Page 82 of Mafia Mistress

My stomach cramped around the gelato. I hated that the mafia bred misogyny and infidelity. It was toxic masculinity on steroids.

I elbowed Giulio. “What about more than one man?”

His olive skin colored slightly. His voice was quiet. “No, we are exclusive. I would kill anyone who touched him.”

“Possessive and monogamous. Who would have guessed such a thing was possible for a Ravazzani?”

He gave me a dazzling grin then pointed to the right. “Over here.”

Rome had the most amazing boutiques and shops. Spending Fausto’s money had been easier than I thought, probably because Giulio encouraged me at every turn. I tried not to dwell on the whole mistress thing too much. Fausto had kidnapped me and wouldn’t let me leave, so it seemed only fair that I purchase things just this once to make me feel more at home.

“There it is,” Giulio said, crossing the quaint cobblestone street. “Let’s go.”

La Perla resided in a charming yellow building on the corner, decorated with gold accents around the windows and doors. The storefront managed to look both expensive and rustic. I tugged on Giulio’s arm to make him stop. “Wait, are you sure you want to do this? Watch me buy lingerie to wear in front of your father?”

“It’s better than buying it to wear in front of me. And are you forgetting that I have impeccable taste?”

He really did. Giulio had selected most of the outfits I had purchased today. Italians had the best fashion sense of anyone in the world.

“Also,” Giulio continued, “except for last night, my father has been relaxed since you two started up. It is nice to see. Refreshing. Even some of the guards have commented on it. I think you are good for him.”

I bit my lip, ridiculously pleased by that statement. No doubt Fausto’s mood was a result of having a new and shiny toy to play with, but he was my toy, too. I tossed my paper cup into a bin and took Giulio’s arm. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you if this gets awkward.”

Inside, Giulio spoke rapid Italian with the saleswomen. Soon I was in a dressing room, being told to take my clothes off. “But I haven’t picked anything out,” I told him.

“They will bring the things back and you try them on.” He studied my face, putting a finger under my chin to tilt my head this way and that. “You should wear red, I think. Italian men love red lingerie, and it will look hot on you.”

Back home, I had a few pieces of fancy lingerie, but David hadn’t seemed to care what I wore. Fausto, on the other hand, struck me as the kind of man who would like it when a woman paraded around in front of him, dolled up in silk and lace.

Actually, I liked the sound of that, too.

The saleswomen began bringing me bras and panties, camisoles and silk pajamas. Some red, but some white and black, too. There was a black lace corset that was to die for. I didn’t try on any of the panties, just selected the ones I liked. When a red lace bodysuit was added to my stack, I paused and stared at it like I was a heart-eyed emoji. It was delicate and sexy, with a little bit of stretch. The underwires and padded cups would thrust my tits sky high.

I had to try it on.

When I adjusted the straps and had it the way I wanted, I turned to the mirror. Oh, I liked it. I looked like a naughty pinup girl. Would Fausto like it, too? Suddenly, I couldn’t wait to find out.

Whipping out my new phone, I held my arm up high, getting the best angle of my boobs, then snapped a picture. I texted it to Trombamico without any text.

I hadn’t even set my phone down when a reply came in.

Cazzo

Your tits in that thing make my dick hard

Buy four of those

No—five

Smiling, I took off the bodysuit and hung it up. I looked at the other things Giulio had sent back. Perhaps Fausto could help me decide.

I began trying on pieces and sending him photos. He responded quickly and succinctly, telling me what he was going to do to me in each of the outfits. The thong and bustier were for when he wanted to spank my ass. The sheer slip dress with embroidered tulle was for when he wanted me to sit on his face. The black lace pushup bra was for when I sucked on his cock. The silk nightgown was for grinding his cock into my ass from behind.

The more he texted, the hornier I became. I was breathing hard, my heart racing, standing alone in a dressing room. It was like he was touching me, though he was still back in Siderno.

I decided to torture him.

Placing my phone on the small stool in the dressing room, I angled the camera so it could see most of my body. I was wearing a simple violet bra embroidered with lace and no panties. Then I started recording.

Looking into the camera, I slid my hands over my chest and cleavage, cupping my breasts. The image reflected back at me was a wanton creature, a seductress with long blond hair and sultry lips. I barely looked like myself.

Feeling braver, I slipped my hands down my belly, coasting my hips, until I reached my pussy. Closing my eyes, I let my fingers skim my seam, gasping when I brushed my clitoris. I was soaked and the touch felt unbelievably good, like I would die if it stopped.

I eased my legs apart, giving my fingers more room to explore. I tried to put on a show at first, but it soon became about my pleasure instead. The pads of my fingers circled my clit, working it as I panted, my body coiling with hunger. At some point I didn’t care who would see this—I just needed to make myself come.

I bit my lip to keep from moaning, keeping as silent as I could manage as I stroked myself. The lust doubled and tripled, my toes curling into the plush carpet, my fingers coated with my wetness. I wished Fausto was in the room with me, his hot glare devouring me while he gave me orders in his sexy Italian voice….

The orgasm slammed into me, my back arching as I trembled and shook. Light and heat exploded, carrying me off on a wave of bliss that went on and on. When it finally subsided, I gave the camera a dreamy smile and blew it a kiss. Then I stopped the video and hit send.

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