by sarAdora ~~~~~~~~~~
"Che cosa stavate persando? What were you thinking?" Giancarlo shouted as he pulled Francesca into his study. "That dress! Merda! Shit! You look like a... *Every* man out there is ready to... Bambina," he sighed, taking even breaths and trying to calm himself. "I apologize. I should not have sworn at you, but that dress...!"
"You don't like it?" Francesca asked, secretly delighted at his reaction. Maybe, if he thought she was a loose woman, he'd leave her alone. "I thought it was attractive on me," she purred, turning in place so he could view her from all angles.
"It's attractive," he muttered as looked her over. "And too damned revealing," he swore as he pulled her into a tight embrace. "So revealing you might as well be naked! Nobody!" he shouted. "Nobody sees you like that except me!"
"What?" she sputtered. "You've seen me naked? When? Maiale! Pig!"
"No, no," Giancarlo rushed to explain. "I have not... I saw you four years ago, but... I meant only that..."
"Let me go!" Francesca hissed. "You have spied on me? When? Where? Is that what you do? Spy on naked women? Siete maiale! You pig!"
"Basta! Enough!" he shouted and grabbing her by the shoulders, shook her a little to quiet her. And then he didn't waste any time upending her to deliver a few firm swats to her silk clad behind.
Francesca was speechless. No one had ever spanked her before and this... maiale... "Put me down!" she yelled but Giancarlo was angry and the momentum of his hand was not easily halted. He swatted her again and Francesca's upper body - upside down - made it easier to grab his thigh... She bit him - hard - on the back of his thigh.
If any of the birthday party guests heard his roar... or the feminine screams of outrage that followed... no one was foolish enough to interfere.
Mama Batali smiled, satisfied. The girl has spirit, a perfect match for my Gianni.
Paolo and Leonardo exchanged worried glances, hoping Francesca was okay.
Angelina arched a brow. I hope the Godfather is all right.
The Godfather was enraged. This slip of a girl... whom he had supported for the last four years... college tuition, books, clothes, incidentals, spending money... ungrateful ragazza... Ignoring the pain in his thigh, his hand continued to clap off her bottom, Francesca's furious screams turning into sobs. Send a woman to college to be a teacher, a nurse, not some independent virulent fishwife!
When his hand tired he stood her on her feet, his arms holding her steady. The blood had rushed to her head and she was dizzy from being upside down for too many minutes. When she opened her mouth, he closed it with his own, kissing her hard as he held her tightly to his chest and when he finally ended the embrace, she slipped to her knees, still unable to stand.
He picked her up and sat with her on his lap, one arm around her, the other hand gently wiping her tears. "A woman should always be a lady," he told her softly when she stopped sobbing long enough to hear him. "And when that woman is *my* lady," he explained, "she dresses like one. Capisca? Understand?"
"Let go of me," Francesca said as she attempted to move off his lap. She was uncomfortable in his arms after he had spanked her, and unable to sit without wincing.
"Stay for a while," he murmured, pulling her back. "I like the feel of you in my arms."
"You beat me and then you want to hold me?" she asked in alarm. "That's how you think a woman wants to be treated? You aren't just a pig, Giancarlo Batali, you're a stupid one!" And with that salvo delivered, she jumped off his lap and without a thought as to what the others would think, stormed out of the room, through the crowd of party goers and straight out the front door.
Angelina ran after her trailed by Paolo and Leonardo but they stopped their pursuit when Giancarlo shouted that they should return to the house. He raced past their startled stares and caught Francesca before she got too far down the front walkway.
Mama Batali laughed so hard she started coughing. And those capos and lieutenants closest to Giancarlo toasted him as they raised their glasses in salute. This was the best party he had ever thrown, one that would be talked about for years to come.
As soon as he caught her arm, Giancarlo tossed Francesca over his shoulder and marched off the path and into the thicker woods.
She pounded his back; he rubbed her butt.
She hurled curses; he continued to rub her butt.
She spit threats; he chuckled.
She swore she'd kill him; he swore he'd spank her so hard she'd stand till the New Year, several months away.
"I hate you!" she screamed as he set her back on her feet and held her against his body as he leaned against the trunk of a wide tree.
"You're going to love how I love you," he assured her as his mouth covered hers again, her mouth sweet in spite of her ire.
Francesca yielded, Giancarlo's mouth making her shiver, his arms tight around her, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other cupping her sore bottom.
He smiled when he lifted his mouth; she was sweet and she was his. "I knew you couldn't resist my loving," he told her, a slightly arrogant tone to his speech, the voice of someone used to being in charge.
"You are a despicable cad," she spit at him and raised her knee to his groin. Her dress ripped with the thrust, shredding her garment to mid thigh and ruining her aim.
His roar rent the air and her screams followed. He didn't waste any time upending her again but this time, he raised her torn garment to her waist exposing her silk clad bottom. With the first clap of his hand against her butt, he ripped her panties away from her body. This spanking, on top of the one he gave her in his study had her crying in seconds but Giancarlo ignored her sobs. He was determined that she learned he, and no one else, was sporgenza boss.
The party continued without the guest of honor. Mama Batali cut the birthday cake and toasted her absent son; the guests enjoyed the huge smorgasbord buffet and toasted him as well. All knew he was on the far side of the garden with the very beautiful Francesca Minucci and many laid money on the table to bet on what their relationship would be. The odds were 4-to-1 that Giancarlo would bed the feisty ragazza and eventually tire of her. After all, he was a man's man and their Godfather; he could do what he wanted to do.
Those who knew Francesca well - namely, Angelina, Paolo and Leonardo - didn't think this was a likely event. Francesca's character had been honed by the best - mainly Angelina - whose hot and swift temper rivaled any red-blooded bull on a rampage. They were sure Francesca wouldn't allow Giancarlo to touch her that way unless she loved him.
And she didn't.
Mama Batali was betting on marriage. Her Gianni was an honorable man and whether he knew it or not, Francesca was everything he needed to make his life complete. She was betting that her son would do the right thing. She started thinking about where and when the wedding would take place. First, the priest announces the banns; then... She wondered if Francesca would be kind enough to wear the dress she wore when she married Giancarlo's father. A little alteration... that's all it would take, she mused and made a mental note to call the dressmaker.
His hand was burning, the heat of his palm spreading to his fingers, making the tips tingle with fire and hot ice. He thought it might be swollen but he didn't want to look. He kept it on her bottom, his palm rubbing the silky globes he had blistered with abandon, the same bottom he was ready to sear again if she so much as...
"Francesca, bambina," he murmured as he rubbed her bottom, unsure if the rubbing helped or hurt the burn he knew she was feeling. "Do not try to hurt me, piccola little one," he cautioned. "You're the one who will get hurt, every time."
Francesca ignored him, her face buried in his neck and her body limp and exhausted against his. She hated him with a vengeance and she just wanted the evening to end. She wanted to go home and get out of this ridiculous dress Angelina had made her wear, take a hot shower, go to bed and stay there until everyone forgot about her.
It took a few moments for her to realize that he was rubbing her sore bottom, her *naked* sore bottom and she reared up trying to get away from him. She made it to her knees but couldn't maintain her balance and when he tugged gently at her arm to pull her back onto his lap, she fell against him, her burning cheeks making harsh contact with his muscled thighs.
Her screams were choked and instantly, her eyes overflowed. "I hate you!" she gasped when she could speak.
"Not nearly as much as you're going to love what I'm going to do to you," he assured her as he caught her in a tight embrace, his mouth covering hers once again, his tongue seeking entrance between her lips.
She bit him - hard.