Dont read this, this is just for stories i want read

cosa nostra

Yes was a simple answer to all of his questions. But the brunet didn’t say anything, keeping his dirty little secrets all to himself.

“Keeping quiet isn’t gonna do anything. Do you want me sit you down on that fucking chair and play with this little mouth of yours?”

And George didn’t know what made him answer the damn question but he let out a feeble, “Yes,” as Dream pulled him out of his chair and placed him down on his own spacious cushioned one. Slowly lifting the gun from the table, he continued this little game they were playing.

“Open your mouth, will you princess?” it was an order. Completely losing any form of sense near the six feet tall man, he complied. The cold hard barrel against his lips felt glorious. He would have loved to exaggerate it more if his hair was not being tugged backwards and in another low tone, “Wider.” This was all he was fantasizing about. This was all he wanted.

The gun was slowly removed from his mouth. “Use that filthy little tongue of yours.” And again the sleek metal was being shoved into back in, the ends of it hitting the back of his throat. The brunet let a whine escape and Dream was now clear that the other was enjoying this just as much as he was. The blond let the weapon stay there and waited. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but it was exciting, a firearm shoved down another’s throat brought a rush of adrenaline.

George sat on the comfy chair, the one where Dream had sat and made hundreds of deals and played more people than he’d like to admit. He didn’t let anyone enter his room on occasions but here he was, a pretty boy on that same chair, exchanging dirty glances while being there for the same motive, pleasure.

Dream had been leaning on the table facing the brunet but now hopped on it, spreading his arms behind him and supporting his body, legs completely leaving the ground and watched as the smaller tried to adjust with the big load on his throat. George was considerably obedient than other days. His hands were left free but he didn’t try to touch the firearm nor did he fidget. His hands rested on the arm rests of the chair and body straight while batting his lashes, dirty thoughts swimming through his mind. His mind was buzzing with a red flag, this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was here to make a deal, he was here for business. But he did like what was happening. What happens inside stays inside right?

A smug look dancing on his face, the blond asked, “Will you be a whore for me just for today?” It was not a bloody question. There was no other option except a yes. The ‘no’ had never existed here. There was always a compromise, never a no. The brunet was slowly getting frustrated at the rhetorical questions.

He nodded. A sly smile emerged on the taller’s face. George wanted to talk. He wanted to say what else he’d liked to be called. A slut. But he couldn’t. Only a nod would suffice.

The keys slowly turning in the blond’s head he asked again, “What else would you like to be for me? My angel? My doll? My cocksleeve?” He leaned down, mouth moving closer to the brunet’s ear. A coarse rough tone, “My slut?”

Those viridian eyes didn’t miss the way George’s dick twitched inside the expensive silky dress pants that hugged his lean figure perfectly. He didn’t miss the way the older’s blood rushed south forming a very noticeable dent. He observed every single thing. The crimson shade of his cheeks and the change in his breathing. Tracing his fingertips up and down the brunet’s soft cheeks, a kind expression articulated his face and the dominant mindset seemed to vanish for a moment.