guyloveshotstories
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- Feb 15, 2012
- Posts
- 6,552
Boss Joseph "Joey" Brownstone
Height 6'3"
Weight 210 pounds
Medium build with smooth body. Physically fit with piercing ice blue eyes, thin lips, squared jaw and smooth facial cheeks. Bristling sandy hair. No tattoos or piercings.
"Where is that slut?!" I barked from my bed.
My guards, outside the room, look at one another and then at their watches. My whore was late. Laying on my bed with a bottle of whiskey at the end table, wearing shorts, and she was running an hour late, so I started the party without her. There was a knock on the door, "What?" I yelled, annoyed.
My guard, Dylan, sticks his head inside, "Boss, she's here...." trailing off.
"And?"
"Boss, she's shit faced" he says reluctantly.
Sitting up and rubbing my eyes, I wrap a bathrobe around my body and shuffle out there to deal with her. Damn slut. Pixie was her name. She was a model, found her in the clubs and she fell hard for me. But, she couldn't handle the coke and the alcohol. I watched for months as it ate away at her. She lost her looks, she began an addict, sucking and fucking everyone that would give her a dollar or a fix. She was sitting in the living room babbling incoherently. When she looked up at me with those hollow eyes, she didn't recognize me. Still she tried to crawl to me, begging for some more. I didn't step back. I growled and kicked her away. Garbage. She wouldn't make anything out what she become.
"Dylan?"
"Boss?"
"Take her to the rehab center on Dragoon Lane. Make sure she doesn't leave. I don't want to see her face here again," stabbing a finger at her.
The boys grabbed her and hauled her out, kicking and screaming. Damn shame. She had the body of a pornstar, all natural, now she looked 70.
Going to the large bay windows of my place I could look out upon the city. Neighborhoods, projects, infrastructure, social services, soup kitchens, public transportation...all of it, I had a hand in. Following my father, Joey, he built an empire through fear and intimidation. Unlike other families that blackmailed and murdered, our family, my family now, forced out the crime families, forced out the bad drugs, the gangs, the murderers. We made it so people, old ladies, could walk home in safety. We used force, we killed, we stole, but we only took from the bad guys. The gangs.
The only problem was, we were bad guys ourselves. At least in the eyes of the police, and the District Attorneys. We've been at war for years. When I took control of the family, I wanted to stop meaningless bloodshed and help people. We didn't fight the cops, yet they weren't our friends. I had to get people from the inside to help me. I need a mole in the police.
My boys had staked out several candidates, most of them were new. New ones were like Play-dough, easy to mold and easily seduced. They were wide eyed, eager. When you instill in them that they can make more money working for me, they could be easily swayed.
I had to be careful. Last mole we had nearly gave it up. She was a bright eyed, young, talented girl with a wicked tongue. She got in too deep. She started making friends with the gangs. Then they took her one night during a party. We found her in the warehouse district at the water front. They killed her, not before they fucked the living shit out of her, in her uniform, came all over her face, body, her badge, inside of her, humiliating her before they executed her. For that, I swore revenge. We found the hoodlums, all twelve of them. I watched as my boys forced them to their knees, made them cry and beg for mercy. So they could feel like how she felt, then we gunned them down, starting with the knees and working our way up.
I may be a crime boss, but I had a grudging respect for the people who wore the badge. They do their job, we do ours.
One of my boys, Edgar, came up to me with several of the new candidates that they talked to about working for us and asked for me to see them again. Sitting down on a plush leather chair, I took the photos and looked them over. All were good looking. "Nice..." whispering.
Height 6'3"
Weight 210 pounds
Medium build with smooth body. Physically fit with piercing ice blue eyes, thin lips, squared jaw and smooth facial cheeks. Bristling sandy hair. No tattoos or piercings.
"Where is that slut?!" I barked from my bed.
My guards, outside the room, look at one another and then at their watches. My whore was late. Laying on my bed with a bottle of whiskey at the end table, wearing shorts, and she was running an hour late, so I started the party without her. There was a knock on the door, "What?" I yelled, annoyed.
My guard, Dylan, sticks his head inside, "Boss, she's here...." trailing off.
"And?"
"Boss, she's shit faced" he says reluctantly.
Sitting up and rubbing my eyes, I wrap a bathrobe around my body and shuffle out there to deal with her. Damn slut. Pixie was her name. She was a model, found her in the clubs and she fell hard for me. But, she couldn't handle the coke and the alcohol. I watched for months as it ate away at her. She lost her looks, she began an addict, sucking and fucking everyone that would give her a dollar or a fix. She was sitting in the living room babbling incoherently. When she looked up at me with those hollow eyes, she didn't recognize me. Still she tried to crawl to me, begging for some more. I didn't step back. I growled and kicked her away. Garbage. She wouldn't make anything out what she become.
"Dylan?"
"Boss?"
"Take her to the rehab center on Dragoon Lane. Make sure she doesn't leave. I don't want to see her face here again," stabbing a finger at her.
The boys grabbed her and hauled her out, kicking and screaming. Damn shame. She had the body of a pornstar, all natural, now she looked 70.
Going to the large bay windows of my place I could look out upon the city. Neighborhoods, projects, infrastructure, social services, soup kitchens, public transportation...all of it, I had a hand in. Following my father, Joey, he built an empire through fear and intimidation. Unlike other families that blackmailed and murdered, our family, my family now, forced out the crime families, forced out the bad drugs, the gangs, the murderers. We made it so people, old ladies, could walk home in safety. We used force, we killed, we stole, but we only took from the bad guys. The gangs.
The only problem was, we were bad guys ourselves. At least in the eyes of the police, and the District Attorneys. We've been at war for years. When I took control of the family, I wanted to stop meaningless bloodshed and help people. We didn't fight the cops, yet they weren't our friends. I had to get people from the inside to help me. I need a mole in the police.
My boys had staked out several candidates, most of them were new. New ones were like Play-dough, easy to mold and easily seduced. They were wide eyed, eager. When you instill in them that they can make more money working for me, they could be easily swayed.
I had to be careful. Last mole we had nearly gave it up. She was a bright eyed, young, talented girl with a wicked tongue. She got in too deep. She started making friends with the gangs. Then they took her one night during a party. We found her in the warehouse district at the water front. They killed her, not before they fucked the living shit out of her, in her uniform, came all over her face, body, her badge, inside of her, humiliating her before they executed her. For that, I swore revenge. We found the hoodlums, all twelve of them. I watched as my boys forced them to their knees, made them cry and beg for mercy. So they could feel like how she felt, then we gunned them down, starting with the knees and working our way up.
I may be a crime boss, but I had a grudging respect for the people who wore the badge. They do their job, we do ours.
One of my boys, Edgar, came up to me with several of the new candidates that they talked to about working for us and asked for me to see them again. Sitting down on a plush leather chair, I took the photos and looked them over. All were good looking. "Nice..." whispering.