My Strict Daddy
It was almost the perfect way to end a very productive day, Michael thought as he poured two fingers of scotch and took a seat in front of the fire. They had finally gotten the okay for the new casino in Greek Town, so all the back room deals with the city council would finally pay off. Fucking politicians were worse than gangsters. Also the newly renegotiated deal with the distribution company for their porn was a long term win. The old timers might not understand the legalities but they all understood money. All in all, business was beautiful. They were up over twenty-five percent from last year at this time. Eventually, the porn business was going to be even better than the whore business. There were bigger profits and less exposure. However, Michael smiled to himself as he looked over his handiwork, right now the whore business still had its perks.
At the moment, two of those perks were staring at him, waiting for the next command.
He'd always enjoyed his library, even if he rarely took the time to read. Michael liked the room itself, with the large casement windows overlooking the patio. He liked the stone fireplace as well. When he first saw the rolling library ladder, he could see the practicality although tonight, it was finally being used to its full potential.
To his left was Candy, although she looked like she was the type to spell it with a K or an I at the end. Candy was a bony blonde with wobbly, fake breasts and a spray tan. Since Michael found all of those traits to be disagreeable, he had secured Candy to the rolling ladder. Her hot pink, shiny latex dress was particularly hideous and he'd pulled it up over her tits, both to hide the bad boob job and to humiliate her. Candy was bare underneath and exposed with her ankles bound in leather cuffs to the sides of the ladder. Her blue, fake nails looked like talons, something reminiscent of a bird. Michael watched as she wiggled her claws, anxious to be freed. He had zip tied both hands to a rung overhead.
Candy had a high pitched screech of a voice, also bird like, so Candy had a ballgag in her mouth as well. In her case, some things were better left unsaid.
Between Candy's legs was Irina. She was another bottle blonde with the same skinny stripper build. She was probably a boring bimbo as well but thankfully her English was poor and Irina didn't have much to say. Irina's mouth was busy on Candy's slick cunt and the sound of her lapping up Candy's juices was the most attractive thing about either of them at the moment.
Roz had sent them with an apology. "I know, I know the stripper look is not your thing." Her voice came from an impossible depth. Her laugh was a gasping cough and Michael had to assume it was a result of her two packs of Camels a day habit that she'd had since he was a boy. Roz had continued, "Jazz quit. She's got some crazy fucking idea that the married boyfriend is gonna to leave his wife. And Penny has cramps."
Michael had to ask, "Don't you have any new girls, Roz? Someone with some meat on their bones? I thought curvy was in style now."
"Anything else, boychik?" Roz asked with another raspy cough. "Most of my clients like 'em skinny. That way they don't look like fat, suburban housewives."
Michael had a list, the running list he kept in his head of the girl, the one that he might just be waiting for. At least he would have been if he believed anymore. "Somebody sweet, maybe a little younger..."
Roz had interrupted with a raucous half cough, half laugh, "Let me guess. And a virgin too?"
Michael knew he was being picky and the trouble was he always had been. There were plenty of reasons that he resorted to the company that he paid for. He'd settle for someone that he could talk to, even if it was just to explain the rules. "Who's your best girl then?"
Roz sighed and sounded serious as she explained, "Honey, my best girl is too scared for what you have in mind. She can't be marked up. Then I don't make any money off her. Which means I come up short and I know that you don't love me that much."
That made him sound like a monster. "Really, scared?" What about all these girls who swooned over Fifty Shades of Gray? He thought handcuffs and safe words pretty standard stuff for the younger crowd.
The Madam reminded him, "It doesn't help that your face has been on the news lately, Michael."
The murder charges had been dropped though and a man in his position always had a RICO charge or two pending. It came with the job. "I can't do anything about that, Roz. Goddamn reporters are like fucking vultures."
Roz coughed again, "And why can't you get another nickname? It's not so easy to find girls that want to see "Icepick" Romano, honey."
Michael half wanted to defend himself. Given the situation, he really thought he did the city of Chicago a service getting rid of a piece of shit like that. Yes, technically it was an icepick but it was a tiny, silver cylinder used for chipping away at ice for a proper cocktail. He wasn't a fucking psychopath, it just happened to be on hand, thankfully, to sink into the carotid artery of the assassin that they'd sent. Michael had been pleasantly surprised that the arterial spray had missed him entirely and instead painted the wall with the man's life. It was light weight, easy to wield and easy to hide and since that evening's activities, Michael had kept one on him at all times. Hence the name, hence the consequences of the name.
"That's because I'm cold as ice," he had joked with the old woman. There was that too. His heart seemed to have frosted over. That also came with the job. So did loneliness, Michael had thought as the melancholy settled over him. "Well then, Candy and Irina it is."
So another evening of half-hearted frivolity had begun.
He swirled the remainder of the scotch in his heavy, crystal tumbler and took a drink. Watching Irina on her knees, lapping slowly like a hesitant, little puppy was stimulating. She was scared of him, that was obvious. She also wasn't a full blown lesbian but Michael was sure that it wasn't the first time that she'd buried her face in another woman's twat for money. He couldn't imagine that Candy tasted like her namesake although the bulge in the front of his pants seemed to enjoy watching Irina's skinny hips move in the short, black dress while on her knees.
Michael rose from the leather chair and strolled to stand behind the girls. Irina was distracted by the sound of his shoes on the parquet floor and when she turned to look over her thin shoulder, there it was. The fear in her eyes mixed with the heat. "Stand up for me." He touched her blonde ponytail, it felt like a handful of straw. He watched as she rose to her feet. "Pull up your dress," he instructed. She nodded, her fingers fumbling with the hem. She exposed herself for him like a good girl. Irina had a flat stomach, almost a six pack and Michael could see the valleys underneath both hip bones. "Does it excite you? Licking her pussy?"
Irina bit her lip and nodded. She was lying but that's what the money was for.
Michael's voice was an authoritative whisper, "Take your panties down." Irina was quick about it and her red, translucent underwear were at her feet in seconds. Michael thought he should reward her obedience and murmured, "Touch yourself. Show me," and nibbled her earlobe before taking a step back to watch.
The blonde quickly spread her cunt for inspection. Even though she was physically not his type, she seemed to be naturally submissive and Michael wondered just how far she would go. Irina had tiny, lower lips, demure and girlish and almost innocent looking. Between her lips, her clitoris was large and swollen and it poked its head out and begged for attention. Michael raised his eyebrows as he took a quick mental inventory of what he'd like to do with that fat, juicy clit. Ice, that would do nicely. There was something incredibly erotic about watching ice melt, slowly trickle and drip down his forearm. Wet and numb and oh so in need of a release, maybe he'd let Candy come down from her perch and warm Irina up with her red painted mouth. Whore lipstick on little girl pussy lips was another thing that Michael appreciated and he relished the thought.
Of course, why fuck with a classic?
Candy was dripping and if the whimpers that managed to escape the ballgag were any indication, she was aching to cum. Michael never intended allowing it, she was too repulsive to please. Of the three of them, only he could reach the black riding crop on the highest shelf. Only Michael knew that it was tucked away there, hiding and waiting to strike. When he showed Candy the leather tongue, her eyes, rimmed in coal and blue eyeshadow, grew wider. The noises coming from the gag were squelched screams and a ribbon of saliva dribbled off her bottom lip and snaked its way down her chin to her neck. It was the sexiest thing about Candy so far. He smiled as he rubbed the tip up and down her aching bud and watched the terror and the desire collide as both crept down her trembling, inner thighs. "You are friends, aren't you?" he asked Irina.
Candy shook her head no while Irina answered exactly as she should, "Yes, Sir."
"Good girl," he petted Irina's head like he would as dog he was marginally fond of. "Let's see what a good friend you are. On your knees, pet."
Now Irina was trembling and her cheap, clear plastic heels rattled as she dropped into a position to please. "Unzip me," Michael instructed, enjoying listening to the dry gulp from the girl when, with nervous fingers, she opened his zipper. The head of his dick already popped out and a clear river of precum oozed onto her cleavage. "Pull it out, Irina," he told her. Michael was surprisingly erect, given that the girls were substandard. "Now, you're going to suck my cock, Irina and if you do a good job, I'll just tease Candy." He showed the girl on her knees what he meant as he made a slow, seductive circle with the tip of the crop around Candy's engorged clit.
Candy's stomach muscles clenched and it sounded like she cried out "please" but he couldn't be sure.
There was more to this game. "But if you use your hands, or god forbid I feel your teeth, or you just get lazy," he let the crop finish the sentence. A resounding smack of the leather tongue on Candy's little pearl.
There was no mistaking that please. There was also a no, she was begging him to stop but who cared what Candy wanted?
Michael gestured to his flailing erection. "You may begin."
Irina flicked her tongue over his slit and moistened her dry mouth with Michael's salty liquid. Watching her lick and swallow and lick and bob her head was actually quite stimulating but Candy got the crop anyway.
Her muffled sob was loud so Michael was forced to raise his voice. "Your mouth Irina. I'm sure it's not the first cock you've ever slobbered over." He gave another flick of his wrist and there was a shuddering whelp from her companion. "As I said."
Irina began to suck in earnest. Her mouth was wet and as Michael suspected, she was quite talented. She looked up and made eye contact for a moment as she swirled her small, pink tongue around his bulging head. She wanted his approval. Michael returned her gaze and pumped his body just a bit, feeding her. All the while, his crop teasing, flicking, tormenting Candy. The leather nub was coated in the blonde's juices and she trembled as he continued. If given the tongue again, Michael imagined she would cum in buckets.
That time he just spanked her clitoris for his own amusement. That was for the fake tan, goddammit.
Michael heard the knock at the door. "Sorry boss," the voice outside interrupted. It was Paulie. His crew called him boss to his face and Icepick behind his back. "Irv says that it's urgent." Paulie never popped his head in, he relayed the message from behind the door. They knew not to interrupt him in the library. They knew their boss's tastes ran a little more extreme than theirs. Fucking Irv, Michael sighed as his dick softened a little. The man was a natural cock block.
What could be that important at this time of night? Michael carefully tucked himself back in his underwear and smoothed his dress shirt down carefully before he zipped himself. "Ladies, you can take five." Before placing the crop back on the shelf, Michael thought it would be quite interesting to hand it to Irina instead. Would she show Candy mercy and give her the tongue bath that the blonde so craved? Michael suspected not.
Underneath her willing demeanor, Irina was probably a little sadist and the Russian definitely was on the clock. "Now don't go anywhere," he joked to the two escorts before closing the door behind him.
Irv Goldin was one of half a dozen attorneys that the Romano family had on speed dial. In this business, Michael needed attorneys for everything. He needed attorneys that set up the companies that laundered his money. He needed at least one or two criminal attorneys. God forbid he got fucked by the IRS, he needed a good tax attorney. Then all of his legitimate businesses needed an attorney just in case some dumb motherfucker decided to sue a mob owned company, like he needed that headache. Then he needed someone who knew all the players and could keep all the fucking attorneys straight. The one who handled the shit that no one was supposed to know. That guy had always been Irv.
When Irv called, it was rarely anything good. Michael grabbed the cell phone and answered, "Irv, kind of late, isn't it?"
The old man apologized, "Michael, my boy, I'm sorry about the late hour. I was in bed myself and if it could wait until tomorrow, I definitely would."
Irv had been calling him "my boy" since he was five years old and used to spin in Irv's office chair while Irv and his father talked business. "So, you've got my full attention."
"It's your daughter, Michael."
Michael swallowed hard. His mouth was dry and his pulse suddenly felt heavy in his throat. His little girl? How was that even possible? "But, she's gone, Irv. You of all people know, she's been gone. She wouldn't even know who I was if she saw me." He trembled just the same.
Irv corrected him, "No, she knows something, Michael and I have a feeling that she's legit." He paused, the man always chose his words carefully. "She had my phone number. She called and left a message with the service after hours. She also knows your name and address so I'd be prepared Michael."
What the hell? Michael was stunned, his mouth remained open, wordless, for a few seconds. Once he could speak, he asked, "How would she have my address? You mean here, the graystone? So what, are you saying that my daughter might be coming," he only breathed the last word, "home?"
Paulie waved at Michael to get his attention and hissed, "Boss, sorry to interrupt."
Michael asked Irv, "can you hold a minute?"
Paulie approached and shook his head. "There's a girl outside. She don't look like your typical girl," he meant like the two hookers tied up in the library. "She looks nice and clean, you know, but she sounds crazy," Paulie was afraid to say. "Boss, she says you'll want to see her. You want me to get rid of her?"
He put up his finger for Paulie to wait and went back to the phone. "Irv, it seems that she does have my address," Michael affirmed.
Irv let out a low whistle. "Okay, my boy. Well, never a dull moment for you, right? First the murder charge is dropped and now you get a visit from your long, lost daughter. Good luck and call me tomorrow."
Michael's breath was shaky as he ended the call. Paulie was waiting for further instructions, what to do with the crazy girl in his foyer? "Put her in my office, Paulie," his mind raced. What was she doing here? Was it really her or was this just some bullshit scam and would he really know if it was her? Somebody could have done their homework and decided to break his heart just to fuck him up. That idea seemed far fetched though, not even Irv had people who could break the curtain that the Federal Witness Protection Program had provided.
Paulie asked, "And what about the other two girls?"
Shit, the two skanks in the library. This wasn't how Michael wanted his little girl to think of him. If it was her, Jesus, she shouldn't think of him as the kind of man who tied up girls that he paid to blow him. Even if he was that kind of man, he shouldn't be with her around. "Get rid of them," Michael told him and Paulie headed toward the library door. "No, get the girl first, put her in my office. I don't want her running into Irina and that fucking faked tan bitch. Then get rid of them."
He needed to wash up and get his hair combed. He needed to look like he hadn't just been doing exactly what he'd been doing. Michael smelled his dress shirt, checking it for Candy's cheap cologne. "Do I get the girls a cab?" Paulie wondered. He seemed to be as nervous as Michael for absolutely no reason.
"I don't care," Michael said with a shrug. His heart flipped in his chest. "Have one of the boys drive them back to Roz. Oh and tip them, okay?" Even if they weren't his type, he always was a generous tipper because Icepick Romano had to be.
He went upstairs to the master bedroom to change his shirt. It was an icy January evening and yet Michael was covered in sweat as if he'd just worked out. His back was coated and his armpits were damp. Michael sat on the bed and rested his head in his hands, he took deep, shaky breaths. He hoped that the nervous stomach would calm itself. He hadn't seen her in so long that it was impossible to picture what the young lady waiting in his office would look like. Had it been fifteen years since Charlotte left? For at least a decade, he had been trying not to keep track, lying to himself that he had forgotten.
That would mean that his daughter was nineteen. No, Michael shook his head as he tugged off the wrinkled shirt, that wasn't right. Her birthday would be coming up in about six weeks. She would be nineteen on Valentine's Day.
He wiped off with a towel and tried to button the new shirt quickly but he was all thumbs. Fuck, he needed to calm down. Better yet, he needed to pull his head out of his ass because as much as he hoped it was her, it was also the oldest trick in the book. It could be the Puerto Ricans, trying to renegotiate and using the lowest of tactics possible. Let him think that his daughter had come home and then, BAM, she whacks him one night in his sleep. These fucking street thugs, they had no respect and they had female assassins. How would he really know until it was too late?
There was just one more reason for the icepick that was tucked away in case of emergencies.
Worse, his daughter could be an informant. She might be a little payback from the FBI for beating another murder rap. Should he put a tie on as well? He looked in the full length mirror and combed the hair back from his temples. If it was his daughter, she wouldn't remember that his hair had been black and now it was salt and pepper, mostly salt on the sides. Didn't all kids think that their parents were old?
Wait, did that mean that Charlotte would be coming back as well? Michael couldn't stop the groan that came with that name. Fuck, that was a thought that almost brought up dinner. Charlotte was the source of all craziness. Everything she touched was like a tornado touched down. No matter how much it hurt after she walked out, life had gotten better since she had left. Whatever shit she had done, she could fucking forget about it. He would never take her back after all that drama. Leave it to Charlotte to get kicked out of witness protection.
Sitting up here on his bed wasn't going to solve anything though. He had to go downstairs and face a little girl and he couldn't remember the last time he was this frightened. Michael made his way slowly down the hall to the winding staircase. He leaned heavily on the railing and took the stairs slowly, he didn't trust his feet. He went left at the bottom and another left to his office door. Michael opened the double doors and there, at the far end of the room, was a sight that took his breath away.