Immune To My Beauty -- Chapter 8 -- Finale free porn video

I'm startled awake by the sound of something tapping against my car window. I'm shivering and I open my eyes to a bright fog. I sense movement outside my window and I wipe the condensate off to find a New York State Trooper staring at me.

"Ma'am, are you okay." His voice sounds remote, so I turn the car key and roll the window down so I can see and hear him better.

"I'm fine officer. I just needed to sleep."

"Ma'am, maybe you should come inside and warm up. I'll buy you a cup of coffee at Mickey D's."

"Thanks officer, that sounds good. I can buy it though."

"Suit yourself, Ma'am. I just hate to see people sleep out here in this weather. I found a stiff out here last year about this time."

I close my window and climb out of my car, locking the door behind me. It's nearly freezing on December 14th at 6AM. I'm at the Port Byron Service Plaza on the New York State Thruway, where I stopped at midnight, just 15 hours after my world fell apart. Oh, Cindy,I think to myself. How could you fuck up so completely? That took skills I didn't know you possessed.Inside it's warm and the McDonald's coffee tastes good, once I put enough cream and sugar in it.

The trooper, a handsome Black paladin of a man, whose nametag reads Officer Jerome N. Randolf, sees the way I'm dressed, in my business attire from the day before; thin jacket, skirt, blouse, panty hose, plain shoes, and the smears of my eye makeup. He asks me to look straight into his eyes. He apparently decides I'm not drunk or on drugs or an ax murderer and asks, "Would you mind telling me what a pretty woman like you is doing sleeping in her car and looking like death warmed over?"

"It's nothing you can help me with, Officer. It's not in your jurisdiction. My boss tried to extort a sexual favor from me and I refused. Now I'm out of a job and going to a friend for help."

"I'm sorry that happened to you Ma'am. Guys like that... well let's just say that if it happened to my daughter, it wouldn't happen to anybody else's."

"My boss was a woman, is a woman. Oh hell, she's a woman. She's not my boss anymore."

"Oh. Not much I could cut off a woman, but I would think of something to do to her. This friend, she can help you get your job back?"

"I don't want that job back. I just know Carlo's the one person I can turn to."

"I'm glad you've got someone."

"Thanks, Officer Randolf."

When we finish our coffees, I thank him again, clean my face in the restroom, tank up my car with Mobil at the inflated turnpike price, and hit the road.

My trouble started two nights earlier. I was working late, trying to look good for a promotion I had expressed a desire for. My boss called me into her office and asked me how far I was willing to go to get that job.

"I think I deserve it, but I'll take extra classes or whatever else it takes."

"Would you lick my pussy?"

"What? No!"

"Why not, I know you like to lick young women. Is my 'fica' too old for you?"

My mind was racing. Who could have told her such a thing? The only people who knew were Carlo, Candy and... I looked at the photos on the credenza behind her desk. In one pic, she is seated with a man behind her. A boy is seated in her lap, two young blond girls stand beside her, a blond teen stands beside the man with her hand on Jeanne's shoulder, and a slender dark-haired teen stands next to the man with her arm in his. The last girl looked like she could be Gina, but the photo was too small to know for certain.

"Are you Gina's mother?"

"Never mind how I heard about you. If you lick it," she spread her legs and I could see her hairy cunt, "I'll recommend you for the job. If you don't, you won't get it."

"That's just not going to happen. I'll go to HR and file a complaint."

"That sounds like a threat." -- I didn't mean it as a threat. It was already a certainty. What she wanted was intolerable. I wouldn't pay respect to a woman who didn't earn it. -- "You can try that, but this is what's called a she-said-she-said. I'll deny your story and claim you tried to extort the recommendation by claiming I did this. With a man, you would have a slam-dunk case, but with a married woman, especially when they see the photo, who do you think they'll believe?"

"What photo?"

"The one with your tongue on the pretty girl's cheek. The email note is pretty damning, too."

"This isn't right and I'm not going to do it. There was a time when I might have. You've got the power here. But I'll take my chances. When I speak up, even if I lose my job, you better hope some other girl that you've done this to won't grow a spine and file a compaint."

I left and drove home. I called Gina and asked if there was any way an older woman could have gotten a copy of any of the photos we took.

"Well, my mom or my friends' moms maybe. What's this about?

"Does your mom work at Wilson Brothers Manufacturing?"

"Yeah. Well it's my step-mom. Jeanne Gronski."

"Oh fuck. Did you send a copy of an email with any of those photos to her?"

"No! Hell no! Only to girls our age. My step-sister Jane and... hold on, let me check... Shit Cindy, I copied the wrong J Gronski. Why? What happened?"

I hung up. I was so mad I could chew glass and shit sand. Gina was dumb, but I was dumber. She's young and I probably would have done the same thing in her shoes. Something like that would be just too tempting to not brag about.

I went straight to HR in the morning, with my head held high. They were waiting for me, Jeanne and the Wilson brothers and the head of HR. They had heard her story and I told them mine. One of the brothers looked like he believed me, but they laid it on the line. Without supporting evidence, it would be cheaper to fire me than any other course of action. I was instructed not to talk to anyone at the risk of charges of slander. They even had the balls to try to pressure me to sign an agreement not to sue in return for one month's salary, but I showed as much coraggio as I could and told Jeanne she could kiss my fuckin' ass in court when this was over.

A security guard escorted me back to my desk to clean out my personal stuff. I left with a box of crap in my trunk. When I hit Interstate 90, I headed East. I tried calling Carlo on my cell phone, but he didn't answer. It just rang and rang until a machine answered with static and squealing noises. I briefly thought about going back to my apartment, but I had the dress box with the return address in my trunk and no reason to stay in Chicago.

I drove and drove and drove, well into the dark drizzley night. I was too wound up to even eat. When I couldn't stay awake any longer, I pulled into the service plaza, threw my trunk blanket over my shoulders and fell asleep. That's where Officer Randolf found me at dawn.

Shortly after I get back on the road in New York, I feel that awful tickle in my throat that signals the beginning of a sore-throat cold. I buy throat lozenges at the next plaza and hit the road again. When I stop to pee, I try Carlo's number again and it just keeps ringing. I'm determined to stay in Boston until I find him.

My phone rings when I'm driving again and I hope it's him, but I see Gina's number. It's illegal to call or answer while driving in New York, so I ignore it. When I get to Massachusetts, I don't even want to think about talking to anyone 'back there' yet. My sights are set on Boston and mio amore. I get to Beantown around 3 PM and it's clear that I've got a raging fever complete with chills on top of the head cold.

I get a Boston map and go to the address from my dress box and find a place to park my car. It doesn't look like an apartment building. I looks like maybe a condo conversion of an old warehouse or factory. There's about a dozen names on the wall beside the door and one of them is Carlo's first initial and surname. Nobody answers when I press that buzzer. I sit on the steps in my thin jacket and I don't feel cold.

An hour later it starts to rain and I start to cry again. I've got my head down when a car pulls up and I hear a car door open and close. I can barely lift my head. I look out through bleary eyes and it's Carlo. He's got a strange glow around him and I think he might be a real angel. I laugh, because I never believed in real angels. I cough and snot blasts out of my nose and then the world spins.

I feel myself being carried inside and then my wet clothes are coming off. I fall asleep on a soft cloud. I wake when something cold touches my bare chest. When I open my eyes, a woman who looks to be about 30 is hovering over me with a stethoscope. She has auburn hair and a beautiful kind face and she's wearing a pretty, sea green, silk blouse. She tells me to open my mouth and she sticks a wooden slab in. She shines a bright light in each eye and holds something up to my ear.

"Ninety-nine point five. The fever broke. She'll be fine. She's got a bad cold and strep throat. Give her one of these if she can't sleep. Call me tomorrow if she isn't feeling much better. Make her stay in bed. Resting, not playing."

When I wake in the morning, I find a white men's t-shirt folded on the bed beside me. I'm naked under the soft flannel sheet and down comforter. I look around and see a door that might lead to a bathroom. I really need to pee and when I try to call out, my throat feels awful and I only manage a hiss. I pull the t-shirt on and try my luck with the door. Urine luck as the saying goes. I feel much better with an empty bladder. I peel the shirt off and crawl back into bed and get warm again.

I look around and see that I'm in a very large room that's at least two stories high, because there's a handrail that clearly looks down on a lower space. I see Carlo's head emerge from below as he carries a tray up the stairs and over to me.

"I heard the water run and thought you might want some coffee and orange juice. You can try to eat some toast if your throat feels up to it."

I try to say thanks, but it hurts too much.

"Shhhhh, amore mia, don't try to talk. When you feel better, you can type into my notebook PC."

I smile and feel safe. Carlo's face lights up, clearly relieved that I'm not more anxious about my plight. I sit up and Carlo looks at my naked chest. I pull the sheet up and smile at him. He puts pillows behind my back so I can stay up while I drink. The coffee is rich and strong. The juice burns my throat at first, but then I can eat some buttered toast. It has cinnamon sugar on it that I can barely taste. Finally I try to talk again. I croak out, "Mio amore," and try no more. I signal that I'm ready to type. He gets his notebook and opens a text editor and hands it to me. I type

Ask.

"Are you in any danger?"

No.

"Do you want me to call anyone?"

Yes. Candy. Ask her to tell Mom I'm ok.

"What else should I tell her?"

I got fired. I'm done with Chicago.

"What happened?"

Give me an hour to write it.

"Okay, take as much time as you need. I'll bring you a bell to signal me when you're done."

Ok.

I type out my tale. As I drove across Indiana, I cried my eyes out. I was lucky I didn't crash. As I drove across Ohio, I blamed Carlo for setting these tasks for me, and then I blamed Gina for being a stupid careless girl, and then I blamed myself for having a past that could catch up to me. By the time I reached Pennsylvania, I had forgiven those three stooges and I was just plain fucking mad at Jeanne Gronski. I didn't write any of that to Carlo, but I told him why I left Chicago and that I tried to call him and that his number only rang.

It was less than an hour when I rang the bell. Carlo read it in about five minutes. Then he picked up my cell phone and checked my call log and contacts list.

"You transposed two digits in my phone number."

I banged my palm against my forehead, the universal symbol of 'I'm an idiot.'

It's a new cell phone. I had to reenter all my contacts by hand.

"Well, that mystery is solved."

I smile.

"What should we do about this malvagia donna?

? bad vagia woman?

"Wicked woman."

I shrug.

"Shall I have her killed?"

I gasp and look at him, only to see him smile and wink. His delivery was a perfect stereotypical mafia don.

You pull my leg.

"I can not resist. It is such a pretty leg."

I smile and mouth, "Grazie".

"You can sue and get her fired."

I nod.

"Is ten year's pay enough?"

I'm sure I look shocked. That's over half a million dollars.

I nod.

"Okay, any questions?"

My car?

"Jimmy has it. He took your key and looked for Illinois plates."

Who is the Doctor?

"Ah. Let's just call her Dr. Saturday."

I raise one eyebrow and he looks sheepish.

How many days of the week are there?

I expect to hear him say seven or nothing, but he answers, "Only two, for now."

I raise one eyebrow again.

"Well, you may not know this, but you know this guy. He's not a very good dancer, but he needs a new dancing partner. He likes to take lessons on Thursday evenings and then dine and then make passionate love to his dancing partner. Then he likes to kick her out the door on Friday morning."

Does this guy I know kick very hard?

"It's more like a spank."

Does he spank very hard?

"Only when she's a very bad girl."

Does he like her to be a bad girl?

"Yes, very bad."

Does this spanking end with one more minute of time with him?

"Well, maybe one more hour. A good spanking might require a shower later."

I smile.

Tell me about your marriage.

"There isn't much to tell. I was married for one year to a woman who wanted children very badly. We both did. We tried very diligently. It was easy to try very diligently because she is a very beautiful woman. When she didn't get pregnant, we went for tests. My sperms are all dead. Maybe from the cat bite fever. She divorced me and sued for breach of contract, even though I didn't know about my condition. We settled out of court for one half of my taxable income annually for twenty years. She made a big mistake. I have many close family friends who help me live without earning income. I help them, also. I do things that make them money and they are grateful and generous."

I raise my eyebrow again.

"It is all within the letter of the law, if not the spirit." He winks.

This is fun. These are all friends of your father?

"Some are, but when I say family, I mean the family of mutual respect. When they are close family friends, that means we have a bond of friendship that is based on such mutual respect they I treat them like family."

So, Jimmy, Ms. Tuesday, Maria, Dr. Saturday?

"Yes and many others."

Am I a close family friend?

"What will you do about Gina?"

The question comes from so far out of the picture that I don't really think before I answer.

She is just a stupid girl. She didn't mean any harm.

"You were just a stupid girl who dressed like a puttana for her sister's wedding. You didn't mean any harm. You beat yourself up for over a year. Do you forgive her because she is royalty? You are Gina's professore. She needs you. Is she a close family friend?"

His comments and questions land on me like 'tough love' and I remember how hard he drilled into me the last time I was in Boston.

You give me a lot to think about.

"I know you will make the right decisions."

Is Ms. Tuesday your professore?

"Yes."

Please remind me to thank her.

He smiles. "What are your goals in life? Un marito? Bambini?"

I shake my head.

I want a career. You already know I want to dance competitively for a hobby. I want to have freedom. I want to give joy to my lovers. I want to become the best cougar I can become.

"Cougar?"

A woman over thirty who takes pleasure from men in their twenties. Like Ms. Tuesday.

"But you are only twenty-seven."

I need time to practice. I grin my most devious grin.

"Only younger men?"

Well, maybe only on Tuesdays and Saturdays. At least one older man might be a good thing.

"Maybe women, also?"

I think about how good that idea sounds and realize that I've been lying to myself. I'm bisexual.

Maybe. If I can find one I can respect.. and one I am worthy of.

Carlo starts to laugh. It sounds beautiful.

What's so funny?

"Sometimes it is not who you find. It is who you let find you."

I realize then that Carlo let me find him and I let Gina find me.

You mean like Gina. Not a question, a statement.

"It is clear that you complement each other."

I grin.

I could do worse.

"Do you need a dance partner?"

Yes. Every Thursday night.

"Will you be my Cynthia Thursday?"

Sì, amore mio. I'm looking forward to being kicked out.

I am exhausted from all the typing and the excitement. Carlo senses my need for sleep. He sets the notebook aside, places a glass of water beside the bell on the night table beside me and goes back downstairs.

When next I wake, I hear a woman's voice. She's asking Carlo how long I've slept. She's bringing bags up the steps. It's Ms. Tuesday. She sees that I am awake and says, "Allo, chéri. Are you feeling better?"

"Oui."

"Ah, don't try to speak. Get better first. Parlez-vous français?"

I hold up my fingers to show a tiny gap.

"Un peu de Français is better than none at all, chéri. Je m'appelle Allene. Bienvenue dans la famille de Carlo."

I smile and mouth, "Merci."

"I have brought you some clothes. I have also washed and returned the clothes you arrived in. You looked effroyable three days ago."

Three days! Assuming she is counting the day I arrived, I've lost a day. I'm feeling rested and very hungry. I see no reason for modesty, so I throw back the covers, sit up and pull the t shirt on.

"Ah, très jolie. Bon. Carlo needs a beautiful dance partner and a young lover. Vous êtes la fois."

I smile and mouth 'Merci'. I signal eating and she understands.

"Carlo, Mademoiselle Jeudi a faim," she calls.

From someplace down below I hear, "Good. Dinner will be soon. Fifteen minutes."

Miss Thursday. It feels wonderful to be one of Carlo's days. I love him so much I would be happy to be five minutes of every other month, but I love the idea of the freedom that a once-a-week tryst offers. I feel as weak as a kitten, but I quickly shower and change into the new clothes. Allene helps me by removing tags. Everything fits. It's a more sophisticated casual look than I'm used to, but I see Carlo's admiring smile when I come down the stairs and find three places set at the breakfast bar in his kitchen.

After dinner, my throat is better. My voice sounds painful to hear, but it doesn't feel painful to speak. I thank Allene for all she's done for me. It is Sunday night and I ask if it is unusual for her to be with Carlo on a Sunday.

"Oui, il inhabituel, but Carlo and I have business to discuss and I don't want it to take away from my night. We will see if we can get you some récompense."

"Merci and grazie."

I return to bed after dinner, with a stern warning to rest my voice. Allene helps me to undress and then goes back down to speak with Carlo. I use Carlo's notebook to retrieve my email. I find the expected; spam, get well cards, reports from my wish lists, etc. I also find the unexpected. Ten emails in four days from Gina, all with the same subject line, 'Please Don't Hate Me.' I read each one. She says she's sorry several times. She asks if I'm mad at her. She asks if I'm not speaking to her. She asks if I can forgive her. She asks if I hate her several times. She asks if I'm okay. She says she hates herself for what she did.

I reply to the last one.

Subject: RE: Please Don't Hate Me
To: ginaginaatXXXXXXXXX
From: sinfullkindeeatXXXXXX

Ciao, bella Gina,

Don't be a silly girl. I don't hate you and you have no reason to hate yourself. I've been sick for three days, but I'm getting better. I was angry and hurt, but I could never hate you.

Do you see me as a mentor? Think carefully before you answer, because the answer could place obligations on both of us.

Cindy

I continue reading other emails until a chat request window from her pops up.

only if you wil have me as a mentee I owe you im not sure what all yet but I do

Slow down. Think before answering. Write clear complete sentences. Punctuate.

Sorry, Cindy. I'm so glad to hear from you. What happened?

Your step-mom is fuckin' nasty.

Tell me something I don't know. This is hard. Can I see you on cam?

I learn how to turn on the camera and an image of her pops up. She looks depressed, but happy to see me. When the window for my cam opens, I smile at her.

"Hi Cindy. Are you naked?"

I tilt the screen down to show my tits and then back up again.

"Nice. Why aren't you saying anything."

Laryngitis.

"Oh, that sucks. Where are you. I went to your apartment, but you didn't answer the door."

In Boston.

"When are you coming back."

Maybe never. Maybe only to visit.

"It's that bad?"

And that good.

"Ohhh. Will I see you again?"

I hope so. When I'm settled. When you can visit.

"Winter break starts next week."

Too soon.

"Spring Break then."

No. You have Florida and bikinis and boys. I remember your tan lines. Mmmmmmm.

"I graduate in June. Nursing."

Think about Boston. Lots of hospitals and rich doctors here. And a friend who misses the fun we had.

"Really? I will. It sounds better than Plan A. Detroit. Lots of Canadians go there for health care, so there's jobs there, but still, it's Detroit."

I'm sure every city has its bad points, but I have friends here and friends can make a difference.

"So it's not that you hate Chicago?"

No. It's just that I lost my job and it seems like a good time to be here.

"Oh my god! My mother is your boss, right?"

Not anymore. She wanted my tongue, but I said no. She got me fired.

"I wondered why she was acting so smug."

I wouldn't expect that to last much longer.

"Why? What's going to happen?"

I don't know, but you might want to be ready for a shakeup.

"Good. Take her out. I mean not literally, but I've always wondered why my sister was in such hurry to get married and leave."

Not you?

"No, she left me alone but she got kind of touchy with Jane after she turned 17. Blondes I guess."

And your little sisters?

"Shee-it. They're almost 17."

Talk to Jane. Try to protect or rescue your other step-sisters. I'll talk to her if it will help.

"I'm so sorry, Cindy."

We all make stupid mistakes. Sometimes we hurt others.

"What should I do to fix this?"

I think deep down, you probably know the answer. I'll help you dig. What did you tell the other girls?

"Um, what you did to me."

But not what you did to me?

"Um, no."

Which pics did you send?

"Just the one."

Am I your mentor?

"Yes. I guess I kind of profited at your espense. I know what I need to do. I'll tell them the whole story. Is that all I need to do?"

That's for you to decide. I'm good with it. It never would have hurt me if it wasn't emailed and it looks like it might all work out for the better for me. Don't beat yourself up over it. By swallowing your pride and setting the record straight, you will salvage what you can. Live and learn. That's what matters.

I recommend talking to them one at a time. No emails. Show them the other two pics. You might lose some status, but with true friends, you'll gain respect and you'll deserve it. You'll know by their reactions which ones are true friends.

It felt strangely natural to share my philosophy with her.

"Gotcha. Thanks."

Let me know how it works out.

"I'll keep in touch. Hope you get well soon. Get plenty of rest. Gina Sorry-puss, signing out."

I make kissy-lips at her and she smiles as the windows close.

I feel great in the morning. I normally don't have breakfast but I find fresh fruit in the refrigerator and begin making coffee. I walk around the rest of Carlo's space and see the daybed where he's been sleeping while I enjoy his king-sized bed. I marvel at the odd collection of stuff he has scattered around the place; a kayak, scuba tanks, a really nice racing bicycle, what looks like a parachute and all sorts of other 'dangerous' sporting equipment. Then I see something that stuns me. A dressmaker's dummy stands in a corner and next to it is a basket with fabric scraps identical to the dress Carlo sent me. My dress is a Carlo original!

There's also a partially finished nude painting of Allene Tuesday in oil paint on an easel and it looks like a very talented artist is painting it. I begin to think nothing will surprise me more about him until I see a picture of a much younger Carlo juggling five balls. I think it must be an apt metaphor for how he lives his life. He arrives dressed in running attire and we share a cup of coffee.

"Cindy, amore mio, I am kicking you out this Friday morning as promised. I am flying to Rome for Christmas and Candy and Linda will be in Chicago for the holidays with your papà and mamma. Jimmy is driving there with a truckload of live Maine lobsters. You can use the truck to clean out your apartment and he needs company on the road to keep him from driving too slowly, so you might as well go with him. Just remember, he is a lying son of the devil."

I think Carlo must have noticed the growing joy on my face as he gives me the news. I try to squeal, but my voice cracks and I can only hug him and whisper Grazie over and over. Then I think of poor Jimmy.

"Jimmy, will be alone for Christmas? He can stay with us, I'm sure."

"Amore mia, I think your inner beauty just surpassed your outer beauty. Jimmy will rent a car and visit family in Milwaukee. When you get back, you will have your own place and we can start working on your résumé. Remember, we have a date for First Night and a dancing lesson for Thursday night if you have your strength back."

I smile, remembering what else is in store for me on Thursday evening, and maybe Friday morning.

After one Paso Doble in front of Maria, I'm exhausted and she's impressed. She tells Carlo that it's time for us to get a new instructor who can take us into the ballroom dance competition scene. She recommends a friend of hers. I'm glad that the dance lesson is short, because I want time to recover my strength for the evening.

After showering, we dine at one of Carlo's favorite resaurants, a very authentic Italian mom and pop restaurant with no pretentions of fancy. The employees all know and apparently love Carlo and they welcome me like family. Carlo allows me one glass of chianti, the "good stuff" he tells the waiter. The bottle says 'Classico Riserva' and I know I've found a red Italian wine that I like. I eat a generous plate of pasta puttanesca. I giggle at the name. "How appropriate for tonight."

The one glass of wine makes me giddy and we kiss for much of the cab ride back to Carlo's tana. It is more of a lair than an apartment. He carries me up the stairs as I feel the ripple of his arm and shoulder muscles.

"Are you ready, amore mia?"

"Sì, amore mio." I am so ready for this. There is no fear that I will see the laughing Carlo. The smiling Carlo is right in front of me and I can see the love in his eyes. The lights are dim, but bright enough that I can see his well defined muscles as he tosses his shirt over the handrail. I realize that I haven't actually seen his chest before and I'm glad he saved that for tonight. I run my hands over his pecs, abs and biceps as he unbuttons my top and removes my bra.

He kneels and sucks on my hard nipples, while reaching under my skirt and carressing my buns. He unzips my thick wool skirt and lets it slide off my hips. I changed into panty hose after dancing because of the cold night and he pulls them down and places a kiss on my exposed pubic mound. I feel it in the core of my soul. His hands glide down and then up the backs of my legs and when he gets to my firm buttocks, he squeezes them hard.

"I love your dancer's muscolatura. Fit for sculpting in marble."

"Carlo, you make me feel so beautiful and so molto amato."

He pushes me back and I sit on the bed. I watch as he removes his pants and tight briefs. His cock is hard and he pushes it toward my mouth as he pulls my head onto it.

"Succhiami il cazzo," he commands. "Suck it my little puttana."

I sense he's holding back a little because of my recent soreness, but I engulf the head and stroke at the base of his shaft. I don't try to deep throat him,, but I stroke and suck until he pushes me back and drops to his knees. Spreading my legs, he drives his tongue deep into my cunt and then up to circle my clit.

"Sì, per favore, leccare la fica. Lick it, please. Oh, yes." I feel my passion build, but I want more than his tongue can deliver. I push his face away and raise my pussy up. "Per favore, sculacciare mia fica. Spank it. Spank my cunt."

He gives my pussy a nice firm pat, but I want more. "Harder!"

He doubles the force and it hurts, but just the right amount of hurt. "Sì, un altro." One more smack and I come, dropping my ass back to the bed. His faces returns and rides my cunt as my hips buck and the warm bursts of ecstasy course through me. "Grazie, mio amore, you hurt me so good."

When I feel another orgasm approach, I push his face away, roll over onto my elbows and knees, and say, "Now fuck me please, scopare tua piccola puttana."

He gets on the bed on his knees behind me and pushes into my wet cunt. His cock feels large and hot, and my pussy has what it has been craving for so long. I finally have my Carlo's cazzo inside me and he grabs my hips and slams into me hard. "Puttana Giovedi, my little Thursday whore. I have wanted this since the day we met." He comes with a series of gasping moans and I come again. I do not see the laughing Carlo. I see nothing. I feel everything good; love, lust, joy, bliss, comfort, strength, security, health, contentment, satisfaction and hope. I feel magnifico.

We cuddle and talk until it's time to prepare for sleep. For the first time, Carlo joins me in his bed, spooning naked behind me. I am still weak from my illness and it feels so wonderful to have his warmth at my back. He nuzzles into my neck and says, "I am going to enjoy kicking you out in the morning, mia amore."

"Then I intend to be molta, molta cattiva, amore mio. Yes, very, very bad."

Epilogue

"And so, bella Gina Martedì, I have told you bedtime stories for eight nights in a row. You are lucky that Carlo had to fly to Florida on Thursday. Now you know the story of me and Carlo. Now you know how your evil step-mother lost her job and her husband. Your father will be better off without her, but you already knew that. Now you know how I became immune to my beauty. Well, yes, I'm still struggling with the addiction, but I am not so in love with the face I see in the mirror. I love the woman I am still becoming. I am still changing, still growing into a new me. I have even slowly begun to speak differently because of Carlo and Allene and Maria. Allene especially doesn't like our English contractions.

"You have joined my family and tomorrow is Wednesday, so I will kick you out of my door to your own apartment. I lived in that building when I left Carlo's loft. You will like it. Be nice to the doorman, William. He is a close family friend and he will take extra good care of you. You will like working for Dr. Saturday and all her male associates. They have a first rate clinic.

"Carlo will help you invest and you will thrive. Be as generous with him as he is with you. His needs are few and he never asks, but you will know when a gift is appropriate. I pay for all of our dancing expenses and meals. He has already doubled the settlement money from Wilson Brothers, so he deserves that much and more. Don't make records of gifts that you give him. It mustn't seem like income.

"Carlo lost his driver's license again and Jimmy is getting married so I don't know where he will get a new chauffeur. He never should have been given that motorcycle. His mother spoils him so. No, it was not fun taking care of him when he broke both arms, but it had its moments. His day nurse always left with a smile and between me, Allene, Maria and Dr. Saturday, we managed the evenings. I think even Maria took a ride or two on his pogo stick. No, she is his father's cousin's daughter, so only a third cugina, but there will be no bebè anyway.

"His father will probably provide another driver. Yes, it is sad that Carlo can not father bambini and provide more nipotini to Don Marco and Donna Martha. Maybe science will help him one day. Then he will get married and the world will lose its biggest little child. The cat made him a man, but it didn't take the little boy out of him.

"If Carlo and you want to make the beast with two backs, don't worry about me. Carlo knows it is not like that between me and him. Thursday is my Carlo night and Tuesday is my Gina night and Saturday is my night for prowling the night scene for cubs. It is a good schedule that leaves four nights open for other pursuits. It might be fun if we all spend time together on another night, but not as a regular thing. I have too many other things to learn and enjoy. I always try to make time for my friends, but there is so much to see and read and do.

"You made me very proud with your emailed stories of telling the truth to your friends. The two you lost were better lost. The one who became your kitten for a while is a better woman for it. The others, including your step-sister, respect you more. They will make good bridesmaids when you find that lucky man and settle down to make bambini. Don't look at me like that. You know that you want to. You will enjoy married life, but it is good that you will live on your own first. We will see each other often, but there is nothing like the lessons you can learn with no roommates.

"Oh, that feels good. Yes, lick my fica. Not even Carlo is as good as you. Yes, I'll stop talking now."

Fine