I am your Death.
We must leave now, my boat is waiting.
On the other shore is the Land of the Dead.
Don't be afraid...Oh no!
I'm faceless but don't fear now—
I'll take you safe across the River Styx ~Charon, King Diamond
Capitolo XIII:
-Il primo sottaceto: terza fase-
Meanwhile, after Cioccolata had gotten a good two minutes parked in his vehicle, he was suddenly hit with a revelation of what may be occurring in Caramella's body, now that his mind was clear from his ardent lust, though still a bit shit faced. He dialed Secco.
Secco answered quickly, as he expected, especially given his earlier frenzy.
"Cioccolata!" Secco exclaimed after the click in excitement.
"Hey, I'm on my way back now. I have two slaves on the way, so get Caramella's old cell ready. When I'm done with them that is. I'm thinking that I'll take them to my room first."
"T-two?! In one night!?" Secco sounded like he had gotten a boner already.
"Heehee. Yup. I've got them both completely wrapped around my finger." He gloated, but then changing his tone, he continued, "Anyway, I didn't call you to talk about that yet. About Caramella—any progress?"
"No…no, not at all. N-not at all… She's really bad. Every time I look at her now she's gritting her teeth."
"Is the pain she's experiencing nausea? If so, did she vomit?"
"She didn't vomit, no… I did manage to get some answers out of her since we talked, she said she does feel sick to her stomach."
"Did she mention having abdominal cramping?
"Yes, she did! She did!"
Why would it prolong so long though? Did he really knock her up that badly? Not only that, but it wasn't even a full three weeks yet. Such clear early symptoms are quite a feat. What strong seed! His suspicion of pregnancy was provided to him by the fact that he had recorded very well his girls' ovarian cycles; he knew period dates and ovulation so that he could avoid accidentally impregnating them—to the best of his ability.
Although he avoided the ovulation dates, with Caramella specifically, there was the possibility that he might have slipped up…
Rather inappropriately delighted upon his early prognosis, he concluded, "Alright, just continue making her comfortable. She'll be fine. I'll be back very soon now."
"O-okay, I'll do that now. See ya." He hung up.
Cioccolata looked out his window after his brief phone call, and no sign of them yet. He sighed in complete content. What a great night! Happy day! Two more slaves for the dungeon and a slave who sounded to be already with child. Admittedly, he was still rather anxious to see Caramella himself before he confirmed his suspicion, but this would likely be as it was regarding all things with him, already decided as soon as he suspected it.
Then he thought on the last order of his to Secco. She sounded to be in a lot of pain. He crossed his arms, resting his cheek on his fist thinking, "It'll be nice to see that cute little face twisted in that much pain…" Then he smiled. Caramella was such a good slave, he knew it. Maybe it was okay to reward her now. If she is pregnant, it would hardly be the last time that he could observe her sicknesses. It was only a few days ago at most that he had last slept with her, during her "circulation."
It was rather early to implement this arrangement. Circulations were an opportunity for each of his slaves, at their appointed times of the month, to spend a full week with Cioccolata in his quarters. Spending time with each woman, one on one, was a good way to bond and air out any concerns. With 8 women in total, it'll mean that it will take 2 months for each woman to see her next circulation—more than enough time for her to crave the intimacy of her master. As it was only Caramella and Nocciola for now, he had extended circulations, but with the new editions soon to be, no longer.
He looked out the window, then checked his watch. 3:11 AM. He wondered briefly if he'd be alright driving, and soon rationalized that at this hour, on a weekday, it should be fine. Not to mention, his estate was only on the outskirts of the city. It wouldn't be too long a drive. Indeed, he might have been pushing it, but it shouldn't be too bad. He should be back in perhaps a little less than an hour. Hopefully by four. Then he thought more.
Was there a possibility she had some other type of ailment? Secco called him over two hours earlier saying she were in pain. It seemed, given his description, that it had gotten worse. She should have been relieved after vomiting. Unless Secco didn't relay to him this fact clearly, and perhaps, the morning sickness started again, which was possible. Really, a number of things could be going on, but he couldn't know unless he saw and spoke to her, and more than that, conduct a urine test. This frustrated him. He didn't have time to talk to her right now, to at least get the questions out of the way. He decided then that he would check her after taking these women back, and have Secco do the rest.
He then spotted two figures approaching him, and he knew it were the women. He unlocked the doors. He saw that Ginger wore a medium brown mink fur coat, while Icy wore a long, patent black trench coat. Both women looked like money now fully dressed, but Cioccolata preferred the fur, though he liked the trench just as well. He heard some type of bickering in front of the door beside him, so he rolled down the window and caught that they were fighting over who should sit in the front seat. He overheard Icy say that she wants to talk to him. He smiled deviously.
"Let Icy sit here, Ginger. You just got to talk to me. Be fair, dearest." He directed sweetly.
He could see Ginger pout with her pink lips, but she smiled at the end of it, looking in his eyes. And so Ginger got in the back, and Icy then opened the door almost cautiously but flattered by him stepping in. And then it was as if the infatuation with him began anew; her black eyes ran over his features like the moment she stepped foot in the room with him earlier.
Cioccolata took off, not waiting for anyone to put their seatbelts on, while he and Icy spoke to each other most of the way.
.
It was about an hour later by the time he had reached his estate, as expected. Cioccolata turned from the long, narrow, wooden fencing and elevated drive into a crook surrounded by bushes and trees which sequestered a modern styled home set around woods and a far-reaching lake as the backdrop. The way the trees and the lake lined the angles gave it the illusion of being quite remote and secluded, yet it was quite easy to find your way around to the local highway, as there was only a single, one-way road. At this time of night, the drive's surrounding struck eerily, while not any less scenic.
The estate itself was highly elevated, as the drive wound itself around a further inclining hill. In the distance, across the lake, lay the other villas burrowed as the only light amongst mountains of evergreens. The view was breathtaking, comfy, homey. It was like stepping foot inside of a place which you longed for in imagination only—it called to one a sense of wistfulness. The stripper's mouths must have dropped when they saw it, and Ginger felt quite triumphant in her assumption of Cioccolata's status.
Icy was also amazed, and quite buttered up from her long chat with him during the drive, which came out to be a longer talk than he had with Ginger privately. Ginger secretly schemed on later, continuing their conversation, especially after how long she had witnessed them talk. But she imagined that Icy did not speak to him as freely as she might have if they were alone, and this pleased her well enough.
They turned slowly into the estate's opening, which, could be seen at both sides, an open gate. Cioccolata only closed this when he was home, having no need to otherwise. His vehicle pulled up not far outside a small separate suite to his estate within this woody, secluded courtyard. It was really Secco's "playhouse" you could say—his more exaggerated doghouse.
Saying nothing, Cioccolata exited his vehicle with the quickness. The strippers followed him now along the path, hardly saying anything as they were too busy taking in the estate in all its glory—leaving them fain to proceed with their unbeknownst fates. Perhaps it would be better to refer to these women now, as former strippers, and newly reconverted slaves.
In the antechamber, their coats were taken. This was a relief for them, as now, in the warmth of his home, they had no other worth than to cover their teeming sexuality. It was not known to them that they would never, in such a long time, wear those coats again, nor exit the portal for which they entered. The click of the latch was final, yet to them, they heard only sweet security.
It was a sense of relief along with the thrill of victory that zapped within the nucleus of every cell within Cioccolata's body, to know that he needn't take them any further through his estate until they'd both be in his basement where they belonged. However, the drive left him the opportunity to plan ahead, and he knew exactly how he would direct the entirety of the morning before transporting them.
Though his object for now, was to show them his bedroom, a little bit of gloating was never out of the question—anything that may help bolster his ego which was already frothing unbearably. With this, he gave them a tour of his estate, his quarters specifically, along with the usual sight worthy spots, as a sinister prelude of what they would know so very well after their initiation.
The stairs which led to the floor containing his bedroom and study was a dark and steep climb, even with the aid of the bulbs built into each step, but the climb was nothing for the built calves of Icy and Ginger. After a night of dancing and taking Cioccolata's dick, there was hardly a threat to be posed by this manmade contraption to the power level of these two. Though their characters may have been subjectively tainted, it was of no concern to the man who would be providing for them. Of the most important feature to him, they were fit and healthy, with good bone structure and attractive features. They would be perfect breeders.
They were greeted by the dismal setting and low archway of Cioccolata's bedchamber, and, with intrigue being of the highest caliber in their minds, were delighted to be left to their own devices by the man who initiated them. Why he had left them temporarily should be obvious—Cioccolata had to follow up on the concerns expressed by Secco regarding Caramella.
Making his way with haste to the slave's quarters (the haste was not to be misunderstood with an exaggerated concern for Caramella, but an urgency to simply put to rest unfinished business), he found Secco watching over the girl within the room Cioccolata directed him to place her. Followed by the usual flow of questions, he wasted little time in directing Caramella to the bathroom with a urine test. She had trouble standing up straight, and in honesty, the man had little patience in escorting her, but he gave his preferred slave the grace of a quality for which he had a hard time maintaining on even normal circumstances. This spoke volumes.
…Perhaps the memory of the glimpse of distress displayed upon her infant like features would sate him through the coming activities of the early morning hours. Caramella looked almost bewildered handing her urine specimen over to the man who housed her, as though her memory had been thwarted. Certainly, even upon simple observation, it could be seen that this pet was not quite right even mentally. Luckily for her, she was already administered ibuprofen.
Another intermediate trip in length led Cioccolata to his small lab, where he set about unraveling his tucked away skills in diagnostics. In summation of the urinalysis, what he found was not hCG nor proteins; not at all. Instead, he discovered the presence of blood and the enzymatic activity of leukocytes. Cioccolata was a bit disappointed in this—she only had a UTI, not the child sickness as he had briefly hoped.
Luckily, for a simple infection such as this, he would be able to produce the antibiotics needed. She had this infection long enough to where the good old household remedy of cranberry juice would be a long shot. He was not too kosher with giving his pets/slaves antibiotics, for elaborate reasoning regarding the nurturing of an optimal gut microbiota and the health benefits he was aiming to see through this in their times of child rearing—but a sacrifice would unfortunately have to be made.
He sighed upon this thought as his hand rested on the glass medical cabinet, having the briefest thought in mind to go with the household remedy in expense for a good observation of her pain and hopefully an eventual recovery. He shook his head and went about locating the medicine; he would pass up the thrilling possibility in lieu of securing his pet's future; despite the justification he made to himself that the triggering of a full-blown immune response would only make her stronger.
Cioccolata himself choosing to heal the girl rather than follow through with his temptations…it was unheard of.
So when he made his way back to Caramella, he supplied her with the drugs that would wipe out her dreaded bacterium induced ailment. In the time it took for him to walk from his lab to the room, he had already figured out how she had fallen prey to this infection, and, in delight, realized that the culprit was none other than himself. Only a few days ago, he was last bedding Caramella in a long session of filth that no doubt had done the trick—details be spared, (for once).
But there was something else on the former doctor's mind that he was certainly going to decipher. After supplying her with a glass of water and instructing her to take the antibiotic at no further delay, he set about his new series of questions.
No sooner than Caramella placed the glass back on the surface beside her, Cioccolata was leaning closer to her, offering hardly any consolation in spirit save for the medicine.
"How long did you experience symptoms without telling me?" His tone was accusatory and solemn, he knew her to have had at least one early symptom within the past couple days. She only had one correct answer to supply him with.
With trepidation, she answered the query for which she felt to be laced with hostility, "I…didn't want to bother you, master."
"I want you to bother me," he responded, with such still and piercing eyes which seemed as though they fixed the universe's point of gravity.
She stared back into this abyss, and once he sensed the ever-budding look of fear clouding her own eyes—only then did he lighten his. "I won't punish you. From now on, you understand that you report any discomforting symptoms to me."
Caramella of course agreed to the terms, she had no other choice nor should she have wanted any better. Rather, she thanked her personal doctor for his care.
Cioccolata concluded his visit with her with, "I hope you've learned a lesson."
Now this whole ordeal only had taken a half an hour at most. He had no qualms over his departure from the strippers. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all—they had spent quite some time together as is. And this was true, Icy and Ginger hardly noticed the gap in time as they busied themselves investigating his bedchamber, along with the terrace fixed at the other end of the room and the vanity built into his closet.
So when Cioccolata reintroduced himself with some more smokes and alcoholic beverages, it was quite a scurry for the women to find themselves back in the only customary place they knew to be their post—the bed. Ginger made her way faster to the king's mattress and with more grace than Icy, who had rather worn a look of distress over excitement to the sudden shot of adrenaline.
Cioccolata had still noticed of course even without the dead giveaway that was Icy's clumsy demeanor; the women were snooping. It was a pastime which bonded the sisters in childhood for sure, but this wasn't why the man gave a pass to the behavior. He simply had nothing to hide, at least here in his most intimate chamber. Even he knew better than to leave something incriminating here.
After setting down the tray of drinks, Cioccolata smirked at the two sexy ladies seated upon his mattress with thighs pressed upon the other, as the old adage displayed before him in real life terms: When the cat is away, the mice will play. Oh, how he loved the grand game of predator and prey…no matter where and how it could be practiced—literally, in grappling with life and death, or with the manipulation and subsequent seduction of the weaker sex.
Ginger of course, seemed especially excited to see him, and not just because she had spotted the drinks along with the shot glasses. She laid herself across the mattress with her arms bent behind her head, smiling gorgeously at the single towering man in the room. While her smile was genuine, her eyes were full of mischief.
Cioccolata locked in upon this aspect of hers and spoke, "I see that you two just couldn't subdue your own curiosity." Usually it was Cioccolata who was always curious about something, so it was pleasant to see future pets sharing his most prized quality.
At the conclusion of the jest laced statement, he set about preparing their glasses with his back now facing them, which was never the ideal way one would prefer their drinks be prepared for them, by a stranger no less, that is, if they weren't already drunk and coked out.
Ginger was the first to bashfully flirt back, and by the time Cioccolata had turned around with their shots, both women were set in a trance by not only the grace in his demeanor but the visible liberty of comfort he took in discarding his tie and loosening his blouse. By the time he was before the women, who had backed up only a bit in allowance, Ginger had already swallowed down the shot offered to her without even a whiff. It would seem that anything that came from Cioccolata's hand was trustworthy enough, and to decline from such a hand would be in the same nature and disrespect as declining it from a God.
And this God Cioccolata was certainly pleased once more to see her quick obedience. Icy took only some slight coaxing, a soft spoken, "Let's see if you can handle this," and "How about another?" They were otherwise innocent questions, and when operating upon a lower scale of consciousness, there could be no fault found in them. But being as intelligent as the average man, let alone one of genius rank, it was clear to the conductor that all these niceties were nothing more than a play upon perception.
The perception was whether or not the actions taken were in innocence; with no intention whatsoever of causing harm. While there may not have been a goal of harm, the goal is to manipulate, and to capitalize off the weaker party's vulnerabilities. It happens everywhere, the greed and selfishness of man which is spoken of. But in rare cases does it play out in such a way as this—that these women would not simply be left upon the discarded but in the realest sense, abducted.
With every bit of weakness displayed before him, Cioccolata made use relying upon all, placing his strength at the parameters. His responses were suave, he had the perfect answer and reply to every female utterance. Given the mentioned intelligence difference between the sexes, let alone at the level which he operated, it was of no consequence for him to play mind games.
The part Sicilian stripper Icy looked about as intoxicated as expected. There was a bit of a sway to her movements, but an overall severe relaxation followed by an openness to receive—and that last statement stood by every dark association which could be mustered. The blonde stripper Ginger, on the other hand, was in a worse state. She appeared to be immobilized, even switching to lay on her side was met with some difficulty due to the tremors that overtook her at short intervals.
At this point where Cioccolata was on the bed, the end was soon to come, though he wasn't yet half naked. But seeing Ginger in such a state left him with the satisfying thrill that always came with seizing upon an opportunity. The creeping dent in the mattress left around her body due to the man's weight over her was a welcomed sensation for Ginger, who even seemed to better relax her tremors with his presence.
"Ah, what do we have here?" he reflected in a slithery tone, "Someone isn't holding her alcohol too well…and we haven't even gotten to the fun yet."
At the mention of fun, Ginger's eyes regained control over her wakeless aspect. She smiled up at him, defending herself with cattiness. "I c-can handle it," she practically drawled out, along with a labored sigh to the sensation of his thumbs prodding past the bit of fabric over her nipples. Somehow, it felt so much better than before—perhaps a thousand times better.
"Sure," he replied skeptically as he loomed over her breast, "But you can hardly handle a kiss right now, let alone what else I can do to you." He planted his lips gently against the hardened nubs, feeling her body sigh to the seductive gesture.
And even though the softest sensation on his part produced heaven within Ginger's body, as well as the preparation that comes with responsive arousal, Icy was having none of it. Her elevated blood-alcohol levels brought her back to the level of boldness she had displayed in the club, and she remembered the old promise; the one thing which had urged her along to come home with him and Ginger in the first place.
She lifted herself to her knees, and at a short distance, crawled to the pair entangled in the plush comforter and rumpled pillows. She tugged at Cioccolata's shirt to draw his attention and used her voice to draw attention to the ever-fading Ginger.
"You can't have him right now," she quipped with sass, and, looking to Cioccolata, she put with authority, "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Surprisingly, and unlike Ginger, Icy needed no grand bit of foreplay—teasing was not her forte. Rather, her sexuality was more spontaneous, short bursts of passion that was best extinguished the moment it came, before the fire was too much to subdue. Cioccolata had already gauged this much about her, and as a man who was more likely to share the same mode of sexual conduct, he wasted no more time.
After discarding his trousers as well as the shirt, he pulled Icy exactly where he wanted her, which was just beside Ginger, and began mounting her like a beast. In his wild embrace was rough pecks and suckles at her neck, the nipping in her waist from his clawing nails, and the force of his legs separating her own without any way of warm up. To this, Icy was already moaning, needing no further enticement to get the party started. She let her tits spill from their entrapments, and sought out with both her hands, the bulbous length of his organ throbbing hard into her thigh.
She wanted him in, and she made sure of that by only spreading herself wider and feeling his hips slap into hers as soon as she gave him the proper direction. Another hard pound spaced out upon another, and another, and another left her almost speechless except for the reactionary grunt. Her eyes rolled back as she struggled for the formation of language, until she dug her nails into his back and cried, "God—fuck—harder!"
Cioccolata needed no direction nor permission from a woman of all creatures, obviously, but he granted her request only for his own benefit, which happened to fulfil his former promise to her. He drew out these agonizingly slow thrusts, harder, with the expense being her increasing demands. It was soon that this was not enough for her. Even with wrapping her legs around him, despite enabling him go deeper, it could not quell the building sexual frustration.
Icy's engorged clit was further agonized, but finally in how she wanted it, when Cioccolata picked up the pace. At the same time, he trailed his arm from under her to yank her face back by her hair. All this time, while Icy moaned, batted her lashes and altogether reveled in this ecstasy, she hadn't noticed that Cioccolata was in her raw—which would otherwise be no problem in the slightest if he weren't a stranger.
More troubling was Ginger's silence, who was otherwise quite extroverted. It bothered Icy not one bit to even give a glance to the woman she could feel her body against. In fact, Ginger was rolled to her side, entertaining some unpleasant tremors and nausea accompanied by her high, which was now showing itself to be an overdose. Her prior hits before even receiving Cioccolata's unknown concoction helped not a bit, and it was logical for an outsider to believe that he had every idea and knowledge of what he had done.
Her sister's condition only came to her attention after Cioccolata withdrew, but just barely—that is, after her raging orgasm. In the midst of it, she fell off into a reverie. She didn't notice that he switched his attentions now to Ginger, who, far more receptive than Icy, yielded almost automatically.
As Cioccolata climbed over her, she instinctively began to babble out a sentence which sounded rational in only her ears. It was not. But her mouth was open, and as it should be in such a case, his dick was filling the provided occupation. In the opportunity that Cioccolata had more of the luxury to experience these days, he enjoyed nothing better than having a woman's salivary immunoglobulins coat his phallus after being covered in another's vaginal secretions—and it was only the kinkier given the women were related.
The blonde stripper accommodated this, and it was not required of her to be any grand help in this blowjob, for he enjoyed taking advantage of her face under her intoxication. After a bit of face fucking, he switched to penetration, but not without first tying her up. This was hardly recognized by her, and when it finally was, there was no way of protesting her confinements.
The sex was especially satisfying for him given her half dead state, with the occasional whimper. He was happy to find, despite her near unconsciousness, she was still ever the slut, and well lubricated for him. Once he had his fill, he coated her fat tits with his copious cum shot. After this, he was back to business.
…Except his business, which would be his opportunity to transport her, and then Icy to the dungeon, was thwarted when Ginger seemed to experience a sudden burst of consciousness. It seemed all that knocking around had stimulated the flow of brain juices. Her words finally became more coherent, and less animalistic. She writhed in the ties at her wrists and ankles, begging Cioccolata to fuck her more. Luckily, his well-known work ethic was relaxed given his own drinking habit of the night. He saw no reason to rush in his plans, after all—the reality was that he had already succeeded by luring them here.
So, with mercy for her in mind, he entertained her until orgasm. He soon found himself curious to see how long Ginger would last with this bit of consciousness, eager to watch until she passed out. Most surprising was her willingness to blow him even with her tightly bound wrists, secured into an x behind her back, palms reaching behind her shoulder blades. She even endeavored to ride him, which of course had to come with his assistance. After a couple foreseeable near accidents, it was settled that she'd grind on him in a lazy reverse cowgirl. Yet again, the soon to be master of Ginger found himself pleasantly surprised with how well she would soon serve him.
Perhaps she would become his second favorite to Caramella…
During this time, he kept an eye on Icy, and engaged her by throwing in suggestions for her. She too, participated in the threesome, and proved to be a hopeful prelude for their future couplings. Yes, he had every intention of continuing these games after they were well trained and ready to kneel at his command. Surely, that bit of domestication would only serve to reward him with far greater ménages. Although this one was pretty damn great. At one point, Ginger rode Cioccolata's face while Icy did his cock, and both women faced each other so they could embrace another, sharing their pleasure.
Cioccolata rose to stretch briefly but was inflicted with the temptation to see past the dark curtains at the glass patio doors. What he found was the hint of dawn upon the canvas-streaked skies. Finally, he decided upon wasting no more time. He hadn't any sleep yet, though apparently both women were getting just that. Ginger was asleep in her restraints, and master rigger that Cioccolata was, it was to be expected he ensured that they would be comfortable enough for her to do so, on this occasion.
Icy on the other hand, was not restrained. But this was no concern for him, as usual, as long as one of them was. He, only in his usual pale green, silk robe, sauntered back silently over the sleeping women, nestled quite beautifully together. It was almost shameful that he was on the verge of removing them of such a picturesque arrangement, but it couldn't be helped, for the camera had been, and still was rolling. Inconspicuously tucked into one of the cubbies of his desk, directly below the lamp, a faint red light glowed. He handled this hidden device by the hilt, and, peering into the lens, beheld both women at his full, standing height. Blessing his future viewer—which would be himself before anyone else—he detailed the last several seconds of the former strippers, only a moment before he would carry first Ginger, then Icy, to his basement.
.
It was no trouble in the slightest moving Ginger, nor relieving her of her sparse habiliments; she was completely knocked out. He felt quite good about himself with the ease of this accomplishment, and enjoyed carrying her down, in his arms, all the same. But what Cioccolata did not expect to find, upon his landing back unto the second floor of his quarters, was a guilty looking Icy—not situated in his bedroom where she otherwise belonged.
His first thought would be that she was using the bathroom, except this could not have been the case—she was situated closer to his private study, which was the opposite path than the restroom—hence her guilty appearance. He knew right away, she was merely snooping, and for what, came with her startled, but brave query.
"W-where is Ginger?" Her large black eyes darted to the bathroom, down the opposite way, past the polished dark banister. Her body language detailed for her that she was on edge, her arms were crossed over her breast, which were otherwise naked except for her lingerie. Interesting, as Cioccolata observed her from top to bottom, she appeared to have attempted to arrange herself as decently as she could. This in itself was indicative of a woman discomforted with her actions, who otherwise, like Ginger had, would unapologetically choose nudity.
It was a quick mental note that he stored, and his next actions were therefore already decided for him. Icy would be going down to the basement, it seemed, very much against her will, and perhaps with partial consciousness.
He was silent, allowing Icy to finish her thought, which was clearly expressed with hesitation. "She's not in the bathroom…"
Cioccolata was irritated. It seemed Icy was the type who had no agency of herself outside of Ginger. Had he the time, he would have briefly wondered what brought her here if not for what he would assume to be Ginger's urgings.
If ever Ginger was more so in his favor, it was now. Normally, he would appreciate intelligence in a slave if it weren't pinned against him.
He couldn't keep the sarcasm out of his voice therefore when he rebuffed, "It never dawned on you that she might be thirsty?"
There was some inexplicable feature that took hue over Icy's thick, dark brows and eyes. It was as if she thought of this possibility and automatically dismissed it as per her own revelation. Cioccolata noted it, read and interpreted it right away, and it didn't leave him with a good feeling.
She might have seen him.
His suspicions, validated by recent experience, always seemed to turn out on point. He wasn't going to waste much more time with this woman in any case.
He leaned back against the banister, betraying his tension and casting the illusion of insouciance. He was testing the effect on her, and she did not budge. If she had not caught a glimpse of him carrying Ginger away, then why would she stay standing here before him? Would not his suggestion be enough to put her back in the bedroom?
Instead, she stood. In his mind, he imagined she thought herself somewhat brave, but from what he could see, she was not unlike a mouse caught in a glue trap, and that would be the only reason she couldn't will herself to move away.
And she needed bravery to get out her next words. In a series of anxious stutters, she finally spurted out her queries, asking him why she had seen him carry Ginger out of the room. As she finally got it out, Cioccolata was smiling ear to ear, but not sinisterly as he would have liked.
"Ginger didn't tell you that I'm a doctor, I see. I carried her down because I'm sure she went over her limit."
The confession definitely threw Icy for a loop—here Ginger only speculated that he must be a mafioso. But she was clearly far wrong! And his estate could certainly stand to reason for that fact.
"O-oh…" She sighed, seemingly in relief. And with that, she did step back toward the door with some trepidation lingering. But still, she stared in full at the man in towering before her. Perhaps this intimidation she had felt with him before, and especially now, was due to his economic status. Is that why he gave them an alias?
Cioccolata stepped toward her with another warm smile, though it glimmered with mischievous intent. His hand soon lightly grazed her waist, and he kissed gently at the nape of her neck, assuring her that it was still so early, and okay to go back to bed.
At his urging, she did indeed return, along with him. There followed a moment of silence, stillness within the predominantly dark room save for a glimmer of light in the eastern sky. Icy sat at the edge of the bed, but without laying down for that time. She rubbed her neck, thinking on what he had told her, wondering further on Ginger's condition. Did she really drink too much? She certainly did take more coke than she had—she always did, her desensitized state called for it. But at the same time, Cioccolata knew this, and he supplied them with the drinks anyway, and not just one or two, but several more.
…And rather seemed to urge it.
Just like that, the strange feeling crept over her body yet again, but that wasn't the only thing creeping over her.
It was the object of her thought's scrutiny itself. His robe was open, and she could see his impressive erection. As his weight pressed into her, slowly easing her down, she knew that there would be no going back to the hallway, or anywhere—not with how good his warmth felt against her skin, or how handsome he was. The most of her willpower had already been spent in that attempt.
As his tongue slipped in her mouth and tantalized her, her heart sped with the urge to cry out to wait, to slow down, anything to come back to earth, instead of this abyss of pleasure that he was taking her. She knew she was wet and could do nothing to alleviate it other than taking him inside her. It was almost against her will, the way her body moved in response to him. It betrayed the fear making a home in her mind; but his charm had overtaken her. The promise of being fulfilled by him was too prominent.
So when his tongue lapped the inside of her cheeks, soon enough she was dancing with him, allowing him to have his way and offering herself on the platter. The whole matter couldn't have taken more than ten minutes, and after that time, she was spread under him and taking him in.
Cioccolata steered his words in such a way that it pointed to him feeling possessed rather than her. "I couldn't help myself…I blame your pheromones. It's the morning, you understand?"
This bit of exchange did nothing to dull the heat between them, Icy only half coherently replied, in her ignorance of the effect it had on him.
"…Just keep fucking me, Cioccolata. Please keep going…" She mumbled, under the spell of lust.
A grin formed on his face, but it wasn't only in response to her words, but his knowledge of his victory overall of these women. He didn't reply for some time, only continuing to hound her with an increasing pace, and a dedicated thrust. Once he leaned over her higher, forcing her legs up over her, he purred down to her, "Dirty girl…" as he stilled himself after each thrust, letting his balls absorb all the shock produced.
It kept going, until Cioccolata made her cum, changed position, and she came again after some harder effort to her overstimulated clitoris. Icy was beat by all this, soon dozing off into sweet slumber yet again, while her soon to be captor was the last image she saw.
.
Icy was the first to awaken to pitch black, save for the torch lit sconces. But the blackness was hardly what caught her attention, it was the rope's bristles biting into her smooth skin, and what felt to be a weight attached. Turning her face upon the cold stone, she saw the source of the weight was her own half-sister, literally tied against her. Like this, they experienced the same closeness as if they shared a womb—they were twins now in their coming misery and torment.
Cioccolata had taken ample notes from his dealings with Caramella and Nocciola. He would no longer waste time in the initiatory phase of slave training—he was cutting to the chase. Both were placed in Caramella's old cell, and as his act of mercy, he had decided they would share it with the benefit in mind that he needn't halt his progress for the next bitch to fill Nocciola's former cell.
Icy was left screaming here, first, until she had awakened her sister in her convulsing turmoil. Ginger came to life much more slowly than Icy originally did, and her features were disoriented. Once given the time, she screamed as well, though not knowing for what.
How sleep had found them in such a compromising position was unknown. Their sedatives clearly knocked both on their ass, though now, their asses were facing the air before the floor. By the necks, both women were under yoke much like livestock under a tall, majestic wooden beam—rope hung from the iron ring, attaching them both under it. The beam laid low, allowing their heads to be raised only but some several inches. Their wrists and ankles were held, soldered to a chain carrying itself to the mildew-stained wall. Nearby, a mold strewn drain, for what purpose, they could do nothing to figure out in the moment. In this position, which would be resembling a "face down ass up" doggy style if they had only lifted their bodies, was utterly degrading. Each thigh that was touching the other was wrapped with one rope—this and the rope enjoining their necks were the only ones that were found on their body, and it was a tight one. It was the intent of their master to make both women suffer together—given a sense of equality within a package of sardonicism.
In this, the only comfort they could rely on was each other's warmth, and hopefully, the strengthening of a sibling bond. But that's hardly what could be said to be occurring now. Instead, the women went straight into bickering after the screaming proved fruitless.
"W-w-wha—what the fuck! What the fuck is going on, Icy!?" Ginger frantically choked.
Icy stammered unforgivingly for words, and in the search for them, began hyperventilating. In her desperation to replenish carbon dioxide, she could produce only some language.
"HE—HE—THA—MAN!—" She gasped with struggle, the vertebrae of her neck whacking into the beam and effectively slamming her face into the stone, followed by a crack in her ears.
"Man!? You don't mean…!" Ginger gasped as her senses trickled with a rising panic. Her lips formed into a delirious smile, but it was betrayed by the look of mortification in her blue eyes.
Icy was huffing and puffing like an upset heifer now, struggling to learn the mechanism for what bound her, and just how she could maneuver herself without falling back square on her chin. Ginger's questions in no way settled her, and with anger she cried again, "Y-YYOUR FAULT! IT'S—YOUR—FAULT!"
Her words stuck, hit a place of solemn horror within the belly of the guilty woman, Ginger. Though publicly she could hardly acknowledge such a verdict, she knew now, in a split second, that she was indeed to blame. But it was too much, and her mind exploded with the knowledge, pouring in from every direction, and in no way aided by the image of her struggling sister.
"NO! NOOOOOOOOOO!" She roared.
The sound of a type of gate was heard, and with it, a man's whistling intonations and heavy footsteps. Cioccolata had marked his appearance, and straight toward the cell with him came Secco, carrying the essentials—the camera, and some "instruments."
The women lost all control of their breathing in the following moments, as the footsteps grew ever closer.
As she recognized a second pair of footsteps, Ginger shrieked, "Someone else…! Someone else is coming!" And in these moments that it took for Cioccolata and Secco to cross the threshold from around the bend of the dungeon's external anatomy, recognition dawned on her. She remembered suddenly Cioccolata's words, his promises to place her within his dungeon. And now, she saw clearly, this was exactly where she was.
Her eyes were glazed open, as if held there by some other force—she could not blink and could no longer think. She waited for those final moments to reveal itself to her. She waited for the monster to show himself, and when he did, standing alongside his assistant outside the cell bars, she was thrown into another scream of revelation.
"Well! That's one way to say good morning! And how are we doing today?" Cioccolata declared clinically—it was clear he wasn't concerned over how anybody was doing.
Icy looked like a hot mess, her rebellion against her constraints was forgone, and her face was straight planted into the stone, her body overtaken by contortions. Ginger too, shook horribly, but had the strength to look both her assailants in the eyes, lingering over Secco's more heavily—who returned only barely hooded, wide eyes of a bone chilling bright blue.
Her terror only increased seeing Secco, who to her, right away, resembled something more dog than man. Something beastly and repulsive. In fact, there was hunger in his eyes, if he could salivate, she would imagine he would be doing so.
And the camera was soon rolling, and with it, Cioccolata's introduction into the cell and next his speech.
"Now, I'll be keeping it short, sweet and simple this time around." He placed his arms behind his back, straightened himself, and continued, "You two are the second set of pets I have successfully captured. My first time around, I had gotten carried away with some things, and now I've learned. We'll jump straight into the rules, and then I'll take your questions if you have any."
With a heavy slam, he laid the flogger upon the spare barrel, which always served now to hold his tools. As one might expect, he wore his "work clothes," save for the top. There was only one reason he would come down without it, and that was when he was to brand the slaves.
And this was something he would now immediately conduct after capture for all present and future slaves.
"You both already know my name. The difference hereon is in its title. You will defer to me as 'Master' in all things, indefinitely."
He smiled, letting his words be absorbed, then yet again, continued with zeal, "You may now consider yourselves as my sex slaves, and your rights have been reduced to any peculiarity of my whims alone. My assistant here, Secco, will see that your needs are met while I'm not around..."
Instead of Cioccolata continuing his speech however, Ginger broke into sobs. "Th-this…it can't be…tell me this is a joke!"
Now Cioccolata was stern, "Excuse me?" he asked quickly, then took a step closer, "Was thatan interruption?"
There was a wide smile on his face, but it was full of malicious intent. The closer he approached; the more Ginger was able to glimpse the most hellacious of his features. She saw that his green eyes were mad—blood shot. His face was strewn with green face paint, black lipstick, and his pearl white teeth served as a horrifying contrast.
Oh my god! My god, he's nuts! Her mind screamed at her. It was hard to imagine the level of insanity that was clearly hidden in this man, and with it came the most horrible, sinking feeling. With dread, she realized that if she and Icy didn't cooperate and do exactly what he said from here on, he would kill them.
She looked over at Icy, whose eyes were also plastered open and stone dry like the one beneath her. Her breathing was heavy, she looked about ready to take a heart attack if she weren't already experiencing a panic attack.
When she saw that Icy's state was so much worse than her own, she begged Cioccolata for forgiveness, quickly whimpering with breathy pauses, "Please! No, M-Master Cioccolata! I'm so sorry!"
It mattered not that both women were practically bare backed save for what seemed to be an ill-fitting hospital gown—their bare asses on full display to him along with the stranger, who she could now see in his half naked state, wielded a boner.
"Hm…" Cioccolata looked to be lost in thought, commenting almost absently, "I like the way you grovel. I'm not going to beat your ass yet anyway. You both must be branded first…" He murmured in sick glee, practically giggling after he said so to his own mental image. He didn't want welted skin to ruin the image of a beaten ass.
Icy noticeably bucked when the word, "branded," was announced. Her screaming began anew soon thereafter, as if the reality again began crushing her bones.
"AAAUUUUGGGHH! GET ME OUT OF HEREEE!"
Cioccolata stood back again, smiling at the mess he had upon his floor. He commented, "We'll get nowhere with the rules until your sister has calmed down some. I say we jump ahead to the branding, that way, she can get all the screams she wants out of her system." He looked to Secco as if to confirm this, despite it being decided anyway.
Secco made the usual grunts in affirmation, nodding his head stupidly. His display only repulsed the women further. It was clear to Ginger, he was indeed, far too much resembling a creature than a man. She briefly wondered if he could even speak. She saw the camera poised on them both, but it was far from being the priority in her mind with the mention of branding.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, Cioccolata was back with a crimson iron, long and ominous, and held with firm hands of delight. The latter sentiment could not be shared by the women, whose shaking intensified with their sobs and screams. Icy's tremors being far greater than Ginger's, sent Ginger into a more heightened panic than what she struggled to fight off. Strength was slowly becoming an impossible option.
Cioccolata stood before both, his maddened, wide eyes gazing at one woman's ass, then the next, then back again. He was trying to decide on who to brand first, and his eyes were settling on Ginger with gaping excitement. The fact that he was having so much fun in this made his stare even more traumatizing.
"Ohhh godd! Oh FUCK! OH GOD NO! She dragged out when the realization hit that she would certainly be first, befitting for the woman who had first caught the eye of this "demon in disguise" in the first place.
"Now, now, Ginger. You weren'tsaying that when you were riding my dick." A dark joke at another's expense was always good fun.
And so, the branding began, a painful process that no amount of will could sooth except for the increments in time. Cioccolata did offer some form of comfort, however. He explained that women had a greater pain tolerance during their ovulatory period, and if they were in such a phase, it be best they undergo the procedure now. However, this was all said with a sadistic smile on his face, so it was hardly well received.
Relative to Icy, Ginger took her branding well, despite flinching away at the hand who attempted to steady her outer thigh. Having Cioccolata so close to her ass now would never strike her with the same comfort again, at least during her training. Her shaking was far too intense to be calmed by his urgings for her to steady, despite her fixture. He rectified this by shoving his pointers far into her ass, making a lateral curl to hook her. It worked, and the process commenced.
Her blood curdling screams of anguish were too much for Icy evidently. Witnessing the pain left the poor, former stripper in such a shock, that she lost all voluntary control of the contents within her bladder, and it was emptied upon the floor.
Once Cioccolata first smelled, and then appreciated the stream trickling Icy's thighs, he tsked and shook his head.
"Another pisser," he commented with mock disgust, "I bet you suffer from loose bowels as well."
Icy was utterly humiliated in every sense. She wanted to stop yet couldn't. She was dehumanized already, and she hadn't any idea how much worse her urine upon her outer thigh would serve her branding process. Her scream from whence hot iron met ruddy skin was terrifying, spine chilling to any onlooker. Yet none witnessed but Cioccolata's enthusiastic servant.
"I'll take note of what a pissy bitch you are. You'd better use this time down here to practice your Kegels, or I'll give you something to really piss over."
He stood up, returned the iron, and once he made it back to the cell, again focusing on Icy's pathetic and branded ass. Only one minute into the sting of burning flesh, he was struck with a new idea as he watched the urine trail leave through the drain. This was exactly why he had them placed close to it, and coincidentally, Icy nearest to it.
He stood back over Icy's wrecked body, ready to sink upon her thighs at any given moment, except that he had commanded both women to stay on their knees, with asses pointed high in his direction.
He began undoing the button from the hole that held his bright trousers. Out came his dick, which was of course, semi erect, and would only grow in its firmness after the actions that would soon come to pass.
With his dick in hand, Cioccolata, resuming a gruff tone, declared, "…And since you enjoy pissing yourself so much, I'm sure you won't mind my adding to your mess."
Just as what would be expected, he unleashed upon her a steady stream of urine falling straight on her ass with a splatter. Ginger was splashed a bit by the contents, but none had hit her most sensitive area—her freshly branded thigh. Icy on the other hand, was groaning in pain when the warm stream met her new wound, hardly wrapping her head around how much more humiliating things had gotten for her. Soon enough however, she was kept busy from dwelling upon such ignominy when she felt the veritable burn of his bodily fluids meet the frayed epithelium and seep into the dented, inner layer.
Icy wretched upon her restraints, pulling Ginger practically out of balance in a fit of renewed sobs.
"Oh! You don't want to do that!" Cioccolata announced with a jape, "If either of you fall from your knees, there'll be some consequences! ~" And by consequences, he meant a flogging.
Upon his constrictions, he knelt behind the struggling woman, with only one knee upon the stone and the other leg hoisting himself up. He resumed expelling his bladder's contents, but this time, aiming for the cross marking of Icy's fresh brand. Now, with the force of his urine so exacting, the woman was practically clawing at the soldering at the base of the alloy which provided for her entrapments.
It couldn't have lasted for so long, not at all, but in her mind, it lasted far too long, and she wondered how long he could go on pissing, and when it would ever end. Aside from her gasps at the conclusion, the sound of the liquid flowing into the chambers of the drainage beside her was all the noise needed to fill the silence of the cell. It could have been followed with a sigh of relief, if her master did not decide to alert her sense of apprehension once more by the slap of his palm over her soaked ass. He rubbed his now rock-hard erection into the trails of moisture of her thighs, and with that measly lubrication, began prodding into her unwilling opening.
"Dirty, spoiled ragazza. Here I wanted to give my attention to Ginger again—I already fucked you this morning!" He exclaimed boisterously.
To her agony, he eased into her dry, commanding Secco to get a load of the position, maneuvering the camera around in every direction or the other, while Cioccolata showed off for his future viewings and those of his internet pals in psychopathy. William was going to love this one.
After a good round in, he switched to Ginger for the remainder of the sperm he had steadily built. Having promised her anal, he began pressing into her dry ass without remorse. It goes without saying that Icy offered no great amount of lubrication to coat his cock, even for her sister's benefit. Ginger was left gritting her teeth for this one, as her unwilling external anal sphincter fought against him for all 11 inches.
All this ramming that took place, began to oscillate the other woman and vice versa, but for Icy, only relief could be found in this indirect rocking—as it does an infant in the cradle. Ginger sobbed and choked on her cries almost the whole way through, feeling full well the effect the slap of his thighs had against the wound, until his cock's pre-ejaculation made for sufficient lubrication in her rectum.
Cioccolata was groaning, panting heavily through the nares until he cleared his pleasure ridden breath with, "Ah, didn't you want to be in my dungeon, my kitten? Was this not what you had in mind…?" He exhaled and rejoined his efforts with a sudden pull on the gruff of her hips. With as much dedication as he displayed stamping his biological load into her, he concluded, "…Women just never know what they want."
And the maddening games continued for at least a couple hours. Icy found no hope of desiccation when Cioccolata ordered Secco to add a tertiary and final pissy marking on her body, renewing the sting of her broken flesh. In this way, both women were always kept occupied even when Cioccolata was more deliberately focused on the other. And even when Icy dared hope for relief from her piss-stained state, she only found herself meeting the face of pain yet again to the touch of Cioccolata's antiseptics at the site of her injury.
The slave training would carry, as it always did, for the following month until he could see both women broken and dependent upon him, wanting and craving his touch, positive appraisal, and desire. Excitement simply wasn't the mot juste in expressing just how enthusiastic he was to witness all the lengths they would go to in begging him to mark the end of their training, so that they may go upstairs.
In the time period, Ginger was the first to break, at a record of only 5 days! This was much to Cioccolata's great satisfaction. He especially enjoyed fucking her in her willing state before Icy, who was not yet on the same page as her sister. From here on, he had acquired enough foresight to assume that Ginger would indeed be a high marking, preferred pet of his. But would he prefer her before Caramella? That was another matter that would be less than favorable for the newer edition.
But as of now, these future clearances held no weight upon the present moment. For in the days to follow up until Ginger's first, broken Stockholmed state, the women would alternate between bonding and bickering. It was often the case that Ginger would wail upon her stone heaven as if she thought her pleas could be carried to the golden gates, to which Icy would remind her that it was all her doing to ascribe to their current dilemma. And here, Ginger would defend herself, refusing any form of accountability in the slightest.
It wouldn't last long before she broke over her younger sister in a fit of sobs and apologies, however. There was no regret in the world that could come close to that of Ginger's, but worse could be possibly be said of Icy's. It seemed innocent enough, in theory. One would not expect to wind up a sex slave just from going home with a man they didn't know, and no one really possessed the prescience to call it.
Did the fault lie in having such low standards and regard for oneself, as a woman? Perhaps. Were these two women, unlike the dungeon's former inhabitants, deserving of their fates? Regardless of how tolerant one may be on the matter; reason would nonetheless point to the former occupants as having close to no guilt—especially the girl who was a minor of the bunch.
One matter would be observed objectively and distributed equally upon all women—their trial. Though Nocciola and Caramella passed theirs, now was the time of reckoning for Ginger and Icy. The cries of both women, just as it was for the others, were met without reply, for they were alone, as they would spend for a majority of their time in training for the next month. In this, there may have not been a sound at all uttered by them.
For Ginger in specific, the tears ought of been for joy. Indeed, she had done everything and all in her power to achieve the life she had always wanted. This aspiration, now realized, did not come in the package she had expected, but as they say, "be careful of what you wish for." In being a harlot, Ginger sealed her own fate. The dream was riches, and the price to pay for it was never too high nor too low. There was nothing beneath the woman; therefore, a man like Cioccolata was not beneath her. To be taken care of for the entirety of her life, she had now, at 25, achieved the dream—no matter how low she stooped for it. She had no room to cry, complain, or whine. The branding iron she had felt was much like the devil's mark which she had knowingly sold herself into.
As much as this woman's actions grazed the visage of tragedy, it could never compare to the level of misfortunate that became of her sister. There was no fault on the hands of Icy; she could not validate herself with the idea that she had, at the very least, fulfilled her dream. Her dreams and those of Ginger were like comparing sunshine to moonlight, both bestowed light, but owing to different sources, displayed it with different hues. She didn't hold the same value for riches, nor did she pursue it any more than she had to within her former work. Her greatest flaw was her lack of assertion, and the inability to draw the line to Ginger's constant negative influence over her character. In fact, on every fault along the way in her narrative, from cradle to her feeble attempts of questioning Ginger's whereabouts, were all pointing to her decrepit conduct sprung about as a result of an asinine sense of self. Icy hadno self outside of Ginger.
Now, just like her older sister, she would once again follow in her footsteps; as she did in stripping and the degradation of chastity, so she would in slavery.
27, January 2000
The quest for knowledge was never finished.
At over 3 weeks of training for Icy and Ginger, Cioccolata found himself growing ever discontented with the lack of progress in finding a new slave. By now, he thought he would have another girl occupied in the cell across from them! Fortunately, his newest editions were especially interesting to observe. As usual, he applied the scientific method in his procedures. Cioccolata was not against disproving any hypothesis of his, if he could learn something new, he was ecstatic. Through conditioning Ginger and Icy, he learned that it was still possible to bond with women who had large body counts. Were there some variables to be considered? Of course. For one, he had, for this reason, went a lot harder in taming these women. It was possible his experiment was flawed; he was going to have to test this many more times to reach a conclusion.
If he could at least acquire one more whore…well, they're everywhere! How hard could that possibly be?
It was this frustration in mind that landed Cioccolata, now sitting in the same lounge area with his personal bar, pool table and beloved laptop upon him. The cushions of his loveseat could hardly offer comfort to his foul mood, and neither could Nocciola, who now was massaging his stinky feet. No, especially not her. Something had to be done soon, or he would be resorting to using her as his punching bag. That would hardly be considered fitting for her only beginning rotation within his wings of the estate.
All this prompted him to decide, on a whim, that he ought of take up a vacation somewhere, perhaps within the next couple weeks. If he was having no luck here in Roma, perhaps he ought of throw his bait elsewhere? He pondered then on some islands within the country's territory. It would certainly leave him plenty of eye candy and revealing enough to ascertain him some good breeding material…
After some furious keyboard tapping, as well as shooing Nocciola from his feet, he pulled up some booking information in Sardinia. Beaches, nightlife, and fine cuisine. There was nothing better! Cioccolata didn't bother to call Secco to let him know his plans. Due to the occupation of the slaves, Secco would be left here with his tasks whether he liked it or not. But his foulness was not something that couldn't be silenced with a temporary increase in his stipend.
He placed a call to a certain mafioso who went by the name of "Santulli." As high ranking as those amongst Unità Speciale, if not more, he was who those of higher rankings knew only for servicing them for flights per private jet.
He and Santulli were somewhat on a first name basis, if you excuse the fact that nearly all men within Passione operated by aliases. It should also be noted that Cioccolata was not placing this call because he absolutely depended on Santulli to get to his desired destination. As a matter of fact, Cioccolata had been licensed in the operation of aircrafts, (though his license had long expired). He had no idea how such a skill would aid him in the future, but knowledge was never a waste.
When the arrangements were said and done, Cioccolata crossed his ankles upon the cushioned stool where he was previously enjoying his massage. At 4 slaves, he was happy to think that his dream of managing a harem was halfway to its completion. Good things simply don't often come to those who wait, and it made itself a great motto for his life—one he was obviously abiding by in his pursuit for a new slave to entertain him and provide material for further research.
In the silence and peace that encompassed the man as he laid there, with his beautiful eyes closed, visions made home in his brain, playing before him with vivid color—it was the camera roll of his memories. There was blood. A lot of blood. Not just from his 4 murdered patients, but those who he'd been ordered to kill within Passione. He speculated on this some, through the lens of higher philosophy—a subject he had always exceled in aside from the sciences.
Could it be said that Cioccolata was a criminal? It may sound laughable—how could an idea so completely obvious be presented to the reader? Yet, it wasn't what was plain and obvious that formed or derived the question, but the implication and application in all realms. Again, who deems behaviors as "criminal?" Who makes the rules? The lowest of the lows of Passione's filth, as far as power status, filled the blocks within the prisons and holding facilities throughout Italy, and yet the highest ranking within the syndicate, such as Cioccolata, remained untouched. Even if he were incarcerated, he or the Boss could bail him without trouble. This very fact alone pointed to a larger problem within the society. Why was bail an option, a ready one, for the most horrid and cruel man imaginable in Italy?
Indeed, Cioccolata was a man who simply could exercise the full extent of his power without repercussions. Striking a deal with the local police would even save him the trouble of interrogation. In theory, if he so desired, he could go outside and murder a couple citizens and have a slap on the wrist—though not from the Boss, who, unless otherwise has ordered a hit, will not tolerate one taken upon one's own leisure. Big drats for Papà Mold. All thoughts aside of his desire to rid of his Boss, for a large extent, this very reason, Cioccolata continued to ponder this.
Politicians were criminals as well. They, like him, operated much the same if not in a similar hierarchy to that of a mafia. Through their connections, they visited all types of "evil" upon the masses, and in a large degree, manipulate them to in accordance to whatever world order they have set upon. They too, operated under the premise of having the people's best interests at heart, when it was really their own pockets they sought to fill. Cioccolata didn't necessarily see anything wrong with this setup; the weak and feeble deserved their lot in all this. But the overall question of politics was one he had sat and ruminated with a lot more strongly than he had in his 20s—back when he had simply no time to think on anything other than his education.
Now he wondered if medicine was a distraction from what he truly wanted.
As passionate as he was for science, he wondered this more often than not, as he grew older. It cannot be understated, his love for the field, and his desire to still practice within it. But a man like him? Excuse his habitual gloating, but greater things were surely meant to be for him. And what greater enactment of power could he possess than that of a politician?
It was another reason that the idea of the Boss' power was all consuming for him.
He had to surpass him at any cost, if he had to destroy the city, he would do so. If all men, women, and children within the vicinities had to perish, he would do it. He felt entitled, he felt there was no better man to execute such massacre—he could do it with his eyes closed! Yes…he was in fact, the best and only man that could.
There once was a time in the country's history where those in power collaborated with the mafia. If Cioccolata could overthrow the Boss, he would make it so again—at any cost. This latter phrase was what he focused on…at any cost.
The Boss was a fool! He had such immense power and influence to become dictator of the country, yet he would not exercise it! Instead, he hid his identity to the entire family, hiding out in god knows whatever shithole he had. He was a schizotypal maniac, a hindrance and above all, to Cioccolata's understanding—a moron, reject, weakling.
One might think that Cioccolata was purely chaotic, that he donned a clown face and chuckled maniacally, doing whatever, whenever he wanted for whatever psychotic reason. The truth was that he was instead quite orderly and precise. Despite his full-blown psychopathy, he possessed the greatest traits that came with narcissism and Machiavellianism. He was opportunistic, and for most of his career, he had a good grip of his impulses, while steadily bringing his goals toward fruition.
Duty. He had a duty, a strong sense of obligation, order, and progress—even if no one else agreed with his doctrine of such. These traits and more made him wonder if political science were his second calling, at this phase of his life. As stated, he was a criminal…but the greatest of criminals were politicians.
And there was no greater criminal than Cioccolata. No other mastermind.
Just a couple years ago, during this exact month, when he had first obtained his medical license, Cioccolata had these same exact questions in his mind. A wonder for what the future may have held for him had he chosen a different path. He opted for healthcare rather than his father's urging of business. What if he opted for this?
Vita di diamante. His own idea of a diamond life. What could it look like for him? Mafioso of his accolade would seem to be the be all end all of a diamond life. Call him greedy, but it simply wasn't enough—and this was the symptom and perhaps the defect of all powerful men. This essence of duende revisiting his soul was once felt at an earlier period, at the peaks of his worldly understanding. The reverie captured him within the same moment sleep stole him, and the images of his former life as a physician made itself the diegesis of what was now, in his present life, a meaningless dull.