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Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, accompanied by the hollow crackle and pop as the bulbs flickered on and off; dancing for attention. You looked up at the crude theatre sign, promising a good time and beckoning a crowd of one. Well, two if you count the man in rags behind you, cupping his ears and mumbling incessantly; mind broken, far removed from reality. You don’t suppose he was all that interested in tonight's showing of Bo Dy Follies Extravaganza, you sniff.
Glass crunches under your heel as you step forward, offering your ticket to the usher - or at least the offal that remained of him - behind the glass. Once welcomed inside, you survey the lobby; pretty busy, you muse as your eyes trace the outlines of mannequins posed in ardent sexual endeavours. Pretty busy indeed.
A loud bang emanates from deeper into the building, ripping you from your thoughts. Startled, you swivel your head to check the direction it came from; half expecting to see a large grunt hurtling at you, axe lofted high. Nothing. Your shoulders slump in relief and the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears fades, replaced with muffled sobs, grunts and groans from within the showroom.
Your objective.
Suddenly feeling exposed, you glance around the room - only the empty eyes of mannequins return your gaze, but you can’t shake the discomfort that’s crept in as you shuffle towards the stairs. Hunched over, you crawl up the staircase; each step muffled by carpet and punctuated by the low groan of tired floorboards beneath - far too loud for comfort in the stillness of the theatre's lobby.
A dry chuckle escapes you, you can’t help but feel like a child sneaking around after bedtime: only the consequences of getting caught here are much more severe.
Double doors stand before you, tentatively pressing an ear to the wood you listen briefly; not much can be discerned beyond broken sobs and scratchy screams. There’s a voice - Franco’s - but you can’t quite make out what he’s saying.
With a deep inhale, you push the door open slightly; all the clamour and noise of the showroom rushes around you - bringing the building to life. “Eh? You like that, Mister District Attorney? Oh yeah, you do.” growls a voice from within, a man gasping for air wails in response.
Gritting your teeth you slip through the door and step closer onto the balcony, cautious of any creaky floorboards that could alert Franco of your presence. “Yeah… There you go, girls. Show our friend a good time.” Another step closer, you’re at the bannister now, peering over the edge and down below where a man - your objective, the district attorney - sits naked centre stage, tormented by animatronic sex dolls.
Before him is Franco Barbi, his back is to you but you can tell he’s lost in the moment, to pleasure; slumped over with one arm resting on the table beside him, cradling a glass whilst the other… Well, the other hand was busy.
You swallow thickly, turning your flushed face away from Franco’s performance. Embarrassment bubbles in your chest, as though you’re the one who's been caught with your pants around your ankles. Painfully alert, you can’t help but notice the slow, rhythmic slap, slap, slap of Franco pleasuring himself; a quiet ‘oh’ escapes your lips.
“Yeah, you filthy pompinaros, get it.”
Ears burning, you tentatively steal one more peek over your shoulder - for cautionaries sake, nothing more.
Certainly not curiosity.
Gaze lingering, you can’t help but follow the now-rapid motions of his arm before your focus flits to his other hand, tense around the glass that rests on the table beside him.
From the shake of Franco’s shoulders and his heady, punched out groans, you’re assuming he’s close. Distracted. You ignore the warmth settling in your stomach and reach to press the red button, slinking back from the bannister in the hopes that you’ll be out of view.
The show comes to a grinding halt, Franco slams his fist down on the table beside him hard, followed by glass clinking and shattering. You flinch.
“What the fuck is this? God damn it, I was this close!” Franco’s enraged voice bounces off the walls, the sound of his chair tipping back and clattering against the floor as he abruptly stands to storm off signals his departure.
“You’re gonna find out what getting fucked is!” He threatens through gritted teeth. Parting words.
Fuck.
You hesitate, not wanting to stand up too soon lest you risk getting your face blown clean off by a round from Franco’s Lupara. Listening closely, you find yourself alone with nothing but the subdued cries of the DA. It’s safe. Ish.
Not wanting to linger, you briskly descend the stairs - no longer paying attention to their groans of protest - and slink into the showroom, heading straight for the stage. Against your better judgement you don’t pause to survey the extravagant interior; round tables decorated with bottles of wine and human offal, mannequins seated alongside decomposing remains.
No, your vision is laser focused on the District Attorney and those damned sex dolls. Placing your palms against the cool floor of the stage in preparation of hoisting yourself up on the count of three.
One. The sooner you get this done, the sooner you can leave.
Two. The sooner you can leave, the sooner you can tend to the growing ache in your core and the sooner you can forget about this entire experience.
Three. Click.
Shit.
Cold metal presses against your lower back, panic punches the breath from your lungs and your blood runs cold. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You’re frozen, eyes squeezed shut as you brace for the inevitable: a tooth-filled buckshot tearing through your spine. It won’t be enough to kill me. You worry. God, I hope it’s enough to kill me.
“You whore,” He spits, jamming the muzzle roughly into you; it knocks you off balance, forcing you to fold uncomfortably forward over the lip of the stage.
“Fucking cocktease whore!” Franco grits, jabbing the muzzle into you once more. “You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done.”
A gloved hand grips your shaking shoulder, squeezing roughly as you’re pulled from the stage and forcibly spun around. Franco rams the butt of his shotgun into your stomach, tearing a pained gasp from your throat as you drop to your knees, struggling to catch your breath.
Ringing in your ears drowns out Franco’s continued ranting, your head swims and the room is spinning. Fuck. He’s so close. Meekly, you peer up at the blonde through your lashes; attention snapping to his slacks, so close they almost brush against your nose - they do little to hide the evidence of his half-mast arousal. You take a shaky, deep breath - purely with the intention to fill your burning lungs, not to savour an inhale of his musk. Heavy. Tobacco, alcohol and sweat. A hint of something sickeningly sweet, almost putrid.
Your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips. Oh God, I’m gonna die horny. You lament.
With herculean effort, you drag your eyes up to Franco’s face; studying his scorned features through half-lidded eyes whilst worrying your bottom lip. His eyebrows were knit together, a scowl tugged at his lips - but his eyes? They were hungry.
“Dumb slut, is that how you wanna pay? Huh?” His hand returns to your shoulder, pressing down and forcing you from your knees to the floor. Franco takes a step back, running his fingers through his dishevelled hair, purring out a command: “sit.”
You do. Obediently watching Franco settle himself into a chair, one hand holding Lupara steady with the barrel aimed in your direction, the other works on discarding his bowtie and popping the buttons of his shirt.
“Got yourself all worked up watching the show, slut?” He snarls, sinking back into the chair and spreading his legs with a long, low groan. “Yeah. Bet you were watching with your filthy hand between your thighs.” Franco continues breathily, palming his erection through the fabric of his slacks before fumbling with his belt and zipper.
Your eyes are fixated on his ministrations, chewing your bottom lip in anticipation - you don’t even realise that you’re leaning forward from your place on the floor. Franco notices your eagerness and scoffs, “fuckin’ dog. Practically drooling for my cock.”
His hands slip beneath his pants, fishing his cock out and giving it a few quick pumps, “this what you want?” He grunts. Franco motions with Lupara, beckoning you forward, “c’mere sweetness.”
Stomach performing somersaults, you abandon what little shame you had and shuffle towards Franco on your knees, coming to rest between his legs with your hands planted firmly on your thighs.
A gloved hand comes to cradle your face, cool digits soothing your flushed skin. Body slumping, you submit and nuzzle into his palm - only for Franco to roughly twist his fingers and grab your jaw, jerking your face close to his: “gonna make it up to me? Show how sorry you are for ruining baby’s good time?”
You nod frantically, as best you can in his firm grip at least. Satisfied, Franco leans back.
You use this moment to take in the scene before you; hungry eyes trailing from Franco’s chest, over the soft curve of his stomach - God, you want to take a bite - and down to his crotch. It looked like he made an effort to groom himself as best he can, coarse blonde hairs curled around and crowned his half-hard cock, twitching under your scrutiny. What he lacked in length, he more than made up for in girth.
Involuntarily, you rub your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to subdue your own growing need. You trace a particularly prominent vein with your eyes, from base to tip; his head was peeking from under his foreskin, flushed pink and glistening with precome under the stage lights. Cute. You thought involuntarily.
“Well, what’re you waiting for, toots? An invitation?” Franco teases, lacing his fingers through your hair, tugging your face down into his crotch. Your nose brushes along his cock, pulling you from your stupor. “Baby needs mommy's attention.” He growls.
Your tongue darts from your lips, swiping kitten-licks across his neglected tip; savouring the salty tang of his precome. Teasingly, you drag your tongue slowly down the length of his cock, following a prominent vein before trailing back to the tip and popping his head between your soft lips.
Franco moans breathily, his hand coming to rest on your head, spurring you on. You ghost your hands up his legs, resting your palms flat against the plump of his thighs and squeezing gently.
Slowly, you lathe the flat of your tongue across his sensitive cockhead; hollowing your cheeks to increase the deliciously hot pressure. His cock twitches in response, a pleased hum escapes you and vibrates against him, causing Franco’s body to jerk with a raspy gasp.
The young man's muscles tense underneath your hold, urging you to repeat the action. “Fuckin’ cocktease…” He chokes out, face distorted in pleasure.
Suddenly, your head is forced down. Your wet lips stretch around his girth, the tip of his thick cock just barely grazing the back of your throat, but it’s enough to make you gag and instinctively pull back.
Franco holds you down firmly, low groans falling from his parted lips as he revels in you struggling against his hold. You whine pathetically around his cock, drool pools at the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin and prompting you to try and swallow around his girth.
He moans loudly; pressing you impossibly closer, “choke on it.”
Black spots dance across your vision; you whine involuntarily, body becoming slack from the lack of air. Just when you can’t take any more, Franco pulls you off his cock with a wet pop.
Coughing, you collapse into his lap, mouth agape and eyes watering as you swallow down air.
Lupara taps against the side of your face; “look at what you do to me…” he snarls, words heavy with want.
Your eyes flit from the gun to his cock; flushed red and standing fully erect, glistening with your spit and leaking thick globs of precome.
You chance a glance at his face, cheeks and ears tinged red and gnawing on his puffy bottom lip. Franco’s eyes are squinted and teary, gaze unfocused.
Seeing him come undone from your ministrations sends heat roiling through you, it takes all your strength not to slip a hand between your thighs and relieve some of the pressure.
Instead, you rub soothing circles into his thighs and coo: “poor baby, is it too much?”
Franco inhales shakily, nodding as his dominant façade melts away.
You slide your deft fingers around the base of Franco’s cock, squeezing gently as you angle his leaking cockhead to rub against your stuck-out tongue.
“Let mommy take care of you.”
A pathetic whine escapes him, keening into your hand.
With a pleased hum you press featherlight kisses against the tip of his twitching cock, trailing down to the base and inhale deeply. Sighing contentedly, you nose against his arousal and lathe wet kisses back up to the tip.
Wrapping your swollen lips around his head and sinking down, teasingly slow, until the full length of his cock rests warm and heavy against your tongue. You bob your head leisurely, satisfied hums and drool slipping past your reddened lips; eyes falling shut, savouring every inch of his length.
Franco trembles beneath you, his wanton moans devolving into sobs and hics. He’s close already, you muse, mischief curling at the corners of your lips as you decide that you’re not leaving until you’ve milked every last drop from the mafioso.
Humming, you drag your tongue along the underside Franco’s pulsating cock; suckling his leaking tip. Without warning, you sink his length back into the warmth of your mouth and hollow your cheeks, settling on a quick, sloppy pace.
His hand flies back to your head, gloved fingers tangling through your hair and gripping tightly; anchoring himself as he curses under his breath. Needy whines fall from Franco’s parted lips, his hips buck weakly in an attempt to match your rhythm.
“Mommy, oh, mother. Please, please mommy -” His pleading melts into a high pitched keen, hips stuttering.
Your scalp burns deliciously from the vice-grip Franco has on you, lost in his stupor. His thrusts have become sloppy; obscene, wet noises echo throughout the room as Franco fucks into your willing mouth with overwhelming desperation.
Suddenly, both his hands are on your head, pushing you down onto his cock whilst his body folds over you; trembling with hot tears spilling from his bloodshot eyes as he releases into your mouth. Thick ropes of come coat your tongue, greedily swallowing it all down with a heady groan of your own.
Franco collapses back into the chair, panting heavily, arm draped across his tear-stained eyes as his head falls back. You pull off his softening cock with a wet pop, circling your tongue around his leaking cockhead; making sure you lap up every last drop.
Overstimulated, Franco reaches down to pathetically push your face away, breath shuddery. You rock back onto your heels, laden eyes drinking in the sight before you: Franco’s tear-tracked face, eyes still welling with fresh tears as his chest heaves with each gulp and hitch of air.
You swallow, about to speak when quiet sobs break through the moment. Both yours and Franco’s head snap to the side: the District Attorney. You forgot he was there.
Sheepishly, you turn to look at Franco.
You wonder if you’ll get a good grade for this trial.