A Tough Break

The smile faded from Damien's face as he looked past the naked shoulder of his wife, toward the figure entering through the door. He recognized the face, and it's cocky grin made him wary.

The figure, flanked by two much larger men, took in the scene, shaking his head, chuckling silently. Monica rested her palms on her husbands' chest to balance herself, looked back over her shoulder and squealed in surprise. Quickly she lifted herself from her husband's lap, reaching for a towel, half covering her lingerie clad body.

The man strode forward, standing over Damien, watching him struggle to release his hands, tied behind his back and to the chair.

"Your wife, she makes this easy for me," He said, glancing across at her, his eyes quickly gliding up and down the long tanned limbs protruding from the towel. Monica stared between them, uncomprehending.

The figure smiled casually, raising one hand languidly, extending two fingers. A heavy set man stepped forward, dumping a bag of cash on Damien's lap. He winced as they dropped down onto his quickly retreating erection.

The figure shrugged, tilting his head sympathetically.

"We needed a fall guy. What are you gonna do?"

Damien blinked, felt his mouth fall open but no words emerge.

The figure dragged up a chair, sat down, smiled the kind of smile usually reserved for timid children, his face close to Damien.

"Listen," He began, kindly, "It was a big job. The cops, they need somebody. They get somebody, the heat is off the rest of us. It's..." He paused, searching for the right words, "A tough break."

The figure glanced absent-mindedly around the room, patiently waiting for the penny to drop. His eyes fell again on Monica, and his lips curled into a smile. He turned to her, gesturing to the man behind him.

Monica stared back, thinking quickly, watching as the rotund bodyguard placed a cloth in her husband's mouth to silence his half formed protests. She took in the figure's sharply tailored suit, his broad shoulders and thick neck. The embers of fire between her legs, so recently stoked by the teasing lap dance given to her husband, returned anew.

The figure stood, addressed Monica.

"We're taking a flight, somewhere beautiful, beaches far away. Make the call from the plane, let the cops know this address. You can stay here. Or..."

The figure let the last syllable hang in the air. Monica looked across at her husband. Momentarily, she held his eye, before glancing downward, shamefully, her long raven hair half hiding her exquisite face. When she looked up again, it was toward the figure. Carelessly but deliberately she let the towel slip from her fingers. Delicately, as if on eggshells, she tottered toward him.

The figure slipped his hand around her waist, feeling the smooth warmth of the small of her back against his palm. Gently, he lifted her chin with one finger, his eyes fixed on the upward curve of her delicious breasts in her bra.

The figure glanced at Damien as his lips brushed over the lips of Damien's wife.

Monica felt the flush of shame as her cheeks reddened, even as the flush of desire warmed her cunt. With lips pressed to his she turned the figure's face toward her own, as if hiding the illicit kiss from her husband's view was the last kindness she could offer him.

She felt the figure's hand on her wrist, let him guide it to the fast rising mass of his cock beneath his pants. She parted her lips, absolving herself from guilt as best she could by concentrating on where her loyalties lay.

"My daugher," She breathed, as she kissed him.

The figure pulled back, warily, staring at her hard. She pointed toward an adjacent door. The figure furrowed his brow, motioning for his henchmen to be still.

"Call her."

Monica breathed in deeply, composing herself to utter the name without collapsing. All eyes turned to the door.

Moments passed and even Damien sat motionless. Finally, the door swung inward slowly to reveal the sleepy figure of a young woman. She stood, blinking in the light, a t-shirt hung low of one shoulder, half covering the tight panties that covered little of her long lithe legs. Her long walnut colored hair hung dishevelled. Her eyes, despite her grogginess were wide and chocolate colored, and within moments became alert.

Mila sprang toward her Father, tossing expletives from her firm round lips. In an instant the uglier of the two bodyguards raised a gun and Monica let out a cry. The figure grabbed her, hushed her, turned his gaze on the motionless young woman.

Forlornly the figure shook his head.

"This doesn't end that way."

He extended one hand, palm raised, curling two fingers to entice her toward him. Mila looked to her Mother. Monica nodded almost imperceptibly.

The young woman stood, stepping gingerly toward the figure, seeing for the first time his fingers pressed against Monica's waist. He reached for her hand, coiling his fingers around hers, pulling her in close to him. There the three figures stood, like a hellish family portrait in front of Damien's eyes.

"I'll take good care of her," The figure said, placing his lips against the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her teenage body.

He hugged both female bodies close to him. Mila's eyes fell with horror on the hand of her Mother massaging the bulge in his pants. Her eyes shot up to her Mother in fury, ready to explode and only just dissuaded by the plaintive, pleading look in her Mother's eye.

The resignation in her Mother's almond eyes swept the fight out of her daughter. She felt the figure's hand press firmly against her back. Felt it slide down, up and under her t-shirt, felt it glide roughly over her smooth back.

His hand was big and powerful, grazing up to her shoulder blades before sweeping down, riding over the curve of her pert little bottom, squeezing it gently.

His other hand brought Monica's lips back to his own, pushing her mouth open with his tongue roughly. She returned the kiss, passively at first, growing in her hunger as the back of his fingertips trailed down her long neck to the rise of her breasts.

The figure pressed his hand firmly against Mila's bottom, dragging her into him. Damien watched as his 18 year old daughter steadied herself, her palm resting on his former friend's chest, long fingers splayed. He saw, with absolute clarity, the slight movement of her muscles there, the eagerness with which she caressed the firmness of his chest. He watched as her palm slid down just as her chin raised, fingers teasing over his chest and stomach as she watched - enviously? - as the figure kissed her Mother.

Patiently, Mila waited. Her Mother purred, feeling the figure's thumb knead at her nipple through her bra. He flicked his tongue lavishly over her lips, watching as she reached for him, eager to have him back inside her mouth. He waited until her desire was almost uncontainable, listened to her husky exhales of pleasure, before cruelly turning his head, staring into Mila's eyes, offering her his lips.

The younger woman kissed him back tentatively, eager to please but uncertain as to how. He felt Monica's lips on his cheek, and slid his hand down over her ass, comparing it's roundness with the pertness of her daughter's.

Monica pressed herself against him harder still, watching him kiss her daughter, keen not to be forgotten or outdone. Her hand, having momentarily left his throbbing cock, returned, her fingers finding to her surprise the cool fingers of her daughter already resting there.

Gently, but authoritatively, the figure guided Monica downward by her shoulder. She slipped to her knees as he took hold of Mila's t-shirt, lifting it up over her head. Her small perky tits pointed up toward him, nipples already hard.

Furiously Damien rattled in his chair, his wrists sore from the silk scarves that his wife had so delicately and playfully bound him with not one hour before. The figure smiled, raising one finger patronisingly to his lips to shush him, before leaning forward, taking Mila's tit into his mouth.

Greedily he sucked at it, just as Monica sucked on his cock.

The figure slid his hand down between the young woman's legs, sliding his hand over her tight virgin cunt in her tight little panties. Expertly, he ran his fingers over the outline of her lips, listening to her little squeals and moans grow, feeling her panties dampen against his hand, watching her slim figure quiver. With his other hand he raised her chin, watched as she kissed his fingertips, pretty brown eyes wide and focused on his.

The figure quickened his pace, fingers caressing Mila's delicious sex, bringing her to the very edge of an orgasm. He listened to her rhythmic squeaks grow louder and louder, withdrawing his hand just before she toppled over the edge into blissful oblivion. Desperately she clung to him, grinding her cunt against his thigh, drunk on pleasure.

The figure wrapped his fist around strands of Monica's hair, lifting her slowly, feeling his thick cock slide out of her warm delicious mouth. Damien sat, head hung low, morose and defeated, the figure fixing him with a stare of triumph as both women ground themselves against him.

"So much flesh, but we both have places to go."

The figure muttered something in Italian, and his bodyguards hurriedly began to search closets, gathering up clothes. As they did so, the figure hungrily ran his lips over the flesh before him, unclipping Monica's bra and letting it fall away, tugging down Mila's tight panties with one hand, exposing her firm little bottom to Damien, sat hopelessly behind her.

The figure gestured again at his men. They removed their coats, one placing them delicately over the women's shoulders as the other opened the door.

"A little bit of time in the car for us to get more acquainted, lots of time on the plane, and all the time in the world when we get to that little island."

The figure led the women to the door, turning one last time to look down at Damien, all traces of mirth removed from his face. His last words resounded in the room until he, Monica and Mila were far away, until the Police burst through the door.

"When you're at your lowest in that prison cell, with another 30 years in front of you, think of me. Me, fucking your wife and daughter, you back stabbing little fuck."