Two Hitmen: A Double Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Lawless Book 1)

by Alice May Ball

  Eyes widened when they caught how askew my sheer black panties were, and tongues emerged for the view at the bottom of the t-shirt. One or two of those bikers made loud, low rasping growls. Others sat to get a better look. With Blaze, I had felt invincible, magical.

  “You mind me asking, is that how you usually like to dress?” Now that Zelda reminded me, I felt exposed.

  Zelda went out of the room and returned with a bunch of bananas, a toothbrush and a bowl. She showed me how to push the toothbrush onto the back of my throat, to find the point that triggered the gag response.

  “Practice by brushing your throat there, and relax, Lucy. Feel the urge to gag and keep doing it until you can control the gag.“

  I did it. The first couple of times, my stomach knotted and I choked.

  “In time,“ she said, “you learn to control it.”

  She unzipped a long banana. Her breasts swelled and heaved in the corset. Then she licked her lips, her eyes sparkled as she looked at me, then she tipped her head back and slid the banana slowly between her moist lips, into her mouth and I saw her throat swell and her nostrils flared wide as she pressed it gently until only the very tip was in the middle of her open mouth.

  Her breasts rose and fell more heavily. She put her hands down and the banana slid gradually back out about half way, still perfectly intact. Her head still back, the banana slid inch by inch back down into her, got all the way down into her throat, stopped, and then slid back out again.

  She was breathing hard, and I could smell the woman scent of her juice. My breathing was hard, too, and my crotch was getting hot and moist. Zelda’s hands were on the arms of the chair and her neck lengthened as the banana rose out of her mouth.

  She breathed hard as it slipped down again, and then gradually all the way out. She let out a huge sigh as she took the banana from her mouth. It was wet, shiny and slippery. But it still had its shape.

  I took it straight from her, tipped my head back and slid the banana into my throat. It was soft and slick with Zelda’s saliva, and it gave me a massive thrill. When the gag started, I stopped pushing and relaxed against the reflex. I closed my eyes. Zelda’s voice was thick and low when she said,

  “Breathe slowly and deeply through your nose,” I did.

  “Don’t push any more until you’re sure that you’re ready.”

  I felt ready. The musky aroma of female heat was giddying. Zelda was standing in front of me, her legs wide, her cheeks and the tops of her breasts reddening, and her eyes moist and glimmering. I pressed. My throat tightened and convulsed and the banana shot out, and landed on Zelda’s breast.

  She looked at me as she slid it inside the corset and down into her cleavage. I was so hot and excited, the gag faded away. She leaned down, bringing her breasts toward me, the banana poking out between them. Her breasts quivered as she pointed the banana to my lips.

  My hands behind me, I slipped my lips over the banana, and I went on along it until I reached her breasts. Then with the muscles of my throat, I drew it in a couple more inches so it slid between her hot, soft breasts.

  And then out, back into Zelda’s cleavage. Her breasts were wet, from the banana, from my saliva, and from the sweat that moistened her creamy valley.

  Her breasts heaved and the poor banana was crushed to a mush. I began to lick, suck and gobble it from her lovely, soft breasts as they swelled. Her hand cupped the back of my head and she turned it up to face to her.

  The composure was gone from her, she was panting, her wet lips parted and her eyes were wild. Her lip trembled and her voice had dropped an octave. She said,

  “Maybe,”

  I was breathing hard, too. My heart pounded and my chest shook. The tip of her tongue touched her top lip.

  “Maybe,” she said, “but not now.”

  In spite of his appearance, I thought, Carl must be some kind of a saint to still be pretending to play a video game.

  Zelda found me a pair of denim cut-offs to wear. They were, surprisingly, a bit large on me, so they obviously weren‘t hers. Hanging a little long and quite loose, they didn’t look too bad.

  They made me look young and vulnerable, and in a way that I had always flinched away from. Now, it somehow gave me a sense of power. Rocking a look like that, but being proud, unafraid with it, that was a charge.

  The room downstairs was full of raucous men, men of raw, brutal masculinity. But I felt that I could be secure among them. Maybe only because of the power that I saw Blaze had with them. But maybe not, maybe I was awakening something of my own.

  But Zelda wasn‘t satisfied with the cut-offs. She gave me a black leather belt with a silver buckle that cinched the waist nicely, some black stockings with garters – again, obviously not hers, and only slightly laddered.

  With a pair of black heels, my calves looked terrific and my firm, shapely thighs were set off fantastically in the space between the stocking tops and the denims. I knotted up the thin t-shirt under my big, bouncy breasts. Zelda tied my hair up with a thin, black lacy scarf that hung over my shoulder. That was a good look. With those clothes and my curves, I could rock.

  I turned my hips, then my shoulders to look in the mirror. Zelda said,

  “Yeah. I’d fuck you.”

  Looking at her beside me in the mirror, I thought, ‘Yeah, I’d fuck you, too.’ Now we both knew it. And now was not the time. Still, she reached over and slipped her hand in through the side of my shorts. Sneaked a finger past the side of my panties. Found the base of my clit. Pressed it for a moment.

  A woman’s hand. On me. Almost in me. Almost. Such a well of swirling feeling opened, deep down and through my body. She took her hand back and her reflection in the mirror looked out at me as her fingers slipped into her moist lips.

  “Mm.“ she said, “Thought so.” and she licked her lips.

  “Practise with the toothbrush and the bananas. Try for about ten minutes, wait about five minutes, try some more, OK?”

  I said,

  “This could take awhile to get it perfect, right?”

  Zelda said,

  “Has Blaze struck you as a patient man, Lucy?”

  She and Carl went back downstairs to leave me with my homework. I practiced for what seemed a long time, but I made good progress, and I began to love the well of energy that spread through my body as I resisted the urge to gag on the bananas, going deeper and deeper into my throat.

  The thought of his this, hot shaft slick with my saliva, sliding slowly in between my plump and swelling lips, all the way along its length until finally his huge huge purple head reaches, pushes then breaches the top of my throat.

  The thought of it sliding all the way down, like he would be so far inside me. My throat muscles and my lips would tense and pull at Blaze‘s hot, hot urgent cock. They would slide him all the way in, then all the way out, and then begin a rhythm, a heat, a beat.

  The thoughts made my mind fuzzy. My fingers found the side of my cut-offs. The side where Zelda had slid her fingers. My hand slid under my panties, stroked and rubbed my soft mound and I thought of Blaze.

  I thought of him playing the hit song for me, in front of tens of thousands at the stadium, seconds after he’d plunged his fabulous cock so far up my tender ass, taken my anal virginity.

  My fingers rubbed slowly, firmly, rhythmically, and my thighs clamped together as my pussy squeezed out sweet-smelling juice and the tingling, mounting, flooding waves of ecstasy charged through me and I came with a long sigh.

  I took a delicious nap on the chaise-longue, and when I awoke I tried my new trick one more time. It was still difficult, but I could do it, and it felt powerful and exciting. The thought of testing my skills on Blaze’s humongous cock thrilled me in the pit of my stomach.

  Thinking of how it would make him feel. Of how I would feel, with him inside me. So much of him, so deep inside me. And of how it would make him feel.

  I wondered whether it was worth trying the remaining bananas up my ass, but decided they
weren’t tough enough for the task, so I returned to the bar downstairs and took a table near the back. Zelda had some chicken wings and fried potato skins sent over with a beer.

  Bikers and girls looked over to my table, but nobody bothered me. Probably because they’d seen my arrive with Blaze.

  Loud rock pumped out from a sound system, and a small stage nearby had a couple of silver poles. Three skinny girls wore sparkly g-strings with paper money hanging in the straps.

  They climbed and spun on the poles, pushed and squeezed their tits, flicked their nipples with their tongues and ground their hips for the customers. They’d lean over and push their breasts out for a guy, turn and bend over to wave some tush at him, generally encouraging more paper money into their g-strings.

  The customers seemed to like the game, and they’d cheer, yell, whistle or whoop every now and then. It appeared that a couple of dollars would buy quite a lot of groping, but everybody seemed happy enough.

  Girls sat at tables or hung at the bar, and occasionally a girl would take a biker through the door that led out back and upstairs. They’d be back about fifteen or twenty minutes later.

  As one song faded down and another was fading up, I heard the crackling roar outside that I immediately knew as Blaze’s Harley. I couldn’t see all the way through the crowd, but there was no mistaking the cheer that greeted the opening door.

  Shortly I saw him, leaning his head into Zelda’s ear. His eyes flashed and shone. She shrugged, but at the same time her eyes twinkled at me. I lolled in my chair, feigning as much indifference as I could. His eyes were on me as he strode through the crowd. His grin flashed dangerously as he took my hand. His eyes brushed over me, from toes to tits, and his tongue flicked to moisten his lips. He pulled me toward the stage, and his other hand stroked and patted the three skinny girls as we displaced them to the edge of the platform.

  He held me in front of him, pulled me to his hard, rippled stomach and chest. My mouth brushed and licked his neck and my nostrils filled with his mix of clean and dirty scents. A sweet note, like a tummy after a shower, and dark waves of secret, unspoken things.

  My soft breasts pressed against the ridges of his hard chest. His hand found where my t-shirt was knotted, and it yanked straight down. The loose cotton ripped, straight from the low neckband down. Around us I was aware of a roaring cheer, as I thrilled to his lifting my bare breasts into the lights.

  Heavenly thrills ran the length of my body as he put his face between them, made long, wide, muscular licks in the valley between them, under them, around them. I gasped as he sucked each of my throbbing nipples. He sucked them long and hard, as he pushed his hand up into the back of my cut-offs. He grabbed my ass from beneath, and squeezed it in a rhythm to match his sucking on my tits.

  I had to lift one leg, to give him access but also to keep my pubic bone grinding into his hip. I felt hot, wet juice drizzle down the inside of my thigh out of my panties and from my shorts to my stocking tops.

  One of the dancers was wrapped around his leg, and another one was between mine, her breasts sliding around and between my thighs. She licked the flesh above my stocking tops, inside my thigh, and up.

  Her mouth gave me a thrill, but more than once I had an urge to swat her away, though I refrained. Blaze snapped his fingers and the other dancer leaped over to him. He pointed and she slid her hands between us. I felt her open his belt, and his pants, and out came that hot, hard rod.

  His hand rested on top of my head to introduce the next segment of the dance. My lips and my tongue dragged all the way down his neck, his chest, the ridges of his six-pack and then side to side across his hips.

  On my knees I faced his shining, purple head, and I dove onto it, taking him right to the back of my throat. I paused as much for effect as for composure, then slowly slid my lips, gradually along and all the way down till my wet lips met his wiry pubes.

  A couple of short strokes there, and I slid back. The music was lost behind a deafening roar. I slid all the way back until his head reached my lips. I worked my lips around it, and my tongue under it and along, and then plunged again.

  He pulsed, hard and hot and thick in my mouth and when I had him in my throat, I squeezed rhythmically. My breasts hugged his thigh and I plunged and pulled and sucked and I sucked and licked and sucked until he yelled and my throat and my mouth were filled with gushes of hot, salty sweet spunk. It drooled from my lips as I stood, amid a roar.

  A dancer slid up my body, her breasts hugging my thighs, pressing into my crotch, wrapping and wetting my stomach, thrillingly dragging her firm breasts and the hard points of her nipples over my own, soft, swelling, yearning breasts.

  My tongue was sliding out to lap up the dribbles and drops of spunk, when it met the soft, wet muscle of the dancer’s tongue. She wanted that jizz, too. By reflex I had smacked her hard in the chops and knocked her to the floor before I even knew it. That cream was mine, and I licked and wiped and lapped every drop.

  It’s an old cliché that I never thought really meant anything, but the roar of the crowd then was so sudden and had such a force of exhalation, that it did feel for a moment as if it might lift the roof of that roadhouse.

  The room shook, and the small stage bounced so much, the dancer I’d smacked to the ground banged her head on the boards. Again, by pure reflex I bent to catch her head and make sure she was OK. I said,

  “Sorry,”

  She smiled and shook her head, I just about heard her say,

  “It’s OK,” but the cheering, shouting and stamping drowned out anything else.

  Zelda was in a corner, with a dark look on her face. Next thing I knew, Blaze’s hand was in the back of my belt. It hauled me up by the waist, my face still down. He reached around and undid the buckle, yanked open the zip and pulled the shorts down to my thighs.

  The panties, he just tore the crotch out. Then, no massage, no lube, no fingers even, his two thumbs pulled my cheeks apart and he drove his cock straight into my ass.

  I screamed. He fucked me dry like that, I yelled, I choked, my mouth watered, my eyes watered, my quim gushed. I mewled and whimpered and wailed and he slammed into me. Farther, harder, deeper, faster. FASTER. On and in and on and in and UP, oh, God it hurt.

  My crotch was drenched, and I felt something soft, warm and smooth on the lips and on my clit. The girl I’d knocked to the floor was stretching up from the floor to suck me off.

  I never had a girl do that before. I wasn’t sure I wanted it, either, but it took my mind and body away from the tunneling that was going on up my rear. Then I realized, that was why she was doing it, sweet kid.

  Right after I smacked her to the floor, too. And damn, she was good. Those sweet, sweet little strokes, she knew exactly what a girl wanted. I had absolute heaven on, around, in and up my pussy, and a hot poker of absolute hell right through my ass.

  I cried and I sobbed and I laughed and I shrieked as I came, and I came, and I came, goddamn. The dancer tasted it and she squeezed my thighs and sucked deeper and harder and harder on my clit.

  Blaze was still beating and banging and pounding into my poor, sore, red little rim, but after my last yelps of tortured ecstasy, I felt him slow down. He was holding back. He almost stopped. Then with a whole run of full-throated, rasping yells, he belted into me and his red-hot load pumped against the inside of my raw, devastated ass.

  As soon as Blaze hauled his cock back from my ass, my body crumpled to the stage like a rag doll. The dancer stroked my head and my cheek. The noise of the crowd was so loud now, it was painful.

  Bikers were right there in front of me, yelling and shouting, but their thighs were at my eye-level, and the sound was one, indistinct rush. Blaze was standing, grinning, waving his arms in the air. Bikers pushed bottles of bourbon at him, as well as blunts, pipes and little packets, but he just put his hands on his hips, grinned and waved.

  He pulled me up by my hair and took me down from the stage, through the parting sea of grinning, shouting bik
ers to Zelda’s table. My t-shirt hung ripped and wet over my swollen, swinging breasts and grazed my hard, over-sensitive nipples.

  My shorts just hung open to my crotch, and my black sheer panties were no more than a whisp. The stockings were very laddered now, and one raw knee poked out through a rip. From my head to my knees I was shaking and soaking wet. To say that I had ‘Bambi legs’ would be an understatement.

  Half of those bikers must have cum right in their jeans at the slick, bedraggled sight of me. I barely made it to the table and I fell more than sat into the chair. Blaze basked in the celebration. I reached across the table for the bottle of Jack, and took a long, deep swig. Zelda put her hand on mine and looked in my eye. Her voice was quiet and low, and she said,