The Italian Gourmet-Baby-Food Baron’s
Ironically Pregnant Virgin Mistress
He needed children for an advertising campaign. . .
All Cesar Machismo wants is to ensure the bambinos of the world experience the flavor explosion of his company’s newest baby-food, Thai Shrimp in Peanut Dressing. But when he goes to an orphanage looking for a new spokes-baby, he finds twins with eyes the color of pureed Cornish game hens. Mama Mia! He must take them home!
What he got was a ready-made family!
Content with her lot in life, Chastity Bliss slaves for her stepmother at the orphanage. This way she stays with her babies, though she can never acknowledge them. When Cesar adopts her twins, she follows as their nanny. What can she do? She has no choice, because though he doesn’t know it . . .
Cesar is their father!
December 15th - Carolyn Jean posts chapter 1
December 16th - Ann Aguirre posts chapter 2
December 17th - Tumperkin posts chapter 3
December 18th - Bettie Sharpe posts chapter 4
December 19th - Carrie Lofty posts chapter 5
December 20th - Meljean Brook posts chapter 6
December 21st - Kate Rothwell posts chapter 7
December 22nd - Lorelie Brown posts chapter 8
December 23rd - Dionne Galace posts all 8 chapters
The Italian Gourmet Baby Food Baron’s Ironically Pregnant Virgin Mistress will eventually be available for download through Amazon and Scribd. Story concept and project vision by Tumperkin; cover design: Bettie Sharpe.
~ 7 ~
At three am, Chastity woke and found herself alone. She left the huge, empty bed and searched for her husband for an hour, going from room to room. At last she found him in his office, sitting at his gold filigree desk feverishly scribbling notes.
“What are you working on?” she ventured softly.
“New flavors,” he growled. “Sometimes difficult.”
She smiled, delight flooding her that he willingly shared with her the heavy troubling load of his workaday whirl of wonder that was his baby food kingdom.
“I have wondered,” Charity said hesitatingly. “A flavor such as artichoke royale,” she stopped and picked at the hem of her gossamer gown, “it could be molte bene.”
He grunted and scribbled the words artichock royal moltebene He didn’t look up nor did he acknowledge that the lass from Bramblecombe had spoken words in his native tongue.
“Go away,” he grunted. “Go back to bed. I will service your insatiable needs later.”
Her delicate skin grew hot and yet her love channel moistened, as the contemptuous words rang in her ears. Insatiable. He mocked her love for him even as he inflamed her senses with his low, rumbling voice that seemed to vibrate her very core.
She fled to the bedroom to find comfort, but her pen lay on the floor, uncapped and dried now, a victim of their rapacious love play. She trailed down the hall to gaze down at and sniff the cherubically angelic sleeping forms of Marv and Mirc.
Yet when she entered the nursery, instead of two small huddled forms in the canopied four-poster cribs, she encountered two forbidding hulks that emerged from the shadows. They came toward her, chuckling and smelling of garlic, sweat and rampant male lust. “No! my babies!” she cringed. Her whispery scream died in her throat as the world went black.
Cesar showered and dressed in his best white silk suit that showed his tanned skin to perfection. He slipped on the gold chains and gleaming patent leather shoes and went in search of his errant wife. The servants didn’t wish to tell him the truth but at last he wormed it out of them. His family had vanished in the early hours of the morning.
Chastity, that whore, had fled, taking his babies with her. Puta! Prostituta! He stormed through the vast house, slammed down marble corridors past tinkling fountains as he plotted his revenge on her. He would have her thrown in prison. No! Not harsh enough, for if she was not near, he would not have access to her body nor would he witness her misery. He alone must punish her for her betrayal.
He paused in the bedroom door and looked at the rumpled silk sheets. Yes, she would be chained to the bed, her writhing, tiny body naked and blushing red with shame. Her adorable bottom would burn red with the marks of his handprints. No, no. His thoughts faltered and faded as if they’d never existed: the line was not ready for this. They’d only recently managed oral love play and weeping slits on iron hard manhoods. Naked and bound to his bed with fur-lined handcuffs would have to do. He absently adjusted his rock-hard manhood before he kicked open the mahogany and stained glass front doors of his palazzo.
Cesar glared around him as he furied across the well-groomed grounds. Upon his return from his restless walk, he paused outside the house. Who left that ladder out under the babies’ nursery window? He picked up a cloth stinking of chloroform that some careless servant must have flung out a window. Such a horrible scent should never be allowed to pollute his kingdom of vegetables roasted to perfection and pureed. It was her fault. He’d allowed himself to be bewitched and standards around the place had gone to hell.
Behind him, someone cleared a nervous throat. “Sir! Perhaps you should take a look at this!” A trembling underling of a peasant thrust a crumpled note at him.
Cesar read aloud. “We have the bitch and her two pups. We require one million American dollars and all production ceased on the new Cherished and Discerning lines or you will never see them again.”
His heart stopped.
After being dragged indoors and resuscitated, Cesar lunged to the phone but his hand, the wrist sprinkled with crisp dark hairs, froze an inch above it. They hadn’t written the words “don’t call the authorities” but he knew such matters inside and out. After all, hadn’t he, Cesar, held his rival, Carl Bambinorino founder of Bravado Baby foods, in this very villa until the villain spat out the secrets of his trade?
His precious auburn-haired offspring! Captured! And….his breath caught in his throat causing him to moan like a man…no, like a fool….in ….. love. His cara puta. His wife. His woman. His amore.
“Oh, ché sciocco sono stato,” he whispered. He whirled on his underlings, his black eyes snapping. “Quick! We must replenish the bar on the jet! No that will not do. The helicopter! We will find them!”
They scampered off, scattering like so many dried leaves in front of the hurricane of his ferocity. He crumpled the note in his hand, as fury raged from his every pore. Wrath at the evil men who’d stolen his family, yes, but he saved a measure of that anger for himself.
Too late he was learning what mattered in life. He glanced at his watch and noted the date. So near the holiday season, too. That his heart should expand so many sizes only to be broken into three parts. One for each of his darling children and the last, greatest chunk for his delicate delicious Chastity.
He paced, his footsteps ringing out on the marble floor of his office. Cesar could not even bring himself to care about anything related to his vast baby food empire, not even the frightening news that a particularly nasty bacteria e bactolacampberiola had been discovered in several hundred cases of Turkey Feasting Delight.
“Artichoke,” he choked out when he looked down at his desk and saw the notes he’d absently scribbled the night before. His vision blurred. If only it was Chastity sprawled across the top of his desk, creamy thighs open and inviting—her body, instead of only her interesting idea lying there, cold and spiritless on the page. Granted, even her tiny weight would collapse this antique desk, yet, he wished it was she.
So beautiful and yet also brilliant. Why had he not seen more than her lustrous curling soft auburn hair, alabaster skin, shy sparkling eyes and peach-perfect perky breasts? She had a mind as well. Artichoke Royale! O, he could only hope he was not too late to find her and tell her what he suspected: that she might not be only a whore after all.
Chastity awoke to the sensation of strong hands roughly tweaking and circling her breasts. “Cesar,” she murmured, but the harsh laughter that greeted her ears was not the low music that signified her love’s glee.
She opened her eyes and saw with horror an old man with mossy, crooked teeth and a hooked nose leaned over her. The dirty old man leered down at her as he pawed her. “I am Bambinonion” he sneered. He gave a wheezy chuckle and added, “Your husband ruined me and for years I have made plans for revenge. I will ruin all that he loves.”
“No, no,” she sobbed.
“Yes,” he smirked and his vile touch trailed down her body. She flinched away and he sniggered. “I will enjoy my revenge.”
“It does you no good. I meant no, no, he does not truly love me. You waste your time, Mr. Bambinioni.”
His filth encrusted fingers kneaded her thighs avariciously, his uneven dark nails a startling contrast to her snow white skin. “I disguised myself as a gardener to spy on your precious Cesar, mia cara, and I have seen how he looks at you, the desire smoldering in his eyes.”
Cara? This filthy fiend even knew Cesar’s secret name for her. She vainly tried to push his hands away and sat up. “Desire is not love,” she opined and he laughed again, a low, dirty gargling.
“Where are we?” She been tossed onto a straw pallet tucked into a dark corner of a rancid room. Huge stacks of plaster gnomes crowded one corner. In another, sacks of dirt were arranged on a pallet.
“The gardener’s hut on your husband’s estate. Even now he roars away in a helicopter. We will wait for dark and hustle you away from here.”
“He will come for me no matter where you take me,” she blazed. “He may not love me but he does not allow anyone to toy with that which he considers his own. He will find you and destroy you.” Then she recalled the garlic scented monstrosities in the nursery and she cried out in horror. “The babies.”
“Oh, yes, I have the brats too.” For the first time amusement vanished from his twisted sneer of a face. “They would not cease their endless wailing so I sent them to the basement with Paolo and Picayune.”
Panic seized Charity, tossed her about, left her gasping. She pressed her tiny fingers to her throat where her heart beat painfully. “What are you feeding them?”
His scornful thin lips drew back from greenish teeth. “Nothing but Bravado’s Best. Naturally.”
“My babies,” she shrieked and transformed into a tigress. “My bundles of sweetness! You must take me to them at once.”
“Of course,” he tittered. “But you will find that they are thriving on my pureed goodness. No allergens or bacteria, mia cara.”
“No. Never,” she hissed.
“Why not? It’s so delicious even I eat it.” He giggled and brandished a half finished jar of Bravado’s Best strained peas. She felt an ache in her heart recalling the many times she’d turned to peas as comfort food. Oh, Cesar.
“I meant never call me Mia Cara. Never. Do you understand?” Tears blinded her.
He guffawed at her defiance. “You will give in eventually, my porcelain goddess. Your Cesar has abandoned you. I made sure that he’d be distracted from his personal affairs by inoculating a batch of his precious product with a particularly virulent bacteria. If I know him, and oh, yes, I do, mia cara, he has rushed off today to perform damage control. By the time he returns, you will be far away.” He inched across the straw pallet shaking with silent amusement.
She shrank away but soon he had her trapped against the rough bare hewn wall of the stinking cottage. “He will never find you. Will you be able to resist a man’s touch forever? You are a lovely young thing with strong appetites that must be fed, and not just with strained peas,” he breathed in her ear followed by a quiet derisive snicker.
“Never,” she vowed, even as her loins quivered with unwelcome shivers of interest.
She might not come out of this man’s clutches unsullied and if she escaped, no doubt Cesar would believe that she welcomed the old devil’s caresses. But her heart would remain pure, touched by one man and one man alone.
The old man led her to the squalid basement, where Marv and Mirc slept on straw pallets even smaller and more uncomfortable than the one upstairs. The two babies quivered and whimpered in their sleep as innocent and cute as shiba inu puppies on puppy cam and even less able to care for themselves. Their tear-stained faces were streaked with green from the strained peas. The sight of the green spooge in their auburn locks broke what was left of her spirit and she sank to the dirt floor, shaking with fear.
Soon it would be Christmas and she would spend the most festive time of the year trapped in the basement on her husband’s estate while her beloved Cesar wrestled with the weighty issues of damage control.
Charity fell asleep on the hard-packed floor between her babies and didn’t wake until the gunshots and the screams rang out above their heads.