Repercussions : Part Ten  (A continuation of ‘The Bet’)Eleonora collapsed thro

Repercussions : Part Ten  (A continuation of ‘The Bet’)Eleonora collapsed through the door. It was with the last of her fading strength that she turned and locked it behind her, at last home and safe from a world that had so suddenly and viciously turned against her. It was nearing three in the morning and all she could think of through her exhaustion was to crawl into her bed and sleep, waking to find this nightmare over, the morning sun bringing with it the comfortable sanity of her normal life. She tossed her purse and shoes absentmindedly to the corner of the small foyer. Every step brought along with it a new burst of fiery agony, her designer heels never meant for actually walking, let alone walking the midnight streets alone, clicking along the dark pavement shouting her lonely vulnerability to any filthy gypsy or thief who cared to take her. Even the people on the bus, which had finally come after nearly an hour sitting alone on that hateful bench, had stared at her with their curious glances. She remembered with shame turning her head into the window, losing herself in the passing street lights, trying to shrink herself into the seat and away from their cruel judgement. Eleonora staggered with that first step. Reaching out she lurched towards the small table which stood under the foyer mirror, nearly toppling the porcelain vase to the floor and spilling the small bouquet of daisies across the rug. They were her favorite flower. Franco, her husband and her dearest love, had kept that little vase filled with a spray of the bright yellow blossoms ever since the day they had brought it home from their honeymoon in Venice. The vase shone brightly white, its cerulean flowers hand-painted along the sides, lending even more beauty to the daisies which splashed forth full of life and happy cheer. Franco had kept that little vase full and fresh ever since then, a silent symbol of the love he bore for her. She ran her fingertips through the blossoms, feeling their delicate touch along her trembling fingertips. She thought of Franco as she did. Of his eternal and thoughtless love, his undying dedication to her happiness. The way he had always held her through the worst of times, held her tight in his unwavering arms and whispered softly that everything would be alright. That he was here with her. That they were together always. That everything she worried about would pass, whatever trouble or fears, and that they would be together to face the bright dawn that would always follow. She needed that now. Fuck, she needed that more than anything. His arms, his love, those confident whispered words. The security that came with it. The feeling of being so utterly sure and safe. As if the world and all its evils could somehow be banished, screaming into the corners, simply by his embrace. She looked up into the gold-flecked mirror, staggered by the absolute horror that gazed back. Her golden hair, just hours ago tossed back proudly glowing with radiant life, was a snarled mess; in some places matted flat in others torn and wild in unruly strands. Her face looked a deranged nightmare of smeared lipstick and dark mascara that had dripped down her pale cheeks along with steams of hot tears. Across her jaw was an angry red bruise that led to a small cut on her quivering chin. How it got there she had no idea. Nor did she have any idea how her dress, her favorite blue dress, had gotten so stained and filthy, looking as if she had gotten it from some trashcan instead of from one of the most elegant of shops found in Bari. It was an anniversary present from her husband after their third year of marital bliss. She closed her eyes, remembering the first time she had tried it on for him. The look in his eyes. Of being told, once they were home, to put it on for him again. The way he had looked at her. The way he had torn the skirt up her thighs and taken her madly across the bed, turning her ass red as he had filled her spasming body with his lust. Her knees nearly gave out under her as she staggered away from the mirror, unable to bear the tired, beaten stare the Gorgon in the mirror was giving her. The small kitchen was rank with the smell of burnt coffee. The espresso pot had overflowed, its dark liquor dried into the gleaming surface of the stove. Normally this would have her cursing silently under her breath as she reached for the nearest sponge, damning the insensible carelessness that it showed. Tonight though, tonight, she leaned into the stove-top with fresh tears rolling down from her eyes, stinging her cheeks. He was home. Franco was home. He was home and he burnt the coffee and he was sleeping in the bedroom, here and alive and waiting to take her in his arms and make everything go away. All the pain and the misery of her night, of her life, banished into so much mist just waiting for her in the next room. Eleonora leaned her head down, grasping the stove with both hands, tearful sobs wracking her body as her tangled hair pasted like tendrils across her wet cheeks. Wiping her tears away with the dishtowel, Eleonora sniffed back her runny nose, replacing towel carefully on its rack as she composed herself. She clicked her tongue as she noticed that the white/orange cloth was stained with her ruined make-up, sliding the towel back off the rack and hesitating for a moment as she fought with the decision of whether to toss it in with the laundry or to just chuck it in to the trash. That silly indecision brought a smile to her face, the first one she had had all night. Franco had always told her that if it came to decisions like this, just say ‘fuck it’ and move the hell on. For once listening to his voice in her head, Eleonora lifted the lid on the garbage can, rolled the cloth into a tight ball, and fitfully tossed it in to join the week’s collection of trash. As the lid slid down, she put her shoulders back, oddly proud of herself. Shutting off the kitchen light, she walked softly into the main room heading towards the bathroom to clean up. She did not bother turning on any other lights. She knew the lay of their apartment from memory and even at this late hour the light of the streetlamps outside cast their gray beams across the floor. Along the way she slid off her ruined dress and tossed it across the sink, a complete disaster which would also find its way into the trash. She grinned as she tossed her head into the sink, splashing the freezing-cold water across her face, washing it through her hair, letting the soap do its lathered best to wipe the last few hellish hours from her memory. She scrubbed her face raw using Franco’s towel, which felt rough as sandpaper on her skin compared with her own. Satisfied, her face clean, her blonde hair lying flat but healthy along her shoulders, whatever bruises and marks faded to near invisibility she cleaned up the sink and shut the light. Along the way to their  bedroom she slipped out of her bra and panties, letting out an audible sigh as her breasts swung free of the fiery straps that held them trapped against her chest. Franco had always encouraged her to go bra-less, but that had less to do with her own comfort than with his own pleasure of watching her tits swinging free under her blouse; her naughty little rascal. Quietly she resolved for him to have his wish come morning. She would keep him at home, spending a lazy weekend with him, running about the house dressed in her tiniest little panties and no bra under her tightest t-shirt. It would be a special little treat for Franco despite his having abandoned her this evening. A special treat for herself as well as she allowed him to touch her, adore her, and to worship her as he drained his average-sized but forever lusty hardness into her needy little pussy. She opened the bedroom door naked, her pink nipples already budding as she wondered if she would dare waking him up from sleep for a quick romp.Eleonora gasped, wide eyed in shock as they switched positions, unable to take it anymore as his cock battered her pussy from behind; needing more closeness. Without breaking contact for a single second, Franco lifted himself into a sitting position, allowing her to straddle him as she swung her knee over his hip - her body still shaking from their breathless fuck. In a tight, almost romantic embrace, they kissed. Deep passionate French kisses, their eager tongues dancing to the rhythm of their soft moans. His cock slid up inside of her deeply as they began slowly grinding into each other. The sensations traveled up their spines like fire. Her breasts pressed into his chest, her pussy pulsing soft around his hardened cock, her wet tongue playing inside his mouth… Franco felt as if he was being consumed by divine fire. When she broke the kiss, she let the arousal contained within out with a prolonged “Oooooohhh”. Eleonora watched in utter horror as the woman’s face was caught by a stray beam of light, her golden sex-mussed hair shining brightly. Pamela smiled; a beaming, happy smile; a perfect smile borne of a supreme and a very personal triumph. This all felt like lovemaking should feel. Franco was loving and gentle and incredibly passionate. She had been his slut tonight, or had she been his good little girl? Or did she genuinely happen across a man who could bring out both her loving goddess and her filthy whore in one? A romantic gentleman with a brutal need for cunt? Until tonight she had thought these men existed only in fairy-tales, and yet… Their eyes met and suddenly they both knew what should happen next. Franco lifted her up and put down on her back down on the bed making sure her head was comfortable amid the pillows. His cock slipped out for a few seconds leaving her empty and mewling with need. Pulling each other into a simple missionary position, Franco quickly pressed back in between her burning cunt-walls where he belonged. Kissing her neck at first, he began. Pamela raised and spread her legs, gripping his upper arms tight in preparation, and he began thrusting. She was incredibly wet by now; wet, slippery, and welcoming every thrust as Franco pounded deep inside. He kept kissing her neck as she breathed hot moans into his ear. Pamela’s velvet-like pussy just kept giving, driving him on and on. His initial thrusts had now turned rhythmical, insistent, and unrelenting. She raised herself up and leaning on her elbows gave him an even better angle to hammer her breathless. Pamela was trapped under his full weight now, just enjoying the sensations, watching him with expressive, sultry eyes. But only for a while, after which she closed them softly, giving in to the serene pleasure they shared. They were both entering the next and final stage now, swiftly moving past simple lovemaking towards a very serious fucking. Franco felt ferocious, animistic and she was his willing partner, his hot bitch matching his desperate ferocity with her own. His cock was slamming in and out of her gushing pussy easily now, each thrust accompanied by her grunts and squeals as they bounced together on the bed, the mattress groaning beneath them. Franco pushed her legs up over his shoulders, getting perfect access to her silky pussy into which he was ramming deeply; opening up her gaping cunt with each hard thrust of his hips. They both watched spellbound, the view was incredible, seeing his cock disappear inside her again and again. They shared their grunts and loving curses. The bed was squeaking beneath them as if it shared the sensations of their sex. Pamela spread her legs as wide as she could, locking her knees behind her elbows, giving Franco the deepest penetration possible. He groaned as he hit bottom buried to the absolute hilt. The feeling was fucking hot beyond anything he’d experienced before. A new surge of blazing fire reached his balls. As much as he wanted to cum inside her, on her tits, or across her face - wherever! - even now he knew he needed to keep it in control. He wanted her to do it. He pulled her up slightly and knelt in front of her, wrapping her legs around his waist. Then he led one of her hands to her clit and began massaging slowly. ‘Oh yes, little slut. You know what to do.’ To the sounds of his cock’s heavy thrusts and his balls slapping into her ass, Pamela was pleasuring herself running her fingers urgently fast up and down her clit in circular motion as she mewled and wailed, her orgasm building like a fire raging in her belly. Pamela added on her second hand just for good measure, screaming out Franco’s name as her mind cracked under the orgasm rising through her like an inferno. Franco was fucking up inside of her with rhythmical, hard, forceful shoves gritting his teeth as he lifted her up off the bed with each thrust. Pamela was biting her lips and writhing, but not trying to escape. Eleonora crouched in the doorway, watching in horror as her best friend in the world threw her head back and screamed, tears of love flowing down her cheeks as she held tight to Franco and let herself float away. Pamela’s body went into spasms. Completely out of control, she grabbed her tits hard, nearly tearing the sensitive flesh with her nails, first just gasping out “yes, yes, yes!” several times in rapid gasps before blindly going back to rub at her squirting clit. The release came in a guttural, nearly inhuman, “Fuck, Yessss!” followed quickly by hoarse and throaty, "OH, MY FUCKING GOD, FRANCO! OH, MY FUCKING GOD!!” She grabbed at his shoulders, holding on for dear life. Her entire body shook. Franco grabbed her firmly by her hips, holding her in place as well as he could as a wave of shivers washed over her body. In that instant his balls let loose, releasing everything he had in one mighty explosion that filled her shuddering belly to bursting. Eleonora fled, grasping at her stained dress as she ran. She did not want to watch anymore. She did not want to watch as Franco pulled her best friend into his arms and held her there against his chest in that soft loving afterglow, as they rested content in each other’s arms waiting in their sweaty, lover’s embrace for his cock to once more rise hot and hungry between her cum-sticky thighs.Instead she slipped herself into her soiled dress and bent to pick up her shoes and purse by the door, nearly falling, nearly slamming into the front door as she tripped sightless behind eyes filled with hot tears. She lay there in the hall, cold marble under her bare feet, pressing herself into a corner. Thoughts of silence amid the echoing staircase of the building had been forgotten as she bawled out the shame and utter betrayal she felt, her face and arms rising with crimson as she sputtered and coughed out her soul’s agony. Other than her sobs, the cold hallway was silent, with only her thoughts screaming wildly at her as she lay there, crumpled into a tiny shuddering ball. Franco had betrayed her. The vision of him, of him and Pamela… together. Their sounds, their scents, the shared urgency of their sex made her feel filthy and torn open, her faith upended and ripped in half. The sight of her riding him, fucking him, shuddering in his arms, milking him hot and hard remained burned into her shattered mind. She pulled her knees in tight to her chest, hugging them as she rocked back and forth on the cold floor alone under the dim florescent lights of the hall. Within her broken mind she imagined her Franco as he should be, taking her into his arms, pulling her in so close, and eager to claim her. To re-claim her as her body still quivered under the bestial assault of some over-sized and laughing stud. Her tears burst again with her silent wail, remembering the way they had treated her. The way they had laughed at her, her lusty and devoted young bulls, her tall black god. Once again, she saw Chiara’s face, her laugh, her cruel smile. She imagined the girl leading her William away, fucking him with her tight body and taking his seed deep in her ass as they both laughed at her embarrassment and agony. Laughed as she crawled beaten and alone from the club with only her shredded pride for company. This night was supposed to be so different. Filled with her own sense of righteous victory as she took his hot beast between her thighs, proving herself the perfect match for his all-conquering lust. And with Franco… Franco…Franco was supposed to be there. Loving and devoted. Be there to pick up the pieces. Adore her. Nurse her broken body back to health. Remind her of how beautiful she was, how desirable, how needed. Remind her of how long her smooth legs looked when she wore those ridiculous heels; of how round and tempting her ass looked as it filled out her tightest dresses; of how it felt, warm and heavenly, as she wrapped him in her arms and moaned in quivering orgasm as they made love afterwards. Didn’t he say how much he loved watching her at play, watching as she seduced other men into her arms? Watching as he stroked his hardened cock as he let some strange young stud pound her senseless with his larger, rougher, stronger cock? Didn’t he say…? Didn’t he? A rush of emotions tore through her. It did not matter, she thought. It did not matter. It was supposed to be different. His love, his lust, his devotion, his cock belonged to her and her alone. What matter was it how many… how many men there had been? They weren’t loves. They were hard cocks and muscled thighs. They were rough hands and uncaring fists. They were savage fucks and mind-bending orgasms. They were gallons of hot spunk launched across her ass and face, pumped deep inside of her cunt as Franco watched ready to collect what was left of her and bring her home to her bed. To his adoring arms. Damn it all, he was supposed to be hers, hers alone, hers to count on through thick and thin, to be proud of her and give her… fuck,everything they couldn’t! When had it all  changed? When had she lost him? When had she suddenly become not enough for him? When had he sought out Pamela, that fucking traitorous bitch, to give him whatever she… didn’t…? No, no, no! That wasn’t the way it was supposed to be! No, not at all! Franco belonged to her. Him and his love and his cock, hers! And she was supposed… suppose to… The buzzing of her cell phone broke her out of her mindless screams. Scaring the living hell out of her as the insistent buzzing shook the Gucci leather in her trembling hands. Timidly, her fingers still shaking, she unclasped the purse and led her hand inside to grasp the annoying little piece of shit. The bright face of it glowed a insolent blueish light in the shadowed hall. She spat out a curse as she read Simone’s name flashing across the screen. Carelessly she flipped it left, abruptly ending the call but within seconds the phone buzzed again, and again and again as she spat soft curses attempting to ignore his unrelenting assault on her already fragile nerves. With her patience finally exhausted she flipped the screen right and hissed savagely into the phone,“What do you want, Simone? Its not a good fucking time…”“Ellie! Ellie, oh thank God you’re there!”, Simone’s voice rang through the empty hall, “It’s your husband, its Franco, he…”“Franco? What about Franco?”“Oh, Ellie! The man has gone mad!” her cousin whined, his words coming nearly too fast for her to understand. Behind him, wherever he was, a truck went by, its noise nearly drowning him out, “He’s beaten me, hit me, beaten me with his fists, kicked me, broken my nose, my fingers! He’s gone mad I tell you! He’s tossed me out of my home!”“Kicked you…? Simone, you are making no sense.” Eleonora replied, wiping her tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand as she fought back her sobs, “Why would … why would Franco kick you out of your home? You’ve paid your rent to him, haven’t you? What reason would he have to hurt you? Make sense.” Silence fell on the other end of the line as Simone tried to find some excuse, some reason that would not immediately cast him as the villain in her eyes. No, of course he did not pay rent to Franco. It was all part of the bet after all. ‘What bet?’, she would say. The bet, the reason for his anger? He fumbled through his tired mind for some other excuse, some other reason to explain his wounds, some other reason to explain his desperation. “Simone? Simone!?”, Eleonora hissed into the phone, “Talk to me. What possible reason would he do this? Its… its …not the man he… is… he is.…”Eleonora broke into sobs. Franco would never what? Would never beat Simone whom he hated, who always managed to say the wrong thing, the filthy little pervert who she herself would have cast off long ago if not for the promise he had sworn to his dying mother. Fuck, there were times she had wanted to beat the smarmy bastard herself and a part of her was glad Franco broke his fucking nose or whatever. She only wished she could have been there to witness it. But Franco would not? Not Franco? Never. Just as Franco would never fuck another woman? And Pamela? Her best and truest bitch of a friend? That fucking cunt of a lying bitch! That fraud! That Jezebel! That fucking God-damned slut!It was her fault! Yes, it must be! The damned cunt seduced him! Who knew how long Pamela had worked behind her back, pretending innocence while planning to stab her in the back? She should go in there right now and… No. No, not now. Not looking like this. Like a piece of ragged filth off the street. She had to think. She had to plan her revenge. Franco was simply confused. It was her own fault, she realized as shame crept into her heart. She had taken him for granted, not telling him what he meant to her even as he was sweet and kind enough to allow her way. She would correct that, she promised herself. Things would go back to how they should be. They would find another place. Another club perhaps. But this time she would do things the right way. Perhaps involving him in her trysts. This time she would make sure he knew how she adored him, how she needed him. This time she would be so much better for him. Quietly and yet with a new sense of resolve, Eleonora picked herself up off the floor and headed out into the street to find a night’s bed with her cousin, Rita. It would take one hell of a story – car trouble, perhaps a robbery, her cell phone broken – but she would arise fresh and new in the morning, borrow some clothes, and then she would get her Franco back. Simone heard his cousin’s soft sobs burst to life over the phone, heard the phone fall from her ear as she began to weep. The fucking bitch was useless, he thought. Disgusted, he hung up on her and slid his phone back into his pant’s pocket. He stood under a lamp post near to the edge of the town, at the corner of the park he had been sitting in for the last several hours nursing his wounds. He was in trouble. Trouble with precious little hope of explaining. He slid his hands into his pockets, feeling the spare change jingling at his fingertips. All told he had his wallet and exactly fifty-two euro to his name. He stood alone, the night’s cold seeping into his bones, a round little man standing on the street corner without even his jacket to offer him warmth. Everything he owned was locked in his apartment, its door and lock replaced just this afternoon and himself without the key. Franco had left him homeless, nearly penniless, and – without the many little black books and his little box of hidden secrets – terribly exposed to his enemies. He had no friends to call. No relatives that would help him. Or cared to. Eleonora was his last fucking hope and now she was busy having some stupid cry. Probably got herself fucked too hard by her latest cock, he though with a cruel smirk on his lips. Alone, he walked the streets his mind whirling as he rubbed his arms for warmth. Cut off from his apartment, he was left with nothing and no hope of surviving the week once his victims learned how defenseless he truly was. There was only one place left to turn. One person that might, if her were lucky, help him through this. Simone glanced at his watch. Morning was hours off. Bitterly he returned to the quiet of the park, sat down, and – fighting off the chill - tried to find some sleep. -- source link

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