Carlo was sure Justine’s brother knew exactly where she was hiding her money, but the thought of tackling Big John made him reach for the bourbon; Carlo knew any hostile moves he made against either of them would deliver painful and lasting consequences to him, so he bided his time; the little bitch would slip-up one day, and when she did, he’d be there to reap the rewards…
*
John was beginning to wonder if there was something wrong with him; his constantly dwelling on his sister seemed wrong, but also right, and he was finding it hard to separate-out his feelings, torn as he was between his urge to protect his baby sister and his growing need for Justine that had nothing to do with her as his sister, and everything to do with the fact she was young, beautiful, and desirable, just a wonderful woman, coupled with the growing, hopeful suspicion that she was equally into him.
It all came to a head for him one afternoon, his own moment of complete clarity, after being shocked out of his sleep by a particularly arousing, disturbing dream of her.
He’d come back in expecting, or at least hoping to find her there, but there was no sign of her. Disappointment flooded through him, and a quick scout of the kitchen showed she’d cooked him nothing either. Feeling cheated, he called Frattani’s for a Louisiana Hots pizza with the extra-hot Scotch-Bonnet and cachuca pepper topping, and wandered into his bedroom area, pulling off his leather jacket and t-shirt, his standard work attire. As he walked in the door, the scent of Yardley’s English Rose, mama’s and now Justine’s favourite perfume, assailed his nostrils, and he jumped in shock at what he saw.
She was lying on the bed, posing for him, one hand supporting her head as she rested on her elbow. Her shapely, slender legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and her heart-shaped face was made-up, but so subtly she looked completely natural, except for her blood-red, rosebud lips, with the diamond earrings John had given her for her sixteenth birthday twinkling at her ears. The earrings, make-up, and a warm, sultry smile, were all she was wearing, and John’s heart drummed in his chest like it was fit to burst.
“Justy… what… you can’t… baby-girl…” he stammered, knowing he should look away, but unable to tear his gaze away from the beautiful girl lying so invitingly on his bed. Instead, he stared in frank and unashamed appreciation at her long, picture-perfect legs, her smooth, trim flanks, at the shadowed secret between her thighs, and her smooth, flat, toned stomach and enticing little navel. His gaze travelled upwards, marvelling at her perfection, taking in every single inch of her pale, unblemished skin, touched to gold in the light of the bedside lamp, to come to rest on her small, firm, perfect little breasts tipped with the most delicious pair of brown, quarter-sized areola and mouth-watering, rigidly-erect nipples, stiff and swollen, just begging to be touched, squeezed, nibbled, and sucked.
John watched helplessly as the beautiful girl rose onto her knees and beckoned him closer, smiling seductively, until her quick delicate hands found his belt buckle. John watched, his head whirling, as she unlaced his belt, and one by one, popped the copper fly-buttons of his classic Levis, then slid her hand inside, taking hold of him and squeezing him meaningfully.
“Why Johnny Bastine, what have you got here?” she cooed, “Is this somethin’ naughty for li’l ole me? Seems like I’m gonna have to reward you, boy, what you think I should do?”
With that, she slowly, teasingly smiled, her scarlet lips burning their shape and color into his brain. John tried to still the hammering of his heart as she pulled him free from his undershorts, harder, stiffer, and thicker than he’d ever been. With a lascivious kiss and slow, teasing lick of the slick head of his cock, Justine parted her scarlet, bee-stung lips and slid him into the lush, hot succulence of her sweet, demanding mouth. John’s heart slammed in his chest as the wet, insistent heat of her mouth engulfed him, and while a large part of him was disgusted beyond measure at what he did with his sister, an even larger part of him quelled those thoughts and made him reach for her, to twine his fingers in the lush silkiness of her hair as he thrust slowly, deliberately into her mouth.
He knew now with complete certainty that he was going to Hell for doing this; he was going to Hell, but first… first he was going to fuck her; this was just the prelude to what he knew would come; Justine had come to him, made her intentions clear, and now he knew what she wanted, deep inside he recognized it was the same thing he’d wanted for so long; now the die had been cast, let it roll where it would, this was going to happen.
Justine pulled back slightly, popping him from her mouth and smiling up at him as she again licked her lips slowly, lasciviously.
“You better hold on tight, baby, it’s gonna get… interesting!” she purred, before once more sliding her tongue the length of his cock and slipping her velvet lips once more over the bulbous tip. Now her tempo changed; from slow, sensual kissing, licking, and sucking, she moved into high gear, the suction created by her mouth playing havoc with his senses, while her squeezing and fondling of his balls gained a new urgency.
Johnny gasped at the sensation; he knew this couldn’t last, he couldn’t hold out against what she was doing to him, until:
“Justy, no, stop baby I can’t… ooohhh God, no Justy, I’m…!”
Justine looked up at him as she sucked him, her eyes wide, innocent, and oh so wanton, and increased her pace, while her tongue lashed him frenziedly. Johnny lost all control as his sister fellated him so wonderfully, his cock throbbing even as his baby sister pulled him to her by his buttocks, jamming his cock down her throat as he came in long, red-hot blasts of spunk, jet after jet shooting into her hot, wet mouth. Her lips clamped tightly over the pulsating rod jammed in her mouth as she sucked every last drop of sperm from him, filling her belly with his boiling tribute.
He slammed awake, his heart churning in his chest, the image of his sister, naked and inviting, refusing to flee like most dreams did. His aching, pulsating erection did nothing to calm him, nor did the evidence of his arousal, coating his belly and chest as it did. Shamefacedly he cleaned up the copious ejaculate from his naked body, and tried to put the beguiling images of such a vivid, lifelike wet-dream from his mind, but with little success.
After tossing and turning for several hours, he decided sleep wasn’t going to happen, that he was too keyed-up and overwrought by what the dream said to him about what he really wanted. In an attempt to drive those images from his mind, and maybe quiet his scattered emotions, he decided to go for a long, rambling, aimless walk through the West Village, in the hope that would do the trick. As he walked, head down and navigating on auto-pilot, he cast his mind back to the day New York first called him.
*
He’d been off-duty, or as off-duty as a sheriff’s deputy ever managed in the Big Easy, and had stepped into Papa Louie’s for a plate of Miz Effie’s rice and gravy, the best in town, with a side of Maque Choux, a sweet-baked pork chop or three in her own special hot sauce, and a bowl of shrimp etoufee to go with his root beer.
While he was eating, his cop-sense started tingling; something about the pretty, vaguely familiar young girl looking up and down the street outside the cafe didn’t seem right; even Miz Effie sensed it; she looked up at John with an expressive eyebrow raised, and he took the hint. As he stood up and wiped his mouth, Effie took his plate away.
“Keep this warm fo’ yuh, John-boy, you-all come back when you done, I din’t cook no pork chops special for to throw ’em away, you hear me?” she grinned, and John grinned back, kissing the top of her head affectionately before he slipped out the door. The girl was gone, but Then-And-Now Alley was right there, and she could only have gone there, so he carefully peeked around the corner of the building, hoping to get a sense of what he was poking his nose into. Sure enough, there she was, with Arno Lacourt and his three ugliest runners surrounding her.
John was initially inclined to let it go; he was off duty, he’d earned a rest, and if an idiot tourist tweaker wanted to waste her money on the powdered pigeon-shit and rock-salt Arno passed-off as meth then she was in for a heap of ‘serve you right’, but something about the way the four men were leering at her didn’t set right with him; they looked mean, and hungry, and she looked scared, and suddenly very familiar.
As John watched, one of the men, Jubbo, who was standing way, way back in the line when the good Lord was handing out smarts, reached out and squeezed her breast. The girl flushed angrily and slapped him as hard as she could. It didn’t faze Jubbo one little bit; in his life he’d been hit with chairs, pool-cues, tables, and, on one occasion, a forty-pound catfish, and he didn’t even blink; instead, he reached up and tore open the girl’s blouse. His three companions’ leers widened, then they all whirled as a voice at the other end of the alley shouted “Hey, you punks get the hell away from her!”
John looked at the newcomer with interest; large, fit-looking, of indeterminate early middle-age; his accent was definitely not local, and with his impeccably-tailored Armani suit, silk shirt and tie, and subdued, stylish Guccci shoes, he looked like a banker, or businessman, or maybe even a successful lawyer, but certainly not the type to give orders to a bunch of horny jackasses like Arno and his retards and expect them to be carried out. Jubbo pushed the girl back against the wall and sauntered up to the interloper, his bristly chin and vast belly thrust out aggressively, and prodded him in the chest.
“Whyn’t you-all butt-out, slick? Me and my friends just transacting a little business with the lady; when we done, she yours, jest you tell us where to send her, I promise she be with you-all jest soon as we done!” he grinned, dazzled by his own wit.
The newcomer just stared at him, an expression on his face of incredulous disgust. Jubbo scowled and reached out to prod him again, and the man lashed out so quickly John nearly missed seeing his fist connecting squarely with Jubbo’s jaw. The hulking thug dropped to the ground and lay still, and from his vantage point John winced; he’d seen and heard Jubbo’s jaw go from all the way back at the other end of the alley; he’d heard of that happening, but never actually seen it. The newcomer may have looked like a banker, but he packed a wallop like an old-school bare-knuckle prizefighter. He held out his hand as the other three stared at Jubbo lying silent and unmoving on the ground.