chapter 1.3

Lucy Mancini lifted her pink gown off the floor and ran up the steps. Sonny Corleone's

heavy Cupid face, redly obscene with winey lust, frightened her, but she had teased him

for the past week to just this end. In her two college love affairs she had felt nothing and

neither of them lasted more than a week. Quarreling, her second lover had mumbled

something about her being "too big down there." Lucy had understood and for the rest of

the school term had refused to go out on any dates.

During the summer, preparing for the wedding of her best friend, Connie Corleone, Lucy

heard the whispered stories about Sonny. One Sunday afternoon in the Corleone

kitchen, Sonny's wife Sandra gossiped freely. Sandra was a coarse, good-natured

woman who had been born in Italy but brought to America as a small child. She was

strongly built with great breasts and had already borne three children in five years of

marriage. Sandra and the other women teased Connie about the terrors of the nuptial

bed. "My God," Sandra had giggled, "when I saw that pole of Sonny's for the first time

and realized he was going to stick it into me, I yelled bloody murder. After the first year

my insides felt as mushy as macaroni boiled for an hour. When I heard he was doing the

job on other girls I went to church and lit a candle."

They had all laughed but Lucy had felt her flesh twitching between her legs.

Now as she ran up the steps toward Sonny a tremendous flash of desire went through

her body. On the landing Sonny grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall into an

empty bedroom. Her legs went weak as the door closed behind them. She felt Sonny's

mouth on hers, his lips tasting of burnt tobacco, bitter. She opened her mouth. At that

moment she felt his hand come up beneath her bridesmaid's gown, heard the rustle of

material giving way, felt his large warm hand between her legs, ripping aside the satin

panties to caress her vulva. She put her arms around his neck and hung there as he

opened his trousers. Then he placed both hands beneath her bare buttocks and lifted

her. She gave a little hop in the air so that both her legs were wrapped around his upper

thighs. His tongue was in her mouth and she sucked on it. He gave a savage thrust that

banged her head against the door. She felt something burning pass between her thighs.

She let her right hand drop from his neck and reached down to guide him. Her hand

closed around an enormous, blood-gorged pole of muscle. It pulsated in her hand like

an animal and almost weeping with grateful ecstasy she pointed it into her own wet,

turgid flesh. The thrust of its entering, the unbelievable pleasure made her gasp, brought

her legs up almost around his neck, and then like a quiver, her body received the

savage arrows of his lightning-like thrusts; innumerable, torturing; arching her pelvis

higher and higher until for the first time in her life she reached a shattering climax, felt

his hardness break and then the crawly flood of semen over her thighs. Slowly her legs

relaxed from around his body, slid down until they reached the floor. They leaned

against each other, out of breath.

It might have been going on for some time but now they could hear the soft knocking on

the door. Sonny quickly buttoned his trousers, meanwhile blocking the door so that it

could not be opened. Lucy frantically smoothed down her pink gown, her eyes flickering,

but the thing that had given her so much pleasure was hidden inside sober black cloth.

Then they heard Tom Hagen's voice, very low, "Sonny, you in there?"

Sonny sighed with relief. He winked at Lucy. "Yeah, Tom, what is it?"

Hagen's voice, still low, said, "The Don wants you in his office. Now." They could hear

his footsteps as he walked away. Sonny waited for a few moments, gave Lucy a hard

kiss on the lips, and then slipped out the door after Hagen.

Lucy combed her hair. She checked her dress and pulled around her garter straps. Her

body felt bruised, her lips pulpy and tender. She went out the door and though she felt

the sticky wetness between her thighs she did not go to the bathroom to wash but ran

straight on down the steps and into the garden. She took her seat at the bridal table next

to Connie, who exclaimed petulantly, "Lucy, where were you? You look drunk. Stay

beside me now."

The blond groom poured Lucy a glass of wine and smiled knowingly. Lucy didn't care.

She lifted the grapey, dark red juice to her parched mouth and drank. She felt the sticky

wetness between her thighs and pressed her legs together. Her body was trembling.

Over the glass rim, as she drank, her eyes searched hungrily to find Sonny Corleone.

There was no one else she cared to see. Slyly she whispered in Connie's ear, "Only a

few hours more and you'll know what it's all about." Connie giggled. Lucy demurely

folded her hands on the table, treacherously triumphant, as if she had stolen a treasure

from the bride.