Page 61 of Married to the Mafia

He nods. There’s something behind his eyes, but I can’t work it out. “We’re coming into land soon,” he says. “Once we get there you have to do everything I say, got it?”

“I got it,” I reply, thinking about his commands back in the airport lounge. I sat there in just this dress and nothing else. I feel myself blushing at the memory. I went into the ladies and changed into the dress, taking off my bra and panties and feeling excited instead of scared.

Him giving me an order took away the guilt, the shame of doing something so immodest. I knew I shouldn’t bedoing something like that, but he told me, so I had to. That made it his decision, not mine.

I came out and I could feel the cold air on my tits, my nipples hardening under the dress, visible to anyone who looked.

I sat opposite him and spread my legs and I saw people looking my way. I felt like a cross between a slut and an imposter. I wasn’t that brave.

I didn’t do things that bold. I never flashed anyone. I wanted to, but I never did it, only occasionally walked around the house naked when I was alone, curtains open, able to pretend I didn’t notice anyone walking by.

This time was so much more obvious. I sat there with my heart pounding, expecting to be yelled at, but instead the men and some women just looked at me. They looked and said nothing and I did it because he told me to. I loved it, even if I’ll never say that out loud to anyone.

I sit up in my seat after the meal’s taken away and I wait until he’s looking my way. Then I flash him, spreading my legs and putting my feet on my seat, yanking the dress up enough for him to see my pussy. He’s staring at me and I’ve got his completely undivided attention.

This big mafia business owner who terrifies his enemies and has dozens, if not hundreds, of people working for him. I doubt he could tell you his name while he’s looking between my legs and I run a finger down there, spreading my lips for him.

He continues to stare, his eyes widening at the sight, and I know exactly what he wants to do to me. I feel so powerful. It’s like a drug injected into my veins. I love the feeling.

The steward appears and I shove the blanket over me, thanking her for the meal as she makes small talk. I keepglancing at Dino. He’s picked up an Italian language newspaper and is busy reading it like nothing happened.

Is he a good person or a bad person? He’s in the mafia, but he’s been nothing but nice to me. Well, not nice, but not cruel. He has at least been honest. That’s something in a world of liars.

The world I thought I was so sure about has changed a lot in the last week. I’m married to a man I then fell in love with, not the other way around. My father has been shot. My father, the mafia kingpin. Is he a good man or a bad man? I’ve no idea. Can someone be both? Is that possible?

I’m still none the wiser when we land. There’s a cab waiting for us and it takes us straight to a hotel in the middle of Rome. The room is bigger than my entire house. We’re overlooking the Forum and I stand by the window marveling at the view while Dino goes out to get us some things.

We brought no luggage, and he said he’s no idea how long we’ll be here. He’s off to see his tailor first of all, so he suggested I stay here. I don’t mind. I get to look at the view and lay back on the huge bed, staring out at the Italian sunset from the softest blankets I ever felt.

I want to touch myself, but he told me I couldn’t. Told me I had to wait until he gets back. It’s frustrating, but I don’t want to disobey. Already, I’m getting used to this dynamic. Only doing what he tells me to when he tells me to do it.

I’ve been warned he’ll spank me if he comes back and I’ve touched myself. I wait until I hear his keycard in the room lock and then I lift my dress to my waist, stroking my pussy lightly as he walks in with his arms filled with bags.

He dumps them on the floor and crosses to me in a flash, lifting me in his strong arms and flipping me over. “I said notouching yourself,” he says. “I told you what would happen.”

I raise up on all fours and push my ass back at him. I miss being spanked. Not something I ever expected to think, but there you go. It’s how I feel in this moment. I want his hand on my ass.

“Stay there,” he says, turning back to the door. He locks it and then moves the bags through to the other room. I remain in place, holding my breath in anticipation, my heart thudding in my chest.

He comes back, and he’s got something in his fist. “This is for misbehaving,” he says, revealing a buttplug of steel that’s covered in lube. My ass tenses up at the sight. “I’ll be good,” I say. “I promise.”

“You’ll keep this in for the rest of the evening,” he replies. “While we go out for food. Reach back and spread yourself for me.”

I do as he says, feeling utterly exposed and in his power. The tip of the plug presses to my ass and it’s cold. I wince and take in a sharp breath. “Exhale,” he says. “Slowly.”

As I breathe out, the plug nudges past the point of resistance. I don’t think it’s going to fit, but then with a pang of sharp pain, it’s there and I feel a wonderful sense of fullness.

It’s dirty and naughty and again he’s given me permission to do this, so it’s allowed. He slaps my ass a second later, and I gasp with shock. “Ow!”

“You shouldn’t have touched yourself,” he replies. “You’re supposed to obey your husband.”

“I will,” I reply as he moves the plug from side to side. “I promise.”

“Good wife.” He spanks me again and then pulls my dress back down. “Shoes on. We’re going to dinner.”

Ten minutes later, we’re in the elevator, and all I can think about is the plug in my ass. Gravity tugs at it but it’s going nowhere. I grip it between my buttocks and think about how it might feel to have him in there instead.

I’m distracted from the real reason we’re in Rome, but once we get to the restaurant, he mentions that he has a lead.

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