Chapter 4
When the sleek, buxom American girl awoke the next morning, the heat of the day had already begun. Without opening her eyes, she could feel the hot rays of the sun pouring in the open window and bathing her smooth shapely body with light. Feeling deliciously sleepy and not at all inclined to open her eyes and start the day's activities, Romina lay still for a while, awake but immobile, enjoying the sensation of the hot sun on her well tanned bare skin. The sheet had been pushed down to her smoothly rounded hips during the warm evening, and she suddenly remembered her inquisitive next door neighbor. Opening her eyes and squinting against the fierce light, she saw that he was sitting in the same position, possibly having been there all night, staring placidly out his window at the vision of her fully exposed breasts and tummy. Except this time he was not alone. Around him were three or four other men, all calmly drinking their morning coffee and enjoying the sight of her half-naked young body.
"Ma va fa'n cullo!" the angry girl shrieked, using the foulest Italian vulgarity she could muster for the occasion and wrapping the sheets around her, she darted into the bathroom to dress. She would have to ask the landlord for a different room, she decided, or be forced to spend the rest of her stay in Strappani being inspected by the gentleman next door and anyone else he invited in to enjoy the view.
She deliberated for some time over her choice of clothing, once she had calmed down and taken her shower. On the one hand, she would be more comfortable and less stared at if she wore something quite modest and simple, covering as much of her as possible, since it was obvious by now that the men of Strappani liked looking at pretty girls. On the other hand, she was not going to be able to locate Il Volpe on her own and in order to find the necessary assistance, she would have to be as attractive as possible. Also, the more people who knew she was in Strappani, the greater were the chances that word of her presence would reach Il Volpe's ears. And then, there was the heat to be considered. It ran contrary to her modest nature, but Romina ultimately decided that she had better wear something brief and absolutely smashing if she expected to accomplish what she had come to do. Now was no time for timidity.
The supply of clothing she had been able to bring with her was limited, but she had tried to include at least one outfit for every occasion. Among her dresses, there was one she had purchased a few weeks ago which her mother had seen and promptly forbidden her to wear in public. It was a light cotton miniskirt which showed off her long tapering legs and splendid thighs to their best advantage. Designed to be worn without a bra, the dress was scoop-necked and daring, revealing the tops of her lush, well-rounded breasts and allowing her bosom to move freely and provocatively as she walked.
If this doesn't bring Il Volpe out of the woods, she decided, inspecting herself in the bathroom mirror, nothing will. She applied her make-up quickly, since her stomach was already growling for her morning coffee, brushed her hair briskly and descended the stairs in search of some breakfast.
The landlord had thoughtfully set up a table for her in the shade of the hotel garden and she sat and sipped the rich brown espresso coffee mixed with milk and munched on fresh rolls while she mulled over her plans for the day. It would not do to go around announcing to everyone that she was looking for Il Volpe; there would be too many questions to answer. On the other hand, she had to tell someone or the word would never reach the outlaw that she was seeking him out. It was a dilemma with no easy answers. The young American girl decided to spend the day acting like a tourist, seeing the town and letting the town see her.
Breakfast finished, she shouldered her purse and her thirty-five millimeter camera and set off on a walking tour of Strappani. Generally, the men were outside of town working in the fields and Romina saw mostly women as she wandered. The twentieth century had not yet penetrated this part of Western Sicily and despite the heat, the married women almost universally wore hideous black dresses which covered them from neck to ankles. Only the young girls wore lighter, more sensible dresses, but nothing remotely approaching the miniskirts and tops worn in the cities of Northern Europe and America. Romina watched old women carrying incredible weights on their heads, climbing agilely up and down the steep streets of the mountain village with perfect balance, bringing water or bales of firewood to their homes. Everyone seemed busy and none of the women openly stared at her, although she could tell that there were whispered conversations inspired by her appearance every time she passed through a group of women. There were a few men in town, mostly shop-keepers, policemen and elderly gentlemen who were too far along in years to make the tiring trip out to the fields every morning. The men gaped at her frankly, but Romina was growing accustomed to the idea of being examined by every man she passed and reminded herself that attracting a certain amount of attention was part of her plan.
The streets were narrow and she looked into the houses as she passed by their open doors. The furniture was poor and chickens seemed to be at liberty to perch in the hallway or scratch in the dusty road for some unlikely worm. She visited the local church, a dank depressing structure with grotesque medieval statues of saints and a large crack in the masonry wall which ran from ceiling to floor. A priest emerged from a door to the right of the altar and glared in her direction, reminding her that it was considered rude to enter a church in Italy with one's head uncovered. Leaving the musty church, she wandered through the market place, looking at slabs of meat covered with flies and housewives haggling with merchants over the price of cheese and vegetables. The poverty here was too intense to be picturesque and the misery in which these people lived depressed her.
On the outskirts of town, Romina passed a small trattoria, or family restaurant, and decided to have lunch. Walking in this tremendous heat had tired her and her appetite was listless, but she realized that it was necessary to keep her strength up, no matter what the temperature.
An elderly woman with white hair and a sympathetic grandmotherly face was the restaurant's manager, cook and waitress all combined and she was obviously delighted to have a bright young foreigner to talk to. There was, of course, no menu. Guests ate what the management had decided to cook that day and on most days this was chicken with peperone, a side dish of sliced tomatoes and a glass of cool white wine.
"Oh, don't you have any local wine?" questioned Romina as the old woman brought her a wine made and bottled in Palermo.
"You must not drink our wine," muttered the elderly lady mysteriously. "Don't worry, I won't charge you extra."
"No, it's not that," insisted the American girl. "I just wanted to try it."
"No, no," repeated the older woman seriously. "You must never touch the wine made in Strappani. All decent women drink wine from Palermo. You are a foreigner and do not understand these things!"
"What things?" asked Romina innocently. "Isn't the wine healthy to drink?"
"The wine from Strappani is different from other wines. It makes you do crazy things, Signorina. Don't let any of the men give you any or you will be the sadder for it. Eat your chicken before it gets cold."
Romina obediently ate her chicken, chatting with the strange old woman about life in America and listening to some details about the town's history. Finally, she worked up her courage and posed the question which really concerned her.
"Signora, have you ever heard of a bandit they call Il Volpe?"
The crone's eyes narrowed suddenly and she stared at the young black-haired girl for a full minute before answering.
"Never heard of him," she responded shortly and broke off their conversation abruptly to begin clearing the table.
Romina paid and left, resuming her walk through the older section of town. After lunch was the hour of the siesta and there was hardly anyone left on the streets, but she resisted the temptation to return to her hotel and sleep for a while, wanting to see as much as she could on her first day and get the geography of the village clearly in her mind. After walking for some time, she found a bar that was open and went in to drink a Coca-Cola. A young man with a thick thatch of black hair stood behind the counter, surveying her fresh young form with visible appreciation, and initiated the conversation with the usual questions about what she was doing in Strappani and where she lived in the states. Romina welcomed the chat and asked questions of her own about the town and the people who lived in it. Finally, she edged around to the subject of criminals.
"Do you have any bandits in town?" she asked casually.
"You do not need to worry, Signorina. We have a good police force here, although it would not be wise to venture out of the town after darkness unless you are in company with someone."
"Why? Are there bandits in the countryside?"
"I would not say that there were bandits, Signorina, only that it is not a good idea to go around after dark unescorted."
"Do you ever think they'll catch Il Volpe?" she asked quickly hoping to surprise him into answering.
"I know nothing about any Il Volpe, Signorina," the young man responded, his face suddenly hardening. "That will be one hundred lire for the Coca-Cola, please."
By late afternoon, the slender Italo-American girl was approaching despair. She had talked to about ten people in the course of the day, none of whom had even been willing to admit having heard of Il Volpe, although it was obvious that they knew perfectly well who she was talking about and simply did not trust her enough to discuss the subject.
How stupid of me, she cursed herself, to think that I could waltz into this village and expect Il Volpe to pop out from behind a tree and present his visiting card. He has been a wanted man all his life and he is certainly going to be very careful about showing himself. She was sitting on a rock near the edge of town, wondering if she ought to abandon the whole project and fly back to Rome when the police car pulled up next to her.
Out of the car came a man in his middle thirties, wearing the uniform of a police lieutenant. He was big for a Sicilian, measuring well over six feet, and he had the heavy powerful body of a professional wrestler. His face was brutal and hard, although not entirely unattractive and he moved with the easy confidence of a man accustomed to giving orders.
"Signorina Santini, please permit me to introduce myself. I am Lieutenant Barzini, the chief of police in Strappani, at your disposition."
"I'm happy to meet you, Lieutenant," Romina responded uneasily, wondering why he had taken the trouble to learn her name. "I certainly am enjoying my visit to your town."
The lieutenant made himself comfortable on a nearby rock and stared at her suspiciously.
"You have come here to see the town?" he questioned. "This is most unusual, since Strappani is far from the usual tourist route. Here we have no monuments, no famous ruins, no colorful festivals, nothing to attract the tourist and you are the first foreigner I can remember who has spent more than a few hours here."
"Oh well," stumbled Romina, a bit taken back by this frank approach. "I had heard that it was a very pleasant town and very characteristic of this part of Italy."
"I'm afraid you were misinformed, my dear young lady. Strappani is a very unpleasant town, although I suppose it is characteristic of this part of Italy where there are a great many unpleasant towns. The people here are stupid and dishonest and I have no doubt that you have been cheated a dozen times already without realizing it. There is frankly nothing here to see and I am still wondering why you came."
Romina was ready to tell him that, it was none of his damn business why she had come, but she knew that she could hardly afford to start making enemies of any kind, particularly with the police, so she offered him a polite he instead.
"Well, perhaps you are right, although I think it is a very charming town and everyone has been perfectly delightful to me so far. I was touring Sicily and just decided not to go home without having seen this section of the island."
The tall lieutenant shook his head cynically and smiled cruelly at her.
"Foreigners have a tendency to underestimate the Italian police. We keep a rather close track of things in this part of the world. For example, you arrived on a flight from New York the night before last and immediately took a plane for Palermo. Without leaving the airport, you arranged for hotel reservations and got on a bus and came here, to a town with no facilities to offer and nothing to distinguish it from a thousand other towns. No, I correct myself: there is one unique thing about Strappani."
"And what is that?"
"I have reason to believe you already know the answer to that question. You have been asking everyone in town about Il Volpe and I suppose he does make this town a little unique. Why don't you ask me? As the chief of police here, I am rather an expert on the subject. And when you have asked your questions, I will ask a few of my own."
Romina deliberately paused and gazed at him coldly, trying to give herself time to think of a more-likely story. She had not counted on anyone looking into her movements quite so thoroughly, and it was clear she would have to offer some convincing explanation of her behavior. An idea suddenly struck her.
"You are very clever, Lieutenant," the girl assured him, trying to turn on a little charm. "Perhaps you can also tell me what I do for a living?"
"I could find out if I needed to know," the sullen policeman replied shortly. "But suppose you save me the trouble."
"I would appreciate it if this were held in confidence," she cautioned, lowering her voice.
"Naturally."
"Very well then, I am a reporter for the Boston Globe. As you probably know, there are about a million Italians living in Boston, most of them Sicilians or descendants of Sicilians. Our readers are very interested in what goes on here and we try to keep them informed. You were right when you said that Il Volpe was the one unique thing about Strappani. He's very well known in America and my editor sent me to do a story on him, written from his home town. I had hoped to be able to do it without letting anyone know what I was up to but I guess I didn't cover my tracks very well."
The big policeman digested this information without any visible change in expression and for a minute, Romina was afraid he was not going to believe her.
"Well!" he exclaimed finally. "This puts a new light on the subject. I would be happy to tell you what I know about Il Volpe and you must be careful to spell my name properly in your article. Our good friend Il Volpe can be quite useful to both our careers."
"How?"
"You can write a splendid article on the subject and perhaps win one of those prizes they give to journalists. And perhaps I can catch him or at least shoot him and be promoted to captain and transferred to some big city."
This prospect did not appeal to Romina in the slightest, but she had created this role for herself and now she had to live with it.
"Where do you think Il Volpe is hiding?" she probed, looking for information.
"That's the problem," admitted the rugged police officer. "Look up there!" He pointed up at the craggy hostile mountains which overlooked the town. "He's up there somewhere and he's been up there for twenty years. I told you the people in this town were dishonest. Probably any one of them could lead me directly to his hideout but they won't. And the people who live up there, the shepherds and hunters, are even worse. They get a cut whenever our friend robs some respectable citizen and they have no interest in helping us find him. There are a million caves and little shacks in those mountains and he could be in any one of them. The Army comes in every couple of years and marches around shooting off their guns but they never even come close."
"Do you think anyone will ever catch him?" asked Romina, hoping for a negative answer.
"You are looking at the man who will bring him down!" boasted the arrogant lieutenant. "The others have been fools. They charge into the mountains with a hundred men, and Il Volpe knows they are coming before they leave the city limits. Il Volpe and his band operate like guerrillas and I will do the same. I will go alone or with a few picked men and high-powered rifles and when I get him in my sights the first time, there will be no more Il Volpe!"
"Won't you even try to arrest him? Bring him to trial?"
"They've done that before, Signorina, and nobody ever succeeded in hanging on to him long enough to get a trial started. Besides, he's been convicted two or three times in absentia. Fools! Trying a man you cannot catch! When I find him there will be no judge and no trial, only a quick execution! Il Volpe knows what kind of man I am. He is terrified of me and so are the villagers!"
Romina was not precisely terrified of the lieutenant, but he seemed like a very unpleasant character and very conceited. Nor could she quite picture Il Volpe up in the mountains shaking in his boots at the thought of this loudmouthed policeman. However, to date, he was the only person she had encountered who was even willing to discuss the subject and she realized that she had better put up with his obnoxious boasting until she located a better source of information.
"Now, I am giving some thought to your article," the tough, muscular policeman announced grandly. "You should not focus specifically on a common outlaw like Il Volpe, but show the situation as a kind of duel to the death between me, the representative and defender of law and order in the community, and Il Volpe, who stands for violence and dishonesty. It is certainly fortunate for you that I decided to take an interest in you, because alone you would have been able to accomplish nothing!"
Romina suppressed the urge to tell the lieutenant what an absolute jackass he was and nodded politely as he continued to brag about the day when he would kill Il Volpe and the rest of his gang. Fortunately, she had a small notebook and a pen in her purse and she pretended to take notes while he talked.
"Listen, I have a great deal to explain to you which will be essential as background for your story, some details about my own life and career as well as my comments on the criminal situation in this part of Italy. We can talk over dinner. Unfortunately there are no restaurants in town which offer the kind of cuisine to which I am accustomed, but you as a journalist must be used to living off the land. There is a small trattoria near here where the food is at least not poisonous."
Without waiting for her to accept or refuse this presumptuous invitation, the arrogant police lieutenant helped Romina to her feet and steered her toward the police car.
Barzini drove like a drunken adolescent, mostly on the wrong side of the road, blowing his horn and scattering a group of children who were playing in the street. After a short but very unpleasant journey, they pulled up in front of a restaurant with a screech of brakes and a cloud of dust.
The restaurant was a small home surrounded by a very pleasant garden where tables and chairs had been set up. Romina could see fear come into the faces of the waiters and guests as they recognized the brutal form of the policeman emerging from the car. She remained in her seat for a moment, expecting him to open the door for her, but soon realized that his social graces were not that developed and climbed out on her own, following him into the garden.
"Buona Sera, Signor Tenente, Buona Sera!" chorused the waiters respectfully, scrambling to find him a table.
"A table in the shade, idiots!" he thundered as they offered him a place still lighted by the rays of the sinking sun. There was only one table in a shaded area, and this was already occupied by an elderly couple who were quietly eating their dinner. II Tenente glared at them for a moment until they got the idea and sprang to their feet, saying, "Scusi, Signor Tenente, scusi!" Waiters rushed lo carry the couple's food to another table and brought a clean linen table cloth for the policeman and Romina.
Barzini did not trouble to thank the elderly couple for the sacrifice of their table, but seated himself immediately without even waiting for Romina. The American girl was highly embarrassed at being a party to this kind of boorish behavior and hoped that the villagers were not holding this against her.
Nosooner were they seated when a man who seemed to be the owner of the restaurant presented himself and bowed, first to the lieutenant and then to Romina.
"Buona Sera, Signor Tenente," he recited. "It is always a great honor to have you here. What can we offer you?"
"Some of your wretched wine, I suppose," responded the policeman insultingly, "and then some pasta. But hurry with the wine because we're thirsty. And bring some mineral water as well!"
"Subito!" responded the owner and he disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, shouting instructions to his waiters.
"Do you have a good wine in this part of the country?" asked Romina, trying to start some civilized conversation.
"There is nothing really good in this part of Sicily," snapped the policeman, "but the local wine is better than the bilge they turn out in some of the towns around here and is rather unusual. You will want to try some for the experience at any rate. If you don't like it, tell me and I'll order something from Palermo. I don't know how many times I've asked the owner here to acquire some Northern Italian wines which a cultured man can drink. I'll have to raise the subject with him again the next time his license comes up for renewal."
Suddenly what the old lady at lunch had said about drinking the local wines came back to Romina. "You must not touch the wine made in Strappani," the old woman had warned her, but she had balked at saying why. Nevertheless, Romina was adventurous enough to feel a little challenged and curious about this mysterious wine and anxious to taste it.
A waiter emerged from the kitchen at almost a dead run and placed on their table a tall bottle of cool white wine. The lieutenant poured her a glass and looked at her expectantly. Romina raised the glass to her lips and smelled the wine, finding that it had an agreeable delicate scent. She was about to take a sip of the clear white liquid when she glanced over the policeman's shoulder at an old woman who was working in the kitchen of the restaurant and watching them through the open window. The woman shook her head violently, signaling her not to drink the wine. Romina lowered her glass in confusion as the lieutenant took a swallow from his glass and looked at her with perplexity.
"What's the matter? You haven't even tasted it! I thought journalists were supposed to be curious about these things!"
"No ... I was just enjoying the smell," she stammered, and avoiding the eyes of the old woman in the kitchen, she put the glass again to her lips and took a sip.
The taste was very agreeable, if a little unusual, and Romina realized that it was one of the best wines she had ever sampled. While she was certainly no connoisseur of wine culture, no one could grow up in a large Italian family without becoming fairly sophisticated about wines. Also her throat was parched from walking in the hot sun and the wine was deliriously cool. She took another sip and it tasted even better.
But wait! she thought. This is a wine I have had before. The flavor was distinctive, unmistakable. Could it be the same wine she had drunk that disastrous night with Jonathan? It seemed unlikely that a bottle of wine from this obscure town could have found its way into her cellar, especially since her relatives were all Northern Italians who despised all things Sicilian, including the wine, but somehow the flavor seemed almost the same! Romina took another sip and derided not to worry about it. Jonathan and that bottle of wine were now part of the past. She had another job to do today.
Their dinner was some of the best tasting food Romina had ever eaten, although she would have preferred to enjoy her meal in some other company. The police chief ate piggishly, cramming food carelessly into his mouth as he talked. He continued to boast about his future conquest of Il Volpe and all the other criminals in Western Sicily and promised to introduce Romina to people in the village who had known Il Volpe as a young man. By the time they had finished the first course, a rich flavorful spaghetti with a marvelous sauce, and started on the chicken cacciatore with peperone, Romina was feeling quite happy in spite of the obnoxious lieutenant. She was having no difficulty understanding even the strongly accented Italian dialect of the villagers and everyone had praised her for being able to speak the language so well, at least everyone except the crude policeman who seemed to assume that she had learned Italian for the express purpose of communicating with him. The warnings not to drink the wine must come from some local superstition, she decided, since it was superb wine and got better with every mouthful.
Without being asked, the waiter brought them a second bottle with the meat course and Romina realized she was becoming a little tipsy. So what! she told herself. She was entitled to a little enjoyment and one would hardly be safer than in the company of a policeman, even a boorish one.
They had finished the fruits and cheeses and were waiting for their coffee and cognac when it started to hit her. A rosy warm sensation started in her stomach and began spreading to all parts of her body. Despite the fact that the night had cooled considerably from the blazing heat of the day, she felt extremely warm and even the frail mini-skirt she was wearing seemed to be excessively bulky. She broke out in a light sweat and had to continually wipe her hands on the napkin to keep them dry. Her throat seemed parched and water did nothing to quench her relentless thirst. Wine had never before produced this effect in her and she wondered if this was what the two old women had tried to warn her against. Actually the sensation was not altogether unpleasant. Her head was swimming delightfully and her arms and legs felt supple and good despite a sense of weakness in her whole body. She found it difficult to concentrate on what the lieutenant was saying and a few times he finished one of his speeches with, "Isn't that so?" forcing her to agree that it was so without the faintest idea of what they were suppose to be discussing.
"You know, I feel quite strange," she mumbled when he paused in his monologue long enough to drink his coffee. "I wonder if I haven't drunk too much of this wine---"
"It will pass, it will pass," he assured her.
"You have to get used to Vino Strappanese and it takes awhile. No one else drinks the stuff but the people who live here and the old women invent a lot of stupid stories about it. You feel warm? Come, I'll take you for a drive into the hills where the air is cooler.
At that same moment, the lithe young girl became conscious that the old woman from the kitchen was standing by her side.
"Does the Signorina feel faint? She is welcome to lie down in the house for a few minutes," she told the lieutenant boldly.
"She'll be alright," snapped the policeman. "I'm going to take her for a drive in the country."
"I think it would be better if she stretched out here," insisted the old woman firmly. It was the first time Romina had heard anyone contradict the lieutenant and even in her confused condition, she braced herself for the blast. But the policeman restrained himself with a visible effort, apparently not wishing to cause a scene. The restaurant owner quickly appeared and ordered the old woman back to the kitchen and Romina felt herself guided expertly to the police car. She tried to walk normally but felt as if she were floating at least six inches off the ground and she was happy when the policeman spared her any further embarrassment by roaring away from the trattoria into the fast-gathering night.
Lieutenant Luigi Barzini bad been waiting a long time for an opportunity like this and he was determined to let nothing stop him now. when one of his policemen, Corporal Antonioni, had brought him the news that there was an Italian-speaking American girl in town who was more beautiful than a movie-star, Barzini had started making his plans. He was certain he had impressed her this afternoon with his talk about killing Il Volpe and was now half-convinced that he could track down the famous bandit and win himself glory and promotions. Fortunately, the girl had apparently never heard of what Strappani wine did to a woman's cunt, when he touched her up there between those firm, beautifully full young thighs of hers, she was going to burst into the hottest little fuck he had ever had. And, another piece of perfect luck, just a few days before, on the edge of the woods, the tough-talking policeman had discovered an abandoned shack containing an old iron bed and mattress in fairly good condition. His own apartment in town would be infinitely better and it was dangerous to venture this far from the center at night, but Barzini was taking no chances as far as the girl was concerned. She could start screaming at any moment if the wine had not done its work properly and the policeman wanted no witnesses. If she complained later of being raped, who would take her word over his? Everyone knew American girls had no morals and half the town had seen her tossing back vino Strappanese, something no decent woman would do in public. She was already half-compromised and he vowed to finish the job that night.
As he neared the abandoned shack, Barzini shot a glance at the beautifully formed young woman who slouched next to him on the seat, looking to make sure she was still conscious. It would spoil everything if she were not awake and aware of what was happening to her. He wanted to humiliate her, to rub her face in the dirt, to hear her scream with pain and groan with pleasure. He had watched them so often, on trips to Palermo, the proud, tawny, healthy tourist girls from America, exposing their bodies in a way no peasant woman would dare. And he knew that if they noticed him at all, they scorned him for being the local policeman of an insignificant town. What good did it do to have the people of his village bowing and scraping when not one of these long-stemmed beauties would give him so much as the time of day?
"Where are we?" the girl asked vaguely as Barzini parked the car behind some bushes near the unoccupied shack.
"I brought you up in the hills where the air is fresher," he said, opening the door. "Don't you feel cooler?"
"I feel so strange," she muttered as he walked around to the other side of the car and assisted her out. "My body feels like it's on fire! What a strange sensation---"
"You are going to have a number of strange sensations," the policeman replied menacingly as he propelled her into the half-light of the deserted shack. "Strip off your clothing, Signorina! You'll feel so much cooler when you're naked!"
The lieutenant watched with satisfaction as the fog in her mind was pierced by the resignation that he was going to rape her.
"Don't touch me!" she cried in alarm.
"Strip!" he shouted harshly, bringing his hand suggestively to rest on the pistol he carried at his waist. "Unless you want to see that lovely dress torn into rags!" He stepped closer and spun her around, nearly causing her to lose her balance and fall. Quickly finding the zipper, he brutally ripped it down to her full, well-rounded buttocks and yanked the garment from her sensitive shoulders, tearing it nearly in two.
Romina could not bear the idea of being touched by this brutal and overpowering man, but she was too dizzy and too terrified to put up much resistance. The miniskirt fell to the floor, revealing her full lush hips and white, tempting breasts.
The policeman's eyes watered at the sight, impatient to run his hands over her body and torment the brown tantalizing little buds into hardness. Ripping the frail white nylon panties from her loins to bear the softly curling triangle of her pubic hair, he abruptly turned her around to face him as he began stripping off his own clothing.
Despite her wine-drugged horror at the situation, Romina was unable to pull her eyes away from the massive body being revealed before her. The lieutenant was a huge muscular man and the American girl gasped when his long sinewy cock appeared, jutting out like a battering ram from his groin. Romina's intoxicated mind was frozen with fear and revulsion as the policeman stepped toward her, grinning sadistically.
"I can't do it!" she begged him piteously. "Please, I hardly know you ... I can't . ... "
"You won't have to do anything, Signorina," he replied with mocking respect. "If the American lady will be so kind as to lay down and spread her legs, the humble policeman will do the rest!" With a quick movement of his muscular arm, he placed a hand between her naked breasts and sent her sprawling backwards on the musty old mattress.
"It's too big," she whimpered as he crawled over her. "Please, you could hurt me very badly...." Her pleading was interrupted as the lieutenant's body crushed heavily down on top of hers, his thick probing tongue recklessly invading her mouth. He covered her nakedness completely, like a blanket, painfully pinning her helpless arms and legs to the mattress. The effect of the wine was still very much with her and the room began to spin as he shifted his lewd attention from her bruised mouth to her naked breasts, biting and sucking each tender brown nipple brutally. At the same time, she could feel his massive cock lying on her bare flat stomach as she tried to keep her legs pressed tightly together. But the crude rough policeman was too strong for the frail young girl and with a triumphant grunt, he inserted one knee between her firm, fully ripened thighs and forced her legs violently apart.
Oh God, it's all over now, she thought desperately. I did the best I could, but he's too strong for me. She tried to relax her body the way a patient does in the dentist's chair to avoid the pain as much as possible, but the fear was too much for her and she continued to tremble and shake. When the thick meaty head of his cock began its insistent probings into the soft, hair-covered flesh around her vagina, she felt her wine-filled body stiffen with the last ounce of her strength, futilely trying to deny the aggressor entrance into her tiny, virginal little opening.
Lieutenant Barzini smiled sardonically as he raised himself on his elbows and viewed her fragile, well-formed body lying helpless and spread-eagled beneath him. This is going to be good, he told himself. She's as tight as the devil down there, maybe even a virgin. And she's going to get the fucking of her life, the proud insolent bitch! What does she expect, Walking around half-naked? She might have gotten away with that dress in Palermo, but this is Strappani and in Strappani, men are men. Reaching down between their bodies, the lieutenant guided his thick fleshy instrument to the tight little opening between her legs.
"Nooooooooo!! ! " Romina pleaded as she felt the lips around her throbbing vagina forced inexorably apart. Fighting desperately against the effects of the sense-deadening wine and concentrating with all her strength, she tried to hold him out and succeeded for half a minute, before the tiny elastic ring of her battered outer cunt lips weakened under the cruel steady pressure of his hard muscular penis. She groaned piteously as the thick bulbous head of his rigid blood-filled cock slipped slowly, relentlessly up inside the tightness of her tormented vagina. Barzini smiled as he listened to her groan, enjoying her pain and humiliation, then thrust himself abruptly forward again, deliberately trying to make her scream.
Oooooh God! God!" her mouth opened wide to spit out the sound.
The pain was unbearable and as Romina's shriek filled the night, the lewd, sensuous policeman congratulated himself on having had the good sense to bring her out into the isolated countryside where no one could hear her.
"Do you like it, little Miss America?" he taunted brutally, watching her face contort with pain. "What does it feel like to have the cock of a man from Strappani inside of you?"
Romina's only response was a deep pitiable moan as she lashed her wine-dazed head from aide to side. Her helpless suffering excited him even more and seizing her shoulders for better leverage, he roughly thrust himself further up into her tortured young vagina with all the power in his cruel muscular body, impaling her completely on his long, lust-inflated cock.
Romina's beautiful tapered legs flailed out wildly on either aide of the naked hips of the big policeman as he pinned her helpless form to the bed, and in her drugged confusion she felt as though her body was being ripped in two by the massive giant rod which had suddenly become lodge in her delicate unused cunt. Barzini's lengthy swollen cock seemed to fill her entire stomach as its blood-filled tip pressed harshly against the tenderness of her cervix. The policeman held still for a moment, wanting to savor each stage of his lewd conquest. Looking down between their two bodies, he studied the twin elegance of her magnificent breasts, now rising and falling rapidly as she struggled for breath. Below was the smooth flatness of her stomach, extending down to her loins where the black, softly curling pubic strands covering her open cunt entwined with his, nearly concealing the thick stub of his sinewy cock stretching the agonized lips of her tight moments-before virginal little vagina almost beyond endurance.
Romina squirmed piteously as she lay spread-eagled and penis-filled beneath him, dazed by the wine and suffering hot terrible pains as his murderous hardness inched gradually further and further up into her. She could feel every detail of his hard monstrous cock as it burrowed within her, pressuring outward against the smooth inner walls of her burning vagina and the odd sensation of his heavy sperm-filled balls slapping nakedly against her tender and unprotected anus as he hit bottom!
Having penetrated all the way to the hilt, the cruel lusty lieutenant began a slow deliberate fucking movement, withdrawing himself almost to the tip of his lust-hardened cock, and then sliding slowly forward again until he had buried himself all the way back up in her helplessly cringing little belly once more. Romina turned her head to the side, covering her face with one hand, feeling enormous relief and even a strangely beginning tingle of pleasure every time he withdrew and then renewed torment and pain when he rammed himself forward again, groaning involuntarily with each powerful stroke.
Her mind still fuddled by the strange wine, Romina lay in a kind of stupor, grateful that the pain was lessening and that she did not seem to be seriously hurt by the assault. The policeman's muscular cock seemed now to be a living thing inside her, its hard rubbery tip pressing against her tormented cervix and the thick penile folds of flesh applying a relentless pressure against the trembling walls of her sensitive vagina. She moved slightly on the mattress, trying to shift her buttocks into a more comfortable position and was surprised when the movement sent a ripple of pleasure and not pain into her loins.
Feeling the girl's lithe youthful body begin to relax and moisten, Barzini doubled his pace, rocking back and forth on the old musty mattress. Her rhythmic grunts began to sound less like suffering and more like ecstasy as he labored over her and he knew that the lust inciting wine was at last having its desired effect.
Romina trembled on the fine line between pleasure and pain as the lewd policeman fucked into her obscenely and relentlessly. Her mouth hung open limply and her eyes were tightly closed, her mind fighting valiantly but vainly against the lewd little ripples of pleasure growing ever hotter in the cock filled cunt up between her open thighs.
"Oooooohhhhh!! " she crooned as the Sicilian's thick cock rammed again and again deep into her belly, so deep that she felt it could almost pass through her body and up into the back of her throat. Unconsciously, her hands came to rest on his thrusting hard buttocks and without realizing it, her hips began grinding back at him, her now hungrily nibbling little cunt lips screwing themselves tighter against his insistent loins.
The girl, her mind dazed and fogged by the wine, was only dimly aware that her youthful body was reacting lasciviously to this merciless pounding. The pain was almost gone now and her legs and arms felt alive with a life of their own as she coiled her long firm legs around him, trying to force his impaling rod further and further into the depths of her hitherto-innocent cunt. A maddening electric tingle began somewhere near the base of her spine and spread inexorably to all parts of her body, radiating through her moist hair-lined vagina and up into her swollen throbbing tits. Her brown sensitive nipples, now as hard as rocks, were standing up boldly atop her heaving breasts. Sweat poured over her belly into the warm wetly matted fleece of her pussy where it mixed with the rising love-juices from her hotly flowing cunt and trickled in tiny tickling rivulets down over her nakedly upturned ass cheeks.
Her mind temporarily destroyed by the effects of the aphrodisiac Strappani wine, the American girl felt as if the brutal Sicilian had become a part of her own body and the muscles deep inside her cruelly stretched cunt contracted and expanded rhythmically as he fucked mercilessly in and out of her. The hard ruthless man looked down at his now almost lust-crazed victim with lewd satisfaction. This one's not going to make any trouble for me, he assured himself. Tantalizing her, he slowed his pace for a moment and withdrew partially his piston from her, grinning with obscene enjoyment as he watched her arch her back towards him in a lusty effort to keep the wet, fleshy contact of cock to cunt from being broken.
Suddenly, a new deep-throated growl issued from her throat and the girl's sweat-soaked over-stimulated body began to shake uncontrollably. A thick creamy liquid streamed from her wildly throbbing pussy lips, wetting his balls as they slapped obscenely against her smooth upturned buttocks and the muscular policeman re-doubled his efforts, wanting to hear her scream with passion now as she had screamed with pain only a few minutes before.
"Oh God, yes, I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" she shouted in English, her wine-weakened mind too confused to remember any Italian.
"Aaaaaaagggggghhhhh!! ! ! ! "
Despite his superior size and strength, the Sicilian had to struggle to hold her as the girl's body shot completely out of control, her arms and legs jerking spasmodically and her nakedly grinding loins thrusting wildly up against him as the violence of her orgasm swept over her.
As the spasm passed, Romina lay back on the bed exhausted, the effects of the wine now suddenly somewhat diminished. She could not bear to look the lieutenant in the face after what had just happened and she covered her eyes with her hands, feeling him slowly withdraw his still hardened penis from her gently pulsating vaginal walls.
Something is wrong, she thought in confusion, her mind still" slowly clearing. Nothing happened to him. He didn't cum.
"Did you like that, little American?" the policeman asked gloatingly as he pulled himself free of her with a lewd popping sound.
"Oh please..." she stammered. "I don't know what to say..."
From beneath her lowered eyelids, she stole a glance at him as he stood next to the rickety old bed, wiping his still-rigid penis with her dress.
"You don't have to say anything," he responded harshly. "You've had your fun and now I'm going to have mine! Get down on the floor on your knees, bitch!"
Her mind still working very slowly and still not comprehending what it was he wanted of her, Romina obeyed. Her naked body bruised and glistening with sweat, she slid out of bed and kneeled to her knees in front of him. He took a step closer and his long still-inflated penis waved in her face, only inches from her trembling, slightly parted lips.
"I'm told sucking cock is very popular in America," he informed her obscenely. "And I want you to feel at home. Open your mouth!"
Suddenly, as the blood-filled tip of his masculinity touched her lips, it struck her. He wanted her to take that massive, as yet, unemptied hardness in her mouth! He actually expected her to suck him!
The shock of this realization drove the last of the wine-inspired fog from her mind and her thoughts begin to function again. I'll die first, she told herself. I will never do this to any man!
As the policeman spread his legs and moved even closer, revulsion swept over her and the lithe young girl, her strength fear-inspired, ducked her head agilely and darted between his legs and out the open door. By the time the outraged policeman collected his wits and came crashing after her, she was already into the woods, a wild despair in her heart.