Bastian Uncovered | Vol. 5: The Offer
Mr. Cabrera requested my services again. It’s always nice to be appreciated but it’s also nice to visit returning clients. Mr. Cabrera uses me roughly, holding my head in his hands and fucking his fat cock deep into my throat. I can take that. I even enjoy it to a point. I know what he will do, though. Going to see a new client always carries the risk of the unknown. The Mafia makes it clear that there are limits and breaking them could be very costly, but I never know what limits have been negotiated, nevermind whether they match my own. My place is just to do as I am told. Mr. Cabrera surprised me, though. He didn’t immediately order me to undress. He actually invited me to sit, and served coffee. He said he had a proposition to discuss with me. My heart skipped a beat. I walk on a tightrope with a razor’s edge among these high powered men. I can’t afford to disappoint my clients, but double crossing the Mafia would mean my life. It turned out that he wants to set a regular appointment, which I’m more than happy to accommodate. He’s a handsome man with a big dick and a pleasant personality, I could do far worse with my time. Mr. Cabrera is a businessman, though, and businessmen like to own things. Of course he knows all too well that I am owned by the mafia. This is a fantasy for him. He will go through the formalities of serving me coffee, making a proposal that, of course, I am not allowed to refuse, and then shake my hand, as if anything has actually been negotiated. He will give me some very generous compensation, just between the two of us, which I am allowed to accept, as long as it doesn’t compromise my loyalty to my real owners. He doesn’t do that for me, although I certainly hope he will think I’m worth it. He does it for himself. It furthers the fantasy that he has purchased me and I belong to him, if only for one afternoon a month. After we have shaken hands and he has asserted his ownership and put me back in my place by having me clear the table of our coffee, he undresses me and kisses me tenderly, with unmasked hunger. Without thinking, he betrays himself. I’m not merely a luxury that he has purchased for himself. I am a drug that he craves. It would not surprise me if his wife barely consents to be fucked, even by a man as fine as he is. But I know for certain she would rather die than get on her knees and allow him to grab her head in his strong hands and force his fat cock deep into her throat, over and over, until she chokes and gags and thick strands of spit drip onto her chest. I do that for him. That and much more because every time I feel the hunger in his kisses I know that, whatever games he wants to play, I am the one thing in his life that he allows himself to need.
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