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Cricket Vaughn And The Don - Part One free porn video
Stephano Santangelo didn't look like a typical mafia don. It was one of the reasons he maintained his empire and had never been targeted by the Feds.
To look at Stevie, you'd think he was an easy-going everyday Joe, a small businessman, a guy just trying to make a living, a regular guy. In many ways he was just that, except his financial interests, such as they were, operated on the questionable side of the legality of his environs.
He was a man without qualms. He was a man at peace with himself.
A guy wants to bet on a number or on a horse, what harm? You favor one basketball team over another, so what? Wanna play cards for money? All things are possible and he could accommodate. He never got into the whores or the dope. Never had to.
A dapper and well dressed man, he delighted in simple pleasures, his house, his garden, good food, fine wine and an accompanying cigar... His position meant that he chose his friends wisely and seldom; he would never have admitted to being lonely, but perhaps he was. He would be 59 this year, Joan would have been 60. But his wife hadn't seen even the 59, breast cancer. Never smoked a fucking cigarette in her life. Go figure.
Stephano was 5' 8” and weighed around two hundred pounds. He was in good physical condition. He had a lot of stress in his life and exercised to cope. His green eyes and salt and pepper hair suited him, boyish smile and dark bedroom eyes. He was a very attractive man.
Since losing his wife though he was very lonely. Joan his wife was his only real love. He was faithful to her till the very end. Women were always flocking around him, but he never gave them the time of day. Never had. Although he flirted and well, his only real love was that of his wife. Although, she had been gone now for the past three years.
He was really hoping to retire soon. He just was tired of being in the game. There was just so much stress and he had made a fortune and just wanted to relax and enjoy his money. He was a real family man. He was very close with his daughter, Pauline and his son Johnnie. Maybe not close enough.
His daughter Pauline worked as a public defender in Quantock County in West Virginia. Her twin, Johnnie Paul, was a magazine publisher in NYC. They exchanged Christmas and birthday cards with him. He followed their careers with a distant pride, hers in the newspapers, JP's in the gossip columns.
Today, he was meeting with his accountant, Larry Ivanov, and his right-hand guy, Carlo Zitti.
"So, RIGHT NOW, if you're looking at retirement, it's about 12 million dollars give or take about forty bucks," explained Ivanov. "You're a rich man, Stevie, you wanna go, go now."
Don Stephano drew on his cigar. "Thank you, Larry... I think it's time. Put it on paper, the car's downstairs." He moved to kiss the accountant on both cheeks, smiling at Carlo as the Russian winced. Ivanov departed.
Carlo Zitti joined his boss in a Henessey brandy as both men relaxed now. "There's a thing..."
"What fucking THING?" snarled Stevie. "I'm going out on my boat this afternoon. What Fucking Thing?"
"Cricket's outside," said Carlo.
"So get a fucking exterminator. CRICKET WHO WHAT???!!!"
"Cricket Vaughn, Charlie's wife..."
"Who the fuck is Cricket? Who the fuck is Charlie Vaughn?"
"He's one of Tommy's, he's into us..."
"Into us how much"
"200 gee's..."
"Fuck. Wait a minute... Charlie Vaughn? The singer guy?"
"The same. America's New Crooner..."
"200 gee's... And vigourish."
"What does Tommy say?"
Here, Carlo Zitti made a gun motion towards his own head. "Tommy says he'll cover the shit but wants to make an example."
"Fucking Tommy... Whatever."
"But she's here."
"Who's here?"
"Cricket Vaughn."
"Who the fuck is Cricket Vaughn???"
"Charlie Vaughn's wife."
"Her name is fucking CRICKET? Is she ENGLISH?"
"No... Her name is Jemima. The guys called her Jiminy back in the day. Jiminy Cricket?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"It's a Disney movie, BAMBI or shit..."
"So what does the bitch want?"
"I think she wants you not to let Tommy kill the crooner..."
"Jesus Christ! Is she cute?"
"Meh, 40s, big tits, red hair, pretty face, kinda Irish lookin'... Ass like a 20 year old stripper... "
"Let her in on your way out..."
The door opened and Cricket Vaughan walked into Mr. Santangelo’s office. Walked? Think swayed. Sashayed. Glided even. Heels clicking, tapping on the parquet until she reached the Persian carpet that underlaid the big desk. She stood waiting, staring into his face, hip cocked, awaiting an invite to be seated. He let her wait.
She wore business attire, a black suit, black silk blazer over a crisp white button down shirt and a short black skirt. He noticed she had left the top three buttons unfastened. She had a full chest and made sure that her cleavage was visible. He guessed stockings over her black heels. Good gams.
Cricket was a very attractive woman.
She was forty years old and had red straight hair that she always wore in an elastic band. She had porcelain white skin and piercing green eyes. She was blessed with large breasts. She was one of those women that was really pretty and when she wore her makeup it really didn’t look like she was wearing any. Her face was just flawless. She was tall about 5’7.” All long legs and a great ass.
Mr. Santangelo extended his hand and she shook it. He had a very firm handshake. He was a very attractive man, she noticed, well dressed if slightly tired-looking. You could tell he liked the finer things in life. He had lots of art work hanging on the walls. He had a beautiful mahogany desk with a green leather top, gold rivet fixings. There was an antique brown cracked Chesterfield couch in his office. A wet bar in the corner.
“Mr. Santangelo, thank you for this meeting. I'm Cricket Vaughn.”
"Mrs Vaughn..."
"Call me Cricket... I haven't been Mrs Vaughn ever, really. Cricket is fine."
Stephano fidgeted in the big leather seat. "I can't call you Cricket.," he murmered. "I fuckin' hate crickets. When I was in the army I did boot-camp in Parris Island. Those bastard crickets kept me awake for seven fuckin' weeks straight... 'Chirp, chirp...' Bastards... You got a real name?"
"You serious?"
"Yeah... I'm always serious, Mrs Vaughn."
"Jemima O'Hara."
"So you're Italian?"
"Fuck you, Mr Santangelo. Call me Jemima."
"My grandmother's name was Jemima... It's weird to call you that..."
"Then call me Jem."
"Like the diamond?"
"Yeah, but with a 'J'..."
"Jem?"
"See? That didn't hurt... Say 'Hello Jem...' Try it."
"Hello Jem..."
"Chirp, chirp..."
The Don choked on his cigar as he exploded with laughter. "Sit," he said. “Welcome Ms. Vaughn. We have business? What brings you here today?”
“My husband Charlie Vaughn has some financial problems. I was hoping to talk to you about this.”
Charlie Vaughn was a singer and he had just gotten into the mainstream. He kind of sounded like Frank Sinatra, but was more of a rock and roller. He was of the Harry Connick Jnr/Michael Buble school. He was popular with the wanna-be baby boomers. He was a good looking guy and liked to have a good time. Unfortunately, he liked to have a very good time.
He loved to spend his down time in casinos. He loved to play black jack and loved to buy people drinks and flirt with the cocktail waitresses. He wasn't a good husband but then again, in a lot of ways, Cricket Vaughn wasn't a perfect wife. She had met him when she was almost done with being a prostitute and planning a move into running her own house. In many ways he was her last real trick.
He was stoned when he proposed and she was drunk when she said yes. And he was loveable in that way a lot of famous assholes are. She fell for it. Puppy dog eyes and a big cock and the ability to lick her like split peach. And his singing to her afterwards. You'd think she'd know better.
She knew better when she arrived back from the shop one afternoon to surprise him. He was in their bed with two of her girls. HER GIRLS! (That almost hurt more than his infidelity...) Rosa and Carmel. Fucking free for a flirt with fame. Lines of Jack Frost across their plump teen whore bellies as he fingered and sniffed.
They cried. He begged. They stayed. He left. That was 18 months ago.
But she didn't want the bastard dead. Charlie had been gambling more and more and his luck hadn't change and he borrowed money from a loan shark. She had paid off several of his loan shark loans, but he had not told her the whole truth. Two hundred thousand dollars. From Tommy' The Vulture' Caproni, a capo of Don Santangelo's. She didn't have 200k. Charlie currently didn't have a record deal. It was bad.
“Your husband owes money,” said the Don. "He owes money to a bad man. It's his problem, not yours, not mine. So why do you bring this problem to me? Why do you even care? He's in Vegas now, right? You're here. Why do you care?"
"I like how he sings..." She crossed her long legs. "Could I get a drink?"
The Don laughed again and spoke as he rose and fixed her a drink. "He's going to sing like a fuckin' boy soprano if Tommy Caproni gets his way. Look, I respect you come here and ask this. But, I don't know you or this singer jerk. Why should I help you?"
"My mother Anne was a nurse in Desert Springs hospital where your wife Joan spent time in the Cancer ward there. My mother was her private nurse and they became very friendly in the last months when your wife passed. Joan your wife told my mother that she owed her a favor and if she ever needed anything to contact you. She gave us this card with this note on it. This is the card she gave to my mother.”
Cricket gave the card to Mr. Santangelo and he looked it over. She could tell that he knew it was legit. She even saw him tear up when he saw his wife’s handwriting.
"Annie O'Hara is your fucking mother? he sniffed."
"Was. She died last Fall. Cancer. Fucked huh?" A tear escaped Cricket's eye.
"Annie was a fuckin' angel to my Joanie... She was your mother?"
Cricket just sobbed softly. Reaching into his desk drawer the Don produced a Kleenex which he offered her. Then he tapped at his desk 'phone.
"Tommy? Tommy, hold off on the thing with the crooner. Seriously. HOLD OFF! What? I EXPLAIN shit to you NOW? You heard. Don't kill the singer. THEN DON'T KILL HIM YET! Not till I say. Yes. Hi to Maria..."
Cricket Vaughan sniffled daintily as the Don observed her.
"I can't say this is the end of this, Mrs Vaughan..."
"Call me Jem," she simpered.
"Jem... Look, you're upset... I can't leave you like this. Are you busy? I have to check my yaught, I got the engine overhauled. You like boats? You busy right now? Some sea air might do you good..."
Cricket dried her eyes and nodded. All good whores can cry like actresses.
"GREAT!" said the Don.
They sipped Champagne in the back of the limo as they drove to the Marina. The chauffuer had the radio on, the screen up and at one point Cricket giggled.
"Something funny?" queried the puzzled Don.
"No," smiled Cricket, tapping his knee as Charlie Vaughan's voice crooned out of the radio. "Nothing."
Cricket had all sorts of ideas going on through her mind. She did find Stephano very good looking and the more she was drinking she was feeling rather horny. She could feel her pussy getting wet in her panties. She really hadn’t had any good sex lately since she left Charlie. God, that long! Being around Stephano and the drinks was causing a reaction for her.
She had put her head on his shoulder and Stephano leaned in to give her a kiss. He said, "Hun, no..."
But it kind of just happened. They shared a soft kiss at first and then Cricket shoved her tongue down Stephano’s mouth. She kissed him deep and passionately.
Cricket put her hand on his trousers and felt his erection growing in his pants. They were still kissing and then she unzipped his pants. He didn’t say anything and she proceeded to take his cock out. She played with it in her hands and made him good and stiff.
Cricket then knelt down in the limo and looked into his eyes and put his cock into her mouth. Stephano didn’t even move. She knew he was so shocked that she would do this.
He thought in his mind, “Once a Whore, Always a Whore.”
But, for some reason he really liked her. He didn’t stop her.
She sucked, slurped, and gagged on his thick cock. She worked her glossed lips up and down over the don’s cock. He hadn’t had oral sex in such a long time and he came hard in her mouth. Cricket swallowed it all down.
Then she gave his softening cock a lick, snatched the handkerchief out of his top pocket and wiped his prick and her mouth.
She sat up, shining eyed, and tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket.
"You cool?" she smiled.
He spulttered, “That was great. Thank you. But, let’s not do anything else.”
She said, "Allow me?" she then pulled up his zipper and they continued there way to the dock.
"You like boats?" he eventually offered, gathering himself.
"I like sailors," she smiled.
"You can't get on the deck in those heels, Jem..."
"Then I'll take them off."
They drove on, approaching the marina.
To look at Stevie, you'd think he was an easy-going everyday Joe, a small businessman, a guy just trying to make a living, a regular guy. In many ways he was just that, except his financial interests, such as they were, operated on the questionable side of the legality of his environs.
He was a man without qualms. He was a man at peace with himself.
A guy wants to bet on a number or on a horse, what harm? You favor one basketball team over another, so what? Wanna play cards for money? All things are possible and he could accommodate. He never got into the whores or the dope. Never had to.
A dapper and well dressed man, he delighted in simple pleasures, his house, his garden, good food, fine wine and an accompanying cigar... His position meant that he chose his friends wisely and seldom; he would never have admitted to being lonely, but perhaps he was. He would be 59 this year, Joan would have been 60. But his wife hadn't seen even the 59, breast cancer. Never smoked a fucking cigarette in her life. Go figure.
Stephano was 5' 8” and weighed around two hundred pounds. He was in good physical condition. He had a lot of stress in his life and exercised to cope. His green eyes and salt and pepper hair suited him, boyish smile and dark bedroom eyes. He was a very attractive man.
Since losing his wife though he was very lonely. Joan his wife was his only real love. He was faithful to her till the very end. Women were always flocking around him, but he never gave them the time of day. Never had. Although he flirted and well, his only real love was that of his wife. Although, she had been gone now for the past three years.
He was really hoping to retire soon. He just was tired of being in the game. There was just so much stress and he had made a fortune and just wanted to relax and enjoy his money. He was a real family man. He was very close with his daughter, Pauline and his son Johnnie. Maybe not close enough.
His daughter Pauline worked as a public defender in Quantock County in West Virginia. Her twin, Johnnie Paul, was a magazine publisher in NYC. They exchanged Christmas and birthday cards with him. He followed their careers with a distant pride, hers in the newspapers, JP's in the gossip columns.
Today, he was meeting with his accountant, Larry Ivanov, and his right-hand guy, Carlo Zitti.
"So, RIGHT NOW, if you're looking at retirement, it's about 12 million dollars give or take about forty bucks," explained Ivanov. "You're a rich man, Stevie, you wanna go, go now."
Don Stephano drew on his cigar. "Thank you, Larry... I think it's time. Put it on paper, the car's downstairs." He moved to kiss the accountant on both cheeks, smiling at Carlo as the Russian winced. Ivanov departed.
Carlo Zitti joined his boss in a Henessey brandy as both men relaxed now. "There's a thing..."
"What fucking THING?" snarled Stevie. "I'm going out on my boat this afternoon. What Fucking Thing?"
"Cricket's outside," said Carlo.
"So get a fucking exterminator. CRICKET WHO WHAT???!!!"
"Cricket Vaughn, Charlie's wife..."
"Who the fuck is Cricket? Who the fuck is Charlie Vaughn?"
"He's one of Tommy's, he's into us..."
"Into us how much"
"200 gee's..."
"Fuck. Wait a minute... Charlie Vaughn? The singer guy?"
"The same. America's New Crooner..."
"200 gee's... And vigourish."
"What does Tommy say?"
Here, Carlo Zitti made a gun motion towards his own head. "Tommy says he'll cover the shit but wants to make an example."
"Fucking Tommy... Whatever."
"But she's here."
"Who's here?"
"Cricket Vaughn."
"Who the fuck is Cricket Vaughn???"
"Charlie Vaughn's wife."
"Her name is fucking CRICKET? Is she ENGLISH?"
"No... Her name is Jemima. The guys called her Jiminy back in the day. Jiminy Cricket?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?"
"It's a Disney movie, BAMBI or shit..."
"So what does the bitch want?"
"I think she wants you not to let Tommy kill the crooner..."
"Jesus Christ! Is she cute?"
"Meh, 40s, big tits, red hair, pretty face, kinda Irish lookin'... Ass like a 20 year old stripper... "
"Let her in on your way out..."
The door opened and Cricket Vaughan walked into Mr. Santangelo’s office. Walked? Think swayed. Sashayed. Glided even. Heels clicking, tapping on the parquet until she reached the Persian carpet that underlaid the big desk. She stood waiting, staring into his face, hip cocked, awaiting an invite to be seated. He let her wait.
She wore business attire, a black suit, black silk blazer over a crisp white button down shirt and a short black skirt. He noticed she had left the top three buttons unfastened. She had a full chest and made sure that her cleavage was visible. He guessed stockings over her black heels. Good gams.
Cricket was a very attractive woman.
She was forty years old and had red straight hair that she always wore in an elastic band. She had porcelain white skin and piercing green eyes. She was blessed with large breasts. She was one of those women that was really pretty and when she wore her makeup it really didn’t look like she was wearing any. Her face was just flawless. She was tall about 5’7.” All long legs and a great ass.
Mr. Santangelo extended his hand and she shook it. He had a very firm handshake. He was a very attractive man, she noticed, well dressed if slightly tired-looking. You could tell he liked the finer things in life. He had lots of art work hanging on the walls. He had a beautiful mahogany desk with a green leather top, gold rivet fixings. There was an antique brown cracked Chesterfield couch in his office. A wet bar in the corner.
“Mr. Santangelo, thank you for this meeting. I'm Cricket Vaughn.”
"Mrs Vaughn..."
"Call me Cricket... I haven't been Mrs Vaughn ever, really. Cricket is fine."
Stephano fidgeted in the big leather seat. "I can't call you Cricket.," he murmered. "I fuckin' hate crickets. When I was in the army I did boot-camp in Parris Island. Those bastard crickets kept me awake for seven fuckin' weeks straight... 'Chirp, chirp...' Bastards... You got a real name?"
"You serious?"
"Yeah... I'm always serious, Mrs Vaughn."
"Jemima O'Hara."
"So you're Italian?"
"Fuck you, Mr Santangelo. Call me Jemima."
"My grandmother's name was Jemima... It's weird to call you that..."
"Then call me Jem."
"Like the diamond?"
"Yeah, but with a 'J'..."
"Jem?"
"See? That didn't hurt... Say 'Hello Jem...' Try it."
"Hello Jem..."
"Chirp, chirp..."
The Don choked on his cigar as he exploded with laughter. "Sit," he said. “Welcome Ms. Vaughn. We have business? What brings you here today?”
“My husband Charlie Vaughn has some financial problems. I was hoping to talk to you about this.”
Charlie Vaughn was a singer and he had just gotten into the mainstream. He kind of sounded like Frank Sinatra, but was more of a rock and roller. He was of the Harry Connick Jnr/Michael Buble school. He was popular with the wanna-be baby boomers. He was a good looking guy and liked to have a good time. Unfortunately, he liked to have a very good time.
He loved to spend his down time in casinos. He loved to play black jack and loved to buy people drinks and flirt with the cocktail waitresses. He wasn't a good husband but then again, in a lot of ways, Cricket Vaughn wasn't a perfect wife. She had met him when she was almost done with being a prostitute and planning a move into running her own house. In many ways he was her last real trick.
He was stoned when he proposed and she was drunk when she said yes. And he was loveable in that way a lot of famous assholes are. She fell for it. Puppy dog eyes and a big cock and the ability to lick her like split peach. And his singing to her afterwards. You'd think she'd know better.
She knew better when she arrived back from the shop one afternoon to surprise him. He was in their bed with two of her girls. HER GIRLS! (That almost hurt more than his infidelity...) Rosa and Carmel. Fucking free for a flirt with fame. Lines of Jack Frost across their plump teen whore bellies as he fingered and sniffed.
They cried. He begged. They stayed. He left. That was 18 months ago.
But she didn't want the bastard dead. Charlie had been gambling more and more and his luck hadn't change and he borrowed money from a loan shark. She had paid off several of his loan shark loans, but he had not told her the whole truth. Two hundred thousand dollars. From Tommy' The Vulture' Caproni, a capo of Don Santangelo's. She didn't have 200k. Charlie currently didn't have a record deal. It was bad.
“Your husband owes money,” said the Don. "He owes money to a bad man. It's his problem, not yours, not mine. So why do you bring this problem to me? Why do you even care? He's in Vegas now, right? You're here. Why do you care?"
"I like how he sings..." She crossed her long legs. "Could I get a drink?"
The Don laughed again and spoke as he rose and fixed her a drink. "He's going to sing like a fuckin' boy soprano if Tommy Caproni gets his way. Look, I respect you come here and ask this. But, I don't know you or this singer jerk. Why should I help you?"
"My mother Anne was a nurse in Desert Springs hospital where your wife Joan spent time in the Cancer ward there. My mother was her private nurse and they became very friendly in the last months when your wife passed. Joan your wife told my mother that she owed her a favor and if she ever needed anything to contact you. She gave us this card with this note on it. This is the card she gave to my mother.”
Cricket gave the card to Mr. Santangelo and he looked it over. She could tell that he knew it was legit. She even saw him tear up when he saw his wife’s handwriting.
"Annie O'Hara is your fucking mother? he sniffed."
"Was. She died last Fall. Cancer. Fucked huh?" A tear escaped Cricket's eye.
"Annie was a fuckin' angel to my Joanie... She was your mother?"
Cricket just sobbed softly. Reaching into his desk drawer the Don produced a Kleenex which he offered her. Then he tapped at his desk 'phone.
"Tommy? Tommy, hold off on the thing with the crooner. Seriously. HOLD OFF! What? I EXPLAIN shit to you NOW? You heard. Don't kill the singer. THEN DON'T KILL HIM YET! Not till I say. Yes. Hi to Maria..."
Cricket Vaughan sniffled daintily as the Don observed her.
"I can't say this is the end of this, Mrs Vaughan..."
"Call me Jem," she simpered.
"Jem... Look, you're upset... I can't leave you like this. Are you busy? I have to check my yaught, I got the engine overhauled. You like boats? You busy right now? Some sea air might do you good..."
Cricket dried her eyes and nodded. All good whores can cry like actresses.
"GREAT!" said the Don.
They sipped Champagne in the back of the limo as they drove to the Marina. The chauffuer had the radio on, the screen up and at one point Cricket giggled.
"Something funny?" queried the puzzled Don.
"No," smiled Cricket, tapping his knee as Charlie Vaughan's voice crooned out of the radio. "Nothing."
Cricket had all sorts of ideas going on through her mind. She did find Stephano very good looking and the more she was drinking she was feeling rather horny. She could feel her pussy getting wet in her panties. She really hadn’t had any good sex lately since she left Charlie. God, that long! Being around Stephano and the drinks was causing a reaction for her.
She had put her head on his shoulder and Stephano leaned in to give her a kiss. He said, "Hun, no..."
But it kind of just happened. They shared a soft kiss at first and then Cricket shoved her tongue down Stephano’s mouth. She kissed him deep and passionately.
Cricket put her hand on his trousers and felt his erection growing in his pants. They were still kissing and then she unzipped his pants. He didn’t say anything and she proceeded to take his cock out. She played with it in her hands and made him good and stiff.
Cricket then knelt down in the limo and looked into his eyes and put his cock into her mouth. Stephano didn’t even move. She knew he was so shocked that she would do this.
He thought in his mind, “Once a Whore, Always a Whore.”
But, for some reason he really liked her. He didn’t stop her.
She sucked, slurped, and gagged on his thick cock. She worked her glossed lips up and down over the don’s cock. He hadn’t had oral sex in such a long time and he came hard in her mouth. Cricket swallowed it all down.
Then she gave his softening cock a lick, snatched the handkerchief out of his top pocket and wiped his prick and her mouth.
She sat up, shining eyed, and tucked the handkerchief back in his pocket.
"You cool?" she smiled.
He spulttered, “That was great. Thank you. But, let’s not do anything else.”
She said, "Allow me?" she then pulled up his zipper and they continued there way to the dock.
"You like boats?" he eventually offered, gathering himself.
"I like sailors," she smiled.
"You can't get on the deck in those heels, Jem..."
"Then I'll take them off."
They drove on, approaching the marina.
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