Used and Abused by the Mob E-Book

Thomas Roberts

• Herausgeber: Boruma Publishing
• Kategorie: Erotik
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

He didn't have a choice really, the mobster had him over a barrel. He could either give up his wife or... he didn't want to think about the or.' It was Candy who made the decision for him. "Please don't hurt my husband. We'll do anything you want. I'll go with you." Doug could only watch helplessly as his beautiful wife walked away with the Russian gangster.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

I didn't know what to expect when I was led out of the bar by Vlad. Doug looked so alone. I was an emotional mess leaving the husband I loved so dearly but knowing there was no way to avoid being taken by Vlad.

I was still shocked by the threat to my husband. It had sounded unreal, like a line from a gangster movie. But Vlad didn't make empty threats, I knew he meant what he said.

I sat next to Vlad in the backseat of a huge black SUV, Michael drove. Vlad was such a strong, dangerous man. I tried to deny the warm rush running through my body.

Neither man said a word to me until we were several blocks away.

"It's nice to see you again, Candy," Vlad said, in a flat voice. His voice made my skin prickle, and goosebumps of excitement covered my arms and legs. My sex felt achy.

Of course, Vlad noticed. "You're excited, aren't you, Candy?" he looked over at me. "There's no sense lying about it. You're mine now."

I shivered, knowing I now belonged to Vlad. "Where are we going?"

Michael laughed and Vlad said, "You're going to your new home so you can meet the boys. You like meeting new people, don't you?"

Vlad's voice was flat and cold toward me. I was terrified, and aroused. I had no say in where I was taken or what Vlad's boys did to me. A combination of fear, anxiety and arousal pounded through my body. Vlad was incredibly appealing. He was handsome as well as rich and powerful; and he had a huge down there. The problem was: he didn't care what happened to me, or if he ruined my marriage.

I squeezed my knees together and felt the buzz it caused. For some reason Vlad excited me more than my husband ever had.

We pulled into a large driveway entrance under an industrial building. Michael maneuvered the SUV among several large garbage trucks and backed into a spot marked private,' next to a heavy looking steel door.

Michael pointed me toward the steel door which was rapidly closing behind Vlad's back. Once through, I was met by a short, strong looking older man with only a fringe of black hair surrounding a shiny bald dome. He was wearing a dirty, torn tee shirt, and a pistol. He seemed to know only a few words of English, making him hard to understand through his thick Russian accent.

"Take off," was all he said, pointing at my clothing.

"Where?" I asked. We were in a room with plain egg yolk colored walls and a concrete floor covered in a patchwork of thin rugs. There was a small bar at one end of the room along with five sets of tables and chairs.

Men were standing at the bar and sitting at some of the tables. Two were playing pool in one corner. All had stopped what they'd been doing to watch.

"Here. Take. Off," he repeated.

"You want me to strip here?"

"Here. Glupyy," he yelled. Later I was told he'd called me stupid. It could have been worse.

One of the guys mimicked him.

Leseprobe

Used and Abused by the Mob

By Thomas Roberts

Artwork by Moira Nelligar

Copyright @ Thomas Roberts 2020

This book is intended for ADULTS ONLY and all characters are over 18 years of age.

This is an erotic work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is accidental and damned amazing.

There is sex, lots of it. There is wife cheating and all kinds of goings-on. If that offends you, please don’t read this book. But if you’re looking for a fun, dirty read, this is it. If you are offended by violence, particularly violence against women, consider yourself warned.

Chapter 1 - Doug

I looked around my little office with a self-satisfied smile. It wasn’t much, as offices go. Mine was in an old construction trailer parked in the lot next to the municipal building, because what I did wasn’t considered important enough to squeeze me into the overcrowded structure next door.

The trailer’s thin old aluminum door didn’t close properly, the linoleum on the floor was cracked and faded, and I sat at an old steel desk with a peeling laminate top. The desk probably dated from the 1930’s. It didn’t matter that the lower left drawer didn’t close right – the desk and the office were mine. I’d never had a desk of my own before, and now I had a title and an office. Not bad for a guy with a high school education who had been cleaning storm drains for the city not long before.

I don’t know how I’d caught the eye of the mayor the first time. Later he invited me to join him at his regular booth as he ate breakfast and regaled his hangers-on with stories that showcased his brilliance.

I had difficulty fitting in across from him. The mayor’s large belly pushed the table hard against me, making it difficult to breathe.

After our fifth or sixth breakfast I’d become a regular. I always showed enthusiasm for his stories, even after the sixth telling. One day he asked me to join him in his office.

“Doug, do you know how to read a contract?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Good, you’re the perfect man for the job. We’ve got a lawyer who knows all about contracts, but he doesn’t work for me. He’s not loyal, and you gotta have people who are loyal to you when you’re the mayor. Are you loyal, Doug?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You remember to always put me and my family first and I’ll take care of you.”

That’s how I got the job. The sign outside the aluminum door that wouldn’t close properly read:

Contracting Department

The truth was, we had very little say in any contracts. We, being my assistant Mary Beth and me. Every contract the city entered into, and there were a lot, came through us for initial checking before going to the city attorney. Each of the finalized contracts were on our computers, and the executed copies were in our files.

My job was simple: I was there to protect the mayor. He’d even sent me to school to learn about contracts, and after reading so many of them that my eyes felt like they might bleed, I’d gotten pretty good at it.

Then he’d sent me to a second, tougher school, on how to protect the boss and make him look good. This school was taught by an old man who sounded like a gangster, because he was one.

Despite all my training, most days were routine and boring. Just the way I like it.

The most important things weren’t spelled out in the contracts. His honor wasn’t driving a top-of-the-line luxury car to his lavish mansion on the mayor’s salary alone.

The mayor learned to trust me enough to give me what amounted to final say on a few agreements. The city attorney didn’t care, he was just collecting a city check and waiting for his retirement.

The particular contract I was holding should have been simple. It was for five years of city trash hauling, solid waste pickup and disposal. The contract was for a small population on the other side of the river, an area we administratively shared with an adjacent county.

There had been three trash hauling companies but two had merged, under suspicious circumstances, and now there was a big company and a small competitor.

I had the renewal proposal from our current waste hauler, the small operation run by a guy named Abraham. Normally I’d just approve it, and whatever his arrangement was with the mayor, but things weren’t normal just then.

In the last election, the city council had been taken over by a reform group wanting more council control and transparency. The mayor hated them.

“Look Doug. We’ve got to appear to be going along. Here’s what I want you to do: get a quote from those other fellas and make a recommendation to me. For some reason those assholes on the council trust you, so I’ll just sign off on whatever you recommend.” The mayor pushed his dirty breakfast dishes to one side. “This way I can’t be accused of anything. I’ll just leave it in your hands. But, Doug, don’t fuck it up for me.”

“Abraham’s done a good job though, hasn’t he?” I was fishing for the mayor to give a direction. We waited for Marjory to refill our coffee cups. The usual gang had all left for their cushy city jobs.

Marjory and his honor eyed each other. I didn’t want to know what was going on between the two of them, but the mayor told me anyway. “Ol’ Marjory and I used to be an item. Before I gained these last fifty pounds and before her tits hung to her knees.”

Marjory gave him the finger. “More like a hundred pounds.”

“Anyway, Abraham’s done well, I guess. Of course, this is a small deal since he doesn’t do the city; just this one contract he’s had forever. It doesn’t matter enough to me.” I should have caught his wink.

What I heard was: Abraham wasn’t kicking back enough to make a difference. The decision was mine to make, maybe along with whatever the kickback amounted to.

I had my feet on my desk basking in the ambiance of my semi-private office. The wall hangings were things nobody else wanted, as were the old fashion file cabinets. Mary Beth walked in surrounded in a cloud of sweet perfume, as usual.

Mary Beth was a small, bleach blonde, lusty woman wearing too much make up. Her clothing emphasized her enormous breasts and her legs, displaying them almost to her center.

“I thought you’d be home tapping Candy,” my assistant had a thing about my wife’s sex life. I wondered, not for the first time, what that was about.

My wife was, in some ways, Mary Beth’s opposite. Candy was tall and had shiny dark hair, and her breasts were scaled more to human size. Still, my wife boobs were just the right shape, curve and softness. She was perfectly proportioned to her frame and her body seemed to be saying: “Come, touch me all over and fuck me. You know it will be wonderful.”

Most importantly, Candy was rather innocent and naïve in her demeanor, although she was shyly fascinated by anything having to do with sex. I suspected Candy’s body was alive for her, sexually. I think she was hungering for something, although she wasn’t sure what that something was. Maybe it was because we were both approaching our thirtieth birthdays and if women peaked at thirty, then Candy was beginning to peak.

Candy had never liked her name, she thought it made her sound like a stripper or a ‘70’s porn star. While she’d have looked fantastic taking her clothes off in public, I couldn’t imagine a more inappropriate name for my rather strait-laced wife.

We’d been near virgins when we’d first met. I was a city employee and Candy taught music. My crew had been working on a clogged drain on the street in front of her apartment building. It had been a Saturday when the temperature was near 100 degrees, with humidity to match.

Candy, wearing a tight tee shirt and shorts that gave just a hint of camel toe, brought out glasses of lemonade for us, and the rest is history. She confessed later she’d been watching me and had decided we should meet. I was just too good-looking, sweating in my tight shirt. She was a dream walking across the yard, her nipples faintly visible with those glasses of cold lemonade.

We dated and fell in love. I mean seriously in love. I don’t think I could live without Candy. She means everything to me, and I think she feels the same way about me.

The first time we’d made love had been a rushed unsatisfying affair for both of us. But the second time had been magical. We’d been looking into each other’s eyes when we came simultaneously. We both said, “I love you,” at the same time, too.

Our one disappointment has been the lack of children. We’ve never been tested, but it had never happened, either. So, we just had each other.

“Nope, got work to do today. That waste hauling contract is expiring in six months and the mayor wants it wrapped up,” I answered Mary Beth.

“Did we get the bid from Abraham yet?”

“Just came in, but I’ve got to ask for a competitive offer from Vlad – whatever his last name is – I can’t pronounce it.”

Mary Beth tried to teach me how to say Vlad’s tongue twisting Russian last name. It didn’t help. I’d just call him Vlad or Vladimir.

Chapter 2 – Vlad

I’d been young, much too young to be sent to a gulag in the district for stealing food. I’d taken a loaf of bread; it sounds like something out of Dickens, but it’s true. I remember how my mouth watered when I grabbed it. Just before the militiaman hit me with his stick.

I was small, my legs probably no bigger around than the stick he hit me with. I don’t know how old I was when it happened. I still don’t know how old I am, I don’t know what month or day I was born. One day I just was, living in a sewer in Moscow.

It had been hard on the endless train ride east. I had been young and small; easy prey. The gulags don’t officially exist anymore. It’s an old Russian joke; the authorities pretend the gulags don’t exist and the prisoners pretend they aren’t in one.

My job was to cut timber in the endless Siberian forests. The first day I was so small I couldn’t even lift the ax; all I could do was drag it through the snow. At night …well, I try not to remember the nights. None of the men from my hut are still alive, anyway.

By the time I had survived to serve my time, much to the surprise of the authorities, I had no problem lifting an ax, or even a man. All those years of working in the forests six days a week, and surviving, had made me strong. In my body and my mind.

One year I met a man, Aron, a Jewish intellectual. I didn’t care that he was Jewish, I didn’t even know what a Jew was. All I knew was that Aron needed someone to protect him in exchange for something I needed. He was smart, he knew things, and I needed to know things, too. He taught me and I protected him.

I was hungry for knowledge. Aron taught me to read and my numbers. He even taught me English.

I was in the Bratva, the Russian mafia. That’s not quite right; “mafia” is an Italian word. But, like the mafia, we were organized, and we took what we wanted. We were just organized in a Russian way.

To prove who one was, our biographies were tattooed on our bodies in symbols we could all read. By the time I saw Moscow again I had plenty of markings, and by the time I arrived in America, I had even more.

I was a Thief. That was the top of the Bratva. I was still young and lacking in humanity. I was heartless. Whatever it is inside a man that gives them humanity had died in me. Or maybe I’d been born without it.

I’d killed in the camps, the new name for the gulag. Usually because the other man had something I wanted. Sometimes because I had something wanted by another and I protected it. Either way, I was alive, and others weren’t.

We’d been put to work building a new smaller camp a few kilometers away, it was the middle of a Russian winter. The camp would be for women. It was in the women’s camp that I met Vera, and she taught me how to be a successful lover and pimp.

The owner of the original waste hauling business had owed us money. He had problems, that man. He liked to gamble, and he liked women. Not problems in themselves if you know what you’re doing. He didn’t know what he was doing and now I own his business.

I needed that small contract with the city. We had plenty of business, but the contract made us legitimate, and it was in the same county as our bookstore. We could launder money from gambling and from the girls. More importantly, I could give myself, and some handpicked men, ‘no show, no work’ jobs which would provide them with W2’s and income to declare.

I had plans, but in order to get the contract, I had to control the new contracting guy: Doug something. I’d heard he wasn’t the brightest, but the mayor trusted him in a place where everyone was on the take. Doug something was in a useful position.

‘What a dump,’ I thought as I climbed the two steps leading to the banging trailer door. It was clear Doug was the mayor’s contracting chump. His assistant looked like one of the girls working for me, except for all the perfume she used. It smelled like something a woman would spray on to cover something else.

She made a point of moving so she was facing me while I sat on a rickety folding chair, waiting for the chump to arrive. Her tiny skirt, stretched hard across her thighs, was so short a hint of her panties showed. Her belly was probably flat, but she was short, and her tits were huge, making it hard to tell. She was pretty enough to work for me, not that it mattered what she looked like.

“Can I get you anything while you wait?” she smiled and looked down at her skirt, as if inviting me to look, too.

“You can sit just like that while we talk,” I smiled back at her. I’ve been told I’m handsome and have mean eyes.

“Why would you like me to sit like this?” She challenged me and spread her legs just a little more. Maybe she was trying to make me uncomfortable. If that’s what she was doing, it wouldn’t work.

“Because I can see your pussy.”

She quickly looked down, as if checking to see if I was telling the truth, before looking back up with a slight blush on her face.

“No, you can’t.” She was smiling again.

“I will because you’re going to move those cute panties out of the way, aren’t you?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you want me to see your cunt, it makes you hot. So, what are you waiting for?” I challenged her.

Looking at the door, she quickly pulled her panties to the side showing me her pink and excited looking pussy. I had just enough time to note the lack of pubic hair and how she was throbbing wet before the crappy aluminum door rattled and began to open. We were both laughing when Doug walked in.

“What’s the joke?” he asked.

“Something Vlad said just struck me funny,” Mary Beth stood to pour coffee for us and to show me her nice round ass.

I followed Doug to his desk. It was hard to believe this man had any real power given how crappy his office was. It was full of old, unmatched and castoff office furniture. I’d never seen a city office as poorly equipped as this one.

We talked pleasantly for a while, Doug explained what the city was looking for in the contract and I commented on the picture displayed on his desk. At first I thought it was the picture of a model that came with the frame. Then I remembered where I’d seen that face before.

“That’s my wife.” How did a chump like this manage to attract a wife who looked like that? I told him I thought she was very pretty and that he was a lucky man, the usual courtesy horseshit before the meeting ended.

I decided I’d do almost anything to land this contract, and I would do anything to land his wife.

His assistant was leaning against the side of the trailer smoking a cigarette. “Too bad you wasted your time with Doug. We could have had some fun.”

“How did I waste my time,” I stood close to her, invading her space. She didn’t give an inch.

“The mayor won’t let him move it. Abraham’s been good to him if you know what I mean.”

“Get in my car so I can fuck you.” She just looked at me, her eyes wide and blinked slowly.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?”

Without a word I turned and started toward my car. I heard her high heels clacking on the parking lot behind me. “Hey, don’t you want to know my name?”

I held the door to the large backseat for her to crawl in first. “Would it matter?”