Cricket Vaughn and the Don - Part One - Sex Stories

Cricket Vaughn and the Don - Part One

... boot-camp in Parris Island. Those bastard crickets kept me awake for seven fuckin' weeks straight... 'Chirp, chirp...' Bastards... You got a real name?" "You serious?" "Yeah... I'm always serious, Mrs Vaughn." "Jemima O'Hara." "So you're Italian?" "Fuck you, Mr Santangelo. Call me Jemima." "My grandmother's name was Jemima... It's weird to call you that..." "Then call me Jem." "Like the diamond?" "Yeah, but with a 'J'..." "Jem?" "See? That didn't hurt... Say 'Hello Jem...' Try it." "Hello Jem..." "Chirp, chirp..." The Don choked on his cigar as he exploded with laughter. "Sit," he said. “Welcome Ms. Vaughn. We have business? What brings you here today?” “My husband Charlie Vaughn has some financial problems. I was hoping to talk to you about this.” Charlie Vaughn was a singer and he had just gotten into the mainstream. He kind of sounded like Frank Sinatra, but was more of a rock and roller. He was of the Harry Connick Jnr/Michael Buble school. He was popular with the wanna-be baby boomers. He was a good looking guy and liked to have a good time. Unfortunately, he liked to have a very good time. He loved to spend his down time in casinos. He loved to play black jack and loved to buy people drinks and flirt with the cocktail waitresses. He wasn't a good husband but then again, in a lot of ways, Cricket Vaughn wasn't a perfect wife. She had met him when she was almost done with being a prostitute and planning a move into running her own house. In many ways he was her last real ...

... trick. He was stoned when he proposed and she was drunk when she said yes. And he was loveable in that way a lot of famous assholes are. She fell for it. Puppy dog eyes and a big cock and the ability to lick her like split peach. And his singing to her afterwards. You'd think she'd know better. She knew better when she arrived back from the shop one afternoon to surprise him. He was in their bed with two of her girls. HER GIRLS! (That almost hurt more than his infidelity...) Rosa and Carmel. Fucking free for a flirt with fame. Lines of Jack Frost across their plump teen whore bellies as he fingered and sniffed. They cried. He begged. They stayed. He left. That was 18 months ago. But she didn't want the bastard dead. Charlie had been gambling more and more and his luck hadn't change and he borrowed money from a loan shark. She had paid off several of his loan shark loans, but he had not told her the whole truth. Two hundred thousand dollars. From Tommy' The Vulture' Caproni, a capo of Don Santangelo's. She didn't have 200k. Charlie currently didn't have a record deal. It was bad. “Your husband owes money,” said the Don. "He owes money to a bad man. It's his problem, not yours, not mine. So why do you bring this problem to me? Why do you even care? He's in Vegas now, right? You're here. Why do you care?" "I like how he sings..." She crossed her long legs. "Could I get a drink?" The Don laughed again and spoke as he rose and fixed her a drink. "He's going to sing like a fuckin' ...