dignity in prison either. Your boy is paying the price, when we both know he was just the hand of his parents." The raspy whisper stopped and Maddie was struck by how much he sounded like Father O'Neill, helping her look her sins in the face. "You want Alan to have a second chance?" the Cook whispered. She nodded. "We can protect him in prison, nobody will fuck him in the ass. Salvator, a guy with a life sentence already, can say it was him selling coke from the bar, and Alan will be released in a few years when the legal system unwinds him."

She nodded eagerly. The Cook could do this, everyone knew he was connected to judges and Corrections.

"But you must take his place. It's only fair."

She lifted her head, groaning. He had a finger on her nub and was moving it in circles. "Prison?"

"No. Your house and business belong to Irving Street. Your house is an Irving Street safe house. If you betray us, Alan takes it in the ass and dies horribly. Got it?"

"Horace?"

"I'll take care of Horace" he said in a grumble.

She nodded again, more terrified than ever. Her plush body squirmed on the counter, his fingers driving the fabric of her panties on her mound, gently pinching, then rubbing. She pressed her bottom back on his fingers. "What else must I do, she gasped out."

"Tonight we assign you a handler. Jane will come and get you."

Her head was spinning. Between her neck and her groin the Cook had her pinned and she started to panic. She needed to free herself. "Do you need me to suck?"

The Cook giggled, said nothing and tightened his grip between her thighs.

He won't let me suck him. She thought, understanding she was there to give her power away, not take control. "Ok, if not that... if not that. Please, please, let me finish myself. Hold you hand still." She begged, pushing her body back on his fingers so his thumb pressed her panties in her anus and her pubic mound squeezed into his digits. He froze his hand in place. She gripped the counter with her hands and with the strength in her abdominal core she worked her rump up and down on his thick fingers until she shattered, screaming, as she always did when she came. Her buttocks quivered under the skirt.

The Cook, still giggling, held her until she calmed down again. "All right then." he said, "Get out," and he went back to his onions while Mrs O'Hare stumbled out, disheveled, pink and her body regulated, satisfied for the first time in months. Alan would be ok after all.