Lucy grinned. ‘I’ll get us something to drink.’
Buffy somebody drew Al to a group of women in evening gowns. ‘We can’t let such a handsome man go un-introduced,’ she said, introducing women named Jillie, Honey, Babette, Lovey and another Buffy, this one a real porker. Babette, on the other hand, was a looker, a honey-blonde in a short red dress.
‘And I didn’t get your name, Boo.’
She called him Boo as in Boo Radley? He’d seen To Kill a Mockingbird, Jesus to hell.
He smiled warmly, ‘Actually that’s my nickname. Boo. I’m Al Baccagalucci.’
‘Now that’s an … ethnic name.’
‘Italian. I’m in the Mafia.’
They had to get napkins to wipe up the champagne Honey had spit on Lovey’s dress. Buffy and Jillie, or was Jillie the one who spit up, were laughing so hard, their shrill voices echoed across the fort.
For a gruelling ten minutes, Al was the centre of the women’s attention as he tried to extricate himself gracefully, watching Lucy standing in line by the nearest bar. The lines of that ultimate dress caressed her body as lightly as the sea breeze. He was amazed at how sexy she looked fully clothed without showing panties or cleavage. That little black dress
Lucy brought two glasses of champagne, passing one to Al who took a quick hit. Buffy, the introducer, laughingly told Lucy, ‘Yoar’ man here says he’s in the Mafia.’
‘We’re both Mafiosi. He’s a Capo and I’m the new Godfather.’
That brought a big laugh, the woman more careful now with the spit-ups. Easing away, Lucy led Al to the steep steps and up to the parapet. She told him about the Battle of Mobile Bay as the stars glimmered off the dark water. Bright moonlight reflecting off the water bathed Lucy in a heavenly light that made her look even more lovely, if that was possible. Turning back, they observed the crowd below, the mingling, the chatter, the laughter.
‘Seriously,’ Al said. ‘This is where we belong. On the outside and a little above them, I guess. Not that we’re better than any of them. We’re just more solid, more focused.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Am I making any sense?’
She wrapped an arm around him. ‘Yes. You’re making perfect sense.’
A few minutes later, Lucy said, ‘Let’s mingle some more.’
How Al ended up standing next to Babette, he never knew, but the big surprise came when she squeezed his ass and whispered, ‘Follow me, you sexy Yankee.’
Lucy had left him standing by the entrance of one of the underground bunkers as she went searching for the ladies room. Babette tugged his hand, pulling him inside the long bunker. It was dark, the only illumination came from the doorway they’d just entered and the slits where cannons once protruded.
‘Where are we going?’ He was trying to be polite.
‘I want you, silly.’ Babette held his hand tighter as darkness enveloped them. The air mustier now, thicker. She didn’t slow down, leading him quicker now.
‘You a bat or something?’ Could she actually see in this darkness?
‘You are a silly boy.’
A dull light ahead grew brighter and turning to the left, Al found himself in a dimly-lit circular room with several horizontal slits in its walls. Steps leading up to the slits indicated this was an observation room. Turning back to Babette he watched her pull down the front of her dress to reveal two oversized, perfectly round, pink breasts with hard nipples pointing at him.
‘You gonna gawk or come touch these gals?’
‘How old are you?’
She laughed. ‘Only a Yankee asks a lady her age. I’m 22. All grown up and haired over.’ She moved to him and grabbed his crotch. It was the moment of truth. Either beat feet or give in. In his second of hesitation, Babette unzipped his pants, reached in, shoving his jockeys down, grabbed his throbbing cock and he was lost.
A hard-on had no conscience, especially when caressed in a lady’s hand, especially when she leaned over and kissed the tip of his cock, especially when she opened those red lips and wrapped her mouth around it and began bobbing her head.
Jesus H. Christ! Getting a blow job with all those people out there. His heart stammering, Al looked over his shoulder, thinking of Lucy. If she’d seen them going in. He was thinking of Lucy as his hips moved back and forth, fucking this gorgeous blonde’s mouth. She made slurpy sounds as he pumped in her. She squeezed his balls with her hand, her fingernails pressing the soft flesh.
‘I’m … gonna … come,’ he gasped.
She went, ‘Yummmm.’ And kept it up until he did come. She took it all, stood and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Then she pulled her dress up and said. ‘I need a drink. You comin’ Yankee-boy?’
He followed her and found Lucy standing just outside the bunker entrance with a tall black man in a khaki uniform. They were in mid-conversation but Lucy glanced at Babette as she breezed past. When she looked back at Al, he knew she knew. A wicked smile crossed her lips and she struggled to keep from giggling.
As he stepped up, she took his hand and squeezed it, introducing him to Antoine Sims, the guard responsible for their invitation. Sims had a strong handshake and Al could see the man was completely smitten with Lucy.
‘So, what did you think of our bunker?’ Sims asked Al.
‘Dark. I need a drink.’
Sims raised his hand and a young waiter materialized behind Al with a tray of drinks. Champagne, decently chilled, braced Al’s parched throat. He grabbed a second before the waiter pulled away.
Lucy took a sip of her fresh drink and asked Sims about the bunker.
‘There’s an observation tower inside. Ain’t much of a tower, actually.’
‘Maybe I’ll check it out later.’ Lucy took Al’s hand again and led him through the crowd, giving his hand little squeezes. His stomach was jumping. This little minx knew. How could he be that stupid? Thinking with the little head again.
Easing through the people, Lucy stopped as a man a good three inches taller than six-foot Al, almost backed into her. The man turned and apologised, his eyes lighting up at seeing Lucy. He was in a blue suit with a red tie, his thick mane of silver hair perfectly coiffured. A sharp-faced blonde woman, looking slightly anorexic, stepped up and said.
‘Governor. I can’t seem to find her.’
The governor smiled warmly at Lucy and extended his right hand. ‘Charlton Carlisle,’ he said.
‘Pleased to meet you, governor.’ Lucy’s flirtatious smile drew a scowl from the sharp-faced blonde.
The governor leaned closer to Lucy. ‘And you are?’
‘Lucy Incanto.’
The governor’s eye-lids rose. ‘I know your father.’ His eyes suddenly sad. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He finally looked at Al. ‘Luke Incanto is an extraordinary man, wouldn’t you say?’
The governor extended his hand to Al who took it and introduced himself as Al Baccagalucci. Lucy didn’t even blink at the name.
Sharp-face tried to edge in between the gov and Lucy, drawing a weary look from the gov who said to her, ‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘I’ll look again.’
‘Tell Babette it’s time to go.’
Babette? Did he say Babette?
Al felt Lucy’s eyes, like burning coals, staring at him.
Jesus, I just got a blow job from the governor’s daughter. This just keeps getting worse.
Thankfully, a group of glad-handers stepped up to shake the governor’s hand edging Lucy and Al aside. Before they could make a clean getaway, Babette popped out of the crowd and bumped against Al’s chest.
‘Well, hello there stranger.’
Al went, ‘Uhhhh.’
Babette gave Lucy a Scarlett O’Hara cat-eyed look and said, ‘Babette Carlisle. I was in the group when y’all said y’all were in the Mafia.’
Lucy nodded. ‘Ask your father.’
Al managed to extricate himself from Babette, whose eyes looked positively maniacal above that warm, southern smile.
As Lucy led him back toward
the front gate, she spoke over her shoulder, ‘Word will get around. There really were Mafiosi at the fête.’
Lucy felt the lust in the men’s eyes. Mixed with the high humidity, it was palpable, a living thing unto itself. It greeted her as she’d entered Fort Morgan for the fête and followed her out to where the twins waited next to the SUV.
Several chauffeurs came around to look at her as she breezed up and ran her fingers through her hair. The little black dress worked all right. So did Babette’s little red dress. Lucy turned back to Al, put her hands on his chest and looked him in the eye. She couldn’t stop the smirk on her face.
‘So, you had a good time?’
‘Uh, yeah.’ Jesus, I must look guilty as hell. Where was that Al Pacino look he gave Diane Keaton at the end of The Godfather, when he looked her in the eye and lied? Al always thought he had that look down pat. Not with Lucy Incanto.
‘Well, let’s hope you saved some for me,’ she said, brushing his crotch with her left hand as one of the twins opened the door of the SUV.
Chapter 9
First, I Owe a Guy a Favour
JOSEPH “SPEEDO” FURFANTE brought a camera, as Lucy knew he would. He had it hanging around his neck as he strolled into her office in scruffy jeans, scruffier tennis shoes and a green polo shirt that matched the colour of his eyes.
‘Hey, babe,’ he said, bouncing as he crossed the room to plop in a chair in front of her desk. He opened his arms, hands palms up. ‘What? No see-through dress?’
‘That’s for later.’ Lucy had her hair in a pony tail and wore a white polo shirt and tight black designer jeans. She’d found the cutest retro tennis-shoes, US Keds black-and-white high-tops, which topped off her outfit. She reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a new Nikon 6meg digital camera with a built in flash and showed it to Furfante.
‘Knew you wanted to take pictures. We’ll use my camera. If you behave yourself, I’ll let you have some of the prints.’
He raised the camera around his neck. ‘But I took lessons with this one.’
Lucy reached back into the desk for the camera case and slipped the Nikon back inside it. Draping the case over her shoulder as she got up, she grabbed her purse and said. ‘I control the horizontal. I control the vertical. You get to watch, touch and fuck. You got any complaints?’ She walked past him for the door. ‘You coming, or what?’
They left Furfante’s camera in his car, the twins slipping his suitcases into the back of an SUV as Lucy climbed into her Peugeot. She slid her extra-dark Ray Bans on and fired up the engine as Furfante climbed in with a portable CD player, which he flipped on, putting ear plugs in. Lucy had to laugh at the silly bastard as they tooled onto Highway 90 heading east.
When they passed Pascagoula’s big shipyard, Furfante removed the earphone and said, ‘You said it was a beach house, right?’
‘You’ll like it.’
‘So what’ll we do first?’ The light green eyes danced.
‘First, I owe a guy a favour. How’d you like to take some nude photos of me at a Civil War Fort?’
‘Fuckin’ A.’
After a light lunch at a gulf-side café in Gulf Shores, after unpacking and getting settled in at the beach house, Lucy introducing Furfante to the Zazzeras, who displayed no particular importance to the fact this was the fourth man she’d brought to her beach house, or if they did, they showed no outward sign. That was a typical Sicilian trait. It began with never letting your enemy know what you’re thinking, which gradually became never let your friends know what you’re thinking either, to never let anyone know what you’re thinking.
It was overcast by the time the SUV pulled up at Fort Morgan. Lucy wore an off-white gauzy wrap dress and black high heels after fluffing out her hair and carefully applying make-up, opting for bright red lipstick. She found Sims just inside the gate of the fort. His eyes lit up when he spotted her.
‘Many visitors today?’ she asked coyly.
‘A few. Only a couple from Illinois inside right now.’
Lucy fanned open the bottom of her dress, exposing most of her legs and probably a hint of bush. ‘I’d like to have some nudes taken here.’ She pointed to her camera around Furfante’s neck.
‘Nudes?’
‘Yes. I get naked and he takes pictures. We could use some security.’ She moved up and placed a hand on his chest. ‘Thought I’d repay the favour. The invites to the fête. Show me some good spots where I can pose, will you?’
Sims led them away from the entrance and up the narrow staircase to the part of the fort facing the gulf. The breeze flowed through Lucy’s hair as she turned and faced Furfante. Sims, Cal and Earl, who provided extra security, kept back, making sure no pain-in-the-ass bystanders stumbled on a naked lady.
Lucy unfastened the dress, pulled it off and handed it to Sims, who stood back and checked her out. She posed herself as Furfante took pictures. Standing with her back to the gulf, she crossed her feet, put her hands on her hips and leaned forward slightly, her breasts falling forward, nipples already erect.
She turned and showed her ass, bending again, looking over her shoulder. As Furfante went down on his knees, she spread her feet apart to give him a good view of her pussy as the breeze flowed over her damp lips. With the rapt attention of four lustful men, Lucy had the Aphrodite feeling again, the Goddess of Desire wrapping men around her aura, as if she commandeered their psyche completely.
They moved along the breastworks to a parapet where she posed standing, then sitting up on a gun-placement after Cal wiped the area clean. She sat cross-legged, then leaned back with her knees up and open, watching four sets of eyes leering at her pussy. She was getting so turned on.
Earl signalled someone was coming so Sims passed her dress back to her. She barely had it wrapped around when Earl said, ‘They went the other way.’
Along the bay side, as Lucy stood posing, a boat’s horn turned her to the water as a white pleasure craft slowed as it passed. She waved and did a little dance for the appreciative men aboard, turning to roll her ass at them.
Getting back to the posing, Lucy noticed thick rain clouds moving in from the gulf, strengthening the breeze which tasted damp. The sky behind her was dramatic, charcoal grey clouds with lightning dancing in the distance surrounded by the bright pale blue summer sky and turquoise water below. She hoped Furfante was concentrating on the shots.
Back inside the fort, she posed in its centre as if she was the only person on earth. She lay on the grass on her belly, the on her back with Furfante and the camera hovering above her. He seemed positively entranced, rubbing his crotch between shots, staring at her, focusing that camera at her body.
Lucy felt so liberated, so sexy, so excited prancing around naked in the open and posing for the camera, for that big-eyed lens. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, like a hammer. She made sure to take some nudes at the entrance of the place where Al “The Thrill” Racconto had disappeared with Babette so she could send it to him. Before leaving, Lucy posed with Sims, standing with his arm draped around her, smiling at the camera and then craning his neck down to check out her tits and pussy. She promised to make sure he got a print or two, once she’d masked her face.
As she put her dress back on, Sims copped a quick feel of her breasts and she laughed and said, ‘You should have done that at the start. Who knows how far you would have gotten.’
Sims stood slack-jawed as she moved back to the SUV.
The rain arrived just as they entered the beach house. It came with a vengeance, slamming against the French doors, rattling the windows, thunder sounding like cannon fire shaking the house, the electricity blinking on and off. Lucy pulled a chair next to the balcony doors and watched the angry surf surge to shore, crashing into the small sandy rise not far from the house. The power of nature, even this small summer storm, sent a chill through Lucy.
Furfante pulled a chair next to her and gazed out at the storm. ‘Awesome,’ he said.
‘When Hurricane Camille
hit Pass Christian in 1969,’ Lucy said, ‘the weather bureau put a water-proof movie camera in the picture window of their office before they all evacuated. They left it rolling and recovered it 22 miles away. The film showed the rain and wind and surf but it also showed something truly awesome.’
‘What was that? Flying whales?’ He was trying to be cute but Lucy wasn’t in the mood.
‘It showed tornadoes heading out of the gulf, huge white columns because they were filled with water. They skipped and danced straight for the land and when they got close, everything was blown apart, like atomic bombs.’
Furfante finally noticed her seriousness and nodded solemnly.
‘Camille was a Category Five storm. They come about once a century.’ Lucy got up and stretched. ‘Wanna fool around?’
Furfante attacked Lucy’s body with ferocity; getting every bit of pleasure from it he could, giving her a nice orgasm along the way. Staring into her eyes as he was atop her, she saw the affection there, as she’d seen in the others, genuine, unbridled affection to go along with the genuine lust.
The rain returned that evening as they dined in Gene’s Café in Gulf Shores. On raised pilings over the beach, the wood of the unpainted café was bleached a light grey from the unrelenting southern sun. Their table was in a corner, up against the wall of windows facing the gulf. The rain was light that evening, blurring the window, turning the night sky, the bright full moon and stars into a Van Gogh impressionist painting.
Lucy ordered the seafood gumbo while Chicago-born Furfante opted for the duck gumbo. ‘Wonder what kind of duck they use. Not those fat white ones with all that red guck around their faces I hope.’
‘Ask the waiter.’ Lucy stared at the window.
Furfante asked the waiter as soon as he returned.
‘It’s wild duck. Mallards. We get them from the local duck club. They shoot ’em, dress ’em and we freeze ’em before slicing ’em up.’
‘Freeze them?’
‘Duck season’s in the fall.’
Mafia Aphrodite Page 13