Keep your distance, walk away, don't take his bait
Don't you stray, don't fade away, yeah
Watch your step, he's out to get you, come what may
Don't you stray from the narrow way, yeah ~Phantom of the Opera, Iron Maiden
Capitolo XI:
-Il primo sottaceto: prima fase-
Rome, Italy—4, January 2000
Weeks had gone by easily, not only since Cioccolata had first learned that spies within Passione did indeed raid his home, but since his following month of self-quarantine. Many things were accomplished in this time period, foremost, the transition of his slaves to well trained, perfect pets within his estate. As much as the excitement for the past month and some occupied him to the point of satiety—he knew better than all that it would only be temporary.
And at this time of year no less, the ringing in of the new millennia, along with it, on this very day, his date of birth. These two details however, occupied far little space relative to the near anniversary of when he had first become an established physician. Those brief couple of years filled him with such excitement, and he could certainly now label it as a couple of the most well-deserved, best years of his life.
Morbid opportunities were seized upon with ease, this was certain and well known, unfortunately now, by all who knew of his real name. Yet, there lingered still regrets which were not all tied to his medical misconduct. He thought briefly on these things, as he now drove through the east side of Roma; on this day, bravely introducing himself back into the world of the living—only to accomplish the long-awaited grocery shopping necessities.
Bravery was the word used to describe this action of his, for it was unclear to him and his partner in crime whether there was a genuine hit called upon them. Cioccolata had figured it was nothing of the sort, and perhaps his character flaw of sheer arrogance and simply no alarms of fear would one day come back to bite him—but he was assured that even if they were planning one, he will have summoned Green Day before their pistols have a chance to leave their breast pockets.
The lovely detail regarding his absolutely overpowered stand, was that even the slightest difference in elevation, of him upon a greater height, would trigger the proliferation of the mold on his victims. There were many things they could call Cioccolata, but never a fool. Although he was taking a chance today to run an errand that could surely wait longer, he drove an extra distance to be sure he would be left in terrain that granted him the advantage of the higher ground—steep hills followed many of the roads. If he were to be hit with such an emergency, it would be no difficulty for him to secure a spot. And in fact, he was so assured that he would find victory in such a situation that he found no need to drag Secco along with him.
As Cioccolata drove his reliable and cherished Rolls Royce up such a mentioned, steep hill, he commented at the peak, in a low, but confident growl, "Hm, they can try me if they want to…"
Yes, if they wanted to. He was rather looking forward to a fight, Lord knows he really needed the excitement and newfound adrenaline. As mentioned, his enthusiasm with his girls was beginning to wear off, and he knew well that for him, variety was the spice of life. The time to collect more slaves was now.
The drop over the hill was hardly felt viscerally by Cioccolata; this man was a manic, and hardly anything moved him. It would certainly take a lot more than that to get his blood boiling.
Grinding his teeth, he tried not to think on any more potential scenarios to satisfy his bloodlust. He knew well that the Boss was up to something; he hadn't gotten a job from him since the now passed fall season, and it greatly saddened the man. He was so looking forward to giving someone a bloody Christmas, and certainly, the greatest gift he himself could ask for! Instead, Cioccolata was left as a gloom-stricken boy on Christmas morning, happening upon a bare tree.
Alas…he had no jobs the entire holiday season, though his stipend continued to roll in, and it filled him with sadness. No Christmas tapes to ring in the new year. What a pity…
But Cioccolata resolved this fact in mind, with terrifying implications. He reasoned that somebody in the future would pay for his present sadness, because all that mattered in his world was of course, his happiness and comfort. It goes without saying that he stamped more cruelty in his mind for what he would do to his Boss one day, but he also figured, surely, after this all came to pass, he would be given jobs yet again. And so, in his mind, he told himself, "Perhaps next Christmas…"
…To be precise, perhaps next Christmas, he would have a job to make up for his lack presently. Whoever the unlucky fellow(s) were, he reasoned, he would bestow upon them twice fold his typical amount of cruelty. This thought relaxed his being presently, he rested into the driver's seat with more ease.
Thoughts of future work aside, if there was a hit called out upon him, he was in enemy territory, without a doubt. Many of the Boss' men were stationed in and around Rome, though of course, Cioccolata was the most infamous. The benefit was that his reputation surely would strike fear in whoever was sent to do such work, and indeed, perhaps the Boss could find no one to do so. In this fact, Cioccolata was not at all arrogantly exaggerating—everyone feared him. But little did he know that notorious reputation of his would soon, only be unimaginably inflated—to the point that all within Passione would know his name.
At last, the man behind the wheel found a spot to sit himself. Pulling up by a curb streaming with life, he perched for a moment to think. Sure, it might have seemed strange, he technically had some perishables in the trunk but, the knowledge lagged behind and was soon amended by the knowledge that the cold of January would certainly be enough of a freezer for them, or at least a fridge. Sure, there might have been other factors to consider, such as the heat emanating from his vehicle…but that could be dropped from the equation if he left his car to occupy himself elsewhere.
As mentioned, this was the east side of Roma. He wasn't always around here, often just in passing. So he looked around through his windows, enjoying the sight for about a minute with his hand in his pocket. He looked at his bronze Rolex wristwatch, and realized the night was still young. Should he go somewhere to enjoy himself? Was this the moment he would look for another slave? He pondered it shortly, before deciding that he should find a place to…relax, and carry out his course of action, whatever would spur it in that moment. Oh, the thrill!
Looking around again, it was clear to see the streets were alive with nightlife, and that being his weakness since he was a teen, he decided he'd look for a club, but maybe nothing too rowdy. There should be something more laid back…
He straightened himself in his seat with renewed determination, but before reigniting the engine, checked his phone in his breast pocket to see if he had any voicemails from Secco. None. Good. He slipped the phone back in, and started the car once more, not without taking a sip of the water in his holder he had left. Soon after, he was taking off once more, into the black, early winter night—with no good thoughts and mischief clouding his perverted mind.
.
3, January 2000
At least once in one's life, they experience the ebbs and flows of romance. Not infatuation, lust, but true and genuine feeling which lasts longer than a few months, to which we all, at that point, diagnose it as, "love." Although people often enjoy attributing a magical quality to the phenomena, it is in fact, like most things, firmly rooted in evolutionary biology. In other words, it simply works for the survival and propagation of a species—imagine the implications of not being struck by such strong feelings toward the opposite sex. How would we have survived this long? What if sex just didn't feel so amazing, and especially so with one whom we loved most? And, most telling of all, what would happen if a mother lacked the hormonally induced feelings of unconditional love toward her offspring—if she were not willing to sacrifice her own life so that her children could survive?
Not a single one of these things could be, if it weren't for the work of hormones and neurotransmitters, and everything in between that helps propagate the expression of these genes. And if none of these things could be, so too would be the condition of humans. Everyone would cease to be.
Many people, and more commonly in the modern era, fulfill their biological purpose, so to speak. What is less common in the modern era is the successful application of healthy pair bonding. That is, many people have children, but do not marry nor settle with those they have them with. This is not something altogether rooted in nature, but rather, has comes up more as a consequence of selfish consumerism, the disconnect from nature subsequent to the former, and the interplay of nurture factors. It is far easier for a man or woman to navigate the safety net of civilization and singlehandedly provide for offspring than what once was possible. For a woman especially to be left with child and without the mate would have a zero chance of survival, at least, in the far less forgiving climates of Northern Europe.
Since Cioccolata is only one man, and not a race (a sigh of relief for society), it would be moot to use the evolutionary biology of his branch of the European race to form a hypothesis on why he has, at now 33, failed at his golden chance of successful pair bonding 2 years ago. His opportunity was a sad thing to be wasted, but given the man's mental state, it comes as no surprise. It should also come as equally no surprise that he had fulfilled his biological purpose without the intent to pursue a union.
"The one that got away," or so they say. Even a psychopath with no real capacity to care for another experienced this feeling of loss, the singe of regret for what could have been. But the situation for him, particularly, was a complicated one. He had wanted just the right woman, especially tailored for him according to his own exacting preference, but also who would be the easiest for him to manipulate without also experiencing the strong compulsion to destroy.
The latter issue was the harder part, and why he was left single.
Only one woman he had pursued with more seriousness towards the aims in pair bonding. But she got away. The woman who he had imprinted his genetic material with, experienced the same feeling, except it was for him. This brings to mind another cliché; "you always want the one you cannot have," or at least, unions don't always break even, and sometimes, the extent of our feelings for another aren't always mutual, but unrequited.
After about a year of letting the past settle into its rightful place, Cioccolata found himself more and more able to absorb in totality, the extent of what he felt as he looked over the small accumulation of letters, sealed with violet wax hidden away in the drawer of his study desk. It was here he sat once more, after his daily readings, to finally look upon with more dedication than he had previously, the handwritten letters upon elegant, rose stationary.
The first letter, written not long after he had lost his job, and was going through the legal consequences, was one that he especially avoided. The holiday season that had passed, and into the present moment, reminded him of the events that had passed now, one year ago. The Saturnalia festivities he had conducted with Secco was a great distraction, but now, he felt the inclination to open, once more, the letter from his past that almost burned him to the touch.
The content of the first letter was not one Cioccolata focused on at the moment, and as such, would not be detailed. He instead focused on the signed photographs inside of the second, and of the two, one in particular. There was a photo, printed straight from the polaroid, of a baby girl. It was signed beneath in the stripping with her name, "Alida Eleonora Ferrante," along with her date of birth, "26, September 1999."
The photograph was taken not long after she was born, and thus, no distinguishable features of either parents had fully set in. Yet even considering this fact, and with as much knowledge of the formation of bones Cioccolata had, he still found himself trying to decipher even a hint of this instinctual intrigue.
To this letter, recording only the most crucial details—as Cioccolata deemed it—of the child's birth and all thereafter, he had still left with no reply. The sender may very well have felt, at about 3 months later, that she was being ghosted. However, the man responsible for the siring of this lifeform, decided after the course of his leisure, that he would soon put pen to paper—ending the surely arduous trial of the abandoned woman. But ending her labor in totality would mean the return of her partner in conception, and that was a hope which would never be fulfilled coming from the "man of despair."
The most he would provide, and already had, in this situation, was his own self-administered stipend to pay for her and the child's living expenses, child support. Unlike his Boss, Cioccolata was not too tight with his money, though not due to charity. He simply had too much of it to get to doing anything with it.
Penning his next letter was something on the horizon, but not something which would be done on this night, a mere several hours from his own birthday. Due to this fact, further details would not be expanded upon; Cioccolata rather felt he needed to take his mind away from all this.
Even if he were to reply now, the same strange feeling would overcome him, whenever he sat too long looking over the contents. As mentioned, the letter seemed to burn him to the touch, but this wasn't simply metaphoric. He truly felt it. Obviously, Cioccolata was a man of science; he wasn't about to start believing in some magical explanation for it. To even attribute it to a consequence of his intuition unsettled him, but it was all he could make of it. And leaving it to such device sprung up his paranoia, something he was best subduing. Was it possible this woman was burning him in some way?
Like his vague plans of murdering his employer, uncovering the source of these feelings revolving around this letter, and the sender, booked themselves on his mental to-do list. He stored them in similar mental compartments, assuring himself that when the time was right, he'd act on both. It seemed the former, older plan was of more prominence in his mind, however.
He would come back to this matter, and even go as far as pay his child's mother an unexpected visit…only after he becomes the new Don of Passione.
.
Cioccolata drove slowly along the street, taking note of all signs, scanning along the cobblestones and elaborate business storefronts. His excitement had previously won out; he had gotten a bit intoxicated in a nearby tavern, but he soon grew bored of it—he did not peep any worthy whores to take a spot in his dungeon, (luckily for them). Still, his motor skills were not yet impaired; he held his own extraordinarily well in the face of it.
Then he saw it, he glimpsed a sign that he imagined had to be some type of club. He went over it too fast however, so he circled the street again until it hit it once more, coming up deliberately slower this time around.
"Panini Alla Cannella." It was plastered on a hot pink, lit up sign, framed with pale pink flashing bulbs. The color, along with all the hearts, already told him what he needed to know even before he saw the smaller writing directly under: "Gentlemen's club."
He pulled up to an open space on the curb, almost directly in front of it, then parked his white luxury vehicle. He looked at the sign again, then wrestled with a thought.
Cinnamon rolls. He pondered the name. He hoped that didn't mean they had nothing but washed up and coked out southern Italian whores in there. He shook his head. The liquor had him buzzed a little too much. He wasn't thinking right. Surely, it only meant the women were "sweet."
Well, so was he…
So, he decided he'd just have a look, if he wasn't pleased with the quality he'd just leave. He thought about leaving his phone but decided against it in the case of an emergency, (for Secco.) Just before exiting his vehicle, he opened the glove department and took a couple condoms, just in case he stayed.
Cioccolata hated condoms, another reason he ultimately preferred testing the women himself, but the only opportunities he had for that was from having submissives in the past and his rape dungeon now. Cumming in rubber just never felt satisfying, but it's the same old story for any man.
Cioccolata thus exited his vehicle elegantly and strode to the freshly painted black doors. He stepped inside to a show already going on, and as such, seeing mostly men's backs rather than faces amidst the dim room and flashing blue and purple lights. All the lights at the moment, at least, were directly above the stage, rotating around the room, so most of the men were indiscernible—this was just how he liked it.
He could only make out some heads that turned his way, but most minded their business, as they should. He was curious if he were the best dressed in the room, if so, he knew the bitches in here would really be getting thirsty. Either way, they still would be.
First stop, he headed over to the bar section toward the front, near the entrance. He only took a moment to survey everything. It looked decent enough in here. At the bar he ordered a cigar and just one more drink—white chocolate liquor. It was a fitting drink for him really. He left the bartender some "pocket change."
He then intentionally searched a seat that wasn't far from the stage, while also being somewhat of a space between other men. It was then as he was walking around to find a seat that the music struck out to him. It sounded like heavy metal. The lyrics rang out, going:
"Jesus Christ looks like me.
Jesus Christ…
Jesus Christ looks like me.
Jesus Christ…"
Cioccolata, being a man of fine taste, recognized the voice of the lead singer of Type O Negative. This song had to have been at least a few years old though, as he in an instant remembered the mid-90s; just 5 years ago... Busy times, but nevertheless, good times.
Then he found a seat. As soon as he sat down, he wasted no time, he lit his cigar ablaze, crossed his leg over his other knee, and had his stacks ready.
To his delight, the female dancing at that moment was a dark blonde, a bit of a tan. She wore a sexy neon green, sling shot type, one-piece bikini thong, complete with clear heeled stilettos. On one of her legs only was a fishnet thigh high, one long run through it, the other leg, a black, studded leather garter. On her neck a black choker with a ring hanging down. He was already into that alternative style and the first thing he noticed besides her thick thighs, was her lusciously full, glossy pink DSLs.
She was dancing low on the floor, twerking her ass in another guy's face, and so Cioccolata patiently awaited her to make her rounds, but it took several minutes. He watched her rock her body up and down, like she's riding dick for an oofy looking fuck, and his own dick was harder. But after some time, this began to aggravate him.
Fuck this, he thought. He didn't come in this place, spend money on a drink and cigar just to watch this whore shake her ass for other men, not when he was the best dressed out of them all! Cioccolata was obviously one of those men that got irritated whilst partaking in an activity meant to be enjoyable. Really, he was simply narcissistic and believed that, unless the woman was strictly on the pole, she should only be shaking her ass right in front of him.
He blew out a puff of his cigar in frustration aimed at her ass and was just ready to forcibly grab her attention when she finally turned around and started crawling her ass toward him on all fours. Ah, so it's victory for Cioccolata after all, he thought. His heart leapt in excitement just watching, waiting. Not only that, but he just loved seeing a woman crawling on all fours like an animal. His mind flashed to his own slaves, crawling like that. Should he…?
Just then, the music changed to "Lucretia my Reflection." Briefly reflecting on the memories accompanied by such throwbacks, he was next to appreciate how well it fit the atmosphere, as she sauntered closer still.
The only thing she must have seen moving toward him was the outline of his dark green hair, and the ember of his cigar as he pulled it between his lips, exhalations floating about at short intervals. The smoke enveloped her flawless, 5'7 body as she slithered through the clouds.
Cioccolata had the liquor kicking him in the ass too much by now, he never held it down well, so he was ten times the normal bold asshole. As she inched up closer to him, he eyed up her C-cups dangling down, looking like they were ready to fall out of her outfit. He already had her conquest set in stone in his mind. It looked like it was going to be one of those nights.
By the time she finally made it up to him, the smoke had settled, and she saw him clearly. As the smoke plumes dissipated, she was struck by the full handsome, white smirk before her. Without his war paint, Cioccolata wasn't frightening looking at all, not in that sense; there was only stony hard featured masculinity in its implied contours. God only knows the effect on a woman.
The stripper was emboldened by her drug habit; a vice which became increasingly necessary to carry out her line of work; especially on her long nights such as this one.
"Mmm, you look like a big daddy…" her sweet tone lulled and continued, "what do you have for me?" she puckered her lips into a pout and batted her mascaraed eye lashes, clearly capitalizing off those fat lips. He wondered if her pussy was fat too.
"Come closer and find out." He teased, in a low and equally bold tone.
She leaned her neck down, her face coming closer to his, and she really wanted to, for more reasons than one. When she got a better look at his clothes, his beige suit proclaiming itself a loud contrast to the blue and yellow lights, the silk tie, the Rolex she caught a glimpse of peeking at his sleeve, she was instantly excited, and wondered if he were a gangster. It might seem like a bold assumption. However, this wasn't the case in Italy during the time period. Not only that, but this stripper was exceptionally aloft with the worst of feminine longings—she often went to sleep at night dreaming of being wrapped in riches from a male "supplier." A bonafide gold-digger was this woman—she zeroed in on any male especially those who smelled like lira.
She was pleased with what she saw, but not nearly as pleased as when she felt his cool hands slipping bills into her sling-shot bikini, the tips just grazing her nipples. He pulled his hand away, but not without deliberately copping a feel of her tits, and she knew it. A little touching was always alright, but if what she suspected of him were true, then playing around could stretch beyond that for men like him.
She didn't bother to look how much it was, she knew he was loaded. In this position, her ass was out to anyone else behind her, and from where Cioccolata was sitting, there was no other men to his left or right side that could see what they did.
And being this close to him now, she couldn't get over just how sexy he was, he had the brightest, clearest green eyes which was not something you saw every day in this country. She saw he had small, gold hoop earrings in both ears, confirming to her again that he had money.
Her natural bold disposition intensified with the thought of pleasing this man more, milking him for what he had. She was exceptional at her job. So, she leaned further to his face, whispering, "Thank you, daddy," as she tilted her face into a kiss. Cioccolata banked on the opportunity, he took her lips aggressively—yet gently—into his own, no hands. Their jaws locked over each other's perfectly, and both had to have felt the chemistry.
Cioccolata's dick was rock hard and the stripper's pussy was instantaneously wet through the G-string. She moaned lightly into his mouth, and to that, an unintentionally low hum almost sounding in reply. He tasted something now on his taste buds, undoubtedly her pink lipstick. It was only something he noticed, without any thought on it one way or the other; only the kiss itself was driving him insane. But he wasn't going to start putting his tongue in her mouth yet, he had to get this bitch hooked first; that required that he save some of his "bullets."
At the conclusion of the kiss, she knew it wasn't going to be strictly business anymore, but she proceeded on her routine. She sat back up, sitting her weight on her knees and legs wide open as if she were straddling the stage itself, then proceeded to push her sling-shot inward, toward her chest due to the cut of it, thus revealing her perky breast to him. She transferred the bills from him to her garter at her thigh.
After doing so, she struggled to find his eyes again, through the smoke—the blue and purple flashing lights all worked together to form a purple haze. Her pupils dilated, scanning the silhouette seated just below her, the lines around his broad shoulders and his locks the only absolute. She traced the perfect outline of his shoulders, his biceps, almost in a frenzy. She was dying to see his flirtatiously devious green eyes again. And then, as the haze cleared some, she found them. A wanton smile formed over her stained pink lips—their kiss not robbing them completely of the stain.
Cioccolata inhaled his cigar after she had found his eyes, then leaned back toward her and blew the smoke over her erect nipples. He noted she looked delighted by the gesture. He smirked again and chuckled, and she looked delighted anew to hear his voice. She ran her hands over her ribs, directly under her tits, all the way down to the bottom of her G-string saying, "What do you want to see next, daddy?"
"Shake your ass more first; save your kitty for last and daddy will have the biggest present for you yet, ok?" He licked his tan lips after saying it, trying hard to conceal his lust. From what he saw, she had quite "the whole package" in his book. A blue-eyed blonde that looked to have a nice ass from what he saw.
He cleared his throat from a heavy hit he took on the cigar, "What are you waiting for, eh? These bills aren't going to grow legs and jump out of my hand." He teased her again, but his tone was gruff, and practically exuding the lust he fought against.
She obeyed, only giggling in response, "Anything for my sugar daddy." She twirled her body around, leaning over on all fours again, and let him get a full view of her round ass. She had some dimples in her lower back, on top of each ass cheek like he liked, and she had enough meat on it to satisfy him. Her skinny waist only added to exaggerate her ass before him, and he felt a beast rising from his gut. Maybe the ass would have been better saved for last.
She proceeded on to make his life hell, twerking her ass from side to side, displaying mastery over her glute muscles. He finished the rest of his liquor and felt himself getting sucked into a reverie, recalling a particular woman who shared a similar body type. The burn accompanying an exceptionally large swig of the last of his liquor brought him back to reality.
She then leaned back with her weight on her legs again and began moving her body in an up and down motion. She could see the other men out before her, enjoying the frontal view of the show, but they didn't exist in her mind. She was completely enamored with the man behind her ass, supplying her.
She arched her back more, then dropped her ass to the floor, shaking her ass anew. Cioccolata threw a stack against her ass at that moment, then threw his hand down over it next. He smacked her ass hard soon after he slapped it with the stack. He gripped her ass, pulled, and shook it hard. She gasped in response, and her legs produced goose bumps after having felt the intensity of his slap, the burn on her ass cheek, and the feeling residing in her tissues from him pulling and squeezing. It only made her want more.
"Brava, brava, brava, brava. That's right. Shake that ass, bebè. Brava ragazza." And he smacked more pocket change on her ass as his compliments aided her passionate movements.
But she was so lost in it, she just kept going and going, never tiring; already she was under his thumb. So he redirected her.
"Now turn your ass back around and face me." He ordered.
She did, a slight blush glowing on her cheeks with relaxed eyes. Once she turned all the way around, she straddled one leg up and one knee on the floor. Her legs were, naturally, spread far, only a small gap was visible from her pussy to the floor, blue lights creeping beneath.
She was all the way to the edge of the stage, trying her best to be as close to him as possible before she revealed her most intimate part of all. She scooped the bills at her feet into her garter again, realizing it was so much already, that she'd have to run back to the locker room after she was done with him. But she didn't want to be done. She knew, after their earlier kiss—given how expertly he conducted it—that sex would be in store for them.
She lowered her hands over her tummy and watched Cioccolata's reaction. He stared with a slow smirk forming. She pushed her G-string to the side, revealing full pussy lips, more than likely accentuated from being aroused herself. The positioning of having one leg propped up with the other down, and her height slightly above him, gave him a perfect frame of view.
His eyes widened. "Oooooohhh!" he exclaimed. His entire face beamed like he was looking over a fresh film, except now, his reaction was due in part to the anticipation to bury himself inside her. He bit his lip and inhaled deeply. She seemed to be getting horny from his exaggerated response.
"Spread it." He ordered flatly.
But she teased. Only spreading one flap, not the other, and only briefly hitting him with just a glimpse of pink flesh. He leaned forward in his seat, and she didn't move, only admired the frame of the bit of his back that she glimpsed. His clothes fit him too perfect and she found herself wishing she could see more of his bare skin. She was instantly excited when she saw what he was leaning forward for. He had a thick stack in his hand, and he hovered it over her clit, then flicked the bills with his other hand.
The lira hit her nub with the most exquisite sensation; not too hard, neither too soft. He sent a jolt of nerves running through her tissue, and she felt herself get more wet just from that. But then it was intensified when, as she looked down, saw him smiling up at her. Oh, how she wanted to sit in his lap already.
He slipped the bills into her shoved aside G-string, but she caught a glimpse of a number on it, not one, two, three, or four.
Five. She pulled the bills out and counted five separate bills of 500,000 lira. She gasped, this, along with all of the other gracious tips he left her.
"Oh! Ohhh! But that's so much!" she exclaimed.
"That pussy is worth it," he replied, then continued in a lower tone, "Now all you need is something in it."
He ran his cool hand along her thigh now, the one without the fishnet, until he hooked his finger through her garter. He felt goosebumps emerge on her thighs as his hand climbed. He knew he really had her under his thumb now, and his dick was now so hard, he was afraid it would become stuck in place.
"Now quit the pole for tonight. Bounce your ass on this pole instead."
Her propped leg came down on the floor after he said it, she fixed her sling-shot one-piece bikini back into place. She leaned forward again close to his face, until she could smell the liquor and cigar exuding from his nostrils.
"You want an ultra-private lap dance, daddy?" she almost hummed the notes, her heart racing from his absolute boldness, something other clients are never so forward with.
He lifted his face so that his natural lips were only less than a half an inch from her full pinks, "Di molto." he quietly replied with the huskiest tone he had given her yet.
Had she not been sitting—had she been standing—she would have gone weak in her knees from the testosterone seemingly oozing from his voice. She made sure she had all her bearings before returning to her feet. She slowly leaned away from his face, regarding him once more before she had the resolve. But it didn't need much, she was excited; a classic, money hungry harlot.
She swung both legs around and her stilettos hit the landing, she stood there before him—the first time he saw her at full length, and he liked what he saw. Yes. Good. She'll make a nice addition to the dungeon. He thought in confirmation. He sat back still, his cigar a little more than halfway gone now, and took his final analysis of her tall, perfectly proportioned body and hourglass frame. His eyes lingered on her thighs, and how the fat of her thigh tried to escape the garter; seeing indents like that drove him mad. He wanted to rip everything off her already. The impending thoughts drove him wild, but what drove him wilder was thinking on what he'd do to her once she's stuffed in a cage.
"Come on…" she purred. She didn't need to tell him twice; he was already up. With no time wasted, she led him toward the back of the room, around a corner, and in a hallway that was clearly for staff only. He occupied himself the entire time by watching her perfect ass switch as she pranced in front of him. It was a really entertaining sixty-seconds.
The thin hall they entered next, through sheer drapes, was only slightly darker than the rest of the club, but they finally stopped when she reached a door. A bouncer at the end of the hall took one look at Cioccolata and said nothing, likely gathering what any random man would think upon seeing him. But Cioccolata stared at him for the moment it took for her to open the door, his hands in his pockets, as she then said sweetly, "You're getting our best room."
He already had a feeling that before he entered, judging by the atmosphere of the hall, that it would likely be highly sensual and relaxing. It was just that. Upon enter, there was another sheer drape they passed through only to reveal a cozy room with a few salt lamps lining the walls, a pole, a white, velvet lounge styled couch placed at an angle where the two walls at the left met, so that it was facing the pole. The only other light besides the lamps were coming from pink and purple overhead lights that dazzled out at the head of the pole. To the side of the lounge couch was a glass end table; entirely transparent. On it were a couple of coasters and a clear crystal ash tray. On the side of the table was also a brass incense holder, incense prepared and placed on at a forty-five-degree angle.
Cioccolata then walked over before her and made himself right at home. He laid his cigar at the hilt of the ashtray, then sat down on the velvet lounge. He looked over it shortly after, thinking about how much he'd blend into all this white if he came here in his "work clothes."
On the other hand, the stripper's heart was racing with anticipation, pounding with lewd excitement. But for two reasons, it wasn't just because of this client that her pussy was dripping to fuck; she had to get another fix to make the time even better. So, she figured she'd tell a half-truth that she was just going to run to the locker room and put the money away.
"Give me a minute, okay daddy? I'm just going to put the tips in my locker." She gave a flirtatious smile, and turned on her heel, but Cioccolata stopped her.
"Wait." And she stopped mid-pace, "Why don't you just drop them on the table here? Don't you want to see your earnings for the night as you're getting your back blown out, doll?" he said dryly.
That was a good idea, really. She would rather just leave it. But in her excitement and trepidation, she made an impulsive decision instead. She turned back around, dropped the money on the table and said "You're right…" then she switched her hips around the table, toward him, until she put just one knee on the lounge with him, leaning into him next and saying, "I'll be right back; trust me, daddy." She put her hand on his thigh and eased it up higher. She pouted her lips out and gave puppy dog eyes as if that were going to have an effect on him. It didn't.
He looked instead at the ring choker on her slender neck. He moved his hand to it, slipped his finger inside the ring and tugged, snapping her closer to him, shocking her enough that she grabbed his waist as she almost fell forward on him.
Her mouth went agape in surprise as his stern face loomed over hers as he spoke with sensual threat, nonetheless, still frightening, despite how much more wet it filled her pussy for him.
"Is that how you treat a man who has paid you for a service? You make him wait, hm?" The look in his eyes, she felt, peered through her soul, but she thought nothing of it other than lust, never realizing it was the crazed look of an unsound mind. In fact, this act alone would be analyzed as a red flag by a brighter woman. But he was a paradox to her. His boldness and aggression turned her on more than anything else, while he still possessed the lightest touch at times, and the sweetest tone in his voice. And in reality, it was really true, what he was pointing out. Not only that, but she was sure now, after getting a full, better look at him in slightly more consistent lighting, there was no doubt—he had to be a gangster.
But he's so sweet… she thought to herself. He had to be, even if what he tipped her wasn't a lot for him, it was the fact that he seemed to like her so much. He had to. Behind all that machoism, there had to be a sweetheart in there. So, with this in mind, she pressed it further, trying to appeal to him in any way. A game of manipulation, by two master manipulators in their own separate rights, ensued.
"Oh baby, never." she replied, and she worked her hand up his chest as she formulated her next appeal. She continued with, "It's because you were so generous that I want to make sure you have a really good time. So I have to go get something, for that reason. It'll make me feel even better, so I can make you feel even better too."
"Is that right." He barely phrased it as a question. "Now I'm curious. What is it that you have to do to make yourself feel better?"
For the first time yet, she felt rather embarrassed, but after figuring he was a rough figure himself, it couldn't possibly be strange to say. It was just rarely something you'd tell a client, even if they suspected it. Luckily for her, there was a knowing glimmer in his eyes. Cioccolata of course, was in business with the Don responsible for the explosion of drug trafficking in major metropolitan cities such as the abode of Panini Alla Cannella; he understood her fix was a line of cocaine.
His smile of approval excited the stripper, who did not realize the source stemmed from a sense of triumph. He viewed their entire correspondence as a game, one where he would wear her down further and further under his thumb and would ultimately end in victory for him.
Assuring her that she may do so in his presence was all the enabling she needed. He knew that giving her the comfort to do so in front of him would only build her trust in him, and thus, it was the only reason he had suggested it. Her heart thud with only the excitement an addict would understand. Her blue eyes looked wildly at him, and she clenched his suit jacket between her fingers.
She opened her mouth, as if to speak, but he put his finger in front of her mouth.
"Just one condition that you wouldn't find too hard to accept, I'm sure… you come home with me tonight. I want to put you in my dungeon." He emphasized the last words slowly and deliberately, then gauged her reaction.
As soon as she heard the condition, it was no problem at all for her. She rather hoped he would. A loaded man such as him would be a steady supplier for her. But that wasn't her sole concern for him, she was utterly swept away with his charms. In combination, there was no way she could say no and not seem stupid—it would be the gravest error in the world.
Dungeon. She knew right away what that implied, taking it only in the kinky sense, validating her own sexual fantasies rather than realizing that the dungeon was quite literal. No such thought entered her mind, and his dirty smile only affirmed her original interpretation of it.
Her upper chest flushed, and soon enough, her neck and cheeks were next. She put her head down quickly as if to shield this, while having the awareness that he already would have saw; he seemed to be staring at her now with the clearest intent that she was able to witness in the increased lighting. She glanced at him under her lashes, still even wondering how she were going to respond to him, when she suddenly lifted her face up again, and met his provocative glare once more.
"…Really? Your dungeon?" her sweet voice cooed. She continued, despite almost losing her nerve after holding eye contact with him for so long; his eyes bored into her as if he were taking her soul. "You know we're not supposed to go home with our clients, right?" her lips curled up into a perfect curve, making a bashful smile, then she continued teasing, "It sounds scary… what would you do to me in there? Torture me? Hehehe…You're just a dirty, scary man like that, hmm?"
And she saw his hand come out of his pocket, the one closest to her leg. He leaned forward slightly, pushing past her G-string, putting his hands on her again boldly, and revealed her pussy on his own terms this time. With the first two fingers, he rubbed her clit.
"Yes, I will. A dirty, scary man? Yes, I am." He stated with full, literal connotation, while he eyed up her pretty pink pussy, preferring if he could, to not break his eyes from it, but only doing so for the obligation of hypnotizing her. He brought his eyes to hers again, then stated, "So, I'm sure you'll be making an exception."
His eyes to her, amidst her pleasure, seemed to turn back to hers in slowed motion. Her mouth parted as she watched him do so, and she exhaled in brief pleasure. He soon took his fingers away, then fixed her G-string to make herself half-decent again. She didn't want it to stop.
And his soft chuckle was only more soothing to her now, "You're so wet. Why is that?" He lifted his hand to her mouth, and she instinctively opened her mouth, and she let his fingers with her feminine fluids melt into her mouth. "As if you're ready for me…" he teased and chuckled again in his throat, continuing, "Will you be that wet once I've tied you up later?"
Her eyes closed as she sucked on his fingers, going along with the motion as he stroked them along her smooth tongue and palate, which now gripped his fingers. She felt his other hand smooth itself over her breast, but she simply melted into that too. He pulled at her nipples, playfully hardening the nubs, twisting them and almost encompassing her entire tit in his free hand. He gave it a slight squeeze, then ran his hand slowly and deliberately down her waist until he took hold of her one ass cheek, squeezing it toward him, pulling it apart until she felt her anal muscles involuntarily squeeze. Her body became jelly as it was pulled toward him more and she felt the heat radiating from him. She opened her eyes again slightly, and just then, the palm of his large hand landed hard on the same ass cheek he was previously coddling.
"Go." He commanded her already, and she was officially his bitch without his dick in her yet.
With just one more flirtatious smile, she got off the lounge, slightly unsteady on her feet. After catching her bearings, she turned around and left the room as if she had a renewed urgency, and she rightfully should have for a few different reasons.
He watched her ass moving further and further away, noting what a good, obedient slave she would become.
She looked back on him again as she closed the dark sheer drapes, just a bit of her blushing face peeking through and assuring him, "I'll be fast."
He watched her switching ass leave, and then he sat back again as if he didn't know what to do with himself, but that only lasted for fifteen seconds. He opened his eyes, then started busying himself. He took off his suit jacket, leaving himself then in his striated pale green button down. As he waited, he finished his cigar, now toward the end of its life, and pondered with excitement of the new addition of a favorable slave to the dungeon, rather than the sooner coming sex.
It was amazing to him to see time and time again how little coaxing and prodding there is to be done with dirty sluts like her. All it took really, was to play on their insecurities, along with subtle manipulation that was so easy a child could do. He also imagined that from the little bit of attention he gave her, she believed that he must actually care about her. Pfft.
He saw this woman as being a weakling mentally, and this validated him in his future treatment of her. (Not that he needed any to justify his actions.) If she makes herself so easy to be conquered, then it was his right to exploit her. When one is weak willed, man or woman, they deserve everything that's coming to them. His thoughts were partly serious sentiments of his mixed with fantasy.
Then his mind wandered in a new direction, as he savored the taste of his cigar with his pallet, of what Secco was doing at the moment. He was sort of tempted to call him in that moment, but he knew she said she'd be fast. But then he thought maybe he'd just leave him a voicemail, make it quick. It might be best to let him now he might not be back for a little while longer. Secco was always in charge of the estate and looking after the slaves while Cioccolata was gone. This was just courtesy. More than that however, Secco might start to think that Cioccolata had indeed found himself caught up in a tussle.
He took his phone from his jacket pocket and speed dialed Secco. He was hoping he didn't answer. One time he called Secco with the intent of just leaving him a quick voicemail, but Secco had answered, so Cioccolata thought to simply hang up in that case as he didn't want to be stuck on the phone with him. But that turned out to be a big mistake. Secco blew up his phone immediately afterward, his phone rang for a straight minute before he answered and snapped on the gimp boy. If Secco were to do that to him at a time like this, he'd have him demoted from pet status and in the dungeon next, so he wasn't going to make that mistake again.
Cioccolata thought that him and Secco's phoning may one day either be to their advantage or detriment, but he didn't actually go over these concerns of his with Secco. It seemed that the day would never come that such a life or death situation would present itself to him; he concluded that he was simply too powerful to get himself caught up in such a tangle.
Cioccolata held the phone to his ear but there was no answer. He had a slightly disgusted look on his face as he gave a silent prayer that Secco would not answer. To his jubilation, he was greeted by the automated message of the voicemail system.
"Secco, it's me." He began with the same typical opener, "I'm not going to be back until a little bit later. Don't worry, nothing happened. Also, I hope you didn't neglect Caramella from being so fixated on your favorite girl. Anyway, I'll see you." He hung up. It was possible that the slaves were already asleep by now, but Secco was often a night owl and a light sleeper on top of it. Another great thing about him due to this was that he made a good watch dog. But if he knew him, he was probably sprawled on the couch watching late night shows at this time.
Then he briefly thought about Caramella again after he returned his phone to his jacket pocket, which he now folded sloppily on the glass end table. His cigar was already extinguished in the ashtray beside it, he had done so as he left the voicemail for Secco. Finally, He lit the incense just because.
The stripper returned, she approached the drapes, and upon opening them, she smiled at him as if a brand-new woman, or soon to be rather. Seeing her again, he noted something was indeed a bit different about her, but realized it was because she must have reapplied her pink lipstick. She looked pleased upon seeing him with the suit jacket off.
"I'm so happy to see that you've made yourself more comfortable, daddy." And she was back to her flirting anew. Cioccolata engaged in the flirting games in response, asking why she reapplied her lipstick only if it'll come off again. She then sauntered her way back to the lounge, looking over his whole body with clear relish in her liquid-like blue eyes.
She placed the coke on the end table before her, then sat her perfect ass on Cioccolata's lap facing away from him. She felt his erect manhood almost pressing against her asshole and felt herself grow hornier. She almost felt that she didn't want to do anything else than to rapidly have him plunged inside of her. She leaned down to the floor while sitting on him still, wrapped her hands around her ankles and shook her ass which now was slightly raised above his crotch. Cioccolata bit his lip and now loosened his tie upon seeing it.
With that, she chose to reply to his previous flirt, and she began to raise herself back up slowly, provocatively, so that right before him, he could observe the arch in her back becoming more defined as she leaned in further. "I reapplied because I want you to be able to see it all on your fat cock as I'm kissing and sucking on it, big daddy." She teased.
His lips pursed in response, as his typical mannerism when he was excited. With the image in mind, he got hornier. All that came in response from him was a heavy exhale, with his hand placed on her ass in an attempt to somewhat relieve his tension, and she spoke again just as he did.
"Now you've been being bad and breaking rules too much, daddy. You can't keep touching me, especially not for this."
He took his hand away reluctantly and replied, "Oh? Enjoy telling me what to do right now while you can." He spoke gruffly, with a jolly tone in his voice that only thinly veiled the note of threat.
She noticed the change in his tone, but with her hormones getting the best of her, she hardly thought much on it, rather it only excited her more. In her mind, she simply linked it to the kinky dungeon talk. This was her downfall in life and would be her greatest one now. What to many women might have been interpreted as a red flag, passed by her senselessly. She was a slave to her pleasure-seeking; no thoughts given. By Fate's command she would find herself being a literal slave to the tails of the coin for which she flipped.
On the other hand, Cioccolata cared little that he expressed a true sentiment, the truest one he gave all night. He already had her wrapped around his finger; she was his.
Just then, she giggled as she wiggled around on his lap more, now seated firmly on his erection, and she turned her face slightly to face him. He could see now that she was leaning forward opening the slight baggie that held the coke on the glass end table. She spoke in a lighter tone, as if easing a tension in response to his earlier quip.
"I didn't tell you my name… It's Ginger." She smiled. Obviously it was her stripper name.
Biting back sarcasm, Cioccolata instead repeated her name to her now, rolling it off his tongue deliberately. Her eyes lit up, clearly infatuated with the way he said it, but her eyes began to take on a look of anticipation, as if she were waiting for something else, and that she might even speak again soon, so he added, "Cioccolata."
"Your name?" she asked dubiously, then continued, "It sounds like it could be one of our girl's names!" She giggled, but now she rubbed his thigh as if to pacify him in of offense. He took it as no sort of slight. But he did appreciate that she knew better, and this act cleared his earlier frustration.
"It could be." He admitted, chuckling thereafter, really only to convey to her that no harm was done. But now he could hardly contain himself from not touching at all, her bright green slingshot outfit fitted around her body in such a way that was only tantalizing for him in the sensually lit room.
Meanwhile, the stripper doubted that he had given her his genuine name, and that validated her suspension of him being a gangster. She asked no further question about it, and instead teased again.
"Is it your name because you're really just sweet? Hehe." She began rolling up one of her lira into a straw, then turned her face slightly again to meet his green eyes, "Do you taste like chocolate, too?"
"There's only one way to find out," He said only half-jokingly, then continued, "Why are you making me wait so long after I've already paid your bills?"
She blushed and laughed, replying, "I'm so sorry…" she puckered her lips again continuing, "It's only because I want to prolong the moment… and also because I have a surprise for you, daddy."
She already had a straight line on the table, but another half was sectioned off, the paraphernalia in clear view. She then quickly snorted the powder trail with the rolled-up bill, a not so attractively sounding inhale, and leant her head back. Cioccolata had some memories seeing it, he too, did coke socially now and then in the '80s, when it was more socially acceptable. But he had better things to worry about, such as the surprise.
"I'm so curious to know what it is." He remarked, while not actually asking what it was.
After a moment to feel her high, she exhaled and then stated in an even sweeter tone, "You'll love it." She giggled again, "And I arranged it because of you being so good to me."
"Bene. Even more presents for me." He said in mirth, but then wondered what it could be. The only thing he could think of is more drinks, or another cigar. Was she having another stripper come in? he briefly wondered. They were all good possibilities.
All the innocent possibilities soon vanished with the dawning of a grim thought. Sudden recognition of what he had been out for on this night hit him hard. For the briefest moment, the threat of a hit stunned him. His logic kicked in full gear, backpedaling the events and how it could even be possible—what if the owner of Panini Alla Cannella was partnered with a Passione operative? Scanning his memory banks, he could recall nothing of the sort—albeit, he didn't exactly have access to all this information.
Just then, the stripper placed her hands on both outer sides of his legs as leverage, then grazed her ass down his erection, then up it again. She continued this motion a couple of times, looking as though she were getting lost in doing so, each time she grinded back up his erection, seemed to be with more ferocity. Needless to say, it put Cioccolata into a spell, he knew the only way to relieve it was to get rid of the fabric between them—his pants mainly, as she was already perfectly half naked.
Watching her bare back, he exhaled deeply. He traced with his eyes the curves along her sides, the trail of her vertebrae, with only the ties of her slingshot at the nape of her neck tied and above her ass; everywhere else completely nude, delicate white skin. He had to remind himself that he couldn't touch, for now; but nevertheless, the desire was real. He pictured himself just swiping a wade of her long blonde hair and bending her over on this lounge. Yes, he wanted her to feel him finally—and when he takes her to the dungeon, show her the real Cioccolata.
Just as he was thinking this, he found himself falling more and more into a reverie, thoroughly feeling as though he were being hypnotized by the motion of her body, in combination with the total liquor he's drank plus nicotine. And then, just like that, it was easier to restrain himself. He couldn't keep his eyes off her perfect, round white ass as she kneaded into him with it. It was with this experience, that he shrugged off his paranoia.
Her motions altered after a bit; she began facing to the side, swiveling and hovering her ass above his crotch, bringing attention to the bulge already there, then watching him in her new position. His eyes trailed along her shapely leg enveloped in fishnet, to the side of her flat belly and abs, noting how the straps of the slingshot from her large tits traveled down to her mid half, hardly meeting the skin, only becoming plastered to her skin once the neon green straps met her abdomen and cupped her pussy lips. The straps hardly covered her nipples, and he wanted them off finally. But just when he said that, she pushed the material inward toward her chest, and revealed her fresh, erect nipples to him once more.
She played with them, squeezing them as she bit her shiny pink lips, looking him in the eyes. At this angle, her body showcased what a perfect hourglass she had, her neck arching inward perfectly while her bottom poked out a great deal, giving the illusion that she was quite thick, but really, it wasn't too much body fat on her; her tall height just distributed her weight evenly with perfection. What a great specimen to be placed in a cage… soon to be his. He reveled in this thought alone, as his eyes made love to her body, watching her hands caress her own melons, then up her neck, until her elbows arched in the air, displaying her nude breast lewdly and shamelessly.
Just then, she switched up her motion and position yet again. As soon as he saw her throw one of her legs over his lap he knew she were going to straddle him. Only one of her legs did, the other, her heeled foot was planted beside his leg, and she faced him full on. She wasn't sitting on his lap again thankfully, she stood over his crotch on her knees, so that at their height, she was above him. No, not this, he thought regretfully. Sure, it was nice to see her titties so close, but he just hated someone's altitude to be above his own in this way. But he didn't nitpick it any further and simply enjoyed the view. It wasn't too much of a height difference than what was there when she was on stage, but the closer proximity gave the illusion of the former.
The stripper ran her hands along her curves, until she reached the bottom of her G-string, the green patch protecting her fat, still unsatisfied pussy. She hovered her ass back down slowly, more and more until she was barely touching his crotch. He felt her thick ass only make contact sometimes and she twisted her hips around him, only serving to agonize him. It began to remind him like this lap dance was only meant to advertise to him just how well she would be able to glide on his dick; either that, or she was stalling him…
Cioccolata was still a man, even if he was possibly possessed by Satan. As much as the paranoia hung over him, he could not pull himself away now. Just then, her fingers only trailed over the G-string, teasing, not moving it to the side. To make things worse, she sat back down on his crotch, feeling her ass settle over his entire lap as if she had thoroughly saturated him. Just when it was driving him mad too much, she leaned back, her hand behind her on his knee, and the other she used to finally push the G-string to the side.
She revealed her flushed pussy to him, not only that; but opened her outer and inner lips so he was able to get a full view on where he was soon to be heading. Her hole was sewn with mucous-like fluid, revealing to him that she enjoyed her show for him incredibly. How a slut like her was able to maintain such a neat, pristine kitty was unknown to him, and perhaps could only be attributed to her age; if he could guess, she was in her early twenties. He felt very fortunate to be taking another young woman back to the dungeon.
The more pressing issue right now was what he was going to do with his junk, so he decided he would get vocal about it, he was more than satisfied with the lap dance.
"Good girl. No more. You made daddy too horny. Suck my dick, now." He commanded, and hearing his own voice in his ears, he could distinguish the lust.
She looked as though she didn't need to be told twice; as if she were only waiting for the green light. Her face lit with renewed excitement along with a crimson flush in the cheeks, and she crawled off his lap.
Ginger began feeling his erection in his pants cautiously, as if it were something dangerous, but really, she was just impressed with the size of it. Her blonde hair hung over his lap, and her body was positioned on the lounge in a way that he was able to look upon the side angle of her body; she was on her knees with her ass bent out. Now that the previous act was over, he knew there wasn't a problem with putting his hands on her again, so he slapped his palm down on her full ass cheek, resisting the temptation to finger her. Thank god he couldn't see it.
She smiled and moaned in response. He was unzipping his beige dress pants now, letting her bare breast hang down over his lap. "Cioccolata…" she spoke quietly, sensuously testing his name on her lips, and then continuing, "You're the boldest man I've ever had," she paused and chuckled, "I love how you tell me what to do." Her full pink lips puckered into a devious smile.
He replied, "Then you must get a lot of losers in here, hm?"
She giggled, commenting back, fully engaged in the flirting yet again. By now she had his pants unzipped, revealing his dick now only sheltered by his black thong. She commented on this, "Ohhh, you wear thongs too? Why is that?" She pressed her full breast against his shaft, and he reveled in the sensation before he replied, biting his lip and inhaling through his teeth.
"Because when you have a body like me, you can wear whatever you want." He stated as a matter of fact, because it was. He put his hand on her head then, ready to guide her on sucking his dick.
She was staring deep into his eyes as he said it, feeling herself now being pulled into his realm, that is, one that was merely an illusion to her; she had no true idea yet what being in his realm meant.
His hand on her head encouraged her, she with trepidation, finally revealed what was really behind his massive erection. Ecstatic wasn't the word to describe how she felt when her eyes absorbed it all. He's so big! Her mind exclaimed, but she was also flattered that he was that turned on by her. She went to touch his hardness just then, taking it in her hand and delicately running her palm over the smooth foreskin which ironically encased a bone hardness.
She took everything in. The smell—how could it even be described? She knew it very well, between any given man it wasn't too different from the other, and for the most part, the same could be said from the taste of their cum. All that could be said about it was that it was a smell which she welcomed, and for him, it was one which she desired much more than her recent sex partners.
The sight—it was simply amazing. His dick was a shade darker than his tanned skin, taking a more olive complexion. It was long, if she had to guess, he was anywhere from ten to twelve inches, but she couldn't decide exactly, despite how many dicks she's seen. A safe estimate would be about eleven inches. The length of him wasn't completely straight; it curved along the midway. She was delighted by this; in her experience, slightly curved dicks just felt better.
The girth was another matter, it certainly was thick. Again, to guess, perhaps over an inch and a half at the base, slightly leveling out as the length ran. A pronounced vein ran along the top of his dick, reaching to the darkened tip, and a couple smaller ones branched out on the underside of the dickhead. The latter was ruddy, but toward the center took a dark pink hue. His balls shared this coloring, and they were full and well defined, though perhaps so momentarily from holding arousal for a while.
The taste—she could hardly wait to find out. And so, she inched closer, placing her lips first on the head of his dick, she jerked down on the foreskin until it was stretched down completely, and when she heard him sigh and his fingers begin to branch through the roots of her hair, it egged her on to go further, be bolder. She began planting kisses around the tips, then down his length. She kissed his balls too, both testicles. She arched her back, and her tits rested on his thighs heavily.
She worked her way back up his length, but this time tilting her face, and running the length within the fleshy folds of her lips. She heard him sigh again, and when she finally prepared herself to look up at him, she saw that he was looking down at her intently, with great focus and concentration. But curiously, his dark eyebrows were furrowed in pleasurable distress, his green eyes were now incredibly deep and penetrating now with his lust awakened. She planted more kisses on him, all while maintaining eye contact, and began rubbing her pink lips along his length, leaving the trails on his dick like she previously promised.
Cioccolata sighed again, thinking about what a beautiful sight in was, when he spoke again, now, before she put him in her mouth.
"Good. Put it your mouth now, bebè. No hands." He leaned his head back into the neck of the lounge, relaxing more and more. He naturally did prefer having a blowjob with no hands, it was incredibly sexy for him. But his reasons for preferring no hands was also largely due to the fact that he couldn't last otherwise, with the added pressure. His dick was highly sensitive, so he had to prolong what he could—the struggles of a man with an intact foreskin!
"Yes daddy," she readily replied. She gripped the sides of his thighs, then submerged his dick between her lips, until her tongue firmly cushioned him in her mouth between her palate. From his view, he could see her head bobble over him, and her beautiful cleavage spilling over into his lap. Her nipples were so hard that he could feel them through the fabric of his trousers.
As her pace steadily increased, she moaned slightly, here and there, and he could feel the vibrations along his length. His muscles tensed in his legs, his toes curled a bit in his loafers, and he began biting his lip again. Those DSLs of hers sure had some suction; he was definitely going to be fucking her face often in the dungeon. Just when he thought it couldn't get any better, she pulled, between her lips, the loosest flap of his foreskin, then concluded by suckling all around his girth.
"Ohhhh… Good, good, good, gooood, good, goooood. Fuck." He moaned rather shamelessly now, breaking his previous, near silence, except for the occasional sighs.
You see, some men often speak of making a woman their wife if she delivers extraordinarily well for them sexually. Some men were won over by the head, some men were won over by the pussy. Still others were even won over by sodomy. Cioccolata might have been won over by any one of these things but marrying a woman over them never once crossed his mind. Now that he was in the process of establishing his harem, however, the ambition was not to put a "ring on it," but a "chain on it."
His grip tightened along her blonde roots, and he began pressing her face into his dick more, fucking her tonsils and everything, until the base of his dick and balls were saturated in her saliva. Soon enough it was just his groans, her moans, and saliva to be heard throughout.
After about a minute of this accelerated romp, he pressed and held her face down into his crotch, until his dick hit the back of her throat. She initially resisted, until she recognized that it was his intent to hold her there. He loved the deep throating, but he really stopped the action because he was trying to slow his cum build up. He exhaled saying, "Ahhh...Gesù, brava… brava, brava ragazza. Mmmm…"
Just as he felt his eyes rolling back in his head still sitting like this, he heard the unmistakable sound of his phone's muffled ring in his jacket pocket on the glass end table.
I'm not hearing what I think I'm hearing. Please don't tell me that's my phone… Secco, you motherfucker! He thought, as he grinded his teeth in his mouth, his jaws locked in fury. He let Ginger's head go then leaned forward in the lounge. He expertly removed his phone quickly from his pocket, then saying to her almost dismissively, "Scusami, I have to take this."
Given that he had already left a voicemail for his lackey, there was no reason for Secco to be calling him. Sure, the call could have been for any number of stupid reasons, but in spite of this, Cioccolata swallowed down a slight sense of alarm for the possibility of otherwise.
As it soon turned out, Secco's call was legitimate.