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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Sal and Dolci
By Anonymous (no address provided)
***
A story of two teens, stepchildren, a brother and
sister orphaned with the murder of their parents. (mf-
teens, youths, inc, mast)
***
ONE
The full November moon illuminated the fire engine red
classic XK-140 Jag like a Broadway spotlight as it
nimbly moved at 75 mph down the Pacific Coast Highway
towards the Westwood area and home. Traffic was light
for a change.
Dominic and Maria Valacchi chatted about the events of
the evening at the post-Thanksgiving holiday dinner
party in Malibu, as the tenor sounds of Russell Watson
wafted through the rebuilt classic coupe's leather and
wood interior. Her left hand rested on Dom's thigh.
Her fingers lightly stroking his growing erection.
Dom moved his head slightly to avoid the glare of the
bright headlights in his rearview mirrors of the
approaching vehicle behind him. "Sonovabitch!" he
exclaimed, as the lights grew larger and brighter,
illuminating the Jag's red leather and gleaming wood
interior.
Maria had turned to stare at the ill-mannered driver.
Shading her eyes with her right hand, she could see
the large chrome bumper of the huge Kenworth eighteen-
wheeler nearly touching their car's rear end.
"OhmyGawd Dom, I think that trucks gonna hit us. Do
something!" Maria screamed.
Dom, sensing the same thing, quickly down shifted to
5th gear and shoved the accelerator pedal nearly to
the floor. The beefed up 140 engine immediately
responded and jumped ahead several car lengths. The
semi quickly chewed up the gap. Dom was frozen in fear
to the steering wheel as they hurtled south at 100
mph; the right corner of the tractor-trailer rig's
chrome bumper now was inches from the Jag's left rear
fender as the semi matched the Jaguar's speed.
The bump seemed like a parking lot tap. At 100 mph,
the tap was enough. The shiny red Coupe started to
fishtail. Dom managed to correct. He fed more gas to
the coupe, but the Kenworth stayed with him. The semi
tagged the car's left fender again; then suddenly
dropped back. Dom again tried to correct for the
erratic movement. Nothing worked.
"OhGawdOhGawd, Dom we're skidding, do something,"
Maria uttered in a strangled voice, her throat near
closed down as the fear raged through her. Her dark
eyes pinched shut with hopes the nightmare would go
away, her left hand clutching the seat belt harness,
her knuckles white, and her right making the sign of
the cross on her forehead and breast.
It was too late. The Jag's rear tires had caught the
graveled shoulder. The car's rear end was sliding
across the loose material, as if drawn by a huge
magnet to the Pacific, suddenly airborne trunk first
over the edge into nothingness. As it arced out
towards the vast heaving ocean, Dominic Valacchi
grabbed his wife's hand and screamed, "I love you,"
and then the heavy front end pulled the car nose down
towards the boulder-strewn beach below.
The left front wheel impacted an outcropping of rock
causing the vehicle to roll roof partially down. The
heavy steel roof crushed like a stomped on tin can as
the Jag fell on the large jagged boulder. The last
things Dom heard, was the roar of the over tached
engine and his lovely wife's hysterical screaming,
competing with fragments of Watson's tenor voice.
The truck driver caught only a glance as the small red
car slid towards the edge of darkness. The empty semi
slowed to 60 mph as the driver keyed a cell phone to a
preprogrammed number. Soon an voice answered, "Yeah!"
"Eet's done!" The driver answered, with a Hispanic
accent, then closed the call.
THE northbound driver was caught up in his thoughts
from the long business day as he traveled up the coast
highway towards Santa Barbara. He sipped his now warm
black Starbuck's coffee, and let his mind wander,
content to be headed away from the City of Angels. Los
Angeles had putrefied he reflected--a real 100%
shithole-- too damn many people for sure; too
goddamned much traffic; even too many homeless street
people, shitty smog, and I thought New York was bad.
Hard to make changes at 50 with so many business ties
in L.A.; great to be able to afford to live far enough
away; guess I'll survive a few more years. He often
took the coast route out of Santa Monica, headed north
towards Malibu and his home near where Kanan Road
meets the coast, just to relax from the pressure of
the day.
The two pair of headlights coming towards him, headed
south, caught his attention only because they seemed
to be enmeshed; a smaller close-set pair maybe a car
length in front of what had to be a large truck, both
moving fast. He automatically lifted his foot from the
accelerator pedal allowing the new Chrysler 300 to
slow as he viewed the two fast approaching vehicles.
He could now discern the smaller car illuminated in
the trucks headlights, an older red Jaguar Coupe, in
front with the ominous semi nearly touching the car's
rear fender.
As they quickly passed, it appeared to him that the
tractor-trailer was attempting to pass the smaller red
car; but why ride the Jags tail with two south bound
lanes wide open, he thought; road rage maybe?
The scene happened so fast, he was not aware of the
Jag's disappearance. He continued to slow, trying to
view the curiously strange scene from his outside
rearview mirror. He saw only the running lights of the
big rig; the taillights and the string of safety
lights down the side of the flatbed trailer. Where's
the car? he thought, should see its taillights.
Nothing! Something's not right.
He set his coffee cup in the holder, took a quick look
at the highway in front and back of him, and did his
'U-turn'; the rear wheels screaming as he fed gas into
powerful injected Hemi engine. He eased off the gas
and touched the brake pedal before moving onto the
dirt and gravel shoulder. The car slid a few feet as
he slipped to the right of the pavement onto the
gravel finally coming to a stop.
The man stepped quickly out onto the loose material,
not sure what he may have witnessed, but something
wasn't kosher. The semi was long down the near
deserted highway. No way to get a license plate
number. He could now see the skid marks just up ahead
in the Chryslers headlights. He hurried to the spot
then quickly followed the disturbed gravel path to the
edge. The glow of the twin taillights of the crushed
upside down, Jag, glared up at him as he looked down
the sheer drop to the huge rocks below. "Oh Damn," he
muttered, the wind quickly carrying the expression
away.
The moon lit car rested front down in the remaining
surf, partly ensconced roof down on a very jagged
boulder, the lit headlamps giving off an eerie
reflection as the pacific washed over them rocking the
car with each tide travel in and out. The engine had
shut down; the only sound besides the lap of the surf
was the two front wheels continued to rotate, a slight
hiss of the cooling engine, and the melodic strains of
the young tenor reaching a high note or two continuing
to reverberate from the speakers.
In his haste to look, he had forgotten to take his
large MagLite flashlight with him. He quickly returned
to the Chrysler. He suddenly felt the bite of the cold
pacific wind and turned up his suit jacket collar. A
small help; I should carry a heavy jacket, he thought.
The bright beam revealed nothing more than he could
see by moonlight except the color; red, an old 50's
red Jaguar Coupe perched like some red giant bird on
the large jagged boulders. No movement from within the
car, no cries for help; just the sound of the cold
wind coming ashore and the haunting, undulating,
muffled, music.
He finally removed his cell phone from his shirt
pocket and dialed 911. Nothing more he could do.
Frustrated and shaken, the cold chance witness
returned to the warmth of the Chrysler to wait for
help. His trendy coffee was cold.
THE late model Kenworth tractor with the 46-foot empty
flatbed trailer eased into the expansive oiled parking
area. A few security lights on two poles and the metal
building lit up the yard and four smartly parked rigs.
The driver swung wide making a U-turn in the abundant
parking area, coming up alongside one of the other
parked flatbed rigs. Satisfied with her efforts, she
set the parking brake then switched off the lights,
letting the hot engine idle to cool down before
shutting down the powerful Cat diesel. She lit her
fresh joint as she waited. As she slowly exhaled, her
body relaxed. she smiled and laughed at the two
screaming, homeless cats running across the parking
lot. "Sombody wans a leetle pussy," she uttered then
laughed at her joke.
The purging air from the air brakes system broke the
silence as she finally climbed down from the cab,
locked the door, stood for few moments after sucking
in another mouthful of the Cannabis, and walked
towards the building that held a lighted office. If
height was the only requirement for modeling, Loretta
Martinez would certainly have qualified for the
fashion runway, but her six foot frame carried 180
lbs. Not exactly a Versace candidate. She grinned at
the prospects of things to come inside the office.
The glowing remainder of the joint lay in the yard
fouling the air, where she had casually tossed it. She
let her fingers slide, in a caress like gesture, over
the low roof of the black Porsche Carrera parked by
the door. She stared, a slight smile toying with the
corners of her mouth, for several moments at expensive
car then entered the office. The weed had served to
push the highway activity to the far reaches of her
mind.
Tony Beltran grinned at the tall girl with a stylish
close cropped black hair as she dropped the keys and
small electronic tracking device, that had been
velcroed to the dash, on his desk. Loretta leaned on
her hands on the desk, anticipating, with only a hint
of a smile. Tony finally nervously spoke to her, "Glad
to see you returned safe and sound," as he handed her
an envelope.
She shoved the thick envelope he had handed her, into
her bibbed jeans rear pocket without even a peek. She
still had not uttered a word. Suddenly her rather
attractive masculine face, with the evenly set green
eyes and slightly crooked aquiline nose over a full
come hither mouth, lit up with an anticipating grin
exposing her white even teeth.
"Aren't you going to count it?" He asked with a hint
of nervousness.
"I'm sure eet's correct," she answered, "Now we finish
our deal, no?"
Tony knew what was coming; he had agreed to the deal
for tonight's work. The young woman had been reluctant
to do the driving, so Tony had readily agreed to
servicing Loretta's needs. "Loretta, please not now,
later," he quickly said. "It's been a long day; I'm
tired."
Now Loretta was not one to take no for an answer. She
had anticipated soothing her over charged hormones for
two days now. Besides, her dad was one of the Mexican
silent partners in the waste business that Tony
Beltran ran. "Beltran, a deals a deal; you wouldn't
want me to call papa now would you?"
That was the last thing Tony needed was his Tijuana
partner to know that he was fucking his daughter. Tony
was more inclined to think Loretta was fucking him,
but he didn't think papa would see it in that light.
She moved around to his side of the desk; he grimaced.
He caught a strong whiff of the cannabis, with just a
hint of Charley perfume. Loretta, being a big girl,
had a big appetite; Tony just happened to have the
abundant equipment she needed for satisfaction of the
appetite. She had managed, with little resistance
needless to say, to seduce him right after she met
this handsome, suave educated Mexican the first time
in Tijuana when he came down on business trip.
She was a hot virgin sixteen. He was hooked on her
insatiable need for sex. The sexual activities
continued for the next two years. Until she finally
convinced her papa to let her come north to drive for
the trucking company after she had had too many hot
and bothered nights. After that initial encounter, her
virginal fires stoked, she made a point to use him
every opportunity to put out her raging sexual fire.
Tony's problem-actually her problem if you thought
about it, lie in the fact he was worn out after thirty
minutes, so Loretta's fire was never quite
extinguished.
Her strong, long fingers began to massage his neck and
shoulders. She unbuttoned the top four buttons on his
shirt and eased her hand down to one nipple, he
reacted as she knew he would. She tongued his ear. He
was cornered and knew it. Shit! Shit! Shit! he
thought, as he shook his curly head. Why do I get
myself into these situations? I'm worn out by this
woman.
She now had his 7 inch cock exposed, slowly stroking
the object of her need. The massaging stopped. By the
time he lifted and turned his head to face her, she
was bent over, leaning on the desk top on her elbows.
A bare, very abundant derriere greeted his nervous
eyes and olfactory system; her jeans bunched at her
ankles. The dark green string of the thong
disappearing between the crack of her ass like a small
snake. "Hurry up Beltran, I'm burning up!"
He stood up and moved behind the voluptuous ass. His
pants slid down to the floor as he moved up to her
open wet pussy. The essence attacked his nose as he
eased his right hand up her wet, now spread thighs to
the thong string which he moved to the side as he
caressed her pussy lips. His fingers slid into the hot
slick crevice. She pushed back demanding more
attention. He slid his fingers down to her erect
clitoris. She jerked as he massaged the large nerve.
She reached back and grasped his huge erect cock.
She directed the hot tool to her opening, pushing his
hand away as she buried his cock head in the entry. He
moved his left hand around to the front of her pubis,
taking hold of her clitoris as she pushed back taking
all of his seven inches. She moaned as he entered her
pulsating pussy. He stroked her love button with his
thumb and index finger, holding his cock nonmoving.
She continued to tighten and relax her vagina muscles
rotating her ass around in a circle. He slowly pulled
back allowing his swollen cock head to remain in the
entry.
She screamed, "Oh gawd Tony fuck me! Fuck me hard
now!"
He stroked her rigid clit as he slammed into her
demanding cavity. She ground her ass into him
demanding more than his seven inches. He pounded her
feeling his climax approaching. She clitoris-fucked
his massaging fingers as she moved forward and back to
his rhythm.
She suddenly moaned, "OH! OH! OH!" Then screamed, "Oh
gawd! Oh gawd, YES!" as they danced in all directions.
Her climax triggered his. He grabbed each of her hips
and pulled her ass tight after one last stroke. He
shuddered as he came drenching her cervix with his
cum. They stayed non-moving, panting with him draped
over her lovely ass and back.
TWO
Sal put his hand on his sister's covered neck, guiding
her to the large carved oak entry doors of the stately
Country French Tudor style home. "Let's get in from
the cold," he said as he shoved his key in the lock.
Even Southern California has cold weather in December.
Today was overcast, near 42 degrees Fahrenheit, with
an offshore wind coming from the northwest. He quickly
reached for the alarm that was beeping, punched the
code as the girl switched on the lights; sudden
silence in the house.
The family guests of the last few days had all
departed for other parts of the country. A Christmas
tree had been brought in by several cousins but still
needed the finishing touches. Boxes of ornaments and
decorations silently stared back at the two young
Valacchis. Gifts were non-existent so far.
The two stood in the warmth of the entry as he helped
her out of the black ankle length leather coat,
hanging it on the entry hall tree along with her black
cashmere scarf. Dolci's eyes were also red and puffy
from crying. The deaths of their parents had been so
sudden; but car crashes are that way. Her emotions
crashed on her again and she suddenly erupted into a
fountain of tears and sobs. He turned her to him and
pulled her in tight to comfort, to assuage the pain.
They stood unmoving, his stepsister's warmth radiating
over him as she sobbed against his solid chest, her
arms encircling his waist under his black trench coat.
"Oh Sal why?" She uttered between sobs. He just held
her, at a loss for words.
***
The two of them had been together nearly all of her
fourteen years. He had been five when his mother
married her father. Maria and Dominic, brought
together by mutual friends, both in need of a partner,
love and companionship. The match had been perfect-
made in heaven as it is said. So a new home was
selected by the new couple to make a fresh start.
Maria became mom to Dolcina Valacchi, and Dominic
became Salvatore Di Lucci's father; the family moved
immediately in to the modest brick Country French
Tudor home in West Los Angeles, not far from the UCLA
campus in Westwood.
As an only kid, five-year old Salvatore was taken with
his new eighteen month old baby sister. He helped Mama
A look after the pretty dark haired girl with the
beautiful olive skin. Even at that early age, her
large hazel eyes, with long lashes, and full lips,
drew every ones attention. When she crawled, he
crawled with her, the two of them laughing and
giggling. He was there helping her take her first
tentative steps, helping change her diapers, and
bathing with her. Sal had always been there for her.
The children spent many hours in the care of Angelina
and Gino, when Gino was not with Dom, as Maria and Dom
met their many social and business obligations. It was
big brother Sal that Dolcina went to with a hurt knee
or a school problem to discuss. It was Sal she sought
when she had a bad dream or heard creepy noises,
crawling into his warm bed where she was soon cuddled
up and asleep.
The sobbing finally subsided. Dolcina stepped back,
her face a wet, red mess, and looked up at him, "May I
have your handkerchief?"
He reached down and kissed her on the forehead,
handing her the white handkerchief. "The hurt will
eventually ease, little sister, only time can help.
Let's go change into more comfortable clothes and have
some hot chocolate," But how much time, he wondered?
She nodded, looked up at him and said, "Sal you have
always been there for me. I so depend on your strength
you know." She reached up; rising up on her toes, and
kissed him, quite passionately, on the lips as she had
always done, backed down and gave him a big smile.
"See ya in the kitchen!" Off she scampered to her
room, her dark loose French braid bouncing on her
back.
THREE
Even in this spacious 3000 square foot home, the
kitchen was still a place of hangout for family and
friends-part of the Italian heritage maybe, certainly
an American tradition.
The two of them sat, barefoot in sweats at the
counter, side by side, shoulders touching, sipping
their steaming chocolate drinks as they had done so
many times, in silent reflection. Dolci had bathed her
smooth olive face so the red, puffiness was almost
gone; the hazel eyes now seemed to twinkle; her long
black hair now loose, hanging about her shoulders.
"Feelin' better?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink.
Dolci leaned over and kissed his cheek as she slipped
her arm around his lower back then laid her head on
her brother's shoulder. "It seems strange, he
continued, knowin' they're not here but yet it's not
unlike before; they were gone a lot and it was you and
I, and of course Mama A and uncle Gino. Mr. Abrams,
dad's attorney, says Mama A and Gino have temporary
guardianship 'til you turn eighteen. Uncle Nick asked
if we wanted to come to Las Vegas to stay with him but
I don't know, there's too much going on here with
school and all, and now Dad's real estate business." I
think he understands our ties here.
"Is uncle Nick a partner in Dad's real estate
business?" Dolci suddenly asked.
"Maybe. I don't know for sure, never asked."
Dom's brother Nick was now head of the Valacchi family
business, mostly in the Phoenix and Las Vegas areas,
their grandfather had started close to 100 years ago
in the Baltimore Maryland area. No one really talked
much about the family business even though all was
legitimate after a lot of years of careful management,
Dom's and Nick's father, then Nick, had moved
questionable assets into legitimate tax paying
enterprises.
Nick, five years older than Dom, had sent Dom off to
college, and after graduation had then encouraged him
to go to Los Angeles and start the real estate
business for the family. Dominic had taken the time
before moving to California to propose marriage to a
young copy of Dolci, Lena. Lena's family were
distantly related on Dominic's and Nick's mother's
side of the family.
A red eyed but smiling face suddenly appeared through
the door from the rear of the house, where she and
Gino lived, to the kitchen, "Hey you two, Mama
Angelina maka ya somthin ta eat," she issued as she
reached out and hugged both at the same time, a sob
breaking from her lips. She had tried so hard not to
cry for their sake and just couldn't; Maria and Dom
had been her family too. She had been here with Gino
when Dolcina was born. She immediately became attached
to five year old Sal when he and his mother joined the
family. Maria had helped her with her English,
introduced her to American ways, California ways.
Angelina had brought her old country up-bringing, with
her special warm caring ways, always a smile, to the
Valacchi home. Dolcina and Salvatore had become her
adopted children, as she and Gino had never been able
to have any of their own. Big gruff twenty-two year
old Gino had sent for her in Sicily after he returned
from Viet Nam, close to 25 years ago, to come be his
bride. She couldn't have been more than sixteen at
that time. The marriage had been arranged by their
respective families; she was a third or fourth cousin
to Gino.
The kid's responded to her attention, the display of
love and concern; their arms went around her,
returning the love, a bit of comfort in her moment of
pain.
"You lika some Fettuccini?" She finally asked as she
wiped her wet cheeks and eyes with the back of her
hands. "You needa some of Mama A's pasta!" You not eat
much today. I heat some for you two.
"Ok," they said in unison, suddenly laughing at how
they had responded; the offer of Angelina's cooking
sounded good.
The fettuccini with Gino's wife's Alfredo sauce was
beyond great, it always was. Mama A broke the rules a
little; she insisted they have a glass of red wine
with their pasta—she didn't have to insist to
strenuously. She wanted them to sleep to help ease the
pain of the day she just knew would come in the night.
The delicious meal, the Chianti (two glasses), and the
late hour worked its magic; the kids had dozed off on
the family room couch trying to watch some TV movie.
Sal stirred, half a sleep, got up then eased Dolci's
legs onto the couch, covering her with a lap robe kept
at hand there. She was out. He kissed her on the lips,
and for a brief moment or two admired her innocence,
lightly touching her cheek with his palm. At fourteen
she had become an alluring beauty with her light olive
complexion and lovely magnetic hazel eyes under long
lashes.
Their relationship reminded him of Romeo and Juliet he
had read about in an English lit class. He punched the
TV remote control, the picture dissolved into the
black hole of nether land. He staggered to his room,
managing to shed his sweats as he moved towards the
bed; again sound asleep as his head hit the pillow.
Some three hours later, a distraught Dolci, black hair
now around her tear- wet face, entered her step-
brother's room as she had so many times over the
years. The wine had not worked that well for her. The
nightmare of the events these past few weeks continued
to flash through her mind; she was in the Jag as it
arced out over the rock-strewn beach. The realistic
scene brought her half awake, more like a dream state.
She lifted the comforter and slid in next to his warm
naked body. He always slept naked.
She eased his arm over where she could lay her head on
it and cuddled to her warm security. She instinctively
turned to face him lying on her side and automatically
draped her bare leg over his bare thighs as she
settled in, cuddling up with her left arm across his
bare muscular stomach. He had not moved. Sound asleep.
His warmth spread over her, especially caressing her
bare leg that now lay over his upper thighs. She
relaxed, her eyes heavy, peacefully savoring the warm
secure comfort, the painful thoughts slowly ebbing
away as his soft rhythmic breathing teased her ear
like a melodic running stream. She snuggled tighter to
the warmth of Sal's body. He only slightly moved as
she slowly succumbed to sleep.
A new dream had entered her mind; the nightmare of the
tragedy now forgotten. She and Sal were running and
playing barefoot in a beautiful field of wildflowers.
puffy white clouds blotting the azure blue sky here
and there. The running and laughter were exhilarating
as she chased him up the hill reaching out for him as
they raced for the crest.
The thrill became near overwhelming as she ran faster;
her breathing labored, he slowed and turned to face
her as she caught hold of him. Her arms encased his
slim waist resting her moist hot hands low on his firm
buttocks, pulling him tight against her demanding
pubis; his well-muscled chest tantalizing her firm
nipples.
Suddenly she was soaring as the rapturous tremors
rippled through her whole being; she reached a known
pinnacle of orgasmic ecstasy. She moaned, nearly
screamed. She gripped Sal tighter, as she push her
overly warm body more on top seeking his now aroused
manhood not wanting to let go of the orgasmic thrill.
The dream and reality were mixed. She was panting as
her clitoris fucked his rigid cock the rapturous
tremors had started. He mumbled something as she
reached down to his cock, lifted up her hips and
placed his cock at her panty covered wet vaginal lips.
She became more aggressive as his cock started to move
up and down against her inflamed pussy, her thighs
squeezing his hard cock. She mewed and moaned, her
climax exploding as she felt him shudder and come.
The dream flitted away. She relaxed. Her damp
exhausted nubile body shuddered one last time as she
drifted off into deep sleep; he unconsciously pulled
her to him.
To be continued?
Archivist's Note: This author did not provide an email
address so it will do the reader no good contacting
the archive staff for further parts. Check back at a
later time to see if there have been any updates to
this story by the author.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any of
the scenarios in this story; should seriously consider
seeking professional help.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 76