Sabato: The Cross

by Mj Fields

  Burn, baby, burn!

  “The tour of the club seems to be taking a little longer than it should, wouldn’t you say, Sabato?” Benito chuckles. “My wife must be entertaining. It’s a good thing I’m not a jealous man.”

  Laney turns slightly green as Dominic and a black haired woman appear from the back. She excuses herself and gets up. I start to go after her, but Paige holds my hand, stopping me.

  “She’s upset,” I whisper.

  “The new ride is going in after her. Come on it’s Laney, let her deal with this her own way.”

  It’s not easy for me to sit on the sidelines, not when I can see my friend is hurting. I scowl. “He has two minutes to fix it, then I’m going in.”

  While I wait, I sit back and take a drink. There’s a part of me, a small part, that is starting to wonder what the hell I’m doing here. This place, these people, none of this is who I am. Or, who I was. Hell, I’m not sure if I even know which is which, anymore.

  Abe and Nikki come back and conversations start flowing around the table. Some are speaking Italian, others English. I am not speaking, but drinking wine.

  Wine: the universal social translator, since ancient Rome.

  Three glasses have gone down already, when one of the Amazons brings over bread and drops it on my plate.

  “Mangia.”

  “Excuse me?” I don’t speak Italian, and with wine comes the inability to use a quiet voice, so everyone is looking at me.

  “Eat,” Sabato says. His voice is silk, strong and smooth.

  “I’m really not hungry,” I say. “But thank you.”

  His eyes squint, like he’s judging me, and quite frankly it makes me irritated.

  I roll my eyes. Sabato raises his eyebrows, as if I am challenging him. Or at least, that’s how I take it.

  “She gets no more wine, unless she eats,” he says, in plain English, to the leather clad Amazon chick.

  “Let the girl drink, son,” Efisto’s voice booms. “She’ll enjoy the night much more if she loosens up.”

  “Salute,” I throw out the word like I know what the heck it means, then take the glass, lift it in mock cheer and drink it up. All of it. I may want this man’s attention, and maybe there is a part of me—the darkest part—that wants all sorts of his other parts in my...but, I do not want to be told what to do. I set the glass down, a little too hard. “Ah, excellent.”

  Sabato stands slowly, his beautiful face turning to stone. He looks just like something Michelangelo would have sculpted. Or maybe it was Leonardo. One of those Ninja Turtle guys, I’m pretty sure. Shaking his head in disgust, he follows Abe and Giddy up away from the table. Nikki goes, too.

  When they are all far enough away, Efisto and Benito stand. Efisto makes his way towards me, grabs the bottle and refills my glass, “How about you ladies join us in the other room? The entertainment is about to start.”

  Before I can say anything, Paige is getting up and following behind Benito and his wife. Not wanting to be alone with Efisto, I stand, wobble a little, and then quickly catch up.

  Looking around this new room, I feel like a deer in headlights. There are small platforms around the perimeter, and if there was any more doubt that this was a sex club, it’s gone. Several of the platforms have these x-shaped crosses, made of worn, wooden beams. There are rings attached to the walls and ceilings, and some of the stages have what I’m pretty sure are sex swings.

  Okay, well I’m more than pretty sure. I know they are sex swings. How do I know this? Let’s just say I have watched a few ‘adult clips’ on the Internet. Okay, maybe more than a few.

  The room is practically dark, lit only with sinful red lighting. It screams sin, sex, and Sabato. The wood grain is so dark, it must be expensive. It matches his eyes. There is no doubt in my mind who chose the furnishings. One thing I wasn’t sure about, but now I know.

  Sabato is a wicked, wicked man.

  In the center of the room, there is a form of seating. Large, round leather pieces of furniture, all positioned so you only have to turn your head, and everything is visible.

  Paige sits on one such leather couch-thing, pulling me down next to her.

  “Holy hell,” she whispers. “Kinky.”

  Nikki comes in and sits on my other side. “Mel, Abe wants us to leave. Do you want to come with us?”

  “I’m fine, Nikki.” I laugh her off, but as soon as Sabato comes out with the smallest of the three Amazons, I start to feel sick.

  Sick, not because I drank too much, but because I can’t look away from him. He is shirtless now, and I swear if he was on the ground, I would pour wine on his eight-pack stomach and drink from it like the dirty little dog I am—I mean, like I try really hard not to be.

  His dark green cargo pants hang dangerously from his hips. The top button is open and I see dark hair following the curve of his muscles down to...gulp. His ‘V’ is as deep as the Congo River, and I know from the outline that it isn’t a little water snake hiding beneath the surface of those pants—it’s an anaconda. I ache everywhere, from my breasts to my vagina. I cross my legs, seeking pressure, knowing it will at least take the edge off.

  I am sick, too, because there is a blank look in his eyes. There is no depth, nothing but focus in those dark pools between his lashes. He is completely focused, almost to a surgical degree—and by the way he is wrapping her wrists in rope, securing them to the rings suspended from the ceiling, it’s obvious he has done this a time or two...or twenty.

  Biting my lip until it hurts, I have to look away when he shortens the ropes, causing her to stand on the tips of her toes. She winces in pain and pleasure, and so do I.

  When another woman—Benito’s wife, I recall— joins the show, I sneak a glance at Laney. What’s her name...Mrs. Bonito...she wears a tiny red robe, and is leading another disgustingly beautiful girl. The girl wears a collar—and not much else— which is attached to a leash. Laney is starting to look a little ill now, too. Nikki has her by the hand, and they are standing, getting ready to leave. Paige grabs mine, and we follow them out the door. I look over my shoulder, just as Sabato’s eyes lift from the suspended woman, and zero in on me. Not breaking eye contact, he runs the whip in his hand along her thigh, up between her legs, and slowly back down again.

  He watches my eyes follow his movements, watches me react, and doesn’t look away.

  When we leave the room—or, when my friends drag me out—Benito’s wife follows us. Her laugh is evil, taunting. “What? You are leaving, before the show even begins?”

  “The ladies are ready to retire,” Abe says, turning his back to her.

  I watch the way she looks at Laney and I know I will be forcing this conversation soon. Laney will be pissed, but I don’t care. I won’t lose her, too.

  I hear Dominic whisper to her, “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Do you think that makes this easier?” She waves her hand through the air, refusing to look at him. “Goodbye, Dominic.”

  *.*.*

  I lie in bed at the hotel, for what seems like the entire night.

  Paige is sleeping in the bed next to me, and I know I should be sleeping too. But I can’t stop thinking about him. Him. The way he looked at me—hell, the way he looked, period. Over and over, I replay the looks on his face, and the little things he did or said when he was irritated, or amused, or interested. Any time he let his guard down and showed some little hint of emotion. All of those little moments seem important to me, telling, even though he seems to be an expert at hiding how he feels, who he really is.

  I know I am obsessing. No...I am officially obsessed. But I can’t help it. I need to know more. I need to know everything. I need to solve the mystery that is this man.

  When I finally bother to look at the clock, it’s well after midnight. But I am still dressed, I am still awake. I no longer feel drunk, at least not on alcohol. I cannot stop thinking about the desire I have, for him. I want to go back. I want to see if he is finally alone. I want to be
that woman he has suspended, I want to feel the caress of his whip and the slap of his hand on my...and I really, really want these thoughts to go away.

  Since we got back to the hotel, around nine, I have tried to talk myself out of making this mistake. For another twenty minutes or so, I wrestle with myself, trying to push the thoughts away. Finally, I fail. I embrace the darkness.

  It takes me less than twenty minutes to sneak out of my room, go down the elevator, walk out to my car, get in, and drive back to the place that made me feel so sick before. Back to the one place I know I should not go, back to see the one person I know I should not see.

  Sabato.

  I pulled in the driveway and go around back. There are only two cars left in the lot: a black Land Rover and a black sports car I don’t know the name of—but it’s a very expensive looking sports car. The other three vehicles that were there when we left earlier are gone now.

  Yes, I noticed. Why? I don’t want to admit that to myself. Maybe...because deep down, I knew I would be coming back. This draw, this pull, it’s strong—and like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  I’ve always been able to tell when a man wants me, and I’ve always loved it. But I’ve been focusing on that feeling for years, instead of the actual person who inspired it, because otherwise I know I would feel nothing.

  Sabato, though. He pulls at me, he tugs at places in me I never knew existed. I don’t want to ignore that. I can’t. I want to explore it. As I walk toward the club I feel sexual, hungry, needy.

  I did not come here for that tonight. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I came here to face these feelings, to let them wither away in the harsh light of reality. Like they always do, when I eventually realize that the person I’m fixating on couldn’t possibly live up to my fantasies.

  Tiptoeing to the side window, I peek inside. Sabato is sitting in a chair, alone, at the big dinner table.

  For the first time, he doesn’t look relaxed or in control. In fact, it’s kind of the opposite. His eyes are darting around the room, and he keeps running his hands through his hair. From where I am I can hear nothing, but I see his jaw twitch and he leans back, seemingly trying to calm himself. His hand runs through his thick, dark hair again, and he sits up agitatedly. The powerful, controlled man I’ve seen before, he’s not here now. Instead, I see a reflection of myself. I see myself, or what I must look like, when I struggle with my innermost, darkest secrets.

  I see his mouth move then, he speaks to someone angrily, and two of the women—those damn, sexy club employees—are suddenly at his side. One hands him a glass, as the other kneels at his side. He stands and says something, a directive, and the girl on her knees starts to pull down his pants. The other girl pulls a chair to sit opposite his, letting her robe fall off. Sabato sits and spreads his legs apart. I see his erection, jutting proudly, impressively away from his perfect body. My body hums, vibrates, and tingles all over.

  The second girl sits across from him, and spreads her legs to him. Sabato takes the whip from beside him, the same leather-ended stick from earlier, and rubs it against her until her head falls back. He doesn’t react, though, he just watches her. He says something to the woman on her knees, and she moves between his legs. In a flash, her mouth is on him, wrapping around his manhood. She moves slowly up and down, and he leans back, moving the whip up and down against her bare skin in perfect time. I feel it too, in that moment, I feel it. And I want it.

  At another command, the kneeling girl straightens, turning her body toward the other woman. Sabato smacks her ass with his whip, until she is on all fours. He smacks it again, and she begins licking the woman’s vagina.

  Sabato reaches beside him, allowing the whip to drop, and bends over. He picks up his pants and pulls something out of his pocket. I know it’s a condom. He is now positioned, facing in my direction. I watch him rub himself up and down the woman on all fours, and then without word or warning, he pushes into her and stills. His body stiffens, and his jaw clenches. He grabs her hips and lifts, positioning her exactly how he wants as he pushes in and out of her. When her head raises and her mouth forms an ‘O,’ he swats her ass, then moves quicker. Back and forth, back and forth harder, he rocks into her.

  As I watch it happen, I am wet, soaked, filled with desire. But strangely, not jealousy. Not in the way I thought I would feel it. I want that to be me. I want him, in me. So I pretend it is me he’s fucking, as I rub myself, over my clothes. Friction.

  I watch him for what seems like an eternity, until my hand becomes tired. The woman is now on her elbows, no longer between the other one’s legs. The other woman is on the floor next to her, caressing her breasts. Still thrusting, Sabato’s body trembles and his eyes finally open wide.

  He is looking in my direction. I know he doesn’t see me, but I pretend he does. It makes me feel dirty. It makes me feel free. It makes me feel everything I don’t want to admit that I want to feel.

  His teeth clench together as he rams into her, looking at me—well, in my general direction.

  One, thrust, two, three, four—I feel every one. When Sabato comes, I pretend I can feel that, too. He doesn’t stay inside her, when it’s over. He stands and pats both of their heads, before kissing the tops of them. He picks up their robes, helps each woman up, and puts the robes over their shoulders. He pushes them towards each other. They embrace, and kiss. Sabato looks pleased as he watches them. Then he dismisses them. Each girl gives him a soft kiss on his cheek before they leave the room.

  After they leave, he looks towards the window again, toward me. When he starts moving toward me, I run around the building and get into my car. I start it up quickly, but leave the lights off as I pull out of the driveway. Once I am out of the lot, I turn the lights on. He saw me. He was coming toward me. Wasn’t he?...Was he?

  No, I shake my head, trying to control my breathing. I try to convince myself that it’s all in my head as I drive back to the hotel. I hope that Paige doesn’t wake up when I sneak back into the room.

  A part of me is angry at myself, but another part is glad I did what I did. Now, when I lay down, I can concentrate on the ugliness of what I just witnessed, and how it made me react.

  Tomorrow, maybe this curiosity will completely fade away, into the blackness, and I will no longer want to follow it.

  At least, that’s what I hope, and wish will happen.

  It’s three in the morning, and I am driving back to Steelettos, finally allowing myself to think about the night I’ve just had.

  My father was far too close for me to be comfortable.

  In Italy, I kept my distance from him. He did the same. I ran the clubs. I saw him only when he traveled to one of them, and normally I was aware of his schedule and would make sure not to be there when he came in.

  I’ve always despised the man, my whole life, but now things are different.

  Before, I was just biding my time until the bastard finally died, of natural causes.

  Now, I am waiting for the day that I, the sinister son, will personally bring the most feared man in Sicily to his knees. I plan to destroy him, just like he once did to the young boy I was. While I am at it, I will make sure that he feels each shard of pain ripping through his skin, while he looks into the eyes of the once innocent victim of his mayhem.

  Watching him laugh and joke tonight, while trying to keep the inferno of hatred hidden inside, was close to impossible. But I made it possible, barely, by fixating on a young blonde haired woman with green eyes who clearly wants to get my attention. She wants it, bad.

  Every time I caught her staring at me tonight, she would hold eye contact and try to appear calm. She was not. She fidgeted with her hands, bounced her knee and tapped her wine glass. The longer I allowed her eyes to connect with mine, the more her signs of arousal became evident. Her pupils visibly dilated with anticipation. Her lips parted slightly, and her breasts would heave, just enough for me to notice. Her back would arch slightly—pushing her body toward me, proving she
was subconsciously craving my touch—and then, I would look away.

  Pleasure for me is found in a woman’s desire—in prolonging, heightening and amplifying it. Giving pleasure is one of the few luxuries I allow myself to revel in. I give everything, and nothing, keeping my own pleasure at bay.

  When I heard my father speak of her the way he did, I detested him even more. Unlike me, my father cares only for himself, his own needs. His own emotions, his own drives, his own pleasures. It’s a short-sighted, stupid, and dangerous way to live—and an even worse way to rule. His inability to acknowledge anything beyond his self-serving nature incurs the secret wrath of his henchmen, weak men who only do what is asked of them, because they fear repercussions.

  One day though, one day soon, that fear will dissipate. And my father’s power will dissolve, right along with it. I will use my father’s greatest weapon against him.

  Most men fear death. I have been flirting with it for as long as I can remember. Over the years, I have come to relish the thought of finally giving in, of succumbing to that final and eternal release.

  Other than death, there is nothing to fear, and so I fear nothing.

  Tonight, I watched my father watch me, as I watched her. More than I knew her want for me, I knew that he would want to take her away. That’s what he does. So when he requested entertainment, I knew it was his way of keeping me busy, to clear the way for him to pursue the girl who wanted me. The girl he thought I wanted back. Melyssa.

  Sweet, innocent Melyssa, so clearly unaccustomed to dealing with men motivated by...darker desires. I was pleased that Dominic and Abe seemed to be taking care of her, to find that they aren’t that kind of man. I was the one who had invited the women, but that was before I had gotten a true read on them. It was careless of me.

  It will not happen again.

  I pull into the darkened lot and make one pass around the property, to ensure that my father has not yet returned.