Tales of Darkness & Sin - Pepper Winters Page 0,23
given the stirrups situation and the fact that, every time I moved, one of my barely-existent boobs popped out of the flimsy disposable gown. His eyes shifted with me, the tip of his tongue peeking out the corner of his lips. He toyed with his surgical tray of tools, eyes never leaving the center of my legs for more than a few seconds.
If my older sister were here, she would tell me to fuck with his head.
From the other side of the curtain, Papà stopped his phone call long enough to shout out, “Well?”
Dr. Mancini adjusted the height of his seat. “We’ve just started, sir.”
“Hurry. I have a meeting across Sicily.”
Hurry.
Easy for Papà to say when it wasn’t him getting fingered by someone twenty years older.
I’d been twelve when I’d had my first check. One of Papà’s night guards had caught my sister Carlotta, sneaking into the main house from the servants’ quarters. The only boy living there that was remotely her age was the gardener’s son. Papà had an enforcer execute him while his parents watched.
Meanwhile, Papà accompanied me and Carlotta to an emergency appointment with Dr. Mancini, who stuck his fingers inside us and confirmed our hymens were, indeed, intact.
That night, Carlotta slipped into my room and confessed that she’d given head to the boy’s dad.
“He fingered me and called me tight,” she whispered between fits of giggles.
On the other end of our estate, they were probably mopping his son’s blood from the servants’ quarters floors as we spoke.
I pulled the sheets over us. “Did you tell him he was tight, too?”
“Tight as in narrow, not tight as in cool.” She snorted out her laughter and squeezed me to her side. “You’re too innocent for your own good, Liliana.”
And that’s how the world saw me.
Liliana Vitali: innocent, naïve, and official property of the Vitali family.
As soon as Dad resumed his phone call, Dr. Mancini fixed the stirrups to part my legs wider.
Every year, Papà escorted me to the OBGYN.
Every year, Dr. Mancini concluded my annual exam by checking for my virginity.
And every year, he confirmed what we all already knew—I got less action than the fucking Pope.
This was normal when your dad was Paolo Vitali, brother to il condottieri of the Vitali family. One day, my marriage will be arranged to some hot shot mafioso, and I’ll be forced to lose my virginity during a deflowering ceremony in front of mafia bosses from all of Italy’s crime families.
Until then, I had to deal with Dr. Mancini’s prying fingers.
He distributed lube across his fingers and spread my lips open, breathing loud enough to pass for Darth Vader.
Stop being so nice, Lil. Fuck with him.
I could practically hear Carlotta goading me on.
But I wasn’t nice, and she didn’t know me.
Not really.
No one did.
I adjusted a little, so Dr. Mancini’s fingertips brushed against my clit. Just to see how uncomfortable he’d get.
He froze for a split second, swallowed, and grabbed the speculum. “This will be cold.”
I nodded, like the good girl everyone expected me to be. “Okay.”
When he slid the metal inside me, I bit my lip on a barely restrained laugh, made sure Papà couldn’t hear above his own voice, and let out a little fake moan. Dr. Mancini’s eyes shot to my face before darting to the curtain and back.
I blinked back at him. “Did you say something, doctor?”
He cleared his throat and expanded the speculum. “No.” His fingers began their probe. “Your vaginal ring is placed properly. Do you still check its placement and swap it regularly?”
“I forgot how,” I lied. “Can you show me?”
“You squeeze the ring between two fingers and slide your fingers inside yourself until you reach the back.”
“Is that where your fingers are right now?”
“Yes.”
I bit my lip and shifted a bit on the exam bed. “But your fingers are so deep inside me, and I’m so tight.”
He froze. “Excuse me?”
“I said—”
Dr. Mancini snatched his fingers back, scratched at his jaw, and pulled back when the lubricated surface met his skin. “Well, you have to swap your vaginal ring regularly, or we can switch you to another more manageable birth control method.”
Papà’s footsteps drew closer to the curtain divider. “Jacopo.”
Mancini eyed the curtain. “Yes, sir?”
“Take out her birth control.”
“Papà!” I clenched my fists and forced myself to be-fucking-have. “I told you, it’s for my period. It’s not for sex. I’m a virgin. Tell him, Doctor Mancini.”
Mancini returned to his seat and prodded inside me for my hymen. I didn’t bother messing with him, because