The Gangster's Daughter

With great thanks to Avicia for grammar editing and inspiration. If anyone wants to write to me, I can't reply if you don't give your email address.

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I made sure to be early, as being late for the boss's summons would not have been healthy for my career or otherwise. I drove the convertible through the innermost security gate after leaving my guns with the guard. I parked not far away, in the shade, and leaned against the car while waiting for my appointment time, sipping bottled water and looking out at the estate. There was a lot to look at: it was huge, with beautifully manicured gardens, statues, fountains, topiary bushes, and gravel paths, with the imposing mansion in the center. I wondered what the occasion for my summons was.

A woman came in a hurried stumble from the mansion towards the gate. She may have been trying to run, but she was not dressed for running. She wore a red strapless dress that could have been painted on, with matching detached long sleeves, and tall red platform shoes that must have been six inches in height. She had large mirrored sunglasses on her face and carried a tiny matching purse. She was probably of average height, but with the platforms she was almost as tall as I was. Her long jet-black hair streamed behind her in the light breeze. When she got closer, I could see her long matching red fingernails, probably three inches beyond the fingertip, that advertised, "I have people to dress me.".

She ran to the guard's booth and hammered at it frantically. "Alexander! Let me through! Now!"

"Good morning, Miss Sin," the guard said in his deep voice. "You shouldn't go running in your evening shoes. You could break your ankle."

"Fuck that!" she said. "Open the gate! I've got to get the fuck out of here!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Sin, but I've been specifically instructed that you are not to leave the premises this morning."

"Fuck! Look, Alexander. Father has -- he's being totally unreasonable. He's going to marry me off! To one of his fat fuck lieutenants, some geriatric greasebag named De Taglio! Today! He's calling over a priest for noon!"

"Indeed, Miss Sin?" the guard said. "I am sure your father knows what is best for you. I hope you and Mr. De Taglio will be happy together."

"Fuuuck! Alexander, please! Open the gate! I have to get out of here!"

"I'm sorry, Miss Sin, I can't do that."

She thrust her hand into the tiny purse and pointed it at the security guard menacingly. "If you don't open this gate, I will blow your brains out!"

Alexander coughed politely. "Miss Sin, that purse is too small to hold a pistol of any reasonable caliber, while this booth glass is rated for light machine gun fire. So I am afraid that is not a credible threat."

She threw the purse to the ground, where it bounced, clearly too light to have any gun in it at all. "Alexander, I will suck your cock if you open the gate."

"No, Miss Sin."

"You can put it inside me. I'm a really good fuck. I want to feel that big black cock of yours. I will make it feel so good."

"No, Miss Sin."

"Fuck!"

Sin turned and bent to pick up her purse and saw me in the shadows, watching.

"And what the fuck are you looking at?"

I drank my water and watched her. She saw the car and read its license plate: "TAGLIO1".

"Fuck! Is that De Taglio's car? He's here already?"

"Yes," I said. "And yes."

She looked at the convertible, red, freshly washed and waxed, shiny. "Nice car."

"Thank you."

"You're not a geriatric fat fuck!"

"No," I agreed.

"And you're not a goombah."

"Pardon?" I asked.

"Goombah, dago, guido, wop! You don't look like an eytie."

"I am not of Italian descent, no," I said.

"What are you, anyway?"

I thought it over. "Apache, Bantu, Chinese, and Dutch."

She snorted. "All right, fuck you, don't tell me. You're De Taglio's driver?"

"I drove this car. My name is Phillip."

She laughed. "Phillip for his driver, like Father has Alexander for his guard. De Taglio is really sucking up."

I shrugged. "It's my name."

Sin looked me up and down. "Nice suit. Pocket handkerchief. Italian shoes. Classy. Does your boss dress you?"

"Thank you. No, I choose my clothes myself."

She reached out and felt the lapels with her long-red-nailed fingers. I let her. She said, "Custom made. Kevlar blend?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes. I'm surprised that you noticed."

"I've been with my father for fucking years, I learned some things." She was not done. "Empty shoulder holster. Empty ankle holster. Athletic build. Calloused hands around edges and knuckles. You don't just drive for De Taglio, you fight for him. But no scars on the phys -- you're a pretty boy." They were statements, not questions, but still demanded responses.

I smiled. "The guns are with the guard. Yes, sometimes I use them or my hands. I try not to get hit."

Sin stepped back and looked me up and down again. "Nice body."

She had large breasts, and the red strapless dress was tight enough that I could see they had horizontal barbell piercings through the nipples. No underwear. She had the build that came with being athletic for years, but her body was soft; she hadn't been exercising for some time. She was thin despite the large breasts, on the edge between model-thin and painfully so. I couldn't see because of the dress, but I would bet she had a thigh gap. I said, "Likewise."

She looked at me, wondering whether I was being rude.

"Where's fucking De Taglio?"

"Looking at the grounds, talking to people," I said.

Sin strode over to the convertible. "This isn't the kind of car most of my father's lieutenants ride around in," she said. "They like fucking big black limousines, bulletproof glass, tough enough to stop a tank. Not sportscars, not fucking red convertibles."

I said nothing.

"This is a chick magnet, eh?" she asked. "Does De Taglio use it to pick up fucking sluts?"

"Some women like it, yes," I said.

"Well, it's pretty and shiny, but it's not fucking practical," she said. "No room in the back seat for actual fucking. The big limos may not look sexy, but there's room to fuck without breaking your spine. I've fucked in them. The fat gray-haired fuckers may not know how to fuck worth a damn, but they know where to do it in comfort. Where does De Taglio fuck the sluts that he picks up in this shiny piece of shit?"

"Usually on the hood," I said. "They think it's sexy."

She laughed. "And you? Do you fuck sluts on the hood of this car when your boss is away?"

"I have, yes," I said. "You'd look good on the hood of this car."

She turned to me like she didn't believe a mere driver could talk back to her.

"Are you calling me a slut?"

"It's not offensive -- some of my best friends are sluts," I said. "Meanwhile, your name is Sin, you say 'fuck' every other sentence, you've just offered to have sex with the guard so he'd open the gate for you, it's eight in the morning, and you're wearing a painted-on dress that clearly shows both your nipple piercings, and that you're not wearing either bra or panties. The shoes fit."

She slapped me or tried to. I blocked her hand lightly, without spilling any water from my bottle. She tried to slap me again with the other hand, harder and faster. I blocked with my other arm, harder and faster, with a snap. This time, water spilled. She yelped and stepped back, nursing her arm. That would probably leave a bruise.

But then she screamed and jumped me, clawing for my face and kicking with those heavy platform shoes. I was surprised: the shout wasn't just a scream of rage; it was a full-throated Kiai, and the attack was a trained jumping kick, a good one. She was not just a spoiled rich brat. She was at least a few months out of practice, but she was a trained fighter and knew how to use the element of surprise. The claw for my eyes was a distraction; that kick with the heavy platform shoe would pop my kneecap, after which her cocked elbow would snap forward and crush my larynx. But she was out of practice, and I wasn't. I dropped the water bottle entirely, shifted my stance so the kick slipped off, and did a hard two-armed rising block, possibly just a bit too hard. She was lighter than she looked. Sin flew six feet and landed on her back, spraying gravel, but she slapped the ground -- just a little late -- and was up again, this time in a defensive stance. Her mirrored sunglasses had flown off, and her face was strange: angry and hurt, of course, but also somehow gleeful and hungry.

I picked up the sunglasses from where they fell and offered them to her, arm extended. She looked at me warily, blinking, and snatched her sunglasses from my hand. She jammed them back on her face and evaluated her chances. I could see her realizing that I had seven inches and seventy pounds on her, and I would not be taken by surprise again. She ran to the gate guard.

"Shoot him, Alexander!" she yelled. "Fucking shoot him! He hit me, you saw it! I want him fucking dead!"

"You did jump him, Miss Sin," Alexander said calmly.

"Shoot him! Your job is to protect me, fucking shoot him! If you're too much of a fucking pussy, give me your gun, and I'll shoot him myself!"

"No, Miss Sin. He is not a threat to you. You, however, are a threat to yourself."

She looked at him and spat. "Pussy!" Her saliva dripped down the booth window.

"I'll fucking kill him myself." She turned to me.

"Your pupils are dilated," I said.

"What the fuck does that mean?" Sin asked.

"When your sunglasses came off, I saw your eyes. The pupils were dilated. Your eyes are letting in too much light. It must hurt, which is why you need to wear the sunglasses. It also means you're high on something, which would explain your behavior."

"Fuck you!" she said.

Sin reached behind herself and unzipped her dress easily despite her long fingernails. It fell to the ground, pooling around her feet. She wore nothing underneath. Her body was pale with faint, fading tan lines -- she had worn string bikinis but hadn't been in the sun for a while. She certainly had the body for them, model-thin or even thinner. The horizontal barbells piercing the nipples of her large breasts had rubies on each side. Her pubic hair was shaved into a jet-black arrow pointing directly down at both the matching ruby barbell piercing her clitoral hood and the slightly protruding clitoris below it. Her vulva lips were shaved perfectly smooth and slightly open, the inner lips barely visible. She did have a thigh gap.

She stepped over the dress and strode towards me, wearing only tall platform shoes, long red sleeves, and mirrored sunglasses. I stepped away carefully, not understanding what she was doing but wanting to have room to react in case she attacked again.

"Are you afraid?" Sin asked. "Are you a pussy? Or do you want to fuck one?"

"You did just try to claw my eyes out," I said.

"Pussy!" she said. "Fuck me. Right now. On the hood of that car, De Taglio's car. You said you fuck sluts on the hood of that car, and I would look good there, and you called me a slut. Do it. Fuck me. Right here, right now. Or do you just like to beat up women and only fuck little boys?"

I looked around. Alexander, the gate guard, was carefully not paying attention. No one else was in sight. Sin stood, bare legs spread wide, red-sleeved arms with long-nailed hands on her naked hips, large bare breasts prominent, black hair streaming behind her in the light breeze. She whispered, "pussy," and ran her tongue around her lips. She was hot.

"I'll need to chain your hands together," I said.

"Kinky fucker," she said. "I'm up for it."

I unlocked the glove compartment of the convertible and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. They were standard police issue, which meant that any experienced gangster would be able to get out of them in a few minutes, if not seconds, which is why I had them, but I was betting that Sin with her long fingernails would not. She held her arms out straight, pushing her naked breasts up and together. I locked one cuff around one red-sleeved wrist, then held them both as I led her to the driver's side of the convertible and nudged her to bend over the door with my shoulder.

"Over the door from behind?" she asked huskily. "That could be hot. But I thought you wanted me on the hood, fucker."

I passed the open cuff through the steering wheel and locked it onto her other wrist.

"Last chance," I said. "I am a kinky fucker. Once you're on the hood, you're no longer in a position to make choices. Say no, and I unlock you right now. Otherwise, no more choices."

"Yessss...," she hissed and ran her tongue around her lips again. "Fucking do me, your choice."

I picked her up bodily and lifted her over the windshield onto the hood. Her thin red-sleeved arms were bent behind her, up and around the windscreen, by the short chain of the handcuffs connecting them to the steering wheel. Her back was against the windscreen, with her large breasts standing straight out in front of her. Of course, they weren't natural, they would have been the first place she lost fat when she got thin; but they looked real, they must have been expensive. Her thin legs were spread open, bent at the knees, with her platform shoes on the car hood.

I looked at the shoes. They were heavy and could do damage. I went around the back of the convertible, popped the trunk to get a pair of bungee cords and a driving pillow, then slammed it behind me. She peered around behind her uncomfortably and jumped at the slam of the trunk.

"What the fuck is that?" Sin asked.

"No more choices, remember?" I looped each bungee cord several times around each ankle, then drew it taut and hooked the ends around the rim of a wheel well. This pulled her legs apart and stretched her body down. She was now stretched, spread-eagle, across the windscreen and car hood, her arms over her head and her legs open wide.

"Fucker!" Sin said, looking down at me, but didn't object as such.

I tucked the pillow under her ass to angle her groin up. I could look into her spread pussy, under the piercing. It was already moist. I could slide my fingers inside. I did. She sighed softly.

I was forgetting something. I looked from the wet lips of her pussy to her mouth with her other set of wet lips and the strong white teeth behind them. She could probably bite. I walked around to the side of the car and gathered her long black hair in my hands, then pulled it out straight behind her and looped it taut through the handcuff chain.

I took off my suit jacket and hung it neatly on the back of the driver's seat, then undid my tie, draping it over the jacket, then unbuttoned my shirt.

"Hey!" Sin said. Her head was now pinned against the windscreen. She could not look back at me or down at herself; she could barely turn her head from side to side. "Are you going to fuck me or just make me a fucking hood ornament?"

"Oh, you'll be fucked," I said, taking off the rest of my clothes. "But first, we talk. Don't you want to know who I am? Anything about me? Even my name?" I asked.

"Fuck, no," she said. "I don't give a fuck. I am a slut, remember? I fuck a lot of people. Just get over here and fuck me."

"Well, I fuck a lot of people, but I want to know the people I have sex with," I said. "Tell me about yourself."

"Fuck you," she said. "I'm not telling you shit."

"As I told you, you're no longer in a position to make choices," I said. I was naked now and walked over to stand by the side of the car. She looked up into my face. "You talk, or I leave you here, naked, horny," I tweaked a nipple, and she gasped, "spread-eagle on the hood of my car until someone comes to get you. Start with your name."

She thought about this. "Sin!" she said finally. "That's not telling you anything -- you fucking heard Alexander say it already. My name is Sin. That's what I do! That's who I am! Now fuck me!"

"No, it's not," I said. "No mother or father would name their child 'Sin'. What's your real name?"

"Cynthia! Cynthia Maria Romita Fisk!"

"That's good," I said. "That deserves a reward." I leaned over her to pet both her breasts. Their skin was soft, and they rolled around on her rib cage. She sighed softly again. They were sensitive; clearly expensive. Each nipple stood up at half-mast. I caught one ruby-tipped piercing between my fingers and twisted. She said, "Ah!" and bit her lip, but the nipples stood up harder: she liked the pain.

"Keep going," I said. "Two middle names? Romita doesn't sound like a middle name, it sounds like a surname." I bent my head down and began licking, sucking, and gently biting. Then, not so gently.

"That's, ah, my birth name, ahhh, my parents' name. Ahhh. Like my maiden name," she said. "Like that. Yes. Keep doing that. I wasn't, ah, born Fisk, Father ah--ah--ah--adopted me."

I lifted my head up, held one breast in each hand, and squeezed. She groaned happily. She did like it rough.

"And you kept your birth name? He told it to you and let you keep it? That does not sound like him. When your father takes something, he doesn't share." I moved one hand down to play with her pussy and her clit piercing.

"He -- uhhhh! He didn't fucking have a choice," she said. "I grew -- uhhh -- I grew up with that last name, I wasn't going to -- fuck! -- forget it. Don't stop! He adopted me -- ahhh -- after I was eighteen. Don't fucking stop!"

"Look," I said. "I'm not going to get your story out of you one drop at a time. You want me to fuck you, you tell me the whole thing. How did you get from your father adopting you to the point where he's marrying you off to one of his lieutenants that you don't know?" I slid two fingers into her wet pussy, but just held them there until she started talking.

"I fell in love with his fucking son, OK?!?" She was not quite shouting. I started to move my fingers in and out, just brushing the ridged area deep inside. She sighed. "His name was Richard. Mmm, that's good. He was beautiful. Ohh. I loved him more than anything. He loved me more than life itself. We went to high school together. We were going to get married when I turned eighteen. He didn't fucking tell me his father was the biggest fucking gangster on the East Coast, OK?

"His father didn't attend the wedding; he said he had a business dispute. He paid for the whole thing, and it was fucking lavish, but he said it would be better if he stayed away. I know now that he thought it would be safer. I invited everyone I knew; Richard just had a few -- he called them friends, but now I know they were bodyguards. Still, they showed up, the fuckers his father was having the dispute with. They wanted to kill his father and didn't believe he wasn't going to be there. They killed everyone! Everyone I knew died at that wedding, my parents, my friends, my relatives, my teachers, my neighbors, my friends' relatives, my neighbors' relatives. The only reason I lived is because Richard covered my body with his own, and told me to play dead. I was scared, I was weak, I did it. I lived because I was covered in his blood.

"His father felt guilty. He adopted me. If I couldn't be his daughter-in-law, I would be his daughter. He didn't care about me, but Richard had loved me. I wasn't a person to him, I was a memorial to Richard. I was eighteen already; he wouldn't normally have been able to adopt me, but he didn't care about the laws, he paid off judges to stamp the papers anyway. I signed everything that he wanted. I didn't care. Nothing mattered any more. Everyone I loved was dead.

"Father sent me to the best -- mmm -- universities, he could afford it, and it would look good on his daughter. I couldn't pass the tests, but he paid for that too. Not that I learned anything. I may be the only person ever to drop out of Harvard, and Yale, and Princeton, you know? Mmm, that's good. I did get a couple of black belts, in mmm--Ninjutsu and ah--ah--Aikido," she said.