His Prisoner

by Jesse Jordan

  “Good. I'll see you this afternoon then,” I promise her before closing and locking her door, this time adding a small brass lock that I found in my kitchen. I leave the villa, and instead of turning right at the main road I turn left, heading towards Termini Imerese. In some ways the nearby port town is better than Caccamo. First off, I don't have to worry about shopping in Termini, it's a town that has embraced modernization to a degree that Caccamo hasn't. There's an actual shopping mall, there's regular supermarkets, there's all the comforts that mainland Europeans or North American tourists would come to want on vacation. It's the shopping mall I stop at first, purchasing plain if functional underwear for Jessica along with some basic toiletries. Next I swing by the supermarket, spending an hour going up and down the aisles, getting enough food for myself as well as a beautiful young woman who is going to be pushed beyond any limits she's ever imagined over the next few weeks.

  The groceries and other things take up all of my storage box as well as some of the back seat of my crew cab. Termini is not as firmly a Network town as Caccamo even if they are close together and leaving stuff loose in the back is not a good idea. I head out of town, following the coast for a little bit to the west before I come to my morning's destination. The seaside villa makes mine look tiny, a sprawling house that would qualify as a mansion in any country, and a full on estate in some. The sand colored main building dominates a bluff that looks over the Mediterranean, the Italian mainland hazy in the distance.

  There's no visible guards, The Network doesn't work that way, but I know from experience that each of the workers is a full fledged killer, there's a reason Rachmaninoff's staff aren't the best cleaners and cooks on the island.

  “Comrade Camponini, welcome, welcome,” Rachmaninoff greets me when I'm escorted through the house to his rear terrace where he's sipping his morning coffee and enjoying the sun. Calling me Comrade is a little running joke between us. A lifetime ago, back when he was my age, Nikolai Rachmaninoff was a member of the Soviet Communist party. Now, he's got connections within the new Russian regime that are just as powerful. Still, he likes to play around with the old forms of speaking, especially in English.

  “It's a pleasure to be here this morning sir,” I respond respectfully, as I always do. Within The Network I might have power, but I'm no capo, while Rachmaninoff most certainly is. He's perhaps the most powerful of The Network's capos too, a man I don't want to piss off. He's powerful enough though that he can be gracious to the extreme as well, although he has a hair trigger. Also, Rachmaninoff likes to show off his education, so I have to speak more formally than I normally would. “Thank you for having me over so quickly.”

  “Please, Rodrigo, I've never gotten used to being called sir in English,” Rachmaninoff says, offering me a seat, and I sit. “Nikolai, if you must. And none of that pirate nickname shit that The Sultan and Scoglitti insist upon. We are men, not boys playing games.”

  Despite the fact that The Network cooperates on most areas, like any group, there is internal politics. So, in a mutual dislike of The Sultan, Nikolai and I are the same. Still, I don't trust the Russian, he's far too practical to let his personal distaste for The Sultan ruin a profitable business relationship. I must watch what I say, especially as Nikolai said something about my capo.

  “I can understand their insistence upon security though, Nikolai. Nobody wants to be arrested, or under observation from Interpol or other law enforcement.”

  Nikolai laughs, leaning back as he strokes the trim beard that, in addition to his name, gave him his nickname. “That is because the rest of The Network exists in countries that don't understand the nature of power. But that's a discussion for another time, or more accurately one that I and Scoglitti have had for years now.”

  “Yes, of course Nikolai. I believe there is a matter of money I need to talk about with you.”

  Nikolai waves it off, and I'm slightly surprised. “In a few minutes, Rodrigo. The timing of your... purchase yesterday was rather surprising, but it was not the only reason I asked you here rather than just meeting you at your villa or just handling our business over the phone. Have you been keeping up with the news in your homeland?”

  “Do you mean the States, or all of North America?”

  Nikolai shrugs. “They are interconnected to a degree the Canadians and Mexicans don't want to admit. But recent events in your country have made the opportunities in North America much broader than they were before. I have spoken with your capo, and he thinks that perhaps it is time to look at expanding The Network more aggressively in North America. In fact... that land might need their own capo, or at least a lieutenant who would be very independent and be able to act on his own most of the time.”

  I lift an eyebrow, being patient. It's Rachmaninoff's style, to tease along information and reveal himself only when his audience is giving them their full attention. “Such a person would have to be extremely trustworthy. The United States is a large place, with a lot of opportunities and a lot of dangers.”

  “True. And of course, having someone with a legitimate American citizenship would also be helpful,” Nikolai says. “Speaking of which, is your passport up to date?”

  “Which one?” I ask with a chuckle. “Italian, Spanish, or American?”

  “You are fortuitous to legally have multiple citizenships,” Nikolai admits. “It's getting more expensive to get good fake papers any more. So which is it, Rodrigo Camponini or do you like Rod Campion? Just why did your father choose such an abortion of a name for you?”

  “I've been in Sicily long enough that Rodrigo sounds natural to me,” I say with a small laugh. “It's impossible to get the nonas around Caccamo to not call me Rodrigo either way. As for Campion, papa thought that by having a more Anglo sounding name, it'd be easier for me.”

  Nikolai laughs, shaking his head at the folly of Americans. “In any case, you've been with us for a few years now Rodrigo. And you've worked hard, done good work. When I broached the idea of North America with your capo, Scoglitti immediately offered up your name. While I'm quite sure The Sultan wouldn't let go of his best, Scoglitti's different, he has true old-school honor. He said that he's sure you'll make The Network in America a force to be reckoned with. His exact words were, I believe, that you can be both street tough and board room smart. A useful skill, considering our clientele.”

  “I'm flattered, Nikolai,” I reply, stunned by the compliment but hiding it well. Nikolai isn't a man to hand out second hand compliments freely, and Luigi 'Il Capitano' Scoglitti is the same. “I am, however, worried about security measures. As you say, America isn't like Europe, and it sure as hell isn't like Russia, despite the recent changes. The American government is nosy, and expanding takes big balls. But even the biggest balls can be cut off if there's security problems.”

  Nikolai nods. “You are correct, but what do you mean?”

  “I'm not sure,” I lie, sipping my coffee. Nikolai does have good coffee. “There have been some men on the recent transports that... well, let's just say I prefer to work with men of honor, not men who only believe in honoring money.”

  Nikolai lifts an eyebrow, nodding. “That I can understand. And are you worried about anyone specifically?”

  “Which capo of this part of The Network is the most driven by greed instead of loyalty?” I ask, refusing to name a name. Nikolai knows who I mean though, but his face reveals nothing as he sips at his coffee before answering.

  “Omar Al Gazi has connections throughout areas of the world that have proven... hostile to our respective peoples. It seems that once you admit to liking a little bit of bacon in your soup, you are forever kept from certain things. The Sultan has no such concerns, and can deal with us... and with them.”

  I nod, it's nothing I haven't heard before. Still, I need to plant this seed, if The Sultan is going to eventually fall. And more than anything, even more than the offer of being the North American capo, I need to see The Sultan go down permanently. I just can't do it direct
ly, not if I want to see my thirtieth birthday. “I can understand. Still... honor is essential in our line of work.”

  “I'll keep that in mind. For now though, let us shift our conversation to a matter of finances. Larissa says that you are willing to pay normal price for this girl?”

  “Think of it as an investment. I believe I can train her to be a superior asset to whoever she ends up with. Like my villa. Buy low, renovate, and sell high when I want.”

  “And enjoy it in the meantime,” Nikolai says with a laugh, getting up. “I must admit, when your capo told me that you'd bought a villa for a hundred thousand euro, I thought he must have made a mistake and meant a townhouse. Then when I saw what you bought... I had doubts. No longer, I think my next purchase might be along the same lines, you've done well for yourself. Well then, let us go to your now picturesque villa. If I'm to quote you a fair price, I need to see this girl. And I assume you don't have her in the bed of your truck?”

  “That wouldn't be very safe, and she hasn't earned the right to ride in the passenger cab,” I joke, standing. “Shall we?”

  Nikolai climbs into my truck, waving off his staff member who comes out to go along with us. As he buckles his seatbelt, he turns around and looks at everything in the back of my truck. “Supplies for the Apocalypse?”

  “Not quite,” I answer with a laugh as I turn my truck around and head back towards the main road that'll take me home. “But my pantry was mostly empty already, and I needed to get my new slave some items. Nothing much, she's one who will have to be trained slowly, but I have the free time for a little while.”

  Nikolai chuckles, shaking his head. “Ah, training girls such as this are a young man's game. At my age, I prefer them already broken in. While a tight slot is always appreciated, I'll trade that for obedient and respectful every day of the week.”

  It takes us about a half hour to get to my villa, which Nikolai takes in with appreciation. “You've gotten more done, I think it's now prettier than my dacha along the Black Sea. And you've done a good job with the work, last time I was here the courtyard walls were still crumbling. Have you finished the main house yet?”

  “I haven't finished everything, but in some ways that helps. It gives me a good room to put my new girl in,” I say, parking my truck. I have Nikolai wait in my dining room that overlooks what I hope one day could be a grove of olive trees while I get Jessica, who looks up in anticipation when I open the door. I look, and see that her room is almost spotless, pleasing me. “Very nice.”

  “Thank you... sir,” she says, swallowing at the last word but making me smile. “I was... bored.”

  “Boredom can be a very effective training tool,” I inform her, waving her up. “But I've brought someone to see you. He's from The Network, and he's upstairs. He'd like to take a look at you.”

  Jessica gets up nervously, looking at her sweatclothes, slightly ashamed, her bare feet scuffing on the concrete. “Like this?”

  “Like that,” I confirm, escorting her up the stairs to my dining room. “Stand right here, don't move.”

  Jessica bites her lip but nods, watching as Nikolai gets out of his chair. “Impressive, very impressive,” he says admiringly. “I can see why The Dryad insisted that I come see this very uncommon flower. Have you sampled her delights yet?”

  “No,” I comment, remaining standing, watching carefully. “She's not ready yet.”

  Nikolai nods, then reaches towards Jessica's breasts. “Even through this sweatshirt these look too perfect for...”

  “Don't touch me!” Jessica snaps, slapping away Nikolai's hand before he makes contact. “Motherfucker!”

  Nikolai holds his slapped wrist is shock, and in a single motion goes for the gun that I knew he was keeping inside his sport coat. He's got it halfway out before I can close the distance and grab his wrist with my left hand, his gun frozen in the air. “Sir! No!”

  Nikolai looks at me, then at Jessica whose eyes are blazing in fury and rage. I take a deep breath and grab Jessica before she can run and fuck this up for her totally. She takes a step, and she's a dead woman, even if she doesn't know it.

  “The fault is mine,” I say, letting go of Nikolai's wrist even as I twist Jessica's hand behind her back and bending her over the table. “To make up for this insult, I'll increase the price you set for this girl by another ten thousand euro, directly to you, as well as my sincere apology.”

  “And I want to see her punished,” Nikolai says, his eyes still angry but he puts his gun away. “I want to see this child chastised.”

  Jessica squirms, but I twist her arm harder, switching hands to keep her pinned to the table with my left hand while I yank her sweatpants down with my right, fighting her kicking legs and pulling them all the way off.

  “A child?” I growl, looking into Jessica's outraged eyes. “Yes, she is behaving like a child. And a child gets spanked.”

  “No... no... no!” Jessica protests, her words cut off when my right hand whistles down to crack against the perfect curve of her ass. She jumps, tears forming in the corners of her eyes as I spank the other side. I warm her ass properly, switching from left side to right and back, and with every spank, I watch her face carefully. Her eyes soften, and she starts to push back, fighting it, but she's getting aroused. When the tip of my middle finger brushes against the cleft of her pussy, she's wet and open, making the dark passions inside me flare. My cock stirs in my pants and I let go of her arm, pinning her by the waist as I get behind her, looking at the pink-red skin with nearly insane desire. I'm driven almost too far when Jessica pushes back into me, her ass brushing against my crotch. I reach for my belt, ready to fuck her until she's screaming in lust and pain, when a laugh interrupts me.

  “Yes... she likes it,” Nikolai says, breaking the spell, and I look up, realizing what I'm getting ready to do. I pull back, laughing shakily to cover up my desire.

  “Which is why she's not going to get it,” I say, letting Jessica up. Her hands go to her ass, and she's angry again, angry and horny and embarrassed. “I promised her in my rules that she couldn't have my cock until she begged for it. She's not deserving yet. Besides, it's a bigger punishment to not give this ungrateful bitch what she wants.”

  Nikolai laughs, his good humor returned. “As you wish. Okay then, I should charge three hundred for such a rare beauty, but the foul attitude knocks that down. Let's call it two fifty, and with your offer, two sixty total?”

  “Very generous, sir. Let me put my toy away, and we can conclude our business,” I say, grabbing Jessica's arm again and pinning her arm behind her back, walking her down the stairs and to her room. I shove her inside, where she rolls out her arm, breathing heavily and crying in anger and pain.

  “You...!” she starts, but I slam my hand on the metal door, cutting her off.

  “Shut the fuck up!” I half yell, just loud enough to get her attention but not loud enough so that it will be heard upstairs. Yelling at a slave would be considered losing control, and Rachmaninoff must never know that. “I just saved your stupid fucking life, bitch. I told you he was in The Network, and you....! He wasn't going to rape you, or molest you past a little grabby feel that you'd get at a fucking Rutgers game from a drunk fratboy. I have to take care of this, so sit the fuck down. We'll talk when I return.”

  I slam Jessica's door shut and lock it, hearing her fists a moment later beating uselessly against the metal as I lean my head against the door, trying to compose myself. My cock is throbbing in my pants, even as on the other side of the metal she screams and curses me. I'm tempted to put her in the dark again, but I decide against it. I need to get Rachmaninoff paid, get him back to his villa... and then I have to decide how I'm going to actually punish Jessica.

  Jessica

  “You fucking bastard! Motherfucker! Let me out of here! Fuck!” I scream over and over until the shame and anger over what just happened causes me to collapse, sobbing. A little voice picks that time to speak up inside my head.

  The ha
rd fact is though, you liked it.

  Who the fuck are you?

  That's not really important right now. What's important is that Rodrigo was right. You let your stupid fear nearly get us killed.

  Yeah well, that old fuck wasn't reaching for your tits. He was reaching for mine.

  Whatever. You know what the facts are.

  The voice goes quiet, and I sigh. It's right. The fact is... I liked it. In fact, if the Russian hadn't said something, I was this close to asking Rodrigo to fuck me. Even now my pussy throbs in want, my body aches to feel Rodrigo's strength holding me, pinning me, making it hurt as he makes himself my Mas...

  No. I won't, I can't call him that. I'm a free woman with a dog, I'm not the dog for fuck's sake! But that word... fuck... that's what I need from him so badly. My body is overriding my brain, telling me that it knows what it wants, and that if it has to beg this man, to call him a title like he demands in order to feel that big cock inside me, then that's what I'm going to do, dammit!

  The inner war wages inside me even as I start to shiver. Rodrigo wasn't lying yesterday, this room's cold even during the day, and with just my sweatshirt and no sweatpants, I'm cold. I retreat to my mattress and wrap myself as best I can in my blanket, muttering to myself the whole time. My pussy doesn't help, wanting to do something, anything to relieve the maddening throb inside it, whether it be my fingers, the slightly slick-rough texture of the mattress top, or anything else.

  I won't give it the satisfaction, and instead I sit, stewing and occasionally crying. The hard part is that part of me is angry not at Rodrigo for smacking my ass raw, and it's not upset at getting turned on. It's angry because he stopped. It's angry at me. It's angry because I disobeyed Rodrigo's commands, not doing what he told me to do. I was a bad girl, and I got the punishment I deserved, it says.