("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2013. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- 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. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 76