Thread: La Cosa Nostra [ Blackthrone & Fruit ]

There were two types of males in my world men and boys. Men made the leaders of the world. What they desired they simply grabbed with no repercussions. Boys were only good for pleading and whining, and instead of seizing what they sought, they'd reach over and their hands would fall short while they flailed them helplessly. During the hour I first met Ted, he presented and conducted himself as a man. Yet the instant my lips tightened around his shaft, he squirmed and panted like a teenage boy. I thought he was the sort of man to lift me up, pin my down, and spread me with his cock, but he resorted to pleas and polite chivalrous requests. He's gonna' be easy to play , I remember thinking to myself when he mentioned wanting to 'have me'. A thin thread of saliva bridged the gap between my lips and his cock when I pulled him out. I stroked him as he hardened under my grip. I could feel his lust, his warmth, and rock-hard erection between my fingers. It felt like I owned him at that instant, as if I was seizing a dog by his leash, and I proceeded to stroke him and kiss him and smile at him. My back rested against the bed and I looked up at him dreamily, biting my lips and smiling as innocent as a whore. I decided to hand him the modesty my clothes were covering, and slowly guided his erection into my skirt, around the fabric, and between my folds. I couldn't help but let out a purr when he entered me. My eyes rolled up and I held my breath until he was fully sheathed inside me, and I couldn't breathe until he pulled out - but by then my breaths turned into moans. And as he continued thrusting, and I moaned and moaned. I called his name, I rallied his spirits, I prayed for God, and I cursed. His balls were spanking my cheeks with every stab, and my groans continued to shamelessly echo in the room, singing to the rhythm our bodies orchestrated with the squeaking bed. A week later... I couldn't believe it when Marco told me that my father was murdered. My relationship with him wasn't as intimate as most father-daughter relationships were but I've always looked up to him with respect and he'd always treated me with respect. Ever since I'd been a little girl he believed in me even if he didn't bother to hug me every morning or kiss me every night. That day when I stared at his dead face I couldn't contain the rage that filled me. Poor Marco was shaking next to me as he explained the probable cause of death but I didn't need an autopsy report to know that the blue veins around my father's neck meant that he was choked to death. I could see the marks the culprit left around the veins from all the choking. Poor man must have been struggling for minutes , I remember thinking as I slowly sobbed at the scene. Everyone had been at the death scene that day and everyone attended the funeral as well. From the oldest veterans in the family to the newest recruits. Ricky Bianchi was among the youngest men in the family. He stared at the coffin solemnly as it was buried. Poor man couldn't keep his eyes on mine when he gave me his condolences but I couldn't tell if it was sorrow that overtook him or my intimidation. The siblings Marco and Cristina Romano were there as well as Peter Little, Gio and Lucus Tribbiani, and others. No authorities were contacted regarding the murder as per the Omerta. The code of silence , I thought of it when I saw my father's corpse, I wonder if my father's corpse will twist if I decide to call the cops . The next day all members of the family gathered for a meeting as elections for the new boss were to be held.