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“Two … three … four,”she continued to count.
Her body was shaking so much, I yearned to rip that thong and just fuck her on that pool table. She looked so good, trembling with my marks all over her ass, trying in vain to pretend she wasn’t enjoying this. I could see through all her lies.
She opened her eyes but not a single tear escaped her ducts. The whole time, she whimpered—probably with pain. It seemed she didn’t want to give me the satisfaction of knowing I was slowly peeling the layers of her self-control away. For a spoiled girl, she was taking her punishment surprisingly well.
I slapped her again for the final time and she let out a loud yelp. Then, I parted her panties and thrust two fingers inside her. Fuck, she was dripping wet. I was fucking right—she liked my punishment, so this time, I kept teasing her. Wanting to see how she sounded like, acted like, when she was aroused. She was so tight, letting out these perfect sounds that made my cock strain in my pants.
“You’re such a brat. It seemed you enjoyed this very much. Expect more tonight,” I said, moving my thumb over her clit. “I promise you it will be worse. Now pull yourself together and follow me. Fucking now.”
She mumbled something incoherent when I withdrew my finger quickly and then put my fingers in my mouth, tasting her intoxicating essence, my gaze never straying from her.
She sat gingerly on the pool table and pulled down her dress, wincing as she tried to avoid putting pressure on her aching flesh, and gasped for breath as I licked her juices off my fingers. She tasted divine and, in that moment, I imagined how well she would take my cock when the time came.
Shortly after that, we walked out of the club, with her trailing me. Outside, the driver was waiting and he came to open our doors.
Marinka spent our ride back home staring out of her window. Her hair fell on her face, shielding it from me, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I was still bloody hard and that was an issue. She wasn’t supposed to turn me on and yet, I couldn’t stop picturing her spread on that pool table. Wet, just for me.
Watching her reminded me of my initiation into the mafia business many years ago. I was fresh from high school and had no sights for college, something I would never have admitted to my strict parents. My father, especially, wanted me to attend an Ivy League and take over the family business, running his string of high-end furniture stores. His argument was that he worked hard so I could get a good education and make my first million in my early twenties.
He’d grown up poor so he would avoid destitution at all costs. His own parents couldn’t afford college and he had to work to see himself through school. He’d faked his way into elite circles, all the places where money talks, thinking they’d accept someone like him if he had a big enough bank account. Fucking delusional. Those people never respected someone from the wrong side of the tracks. Someone not born in their world, unless perhaps they were a celebrity. To them, my father was gauche and vulgar. A clown.
But predictably, like most adults especially with his background, he wanted me to have everything he never had the privilege to experience early on in life. Blind to everything but the ultimate goal. Desires and wants and aspirations had nothing to do with it. You put your nose to the grindstone and keep your eyes on only one color: green.
Never once did he care to ask me what I wanted to do with my life—which in no way included participating in his world. The thought just always repelled me. Every day, he hammered his views into me, telling me how it was going to be and what path I needed to take. Like I wasn’t even a living, breathing human. He fucked with my head too much, and I hated him for it.
However, what he failed to understand was that he was setting for me up for unrealistic expectations. By clinging to the narrative that he was pushing me to be my best, he was molding me into the image his younger self wanted to become at the expense of my own passions. He had done enough damage before that with his rigid, toxic, and violent ways, so I rebelled as much as I could. Resentment didn’t come close to what I felt for him. What he offered wasn’t the life I imagined for myself—it washis. His plans, his scheming, his intentions. My two brothers were older and smarter and skipped home earlier. For some reason, despite me being the youngest, my father never touched them. Or maybe they weren’t there long enough for him to fuck up. Smart, if you ask me.
As it happened, he always directed his anger and frustration on me, and me alone.
I could see right through him. It wasn’t about the legacy to him. If it were, he’d have trained my oldest brother to take over when the time was right and that would have been that. He never spent enough time with us to groom us into what he wanted us to be. All he did was lay down the law, and we were expected to toe the line.
So I eventually became the recipient of all his hatefulness, his constant abuse and pressure to live up to his insane standards. He wanted the best from me, so I could do whatever he had in mind for me to do.
That was all kinds of fucked up. He took fatherly pride to a whole new level and turned it into something ugly and twisted.
From then on, I aimed to be the best at something—but on my own terms. What I still hadn’t figured out was how and what.
One day, I played hooky from our family dinner to attend a party at one of the quarterback’s houses. There, I met Jackson and Sam, two troubled kids from our rival school. They were hanging out by themselves, smoking weed in the backyard. Normally, I would drink with my friends and make out with a random girl but that night, something about the way Jackson and Sam were enjoying their own company without a care of the world made me want to befriend them.
Considering their history with the police, they were outcasts. They were feared and if we all dared to admit, secretly admired. Guns were always strapped at their waists and that gave them leeway to crash parties whenever they felt like. Fortunately, they didn’t cause violence unless provoked.
That night, I learned something crucial.
I wanted what they had. Power and control over my bastard father.
It turned out they were in shortage of manpower so their boss recruited me. I watched my new friends in action and, with time, I learned how to spot customer hotspots and transact in broad daylight. I performed my duties with unmatched enthusiasm and diligence—so much I earned their trust within a short time. They gave me more product to supply and I rose in the ranks until I’d become the boss’ deputy, next in line of command.
What I didn’t foresee was the unquenchable thirst for more money. I had made connections in the drugs business so I acquired my own product and recruited the best dealers to distribute it. They respected me. I no longer lived with my folks and I decided to relocate to Chicago. I had networks there and the change of scenery appealed to me. Soon after, my brothers joined me. They were new to this world, but they were eager. All of a sudden, I wasn’t their younger brother anymore, but their boss.
As soon as I received my first shipment, I made plans to export it to another dealer in South America. Unfortunately, the transaction didn’t go smoothly. I was stopped by the police and they handcuffed me. Luckily, the buyer had a few friends in the department and I was released before we reached the station.
My door opened, ending my trip down memory lane. Marinka joined me a few seconds later. Again, she hid her face from me and toyed with the metal hooks on her purse.
I walked on and resisted the urge to look back at her. There was more to her than met the eye, and I didn’t like that.
10
Marinka
