by Taylor Lee
“We will put this away for tonight, ma petite. You have been a surprisingly good girl today and the warlord’s devices won’t be necessary.”
He walked over to the bed and tossed several large pillows on the floor in front of the fire, then reached for a bottle of champagne.
He lay down beside her and propped himself up on one elbow. Seeing the uncertain look on her face, he ran his fingers teasingly over her chin, then pinched the corner of her lip and smiled at her soft groan.
“Non, non, Elena. No whips tonight. Instead I am going to bathe you in champagne and lick every drop of it off you – beginning with your lovely feet.”
He poured a glass of champagne, then dipped her toes in the glass. Smiling at her ticklish protests, he sucked off each of her toes and then trickled the bubbly liquid over her feet and legs and began to lick it off in noisy, greedy gulps ignoring her heated reaction. Working his way up her long slender legs he bent her knees and whispered, “Spread your legs, cherie — open wide, for me.”
She moaned and did as he said only to have him separate her puffy lips and pour a cloud of bubbly liquid in her slit.
She shrieked pulling back against the scorching chill of the sparkling liquid assaulting her tender flesh. Laughing with delight at her tortured reaction, Bai held her hips steady between his hands and took long succulent licks up the sides of her slit, then with a passionate groan buried his tongue deep inside, hungrily sipping the alcoholic nectar mixed with her exotic juices.
He ignored her protests and stopped to rest only after he had tasted her breasts, her nipples, the sensitive divot of her navel. Then he flipped her over to pour the bubbly liquid between the cheeks of her ass and languidly licked her dry.
He laid back against the pillows his eyes dark with momentarily sated lust, a mix of pungent liquids on his lips and tongue. She pulled herself up against him and struggled to quiet the shivering heat of her desire. Riveted by his long muscular torso, expert hands and mouth and stunning erection, she snatched the bottle of champagne he was holding loosely in one hand.
“What about you, Bai? I think you need to be bathed, as well. May I pour champagne over your chest; lick it off your nipples? Pour this between your toes? In this place where your thighs meet your butt? May I dip your cock in champagne and suck it off? Drizzle icy bubbles over your balls and taste the sparkling sweetness?”
Bai rolled over and pulled her on top of him, as his cock reared to attention.
“I have never been one to refuse sensory experiences of any kind, cherie. Perhaps that is just what my throbbing cock needs to cool it down—champagne and your luscious mouth.”
For over an hour they drizzled, licked and sipped a mix of stimulating flavors off each others bodies. Shrieking with laughter and shouts of passion, they assaulted one outrageous place after another passionately, tenderly, fiercely, until they lay exhausted with spent fervor.
Bai rose up his muscular body streaked with the residue of drying alcohol, trickles of semen and her erotic juices. He went to the bathroom and filled their bathtub with decadent oils and soapy bubbles. He walked back to the bedroom and smiled down at Elena lying in front of the hearth, the warmth of the fire casting a rosy glow on her satiated body.
“Come, mon amour. As much as I enjoyed your talented tongue and would never challenge your efficiency in licking me off, I think we both need a bath.”
She lay between his thighs and rested her head back against his shoulder. Sinking beneath the warm fragrant bubbles, she sighed a long languorous sigh.
“Mmm, oh my God, this feels so good. You feel so good. I love you Bai. More than anything in the world, more than I dreamed it was possible to love someone. And now, now you are my husband.”
She nestled against him her fingers, tangled in the short hairs on his chest. She began to doze, drift off to sleep when she felt his arousal against her hip.
She raised a lazy eyelid to see him holding his engorged cock in his hand. She smiled watching with interest as he tugged on the burgeoning shaft, making it even harder, stretching the foreskin up and down with practiced strokes.
Elena giggled, her eyes twinkling.
“Hmm, I think you like him a lot.”
“Ah, I do. Because of the pleasure he gives you. And, not incidentally, the pleasure he gives me.
“I’ve been thinking, cherie, you are going to be very fancy. Perhaps you need one more gift.”
He handed her a small velvet pouch he had placed on the edge of the tub.
Elena loosened the drawstring tie and removed a large gold ring with a wolf’s head and glittering topaz eyes.
“Oh, how gorgeous! What beautiful stones. But, good God, Bai, where does this one go? In my nose?”
He roared.
“Even I would not be titillated tugging on the end of your nose, amie. Non, cherie. This is a ring for a much more erotic place than your beautiful nostrils.”
“But it is big; too big for me. Where does it go, Bai?”
He grinned and pulled his cock out of the water and eased back the foreskin revealing the sensitive glans. Her eyes widened in surprise.
“If a Prince of England can pierce his cock and, from all reports, Albert kept Queen Victoria in a state of constant bliss, it is the least I can do for you, ma petite.”
Elena sat up in the tub shaking off her languor. She pushed his hands away and took his hard, engorged staff between both of her hands. She ignored his aroused hiss, his quivering thighs and raspy breaths. She examined his cock with a connoisseur’s undisguised interest. Bai thought with a delicious shudder that all she needed was a jeweler’s loupe to better assess the caret weight of the precious stones as she measured the ring against the engorged end of his weeping prick.
With a saucy grin and toss of her head, she gave a satisfied nod.
“When will these piercings take place?”
He groaned and then growled a low animal sound.
“Soon, cherie, very soon.”
Chapter 22
“You need to understand. This isn’t only about killing Aldo Marcello. I want him crucified. Shamed. I want him to die reviled by the Costa Nostra. And I want him to go to his grave knowing the world sees him as the cowardly bastard he is.”
Wyatt and Nianzu nodded. Both understood and agreed with Bai’s intense command. They spent the morning analyzing Tom’s report. Tom Caldwell had been Wyatt’s impresario on the East Coast for twenty years and in the last three years earned Bai’s trust, as well. No one knew the political and financial kingpins like Tom did. He was one of them. Over the past twenty years, he had charmed his way into the backrooms of every political discussion and there wasn’t a soul more in the know when it came to political and financial chicaneries than Tom Caldwell. And no one outside of a very select circle knew his employers were the Wyoming governor and moneyman and now, the Frenchman.
Bai ordered Tom to give them everything he could find on Marcello’s operation. Bai wanted to take him down in a spectacular way – a way that would most dishonor Aldo. To his delight, Tom seemed to have found the perfect opportunity. According to Tom’s informants, Aldo had created a lucrative side business. Through sheer force of will and a healthy dose of terror, Marcello had set himself up as the prime money launderer for the smaller gangs on the East Coast. Once a month, like naive cattle entering the killing chutes at a rendering plant, the gang leaders lined up to give Marcello’s men their monthly earnings. For a cut, Aldo ran their killings through his banking cronies and turned dirty money to sweet smelling enterprises. The operation became so successful that it earned Aldo three times what his gang made on their every day vices. It also made Aldo the richest and most feared leader among the East Coast gangs.
“According to Tom,” Nianzu said with amazement, “every fourth Friday, Marcello rakes in over half a million dollars in earnings from more than fifty East Coast gangs. Christ, his cut alone is a couple hundred thousand. That is just one month’s take. The rest of the suckers get about
a third of their earnings back in laundered money.”
Wyatt gave an appreciative grunt.
“Goddamn, you have to acknowledge the gall and the brilliance, even if that son of a bitch conceived of it. Of course, it helps that more than half the cops in New York are dirty and turn a blind eye to what they know is happening.”
Bai’s eyes narrowed. He leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag off his Turkish cigarette.
“Indeed, which will make it all the sweeter when we take it down. According to Tom, this month’s booty will include the jewels that were stolen from the Boston Museum three months ago. Apparently, money isn’t the only thing Aldo launders.”
For the next several hours, the three men created an audacious plan to cripple the money laundering enterprise, knowing that the loss of one month’s take would bring the wrath of fifty gangs down on Marcello, stripping away his mask of invincibility.
As they were about to wind up their discussion, Bai referred to the second element of Tom’s report.
“Tom is convinced that the political mastermind for Marcello’s operation is here in California. As surprising as that seems, he may be right. Someone is spearheading the political enterprise. The smart, unexpected move would be to have that person on the West Coast—away from the incestuous cesspool of Washington and New York. I just have a hard time believing that Governor Sampson is the lynchpin and we sure as hell know Martin Quince is barely smart enough to wipe his own ass.”
Wyatt puffed on his cigar and added with a frown.
“I agree, Bai. I’ve known Brad Sampson for fifteen years, even before I was governor of Wyoming. Brad is as political as they come. He cuts a lot of corners and no one is better than he is at raking in the political dough, but this kind of crap? I just don’t know if Brad’s up to it. I’d be more inclined to think of one of the other possible lynchpins that Tom mentioned, Louie Sinclair, our esteemed United States senator, for one.”
“Well, he certainly fits the profile better,” Bai agreed with a thoughtful nod. “If ever there was a dishonorable son of a bitch, it’s Louie. He’s bought every position he’s had so, yes, he is a real possibility. Again, it strikes me that someone has to be fucking smart to pull this off and, although Louie is as corrupt as they come, I don’t know if he is smart enough, subtle enough. At heart he is a showman, always looking for the public accolades, not the behind the scenes operator this requires. We sure as hell know it can’t be Martin. So yes, if it isn’t the governor, it could be Louie Sinclair. Let’s put some eyes on him. I know Tom is watching him in Washington. Let’s see what we can find out here in California.
“One more thing, Bai. It seems you have garnered the interest of the largest Irish gang in New York and Aldo Marcello’s biggest rival. Sean Byrne called me a couple of days ago and said their leader, Rory Calhoun, is coming out here and wants to meet you. Sean invited us to dinner on Thursday.”
Bai grinned.
“I always enjoy dinner with Sean. As long as we can cut though the Irish blarney and see what his friend’s after, it will be an entertaining evening. Let’s hope Calhoun hasn’t bought into that old saw about the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“Let’s assume he’s smarter than that, Bai. If he isn’t, he sure as hell doesn’t know you. By the way, where is Elena, sleeping off the excitement of the wedding?” Wyatt asked with a fatherly smile.
“No, actually she is with Greg Forester.”
“Jesus, that’s interesting.” Wyatt snorted, not trying to hide his surprise.
“Yes, it is. He came to bring her a wedding gift, or so he says,” Bai said with a grimace. “I am still convinced that son of a bitch is tied in to what is happening here. I know we’re watching the governor and now the senator, but I can’t believe that slimy bastard Greg isn’t involved in some way.”
“For what it’s worth, Bai, three of his cohorts did ask for our protection. They specifically said that Greg had sent them. It seems like he is counting on us for something,” Nianzu said.
“Yes, and Elena thinks he is too ‘nice’ to be involved. She thinks I’m jealous and it’s clouded my judgment.” Bai said with a snort and a roll of his eyes.
Wyatt and Nianzu both raised a questioning eyebrow and even Bai had to agree that there was the possibility he was letting his possessiveness of Elena blind him.
~~~
Greg smiled at Elena, basking in her appreciation for his gift, an original collection of a dozen of DaVinci’s most famous anatomical drawings. He pretended to make light of the astonishing gift, knowing that not everyone had the access to stolen treasures that he did. He hoped she wasn’t aware that his gift was part of a spectacular burglary of one of Italy’s most famous museums.
“Greg, I can’t believe these. This is a priceless gift. It is too much, really it is. I can’t accept it.”
“Nonsense, Elena. Nothing is too good for you. Obviously, being a public servant, I can’t compete with Bai’s resources, but I can give you a special heirloom that has been in my family for centuries.”
“Greg, I’m astounded and grateful. They will be a stunning addition to the healing center Bai built for me. When I finish my studies, I plan to set up a practice here. I’m hoping at some point that Dr. Oleong will transfer his internship program to our compound. With the herb garden, the healing center, and the infirmary, we could easily rival the one at the university.”
Greg covered his distaste with an unctuous smile. The thought of Bai’s largesse and her appreciation brought bile to his throat.
“I’ve heard about the center, and you are correct, every one talks about its magnificence and I understand the garden has every healing herb known to man.”
“I’m impressed, Greg, with your knowledge. Would you like to see the center? It is adjacent to the infirmary. We can visit with some of the young girls who are living in the infirmary. It will be helpful for you to meet some of these children, to better understand their hideous experience.”
Greg bowed his head in mock despair and said in a patently sincere voice, “You will think I am a coward, Elena, but I can’t bear to see the pain on the faces of those young girls. I’m not strong, like all the men around you. Governor Sampson chides me often about my sensitivity. I don’t have to tell you how angry he was that Jim Thompson didn’t bring those girls back so they could be returned to the brothel owners. I was relieved that Jim left them here where you could care for them. I know I shouldn’t criticize the governor. He has to deal with all kinds of repercussions. As much as I hate to admit, he is tougher than I am, used to dealing with hard men. To be fair, let’s just say he has a wide range of constituents he needs to please.”
Elena reached out and took his hand.
“Don’t apologize, Greg. I’m touched by your compassion. I’m challenged, as well. I am training to be a healer, and I can’t bear to see the misery those young girls faced. I’m glad you understand why Bai would never return those girls. It would be criminal to do so.”
Greg saw the sincerity in her eyes and hoped that his expression matched hers. He also hoped she accepted his reason to avoid seeing the girls. The last thing he could do was go to the infirmary. There wasn’t a chance in hell that one of those little cunts wouldn’t recognize him, remember him overseeing their delivery from the wharf in San Francisco. He thought about that night, unloading them on the dock. The memory of those terrified young girls tied and bound together made his cock swell. Looking at Elena’s beautiful face and her gorgeous body, he thought one of the things he will do is tie her down and make her watch him assault the little girls and vice versa.
Greg had spent years working his way up to his current position. When he thought of the asses he’d kissed, the bribes he’d taken, the lies he’d told, the deaths he’d overseen, he was in a word—proud. Who would think that someone who Elena thought was “too nice, too sensitive” to see a bunch of Chink whores would be the man who was going to take down her husband? Because if he did nothing else
in his lifetime, Greg intended to kill the Frenchman. And when he did, he would claim his prize—Elena.
Greg had been consumed with Elena since he first met her. He longed to have her in his bed, to claim her. He’d wrench out that haughty demeanor, crush her flirty ways. He ached to see her cry, beg for mercy, plead to stop the pain which he would give and take at his pleasure. Over the years, he had tested his baser needs with whores. He had to kill most of them; they hadn’t held up well under his tutelage. He was sure Elena would be different; she was made of better stock. Of course, eventually she would collapse, give in, be crushed, but until then he would enjoy bringing her to heel. He would make her pay for her crime. How dare she? The most beautiful, desirable woman he ever knew had whored herself out to a Chink. He shuddered to think of her pure white body in Bai’s dirty yellow hands, his obscene cock in her innocent cunt. It was a sin against nature; one that she would pay for dearly.
For all the years he fought for recognition of his talents, the trajectory of his fortunes shot sky high when he met Aldo Marcello. He never knew someone with as extreme penchants as his own until Aldo. The first time he heard about Marcello’s treatment of women and men, he climaxed in his pants. When they finally met in person, Greg knew that he had met his doppelganger—a living reflection of his evil. From that day forward, he became the mastermind, the nerve center at each synapse of Marcello’s enterprise. No one, not Martin, not Governor Sampson, Senator Sinclair, or most important, not that Chink fucker, the Frenchman, knew that Aldo’s partner, the mastermind of the enterprise, was none other than Greg.
Greg left the complex, having secured Elena’s promise that she and Bai would attend the governor’s ball next month and, of course, she was welcome to invite her father and Lei. Greg had received a message while with Elena to call New York immediately. In several clandestine calls, he learned that the biggest shipment of money and jewelry that Marcello ever engineered was to take place a week from Friday. He licked his lips and stroked the bulge in his pants in anticipation. He was the genius who created Aldo’s money laundering venture. He connected Marcello with his banker contacts, who were eager to participate in the profitable undertaking. The money flowed like a whore’s cunt. Before Marcello took his third, Greg took a quarter, an amount second only to Aldo’s. After the bankers took their cut, what little was left was returned to the gangs. No one had the audacity or courage to complain.