by Taylor Lee
“Ah, just think, cherie, instead of being afraid of the Frenchman, they will now be afraid of the Frenchman’s Woman.”
She looked embarrassed, but her eyes sparkled with pride.
He stroked her cheek. “Ah, Elena, cherie. You have a beast in you.”
He grinned in appreciation and sucked on the sensitive space below her ear, and laughed when she shrieked at his tickling kisses.
“I tell you as your lover, it is a raging beast. Mm hmm. A beast with great appetites, grandes passions les desires.”
She blushed but grinned a knowing, satisfied smile.
“Don’t ever let it shame you, cherie. Embrace it the way you taught me to embrace mine. Revel in it, Elena, the way you taught me to revel in mine.”
He held her face and looked deep in her eyes.
“In answer to your question, cherie, that is why I am here. You are my woman; the Frenchman’s Woman. I cannot --- and will not -- live without you.”
~~
Epilogue
They sat under the leafy oak tree beside the stream. The late afternoon sun cast shadows on her rosy cheeks. Her soft, silky drawers clung to her damp curves. Bai held her close. He drank in her exotic odor mixed with the fresh scent of wild flowers and spicy pine. They spent the morning riding through the canyons Elena loved as a girl and came to the stream to swim and picnic, just the two of them. Bai knew Elena and her brothers, along with Wyatt and Lei, spent many happy days of her childhood at this stream. It was also the place where Wyatt and Lei chose to be married.
He murmured in her ear, “The last time I was here, cherie, was for their lovely wedding. I remember the day well. It was a fitting place for them to marry while we waited to hear if Wyatt won the governorship. I also remember the skinny little red haired girl directing the entertainment. Ah oui, such a fille authoritaire peu; making her brothers sing, then join her in a dance.”
Elena laughed at the memory. “You’re right, Bai. I wrote a song then made Alex sing it with me. Even though Nicolas Deshi was only three years old, I insisted he dance with me. But he wanted to swoop around like a fierce Indian. I guess I was a little bossy…”
“Ah, cherie, you kept us all in line, just the way you do now.”
He drew her down on the blanket and lay beside her, propped up on one arm. He slipped his other hand, the arm that was injured, under her chemise and traced lazy circles on her back and down across her bottom. Sliding his fingers beneath her French drawers, he cupped her ass. He smiled and leaned down to nuzzle her ear when she moaned.
He whispered in a husky voice, “Cherie, as you know, my arm and shoulder are practically healed. Now you can stop ‘letting’ me take down your pants to turn you over my knee to spank you.”
She squirmed closer to him with a breathy giggle.
“Mais oui, mon amour. I’ll soon be strong enough that I can start adding the whip.”
“Jesus God, Bai!” She sprang up and pushed him down on his back. Climbing up on top of him, she captured his hands in hers and pressed them against his chest. A fierce expression stormed her face.
He laughed out loud and reached up to pinch the soft corner of her mouth. “Ah, cherie, non, non. Not the hard whip; le whip en chamber francais, the French bedroom whip.”
With a quick twist, he flipped her over, capturing her wriggling body with his unyielding weight.
“Oui, it is like a feather—feathery touches -- tracing special places on your body….
“Here.” He ran his fingers lightly over her shoulders, “Or here,” he said, as he traced his fingers down her back across her bottom, smiling at her shiver. “Or here in this special place,” he said, pinching the sensitive space where the curve of her ass met the top of her thigh. He laughed at her involuntary flinch and soft moan.
“Then an occasional sting – flick -- the bite of the whip!”
She yelped in surprise and jerked away.
He shouted out a laugh. “Ah, mais oui. A little mix of pain with the pleasure --- douleur avec le plaisir--hard to tell the pain from the pleasure…Oui mon amour? Ma petite puta? Of course, you will need to wear a blindfold or you might not be surprised…”
She groaned and tried to shove him away, but he pinned her down and held her close.
“Perhaps I will need to tie you down, ma seule petite feisty. Oui?”
Before she could twist away, he kneed her legs apart, sliding his talented fingers inside her slick folds. “Ah, feel here, cherie. You are wet just thinking about it. Hmm. Wet, just thinking about it.”
She struggled against him, then with a mighty shove and skilled kung fu twist, she wrenched free and rolled him to his back. Perching triumphantly on top of him, she straddled his thighs, her lips quirking in a saucy grin.
“Before you start swinging your whip around, don’t forget, Bai, you aren’t the only one with a beast inside.”
He lay back in mock surrender, laugh lines crinkling around his eyes.
“How could I forget, cherie? Mon Dieu, the things you do to me…what a dangerous life I live.”
She dropped down with a sigh burying her face against his shoulder. They snuggled together then Bai rolled her off of him and lay next to her. He brushed her fiery hair off her face. Lifting her chin between his thumb and fingers, he gazed hungrily in her eyes.
“Elena?”
“Yes, Bai.”
“Will you marry me?”
She started in surprise, then a lovely glow flushed her cheeks. She raised a brow, as if dismayed. “You want me to become the Frenchman’s Wife?”
“Oui, cherie, I do.”
She looked thoughtful but her eyes were sparkling, dancing. Pursing her lips, she said, “Hmm…That sounds rather tame, Bai. Are you sure that is how you want me to be known?”
Bai nodded, as if in agreement. A wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “As always, you are correct, cherie. It does sound rather tame, not at all beast-like. Perhaps it would be better to call you the Frenchman’s Whore, oui, mon amour?”
Elena flushed a bright rosy pink then said with a blazing smile, “Why don’t we stick with the Frenchman’s Woman. And, yes, Bai, I will marry you.”
The End
~~
The Frenchman’s Revenge
By
Taylor Lee
~~
Prologue
June, 1904
He lay next to her, his cock buried inside of her. So many mornings he woke like this, connected physically to this woman, this woman who was his life. He didn’t remember who fell asleep first. It was like that with her. They came together with a passion so intense that their nights often ended this way. They made love until one or the other -- usually both -- fell asleep exhausted, entangled in each others arms, each others bodies.
He was careful not to wake her. It was still dark. Long before she needed to waken. His men were waiting for him. There was much to do today.
He slipped out of her. She moaned in her sleep at the loss. His still erect cock jerked in sympathy. He marveled at her body, caressing her only with his eyes. If he allowed himself to touch, to taste, he wouldn’t leave. He had never permitted himself to feel this way about a woman. A woman so beautiful, so desirable, she made a man weep to be inside of her.
He loved her long slender neck. He smiled at the love bites he put there, glad he had marked her. He wanted her to wake remembering his teeth, his tongue in all the sensitive erotic places he was still discovering. Her breasts were beautiful, so full and firm that he had to restrain himself physically to keep from running his tongue around the soft tips. He knew how quickly they would harden when he licked and bit them. He could suckle her for hours. Many nights it seemed as though he did.
He longed to bury his face between her thighs and feast on her, inhale her sweet musky smell. She was still slick from their lovemaking. He reveled in the memory of kissing her, sharing the taste of their combined juices on her lips and his.
Easing out of bed, he began
to dress, cloaking himself in the accoutrements of his trade, his chosen profession. A gun here, another there, both well hidden. A series of knives secreted in their special places. He was a killer, an accomplished one – feared by friends and enemies alike. Blessed with an untouchable sense of his power, he didn’t know fear, except with this woman – for this woman. He would die to protect her. And he would walk into certain death rather than let another man touch her.
He turned to leave when she sighed and roused up, her eyes heavy with sleep. Her lips were still red and swollen from his rough hungry kisses.
“Go back to sleep, mon amour. It’s not yet dawn. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I know. But I would rather watch you leave then wake and find you gone.”
“I’ll remember that. I need to go. They are waiting for me.”
“Where are you going?”
“I will tell you when I return.”
“Is it dangerous?”
He didn’t answer. It wasn’t necessary. She knew whatever he was doing, it would be dangerous, more likely for the people he was meeting than for him.
“You know we have a party tonight.”
“Ah, oui, a huge celebration. I may be late but I will be here. A party tonight and I understand there is to be a branding ceremony on Friday, correct?” he said, sighing in mock dismay.
“Most people call it a wedding.”
“I’m not most people.”
“That is true. Be careful.”
“Ah, cherie, I am never in more danger than when I am with you. The most dangerous times of my life are when I am in your arms. All my defenses are down. I am at your mercy.”
He said it with a wry chuckle, his eyes twinkling, but it was true. She was his greatest strength, his only weakness.
~~
Chapter 1
Tony wiped the slime off his chin with the back of his hand. His beady eyes focused in gluttonous concentration on the platter of greasy meat in front of him. Ignoring the gristle trapped in the folds of fat hanging from his jowls, he methodically worked over each bone, scraping off the particles of meat first with his grimy fingernails, then his teeth. He noisily sucked the juice from each gnawed bone before tossing it over his shoulder to the growing pile on the floor behind him.
“Christ, Tony, do you have to eat the whole damned cow? Jesus, leave something for the fuckin’ dogs to chew on,” Federico said in disgust.
“Shut the fuck up, Freddie. A man’s gotta eat.”
“Hell, yeah, but the rest of us finished about an hour ago. Christ, don’t you ever think you jest might explode? Goddamn, even in a gut your size, Tony, there’s gotta be a limit – an overflow switch, somthin’ that says it’s time to stop.”
“Tell you what, Freddie, if I got one, it ain’t never talked to me yet,” Tony said with a grin, patting his huge gut and letting loose a satisfied belch, blanketing the table with the stench of rotten meat and gastric juice.
“As for the goddamn dogs, there’s lots of meat left on them bones for the mutts to chomp on.”
He looked over at the young girls huddled against the wall. The light from the gas lamps lit their pale strained faces and frightened eyes. They wore tight gaudy dresses and garish makeup that made them look even younger than they were, like little girls playing dress up. It was difficult to tell how old the girls were, but even the oldest ones couldn’t have been over fifteen.
Tony glared at them. “You, bitches. Pick up them bones and take ‘em outside to the dogs.”
Several of the girls scrambled forward to grab the bones, their eyes glued to the floor. They darted down to pick up the bones and then jumped back, staying as far away from Tony as possible.
“You, you too, bitch!” Tony said to the older girl leaning against the wall, her beautiful Chinese face tight with emotion, distain in her dark eyes as she glared at the enormous man.
Seeing the hostile look on her face, Tony shifted ominously toward her. Shaking his head in recognition, he growled, “Oh yeah, you’re the haughty little cunt Diego and the boys have been chasing across the country. Did you think you could get away from us, bitch? I don’t suppose you speak English? Christ, don’t any of you ignorant sluts speak anything besides that fuckin’ sing song Chink gibberish?”
Glowering at her, he pointed to the last bone on the floor at his feet. “Pick it up, cunt.”
The girl stared at him, then lifted her chin defiantly. She slowly reached down to pick up the bone.
“Not with your hands, she-bitch,” he growled. “Get down on your hands and knees like the dog you are and pick it up with your teeth.”
When she stood still glaring at him, Tony growled, a low animal sound. With the back of one huge hand, he slammed her across the face, knocking her to the floor. The other girls shrieked and jumped back, clutching each other in fear. The girl lay still for a minute, her slender body shaking. She scrambled back to avoid Tony’s boot as he reached out to kick her. She pushed up to her hands and knees, took the bone in her teeth, and backed away from him. Her soft cheek bore a bright red mark from his hard slap. Angry tears swam in her dark eyes.
“That’s right. Crawl back in the corner, bitch, and gnaw on your bone like the mangy dog you are,” Tony snarled.
He started to heave himself out of his chair and go after her, but Louie, who was sitting next to him, grabbed his arm.
“Damn, Tony. That’s merchandise you’re markin’ up. Hell, that pretty little gal can do eight or ten men a night. Let them bruise her if they want to, they’re payin’ for it. But we should at least try to keep them looking good as long as we can. Shit, I thought we were going to play poker tonight, now that you’re finally done feeding your face. I plan to take your money, big guy.”
Angry red splotches blazed on Tony’s bloated face and he stared menacingly at the defiant young girl. Shrugging off Louie’s restraining arm, he muttered under his breath about ignorant Chink cunts, then yelled to the dark haired man behind the bar.
“Goddamnit, Dante, bring us that fuckin’ whiskey you’re hoarding over there. We got a night of heavy drinking ahead of us.”
Over the next hour, the eight men around the table settled in with their cards, whiskey, and cigars. Music from the brothel out front drifted to the back room. The sounds of men’s laughter, drunken shouts, and the high pitched voices of the whores punctuated the night. Madame Torrento’s was the most elegant brothel in San Francisco and the flagship of the Sicilian mob’s emerging presence in the city. Like the rest of the brothel, the private room reserved for the mob leaders was lavish. The massive intricately carved mahogany bar was the centerpiece of the darkly opulent room. Heavy damask red and gold wall coverings defined by mahogany wainscoting complimented the plush carpet and velvet covered arm chairs. Oil paintings of women in various stages of nakedness decorated the walls and a fire burned low in the stone fireplace. The flickering gas lamps strategically placed throughout lent a pleasant glow to the room.
“Nights like these make me almost glad we’re out here,” Arturo mused as he threw in a crap hand with a disgusted grunt, tossing back a big swig of liquid comfort. “How about you, Tony? You starting to think you can live in the Wild West or are you still pining to get back to New York?”
“Christ, if there were a few more of us here and I didn’t have to spend every goddamn minute looking over my shoulder, I could like it a lot. I just wish we weren’t the fuckin’ pioneers sent to keep the Irish from setting up here,” Tony said, blowing a cloud of cigar smoke up in the air.
“I dunno, Tony, I think we’re making real progress. Hell, we got as many cops and pols in our pocket as the Micks do. We definitely got more brothels. Hell, our gambling halls are overrun with easy marks every night,” Louie said as he pushed a pile of Madame Torrento’s custom chips to the center of the table and nodded to Carlo. “Show me what you got, asshole. There’s no way you can beat my queens.”
Carlo shook his head in disgust, threw down his cards and with a g
rumble pushed his chips over to Louie.
“Not so fast, Louie, my boy, unless the fuckin’ poker gods decreed that queens beat kings,” Tony said with a gleeful snort tossing down his three kings and dragging the pot to his burgeoning pile of chips.
“Fuck, Tony, do you ever lose?” Louie asked, shaking his head in disgust.
“Nope,” Tony chortled, “Losing just ain’t in my blood.”
Taking a puff off his cigar and a deep swallow of whiskey, Louie squinted up at Tony, a sly grin tugging at his mouth.
“Unless the Frenchman’s involved, right, Tony?”
”Fuck you, asshole,” Tony shouted, slamming his glass down on the table, his face purple with rage. “You think I don’t know we got a problem? The biggest fucking problem I’ve ever had is that goddamn Chink. I ain’t ashamed to admit it.”
He shook his head and added angrily, “The Eastern big boys have no idea who this guy is. Christ, I know they wanted us out here to beat the goddamn Irish to the punch. But none of them – not the Micks, not us, knew about the Frenchman. Like everybody else, Aldo and the rest of the family thinks all that’s out here are some has been outlaw gangs and a bunch of impotent Chinks. Damn, I never even heard of the Sing Leon til I got here. Now I learn they run the place. The Tongs in New York are in Chinatown, that’s it! Who would have thought they’d still be big players out here?”
“Yeah, Tony, but the Frenchman is more than the head of the Sing Leon. I can tell you, the rest of the Tongs defer to him. Not a hell of a lot happens in Chink circles without his say so.” Louie studied his cards, then added. “And being half French doesn’t hurt. Makes him more accepted by the whites. Neither does the fact he has more money than God. Christ, he’s into more shit than we are. Hell, he even does some legit business. We need to make the big boys understand that this guy is a hell of a lot more than a gang leader,” Louie said with a grimace.