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I was sent to the house by my father, to be sold as a wife for Carlo, the youngest. Before I even met Carlo, Alessio’s arrogant, bullying swagger stole my breath away. The dark glow in his hooded eyes made me want things in ways I knew I never should. That evil gleam made me see how pain could be a path to forbidden pleasure. How he could break me apart, in ways I would need again and again.
Bruno was looking down at me then, when they first teased me and made fun of me. His athletic frame and his glint of a competitor to the death gave me a crick in my neck and a buzzing ache in my dripping panties. My pussy wept for him on sight. I knew that I needed to feel the heft and the length of him, gripped tight in my own soft darkness. Pressed hard and thick onto my tongue. I wanted him all the way down my throat.
Carlo is the soul mate for my dark side. His eyes can undress me so completely even in a crowded room, he makes me feel like I’m naked in public. With him I feel free to want things I can never admit to in words. To be taken from behind, from above, and in ways that would make a whore blush.
All three of their natures are unique and special. They all bring qualities that I need.
I need Carlo for his deep, penetrating mind. His insights, the way that in any situation, he will cut straight through the crap. While anyone else would be trying to think their way around the foothills of a problem, figuring out how to cope with all the forests and crowds of obstacles in the way, Carlo will have jumped straight to the peak and thrown down a rope.
He can see like a visionary, but he’s no mystic. He’ll let you believe that he has some sixth-sense other-worldly power, but I know that he just thinks much faster and more clearly than anyone else I ever knew. He can always tell you exactly how he got to an answer, not that he always will, and he’s right so much of the time, it really is scary.
Bruno I need for his easy strength. His unreal physical abilities. Because he’s been a top-level athlete and he still keeps in training, his competitive streak makes him insightful and intuitive, as well as being so strong it’s breathtaking. And his competitor’s drive, the winner’s edge, gives him a point of view that always takes me by surprise.
That and the baseball bat that swings in his pants, and a tongue that could lift weights.
Alessio’s charm, his physical beauty and evil elegance pulled me to him first, , but most of all I need his grasp of the ways of power. He understands what makes people obedient and cooperative. He’s the man to make things happen. People think that power is something that you have. Alessio knows how it is also a thing that you do.
He struts and prowls like a big cat in the jungle, like a leopard on the hunt. When he walks into a room, everybody takes notice. First they see how huge and hot he is but then they keep watching because he’s like a volcano. He’s hot and you just can’t take your eyes off him.
Just seeing that look in his eye and his big paws coming toward me is enough to make me shiver and start to shake inside. His hands can drive me over the edge in a New York minute.
For my liking, progress on the new house could be a lot faster. I’m impatient to get us moved in, so I’ll stay over tonight. My aim is to be there in the morning, before the contractors arrive, so I can speak with their foremen and managers. the gardens are a huge job, but they will all be finished by the weekend. It’s the interiors that are taking all the time.
Carlo has very exacting specifications for the security and automation and the entertainment and lighting systems for the house. When we first talked about building the new house, the tech was all he could think about for weeks. Apart from all the dirty talk he loves to drip into my ear night and day. Things he’s heard or read about people doing, or he’s seen on line. Most often it’s reminders of things we’ve done, either with the others or sometimes just the two of us.
So, building the house from the foundations up, on what’s essentially virgin land, the wiring and communications has been a massive operation. Carlo has been in close contact with the building teams on all of that and he’s kept everyone pretty much on schedule. All of the major delays have been on the finishes. Woodwork, marble, and granite in the kitchens and bathrooms all had supply and delivery issues. Light fittings were late arriving and a lot of the switches and fittings didn’t come up to Carlo’s spec and had to be replaced.
One light fitting that we ordered from Milan, we had fifty eight pieces shipped and they all got stuck in customs for a month. The boss of the lighting engineers was going crazy at the supplier until he eventually found out the problem was that, to get it all through fast, the supplier bribed the wrong guy on the docks. That’s what they told me, anyway.
Everyone on the construction understands, they really don’t want to fuck with us. It makes me sad for any poor goof, any regular guys or working joes who have to go through any of this kind of a thing without the type of power that we have. If it’s this hard for us, I wonder how it happens that anything in America ever gets built.
If I’m tearing my hair out with the connections I’ve got, what chance is there for an everyday civilian joe on the up-and-up?
I want to see what Carlo makes of the progress so far. The way that all four of us are working together to make this house happen is almost as wonderful to me as it is to watch the house develop from the initial drawings, through the plans, models, and material samples and grow out of the ground in front of my eyes.
Bruno always asks if everything can be more or bigger, but I know that he’s happy with the whole of the house. And it will be fantastic. It’s spectacular already. What I know I can not predict is how they all are going to feel when it comes time to move here. They will be leaving their old house, the home that two of them have known since their earliest days.
Whatever I think of the place and however badly I want to leave my dark secret behind there, I have to remember that it’s he only home Carlo has ever known.
When he was at university he lived on campus, but he came home on some weekends and he still thought of that dark old gothic monstrosity as his home. For Bruno it’s almost the same, and even Alessio has lived there before he was in high school.
I hate the spooky old place. It always seemed like a vampire’s castle to me, even before I was imprisoned there. It’s like a theme park of all the terrors. My own special dread got added later and now, any time I hate to drag my feet up the big old stone steps to the huge wood doors. Any time that I do, a deep dread rises over me. I’m afraid that the house is going to open up and yawn my awful secret out to the boys.
So now, while the new house is still in progress, I find almost any excuse to stay there at night. Even though it often means being away from the boys. That’s what makes me so impatient for the construction work to be finished, and I think it’s putting all three of my men on edge, too.
They always rib each other, breaking one another’s balls over the sizes, weights, and shapes of their cocks — though all three of them have more than enough to be proud of in that department. They jibe each other about their sexual techniques and prowess — all of them are different and very distinct, but they’re all heroic to say the least.
They’re apt to take the tiniest little point of friction to a ridiculous extreme, and it often feels like it could get seriously out of hand. Every so often now, the flashing sparks of their rivalry feel like they might go beyond broken glass and the occasional smashed vehicle, and turn seriously dangerous.
With a jolt, I realize that I haven’t heard from Bruno or Carlo since this morning.
CHAPTER SIX
As we reach the gates to the new house, I let out an involuntary sigh. It makes me realize that the place is starting to feel like home to me.
Mikey swings the limo back through the iron gates that swing back from the high stone wall. My shoulders relax as we pass through and in, then up the winding path. We drive a quarter of mile up, through our private land in the forest. Apart from watery silver moonlight, it’s almost pitch dark.
Hidden among tall trees, the pitched roofs of the house rise from the forest, looking like it owns the surroundings. Like it grew here. High on a ridge, the house is a marvel of dark wood, huge panels of smart tinting glass, and pale gray stone.
