Page 32 of Sins of the Son

I waited until the sounds of pans clattering and cupboards opening and closing confirmed Cesare was in the kitchen before moving. Rising, I crept across the hall to the bathroom. After locking the door, I crossed to the mirror and stared in disbelief at my reflection. I looked like a complete wanton. No one would ever believe I hadn’t just been thoroughly fucked, although Cesare hadn’t laid a finger on me. My eyes were bright and slightly unfocused. My cheeks had a deep pink flush that stretched over my jaw and down my neck. And the tops of my breasts still glistened from Cesare’s wet come. Even my lips were swollen from where I had bitten them to keep from moaning as I watched him vigorously masturbate in front of me.

I looked away and moved to turn the waterfall tap on in the large sunken tub. The bathroom fit the aesthetic of the rest of the house, with smooth, river stone tile and lots of natural brown and hunter green tones. I squeezed an overly generous amount of expensive looking bodywash from a black and silver bottle into the bathwater as the tub filled. Soon the air was permeated with the spicy scents of musk and sandalwood as waves of suds drifted over the edge of the tub.

I stripped off the rest of my clothes and slipped into the water, groaning as the soothing heat hit my tense muscles.

As I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, I thought again about what had just happened.

Madonna santa.

Never in my entire adult life had I thought for one fucking second that watching a man masturbate would ever in a million years be sexy. I'd always considered it something sleazy men did behind closed doors to porn or dirty magazines.

But. Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Watching Cesare’s large, firm hand wrapped around his thick shaft and slowly moving up and down, up and down, had been positively hypnotic. And then the filthy things he'd said. It should have been a turnoff. It should have been absolutely offensive. It should have been….

Get on your knees.

My hand drifted over my stomach as my knees opened.

My hand would grip the back of your head, holding you in place as I pushed deeper inside your small mouth.

My fingers teased my clit. Circling the nub with the tip of my finger, I arched my back, lifted my hips, and opened my pussy lips further, feeling the rush of hot water over the sensitive skin. I bit back a moan as I increased the pressure on my clit.

I thought back to the intense look in Cesare’s gaze. He didn’t look at me with romance or love or even passion. There had been a raw, almost manic intensity to his gaze. As if he wanted to devour me, body and soul. I had this strange image of him wanting to claw inside of my chest just to feel my beating heart, to hold it, to claim it as his own. It was primal, macabre, fierce… animalistic.

That’s when you’d struggle. The desire for air warring with your desire to please me.

I closed my eyes and threw my head back as I slid down in the tub, letting the water rise and lap at the edges of my cheeks. I breathed in the heavy, warm air as my fingers worked at a feverish pace.

I whimpered as my orgasm crested, just out of reach. I was so close. So close.

I thought of Cesare.

What would have happened if I had let him touch me?

Would he have forced his cock down my throat? Gagged me with it?

Oh God.

Or would he have started in my throat and then thrown me on the bed, on my stomach, to take me like an animal from behind? Pushing his big, hard cock inside of me as he pulled my hair and told me in that dark, gravelly voice of his what a good girl I was for taking his enormous cock so deep?

Fuck!

I bit my bottom lip so hard to stifle my cry as I came, I tasted blood. My hips shot up as my hand cupped my pussy, sending water sloshing over the edge of the tub, surely flooding the bathroom tiles. I couldn’t muster the energy to give a damn. I was too lost in the best orgasm I had ever achieved from pleasuring myself, and it was all due to fantasizing about a man I hated more than the devil himself.

I raised my hands to wipe away the soapy water that had splashed on my face from my frenzied movements. I then braced my hands on the edge of the tub and attempted to slow my breathing, trying to focus as I opened my eyes.

And that was when I saw Cesare.

He was standing in the open doorway. The open doorway of a door I had, of course, locked.

A black silk robe hung open and loose over his chest and hips, doing nothing to hide his raging hard-on that was clearly outlined through his matching silk pajama bottoms.

His bare feet made wet, sloshing noises as he crossed the soaked bathroom floor. He tossed a folded pile of what looked like another pair of silk pajamas on the sink countertop, then turned to face me. At his much greater height, he towered over me. It was all I could do not to sink deeper under the sudsy water in a lame attempt to hide.

He placed a glass of wine on the tub ledge within my reach.

Leaning down close to my ear, without touching me, he whispered, “Brava ragazza.”

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