Single Dad Boss: A Small Town Romance

by Kara Hart

  She’s so submissive. Of course it turns me on, but I can’t help but want something different. This girl’s family is from Scandinavia or some shit, but I keep forming this story in my head that she’s straight from Sicily. I keep picturing that fucking girl at the funeral, the one with the big lips, and she’s gyrating her ass against my cock. Fuck! The thought that I might never get to fuck her drives me absolutely insane.

  I shake the idea off, feeling the vodka start to work its magic. I grab the bottle and take another swig. Then I force it into the stripper’s mouth. She obediently drinks. “What do you want me to do?” she asks me.

  “Take off all your clothes,” I demand. “I want to see every bit of you.”

  She slips out of her latex outfit and her perky ass is round, juicy, and inviting me in. Still, it’s nothing like that girl’s. I just know it. An Italian ass is… well, it’s everything those Italian poets wrote, dreamed, and jacked off about.

  “Finger yourself,” I grunt, taking another swig. I’m starting to feel really drunk at this point. It’s perfect. This is a night to remember. I can tell I’m freaking her out, but I don’t give a shit. I’m paying her for her time.

  “That’ll be extra,” she says. “And you can’t tell no one. Bobby will kill you if he finds out.”

  “Bobby won’t do shit to me,” I say. “Bobby is an old friend. He owes me a favor or two. You, however, deserve the world. Tonight’s your lucky night. I’ll give you an extra hundred bucks to shut up and play with yourself.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says, sitting her ass down against the red-leather booth. She spreads her legs and laughs awkwardly. She’s completely smooth down there and it kind turns me off that she’s too afraid to be a fucking woman, but in the end it’s all pussy to me. “Do you like it when I do this?” she smacks her lips with her fingers.

  “No. Frankly, I don’t,” I say, to her surprise. “I want you to cum. There’s no way doing what you’re doing turns you on. Stop the act.”

  She blushes and sits back, “Okay, look. I’m just doing this job so I can get through college. You’re my second client.”

  “Good. So you’ll pay off some of your debt with me tonight.” I smile. “We’re going to have a good time. You’re going to cum for me, got it? Go ahead, close your eyes if you have to.”

  She nods her head slowly and closes her eyes. Her breathing slows down as she starts to swivel her fingers against her clit. Every so often, she wets her fingers and pushes two inside herself. “Good girl,” I say, staring at her wet mound.

  My cock is hard as a rock. I unzip my pants and pull out all of it. When she opens her eyes, they look wide and longing. I can tell she’s fucking turned on. “Suck it,” I whisper. “I’ll give you a grand total.” I’ve got all the money in the world to spend. My whole fortune is hidden in the rat-infested ceilings of that warehouse.

  She falls to her knees and wraps her lips around my throbbing cock. She instantly begins to shake. “You going to cum for me, baby?” I ask her, moving her silky hair from her eyes. I put her coconut scented locks into a ponytail and push her forward on my shaft.

  She moans, mouth full. “Mmhmm.”

  She falls forward, trembling. Her mouth starts to hang open and she’s drooling. When she moans loudly, I know she’s cumming. I’ve given her money and the orgasm of a lifetime. She should be grateful.

  I push forward and feel myself grow close to the edge. When I start to lose my sense of balance, I pull it out and spin her around, pushing her ass in front of me. I stroke my cock until it bursts, cum spilling out onto her tight flesh. My whole body shakes with pleasure and my drunkenness creeps up on me.

  “Fuck!” I scream. “Jesus, baby.”

  She smiles, cum dripping off her backside, and turns around. “Thank you,” she whispers. That’s a good girl…

  I put my cock back into my pants and feel the euphoria rush away from me. What I’m left with is a feeling of paranoia and guilt. I still want that girl from the funeral. No. I fucking need her. This little slut means nothing to me. She’s just a fun time, someone to get my rocks off to.

  I kiss her cheek and whisper into her ear. “Good luck with your college. Don’t drop out like I did,” I smile and pull out a wad of cash. I lay it out on the table. “Here’s two grand. Make something of yourself.”

  “That’s it? You’re leaving? After twenty minutes? Can I give you my number?” She covers her tits up like she feels indecent, which is sort of confusing since this is a fucking strip club. I should’ve known just to get a lap dance and bail. The women here always want a sugar daddy to cling to. Fuck that. I ain’t about to settle down with any woman, let alone a hooker like her.

  “Sorry, baby. You were fun. But that’s it. Have a good night.” I walk out through the door and enter into the neon-lit hallway. I stumble out of the club, laughing to myself. Fuck, I’m really going insane out here in hiding.

  Walking hurriedly home, I hear footsteps across the street. I turn quickly and it’s just a homeless guy, some bum who’s looking for drugs. “Hey, man. You holding?”

  “Fuck off,” I tell him. “Get a job.” I’m an asshole. I know. I don’t give a damn.

  I won’t be going back to that club. I always leave feeling disgusted with myself. That, and it’s just not a smart move to be out in any public place, especially a strip club. An Irish gang, the McCoy family, owns that club so it’s probably safe. Still, you never know what kind of deal they could get for turning a guy like me in.

  Yeah, I’d have to stay holed up in that warehouse for a little longer than planned. At least I have the image of that beautiful young temptress at the funeral, the one who couldn’t stop staring my way. I have to find her. I have to make her mine. I want it more than the bodies I'm camping out here for.

  166

  Bianca

  I wake up in the early morning to the whispering of old mobsters in my basement. This isn't anything new to me. What they don’t know, is that the old house’s ventilation system leads into my room. Lucky for me, I get to hear every single deal that's made between the five families and the occasional beat down or interrogation.

  “Pigs,” I moan, shaking myself awake. “They're all just a bunch of pigs.”

  The blinds to my window are open and even though it's still pretty dark outside, I see the faint figure of a man walk across our yard. I run to the window and open it, looking outside. Only, now there's nothing. The trees rustle, then fall still. All is silent, except for the whispering. “I have to get out of this house,” I sigh, falling back into bed. “Just two more weeks here and then I can get back to classes.”

  I can barely get back to sleep. The voices downstairs grow loud and full of anger. My dad’s voice is the first obvious one I can pick out. “No, I will not let you seek out your petty revenge in this house!” he says, though it's muffled against the wall.

  A younger man’s voice, my brother’s, speaks up, “Cowards!” he yells. “Blood for blood. That's what you taught me, right?”

  “I taught you no such thing, Giovanni,” my dad hisses back. I can just picture him, winding his arm back to slap the crap out of him. My dad is no angel. He's been knowing to take a hand to the cheek every now and then, and right now, I wouldn't blame him if he did.

  “Tony was our uncle,” he says. My brother sounds like he's about to cry. He’s a total drama queen, as always. Even at age 28, he still acted like a child. “And what about our grandfather? By God, somebody has to take action. If we don't, our family name will remain the laughing stock of Detroit until we’re all dead and buried.”

  “And then none of this will matter anymore,” I hear Dad’s fist slam against the table. “Don't you see how futile your actions are? If you ran the gang like a business, maybe you'd get somewhere. Instead, you're all about gold rings and silver pistols. You need to grow up, Nico. I can't stop you now. You're old enough to fight your own battles. Don't become a casualty like the rest of them. Quit now and help me with the real
family business.”

  My brother laughs and raises his voice, “You want me to ship textiles to China? Don’t you see how degrading that is, Dad? You're letting people in third world countries dictate how much you're getting paid. It's disgusting! Where's your pride?”

  “Don't talk to your father like that,” a voice says back. It's calmer and full of experience. I can't exactly make the person out, but I think it’s our cousin Marco. “Ricky and I here want justice. But, eh, we think it's best you stay out of it. Be a man and help out your father.”

  “But I want to help,” my brother says. “I need to help.”

  I can hear Ricky’s boots click against the cement floor. He says, “Nico, you'll always be a son to all of us. For Christ’s sake, you're family. And when the time comes, we’ll use your help. Right now, though, we need you to help out over here.” I can hear him take a drag from his cigarette before he continues, “Anyway, I think it's those goons from New York. They took out your grandfather and then used Tony as a warning. I'm sure of it.”

  He doesn't sound too sure, though. I have a feeling it's just a shitty guess too. Ricky is a terrible Commander in Chief and if he suggests they go to war, I'll be patiently waiting for their funerals.

  “Alright,” my dad says, “there's not much else to discuss. Can we go upstairs now? I’m tired of talking about business.”

  “Sure, sure,” Ricky says, hypnotically. “Whatever works, boss. Don't worry, you two. Things will get taken care of. That much I know.”

  I assume they shake hands and kiss each other’s cheeks, and then make their way upstairs. At this point, the sun has made its way over the horizon and I can't get back to sleep at all. The sound of Nico’s footsteps creak along the wooden floor of the hallway to his room, and I can't help but peek my head out.

  “Hey,” he says, head aimed down at the ground. “What's up?”

  “Nothing,” I groan. “Can't sleep. You?”

  He shrugs. He's wearing this old-school wife beater and it always makes me laugh to myself. I grew up with this guy and I know just how much of a little boy he still is to this day. Most likely, he's walking into his room to play another round of PlayStation. “Just dealing with business. Nothing you'd be too concerned about. Although, maybe you should be,” he says.

  “Yeah, well. I'm concerned about what happened,” I say, eyes still out of focus from too little of sleep. “I just don't jump to conclusions. You know, I use my head a little.”

  I can tell that I've struck a nerve when he scowls and says, “Fuck off, sister. This is a man’s game. Mind your own business.”

  “Gross.” I close my door and rest my head against the wood. Being in this house is like being 13 again. The fact that I'm even around my brother tells me I need to get out of the house.

  I quickly get dressed and practically run out of the old house. “Where you going?” My dad yells out at me.

  “Out!” I slam the door behind me and text Teresa, an old friend:

  I'm bored out of my skull. Please help. I need a drink!

  Teresa stayed behind when I left for college in San Francisco. She said she didn't want to leave her family, but I was always convinced she was pressured to stay. She texted me constantly, and she was always bored. I just knew she would be down for a quick morning margarita or something fancy.

  Two minutes later, I'm sitting on the curb outside, and my phone vibrates. She says:

  God, I just woke up and that sounds purr-fect! Wanna hit the Hideaway or what?

  Our favorite bar, the Hideaway, is a total fancy wasteland. It’s definitely not a place I would normally want to go, but they always have the best drinks and we’ve been going ever since high school, back when we had to show our fake ID’s. I immediately call the number for a cab. I text her back.

  Is that even a question, girl? See you in 10 minutes!

  Finally, my cab arrives and we head to the bar. When I get into the cab, I tell him the address and we speed off. “Having a good day?” the cab driver asks me.

  I’m about to answer when I glance out the window. The sun is shining, the weather is at least somewhat nice out, and I’m away from the house for a little while. So yeah, I’m feeling pretty good. But when I look outside a second time, I see him, that man again. He’s hidden in an alleyway, just standing and smoking. He takes one look at me and gives me a half-smile, and then quickly fades into oblivion.

  “What the fuck?” I say out loud, as we drive away. Was it really him or were my eyes playing tricks on me? This time, he really looked… handsome. Okay, it’s a weird thing to admit. Some unknown mobster that killed a fake uncle of mine, whom I never really knew, is hot? Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty weird thing to admit to myself, but the thought popped into my head nevertheless.

  The cab driver glares at me through the mirror. “I asked you how your day was. It’s disrespectful to curse at me in my cab, lady.”

  I immediately snap out of it. “I, uh,” I start to stutter, “I’m sorry. I just thought of something weird.”

  The driver just shakes his head and mutters something incomprehensible under his breath. What a tight ass, I think to myself. Maybe I am going crazy. It’s been a tough few days and I chalk the visions of that man up my lack of sleep and unbearable amount of stress I’ve had lately.

  When we pull up to the bar, I hand the driver the money. Only, he waves his hand at me and declines to take it. “No, thank you. It’s been paid for already,” he says. And when he sees that I’m confused, he adds, “By a man. Very well dressed. He gave me the money, don’t worry.”

  “Oh…” It’s all I can really say. “So the cab ride has been paid for? How? I didn’t see anyone do it.”

  He shrugs and says “It’s been paid for, okay?” I don’t budge and he sighs loudly like he’s annoyed with me. “Look, we’re not normally allowed to do this kind of a thing, but he paid me extra. Okay? The guy caught me a few roads down and flagged me down, holding a wad of cash. I couldn’t exactly say no to the guy. Could I?”

  “No,” I whisper, “I guess not. Um, have a good day.”

  “Yeah, you too,” he says, peeling away from the bar.

  Before I even have time to think about what just happened, Teresa jumps out from the entrance and screams loudly. “Bianca, you bitch! There you are!” I hated when she called me that. It was supposed to be endearing, but it was anything but. Still, it was really good to see her face again.

  “Teresa! I've missed you so much,” I say, throwing my arms around her.

  “It's good to have you back in the best city in America,” she smiles. I look around the barren street and shrug.

  “I'm not so sure about that, but it's okay,” I laugh. “Lately, I've just been going crazy at my dads’ house. I hate being back in that world, you know?”

  “Tell me about it. I live in that world,” she sighs.

  We both walk into the bar and grab a table. We quickly order our drinks and wait. “So what's your family going to do?” she asks me, tapping her fingers on the table.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a bit confused. My thoughts are still on that man. There's something about him that pulls me in. Maybe it's the mystery surrounding him. Or maybe it's just that I'm still in shock by the events at the funeral. I'm still not even one hundred percent sure that was him I saw this morning.

  “The thing that happened to Tony. Everyone knows what happened,” she says. “My dad says they're all waiting on Ricky to direct them what to do. Sorry I didn't go by the way.”

  The waiter gives us our drinks and we clink our glasses together. “To friendship and family,” she says. I simply smile. Yeah, friendship and family. The kind of friendship that gets you a bullet to the head, right?

  After I take a sip from my margarita, I ask her “Why are you talking to your dad about that?”

  “What?” She jumps in her seat and looks threatened. “I was curious. It's like I said. Everyone is talking about it.”

  That's when I rememb
er. This is exactly the reason why I left Detroit in the first place. It's a big city, but a small fucking scene. If one thing happens, everybody’s talking. That includes my friend, Teresa.

  “Well, don't. It's weird,” I say, “Like, this is my family, remember? It's not some mafia television show.”

  She laughs. “I know, sorry. It's just… Well, you know my dad. It's all he cares about. You know what he's been doing lately? He's been running around the house, wielding his gun. He keeps shouting about how he's going to take those motherfucking New Yorkers down.” She snorts loudly.

  “Oh, God…” I groan, putting my head in my hands. I can just imagine her dad, with that deep Italian voice and fat belly, yelling about vengeance. “When will these men stop? They're like six-year-olds forever. I swear, I don't know how any of these women deal with their husbands. My mom’s lucky she’s not around for all of this.”

  “Seriously, my mom is like an eternal wreck. Fucking men, right?” She laughs and drinks about half of her drink awkwardly.

  “Speaking of that night,” I say, eyes lighting up. “There was this guy at the funeral…”

  Her face breaks out into a sly smile. “Did you fuck someone at your grandpa’s funeral?” I smile and for some reason she takes this as some kind of admission. “Oh my God, you did!”

  “No, it's not like that,” I explain. “The guy isn't even my type. It's weird, I've never seen him before, but the look in his eye said he knew all about me. It was kind of unsettling, actually.”

  “And that turned you on?” She squints at me. I can already tell what she's thinking. “I thought you hated Italian men.”

  “No,” I laugh. “I don't hate all Italian men. Besides, this guy was different. It was like he was thinking the same thing as me.” What I failed to tell her, of course, is that he’s probably the guy who shot Tony. Oh, fuck. I start to realize how crazy I sound, so I try to change the subject. “Never mind about it. It's just one of those stupid fantasy type situations. I don't really want to fuck the guy.”