11 comments/ 23607 views/ 5 favorites Death Wish By: imhapless Lots of people who have mental problems, like I do, have a death wish of one form or another. Some commit suicide, whether self-inflicted or by cop. Others take up dangerous activities which significantly increase their chance of dying. Most just continue to plod along, unhappy with no reasonable prospects of getting happy, but too gutless to end it. I was in the latter category – until one fateful day. My mental problems were apparently hard to diagnose. Some days I was completely normal, others withdrawn, others manic. Although I made a good living I was self-employed and didn't have good health insurance. Without health insurance coverage for my condition, I didn't have the money (or at least had not been willing to spend it) for an evaluation by top notch psychiatrists. Therefore I just bumbled along with some halfway helpful medications. Despite my mental problems, I always seemed to be attractive to females – that is until they got to know me and experienced my epic mood swings. I'm big, and am told I'm very good looking, so I was a particularly big hit with shallow females, though not sophisticated ones. That was OK by me since I was mostly just after sexual gratification, especially knowing that no woman was likely able to put up with my mercurial personality for more than a few weeks. Despite my mercurial personality, I did have a couple of long-time good male friends, Jack and Kevin. I enjoyed their company – as long as I was not in one of my withdrawn moods. Kevin, especially, was always trying to get me to do unusual things; he considered himself an armchair shrink. His common refrain was "Hey Brian, this [event de jure] will really get your serotonin flowing and pick up your mood." ****************** Kevin's prodding was how I came to be in his regular yoga class – something I thought that I'd never do – on a Saturday morning. I was complaining to Kevin about what a fucking bad idea it was as we warmed up while other class participants trickled in, dressed in their yoga tutus (at least that's what I called them). My complaining started to tail off when I saw that most of the rest of the class members were female – and hot females to boot. My bitching stopped completely when a woman who could only be described as "sunshine on a cloudy day" breezed into the class, with a friend in tow. "Who the fuck is that?" I asked Kevin in a hushed tone, as I nodded my head in the direction of the walking wet-dream. "Poison," was his unsmiling response. "Don't even think about it – we'll talk later." I repositioned myself behind my lust-interest so that I could watch her as discretely as possible as she moved from one yoga position to another. While it was a beginners' class, most of the other members – like Kevin – had been in it for five weeks, so I was way behind. I didn't do the positions very well not only because of my lack of knowledge and practice, but because my cock was rock hard and pointing at the nicest thighs and ass that I had ever seen. After the class was over, before Kevin could stop me, I walked up to the siren. "Hi, I'm Brian; this is my first class. How long have you been doing this to be as great as you are at the positions?" I asked. I had gone from almost a withdrawn mood to one of my manic states in the course of the hour-long class. "Maybe there is something to this serotonin thing" flashed through my mind. When I'm manic I'm friendly and extroverted. The object of my desire looked me over before answering. She sounded like she had just stepped out of an Italian movie her accent was so thick and sultry. "Maybe yust quattro week," she replied with a diabolical smile. "Not very inglese. Io sono Gina," she continued, holding out her hand. I took her hand and shook it. She had a grip that was both soft and firm at the same time. I couldn't help but be mesmerized by her enchanting brown eyes, and the way that her lip curled up to one side. I know that it was my imagination but I felt that she was staring into my soul. Apparently we had just been standing shaking hands for a totally inappropriately long time because Gina's "friend" came up to us, gently tugged on Gina's right arm and coarsely said "We need to leave, Gina." When Gina glanced at her while still holding onto my hand the "friend" said "Abbiamo bisogno di lasciare, Gina," and Gina smoothly pulled her hand away from mine. "I'll see you next class," I said, much too cheerily and with a big shit-eating grin while still staring into Gina's eyes. "Yes, will; ciao," she replied with a sly smile. Gina's friend was shooting daggers at me with her eyes as Gina turned to walk away, and I heard the friend rattling off something at her in Italian as they exited the classroom. Gina seemed to respond to her friend's mini-tirade by just waving her hand in a dismissive manner. Once they were out the door, a sweaty and dour Kevin approached me. "Man, we need to talk; but wait until they're long gone," he whispered to me. I dried off, chatted with the petite friendly female instructor when she approached and asked how my first session was, and after everyone else left, a still dour Kevin grabbed me by the arm and led me into a corner of the room. "What's your problem, dude?" I chuckled. "It's YOUR problem that I'm worried about, Brian. I told you that that woman is poison – the reason being is that she is married to a high ranking mobster." "How in the hell do you know that?" I skeptically asked. "Because it was in the newspaper about two months ago. There was a photo of a well-known don and Gina in the local press with the caption that read something like 'Reputed local crime boss Lazzaro Gambini returning from his wedding in Italy with his new Italian bride the former Gina Ricci.'" I looked at Kevin skeptically. "Come over to my house and we'll pull it up on the Internet," he growled, in response to my skepticism. I found out two things shortly after we entered Kevin's house. Gina was in fact married to Lazzaro Gambini, and yoga really makes your muscles hurt. I could barely walk the rest of the day. Knowing that Gina was married to a mobster didn't have the same effect on me that it would most people; as I said before, I'm nuts. I looked upon establishing a relationship with Gina as a thrill – some would say "death wish" – rather than causing me to back off. Fortunately, our yoga class met twice a week so that I only had to wait three days to see her again, because she was all that I could think about. ************* Though I'm nuts, I am also clever. I developed a plan to woo Gina that I thought might work – and was worth a try. I decided to be particularly nice to Gina's "friend." Kevin told me that she – he didn't know her name – and Gina were almost always the last to arrive to class, and I intended to use that information to my advantage. The class provided towels, but there was not an overabundance of them. I got to class early and counted out the towels and made sure that there was one less than the number of members in the class, and hid the others in the men's washroom; and prayed that everyone would be there that day. Fortunately, that was the case. When Gina and her friend came in just before class started I smiled at both of them. Gina smiled back; the friend did not. When they walked over to the towel rack the friend gave the last one to Gina and then started looking around for another one. I jumped to my feet, went over to the friend and said "They seem to be short of towels today. Why don't you take mine – I haven't used it yet – and I'll go in search of another. By the way I'm Brian," I said with a completely cheery disposition and big smile. She first looked at me sternly; then seemed to soften her expression as she took the towel from my hand, and said "Thanks." "What's your name?" I cheerfully asked holding out my hand. "Adriana," she warily said, shaking my hand. "What a beautiful name!" A true statement, but obviously a suck up – but one that she responded positively to. "Nice to meet you, Adriana" I continued. Just then the instructor called the class to order. "I'll find some more towels," I softly said to Adriana as I quickly exited the room, and just as quickly returned with the four towels that I had hidden in the men's room. I offered a second towel to each of Gina and Adriana, but both shook their heads "No," Gina with a smile, Adriana not with a smile, but not with a scowl either. This class I was not quite as obvious staring at Gina's consummate ass and thighs, and a couple of times made fleeting eye contact with Adriana. I guess that I need to describe Gina and Adriana a little more. Adriana is about five feet ten inches tall, and muscular. She is not unattractive, but nowhere close to beautiful. She looks to be about thirty years old, and hard. She speaks almost perfect accent-free English as well as, from what I can tell, fluent Italian. Gina looks to be about my age, twenty five or twenty six. She is about five feet four inches tall with a sleek build – not skinny but closer to that than heavy. In addition to the afore-mentioned perfect ass, thighs, and eyes, and a face bordering on beautiful, she has what I have heard described as the "it" factor. It is hard to point to exactly what quality it is that makes her the epitome of sexy, but she does have it – the "it" factor, that is. She was the first person that I had ever met in my life with the "it" factor, or at least what I perceived to be the "it" factor. Gina's spoken English was poor, but she was trying, and she seemed to understand almost everything said to her in English. After class I made a point of talking to both Gina and Adriana, trying to spend as much time making eye contact with one as the other. I even lightly touched Adriana on her elbow when making what I thought was a humorous comment and which she smiled at, and Gina laughed at once Adriana translated my comment into Italian. After that class, Adriana was friendlier toward me – although still guarded – and I made a point of parking myself right next to, or between, them, during each class. After one class I invited them to join me for coffee and biscotti at a local Italian café. "Sure we can go; coretto, Adriana," Gina beamed. They jabbered away in Italian for a minute or so – their body language did not indicate an argument but it wasn't all smiles either. "My treat," I interjected. "OK," they responded in unison, Gina with a big smile, Adriana with a lesser one. I was a little non-plussed when a black sedan with tinted windows seemed to follow us to the café, but didn't mention it to either Gina or Adriana. At the café I had a really nice conversation with both of them. Gina's English was getting better all of the time, and in that setting she used very few Italian words, and Adriana only had to translate one thing that I said. Halfway through our get-together I felt Gina's shoeless foot on my leg. I didn't move my leg away. After a few minutes she moved her foot away, I subtly removed my right shoe, and then I played footsie with her leg. I hugged both of them goodbye – careful to hug Adriana first and as long as I hugged Gina. The big difference in the hugs was that my cock didn't poke Adriana in the stomach but sure did Gina when it got hard instantaneously when my body touched hers. I was again non-plussed when then walked over to the tinted window sedan and got in the back seat, but although I didn't show it my heart leapt when Gina gave me a truly seductive grin that neither Adriana nor the driver of the car could see. That night I picked up a woman at a bar who was as close as I could find to Gina in looks, and vigorously fucked her four times, fantasizing that it was Gina. I knew that I had to find a way to fuck the real thing, but considering that Gina travelled with Adriana and some goon in a car, I was having difficulty in coming up with a plan. The next yoga class Gina solved that problem for me. ***************** Before the class even started, when Adriana was definitely not looking, Gina slipped me a piece of paper. I held it tightly in my hand, and then walked over to my shoes and stuck it in one of them, then returned to warmups. That day Gina was diabolical in her flirting with me, including one time with outstretched legs pointing her sweat-soaked crotch at me, her camel toe clearly visible through her thin exercise shorts. I had a very noticeable instant boner when I saw that, and it lingered the entire rest of the class. After class I again invited them for coffee and biscotti, but Adriana politely refused and Gina only smiled. After everyone left I looked at the piece of paper in my shoe. "Meet at Blanco Hotel lobby, 14:00 Tuesday; wear disguise." It was all that I could do to not spontaneously come in my pants. The wait from Saturday around noon, until Tuesday at 2:00 p. m., seemed to take a month. The Blanco Hotel was a mid-level hotel in an out-of-the-way part of town, probably a good ten to twelve miles from the area of the city that Gina and Adriana had told me that they lived in. I got there early, as instructed by Gina in disguise, though probably not a good one. I almost didn't recognize her, however – her disguise was great. She had a blond wig on, green colored contact lenses, and padded clothing and frumpy shoes. "Why don't you get a room," she mumbled as she stroked my hand. "Two keys." I did as instructed, and then found her behind a pillar in the lobby. "What room?" she asked as she took one of the keys from me. "414," I replied. "I'll see you in five minutes," she whispered with a fiendish grin on her face, which instantly inflated my cock. While waiting in the room I stripped down to my boxers and brushed my teeth. There was no doubt in either of our minds what was going to happen so why pretend. Gina entered 414 with the same evil grin on her face that she had in the lobby. She sashayed up to me, planted the most passionate kiss that I have ever received on my lips, and then reached her hand into my boxers and started fondling my balls. Removing her conservative skirt and padded pullover blouse took only seconds – she was braless and pantiless. My pants were soon around my ankles and we were rolling around on the bedspread frantically kissing while simultaneously roaming the other's body with our hands. She had the perkiest little tits, a muscular pelvis, a sparse but not shaved bush, and absolutely killer thighs. After a few minutes of just mauling each other, I gave her a "shocker," also known as "two in the pink, one in the stink," or "two in the gash, one in the stash." She had apparently never had one before. She gasped loudly and could no longer kiss as her body contorted while I searched out her G-spot in her tight pussy with two fingers while wiggling the other finger in her asshole. She orgasmed for the first time within less than a minute after I started curling the two fingers in her gash. I didn't give her time to recover before in one thrust I buried my hog in her snug cunt. She started flipping around like a landed Marlin. I blew my wad the fastest that I ever had in my life, which triggered a second orgasm in her. Despite the swiftness of our ecstasy, we were both sweating profusely because we had put so much intensity into it. When I finally removed my cock from her pussy – with a loud "pop" and an electric charge up our spines – I groaned. "That was fucking all time! You've got to be the best fuck on the planet." That got a big grin out of her as she manipulated my balls and planted kisses on my cheeks and neck. We lay in each other's arms smiling and chatting for a while until I felt my flagpole rising again. She looked down at it, quickly put her mouth on it, and swung her pussy above my mouth. She started sucking in earnest, and it was apparent that she wanted some oral in return. I had never before eaten out a woman that I had just fucked, but there was no way that I wasn't going to give this sex goddess everything that I had, so I started gumming her labia and tonguing her clit. Once my cock was to her liking, Gina impaled herself on it in a reverse cowgirl position with her strong thighs on either side of my pelvis, and started rotating and bouncing at the same time. I grabbed her heart-shaped ass with one hand and fingered her pucker hole with the other. Once she started pulsing her pc muscles I instantly blew another wad into what was now my favorite place on earth and she screamed in delight as I grunted like a hog. When we recovered from our second fuck we showered together and then had a serious talk. "You know, tis danger to with me be, Brian." "I understand that your husband is a mobster. Why did you marry him?" "Hadn't much choice in Italy. Father, mother, for it – I want to come to States – figured I could put up with it. Not much fun." "I guess there is no way that you could leave him." "He certain to kill who I left with, hurt me bad." "What if he found out I was fucking you?" "Kill you for sure, again hurt me bad. I be careful, but I need you to fuck. You – how it is said – turns me on." "Gina, I get hard just thinking about you. You are the most awesome woman I've ever seen. I need to keep fucking you." She smiled broadly, and then kissed me. "What's the story with Adriana?" "Story?" "I mean, what's the situation with her?" "She is fully Americano with Italian parents; see speaks good Italian too and my husband says she is my – I'm not sure how to say it?" "Bodyguard? "No." "Companion?" "Maybe – not quite." "Personal assistant?" "Yes – that's it – personal assistant. Even though Adriana is friendly and I like her I believe she reports to my husband. She likes you but I'm thinking that our driver is not happy." "Is that the guy who picks you up in the black sedan with tinted windows?" "Yes – Luciano. He is my bodyguard; he likes my ass, but is a – I think the word is 'stooge' – for my husband." I laughed. "Stooge is probably right. So how were you able to get away today?" "I am supposed to be in English class. My teacher, she will cover for me. I'm learning well on my own so everyone says I'm doing good." "Can we meet again?" I asked, lightly stroking her face. "You betcha," Gina laughed. "We need something better than me passing a note in yoga for the future." "I agree. I'll get us a couple of burner phones for next time that we meet," I said while continuing to stroke her face. Then we exchanged a passionate kiss. "You leave now – I must clean my insides," she said. "Douche?" I chuckled. "Yes, that," she smiled. "See you in yoga." After one more passionate kiss, I left, and immediately went and bought two burner phones. ***************** Not only was my sexual experience with Gina my best ever, I felt differently about her than any other woman. I wasn't sure what "love" was, but I was willing to concede that that was what my feeling toward her was. I knew damn well that I was playing with fire – or "poison" as Kevin had put it; I mean, come on – the young sultry wife of a big shot crime boss! I didn't give a shit. I guess that's where the "death wish" comes in. I really felt that I was on a path toward wanting to be with Gina all of the time, and I didn't care what the risk was. Over the next two-plus months Gina and I grew very close. We had sex for a couple of hours every week, and it was always over-the-top fantastic. We really connected on a personal level too, both when we were alone, and during and after yoga classes which we still took two times a week. To throw Adriana off I always complemented her loudly with a big smile, and Gina only surreptitiously. Over this time Gina also had learned to speak quite good English. While she still had that sexy Italian accent (I hope that she never loses it – it turns me on), she could easily understand and reply to most English sentences. Death Wish During this two-plus months' time I learned a lot about Gina and her situation. She was basically coerced into marrying Lazzaro Gambini; sex with him was horrible; he treated her like a trophy in public, not like a real functioning intelligent human being, and constantly belittled her in private; Gina had a real flair for painting anything (from portraits to houses) and making pottery. One afternoon, after an exceptionally remarkable, even for us, sexual encounter where she sat on my lap staring into my soul with her doe-like eyes while we fucked each other mercilessly, Gina got tears in her eyes. "I wish that we could be together Brian. I'm near hell being married to that animal Lazzaro. But he would kill us." After she sobbed a little, what had been at the back of my mind since I met her came boldly to the forefront. "Run off with her," I said to myself. Lifting up Gina's chin I looked into her eyes, smiled, and said "By next week I'll have a plan as to how we can be together for always; and how even if we are caught you likely won't suffer any consequences, just me." She dried her tears and smiled. "I hope so," she giggled, and then gave me a zealous hug and kiss. ****************** Although there was no doubt that I was going to proceed, I surprised myself by actually doing up a list of pros and cons both for the general concept, and each individual scenario that I dreamt up. Me getting killed was not itemized as either a pro or a con on any list, though it was a real possibility. Chief among the pros for the general concept was that since I met Gina I had no really bad day – not one. My worst day was what used to be an average day, and my best days were way beyond what I had ever experienced before. I was no longer volatile. "I guess that that serotonin stuff really works," I said to myself, "and Gina makes me put out a pint of the stuff every time that I even just think about her, let alone hold her!" The next week, when we had a Monday mid-morning fuck fest (Adriana and Lazzaro were starting to trust Gina more so she had a little more freedom to get away at different times) I explained the scenario I had chosen to Gina. She liked it. No, she REALLY liked it. All that she had to do was collect anything that she could that was of value to her, and bring it in an extra duffle bag to the next yoga class; switch Adriana's water bottle; and do a little acting. I was excited, yet calm, at the next yoga class. Gina looked excited too. When I gave Adriana a hug I slipped my special water bottle – the same brand as Adriana's – to Gina and she surreptitiously exchanged it for Adriana's. When class was over, Gina and I engaged Adriana in an animated discussion while she drank her water, until everyone had left. Then Gina pretended like she was woozy and collapsed. Adriana knelt beside her. The knock-out drug that I had put in Adriana's water bottle wasn't acting fast enough to suit me, so I went with plan B and stuck Adriana with a small needle while holding her around the neck. She was unconscious within seconds. I grabbed Gina's duffle bag and we ran to the front door. Just before we exited I threw Gina over my shoulder and carried her out to the car. I yelled to Luciano that something was wrong with Gina and Adriana. He looked skeptical at first but since Gina was doing a great acting job he bought it hook, line, and sinker. I pleaded with him to go get Adriana while I seat-belted Gina into the back seat. Fortunately he did, while leaving the keys in the ignition, so I didn't have to use my backup plan of pulling a gun on and then handcuffing him. As soon as he entered the building I jumped in the driver's seat and took off. We drove to my apartment where I had the appropriate tools in my covered parking space to remove the GPS and Lojack from Luciano's car, and changed the license plates to ones that I had stolen the day before from a similar make and color car. I picked up my two suitcases which I had packed over the last few days, and which had every cent that I had in cash or generic debit cards (including the money that I had gotten from selling my car and all other valuables that I had owned) and we drove away. I put the Lojack tracker and the GPS from Luciano's car in the spare tire well of a big rig with Nevada plates parked at a truck stop, and we drove in the opposite direction of the art colony that I hoped we could make our home, at least for a while. After we put two hundred miles between us and Lazzaro, we stopped at a motel, paid cash, and fucked each other's brains out. I think that was the happiest day of my life. "So what's your plan now?" Gina asked me while lying on my chest after she had just received my second wad of man cream in her snug pussy. "First we buy a used car that I can pay for in cash and dump the one that we have now. I have enough money to last us two years without us having to get real jobs. Since they'll find the car we'll double back the way that we went and keep on going until we hit an art colony that I've picked out." "An art colony?" she excitedly asked. "Hell yeah; you can practice your painting and pottery and most people in those places are easy to get along with and don't ask too many questions." "I love you," she chuckled, and then gave me a big kiss. "Back at you in spades," I snickered. "Eventually, though, we'll need new identities and once we have them we'll do whatever we want." "I wonder if Lazzaro will call the cops to help get his kidnapped wife back, or if that would be too much humiliation for him?" "I wonder that too," I chuckled. "I guess we'll find out. One thing's for sure, though." "What's that?" Gina asked while stroking my chest. "I'm not giving you back. If they catch us I'll die fighting them, but as long as I have a pulse they won't touch you." "That entitles you to a blowjob," she giggled, and then started sucking. "Death Wish" Daniel Have you ever noticed? Most Mafia kingpins really do talk like Marlon Brando in The Godfather. It's true. It came to me as I was lying in bed one morning, recalling the conversation I'd had the day before with Tony 'Mad Dog' Mancini, who rules Chicago's South Side with an iron hand. "Daniel, I tell ya," he mumbled, "nuthin's more important to a made man than his family. And it starts with a virtuous wife. Take my Carolina. A real peach, y'know, but a true lady. Lives to please her man. As faithful as the day is long, that's Carolina. You should have such a wife, my boy." The fact is, I did have her. Twice last night and once this morning. Even as I lay there pondering Mad Dog's words of wisdom, his wife Carolina was on her knees between my legs, slowly taking my cock into her mouth. There went the head. Now the shaft. Deeper and deeper, finally into her throat. Soon her lips, still glistening with Hot Pink lipstick, came to rest against my pubic mound. The lady held me; then, released me and began to bob up and down on my manhood like a ping-pong ball. So I filled Carolina's mouth with semen, she gave me a satisfied smile, and I hot-footed it out of Mad Dog's thirty-room mansion. However, Carolina, bless her heart, soon came down with a case of guilty conscience. It happens to the best of us. She tearfully confessed all to Mad Dog. His thugs hunted me down. Roughed me up quite a bit, and then took me out on River Road just after midnight. My brain pan had a date with a .32 slug. But just in the nick of time, my cousin's uncle, Chief of Police you know, caught wind of it. A gunfight between the coppers and the goons ensued, with bullets flying, bodies dropping left and right. I took some lead in my shoulder and leg. But all things considered, any time you can limp away after a gun battle you're ahead of the curve. They put me up in Cook County General, with a cop guarding my room. So I'm lying there the next night, thinking about how Mad Dog has put out six contracts on my life and vowed to slice me into little pieces and feed me to the fishes. There's gratitude for you. After all, wasn't it I, his landscape gardener, who put in a tomato garden for him and grew the very same tomatoes they have back in Sicily? Mad Dog gobbled down those tomatoes like a pig, beamed with joy, patted me on the back. And now, just because I rode his wife like a pony, pounded her like a jackhammer, he's vowed that my passing will be violent and will be soon. So anyway, who strolls into my hospital room but Carolina? Dressed like a queen, her raven hair done up, her eye shadow emerald green. It was way past visiting hours, but she'd slipped the head nurse a benjamin. The cop guarding my room was sound asleep anyway. We had a tearful reunion, kissed like teenagers. Next thing I know she's thrown back the covers and is giving me mouth-to-cock resuscitation. It didn't even matter to Carolina that I was in a semi-private room. My roommate, a bookkeeper named Randall, was in for heart surgery. His eyes bugged out when he saw a woman who can suck the chrome off an Olds 88 making love to my cock with her mouth. I pointed out to Carolina that there was another jughead besides me in the room. She said she didn't mind if he didn't mind. Randall didn't mind. So Carolina drains me, and does that woman love cock. She moves over to suck Randall too, in the spirit of fairness to all. I'm grinning as Randall lies there gasping for breath while Carolina swallows him whole. "Aah jeez," he sighs. "Ooh, this is pure heaven. Who is this angel? And look at that rock on her finger! She's someone's wife, isn't she?" "Yep," I reply with a smile. "She's married to Tony 'Mad Dog' Mancini. Ever heard of him?" Realizing that a Mafia don's wife is giving him a blowjob sends the poor schlemiel into cardiac arrest. I buzz the nurse and she brings in the doctor who pronounces Randall dead as a doornail. Which put the quietus on any more lovemaking until they wheeled out the body. But as soon as things settled down, Carolina came back for an encore. She'd been outside smoking Tareytons, and couldn't resist covering me with wet kisses. Given the choice between kissing a woman who's been puffing on cancer sticks and kissing a raccoon's patoot, I'll take the raccoon. But it was forgive and forget when Carolina dropped her drawers, climbed up onto my bed, and slowly wiggled herself down onto my stiff cock, murmuring all sorts of lewd words in Italian as she did so. So I snaked my hands up under her dress and grabbed hold of Carolina's lovely fat ass. I held on for dear life through her two boisterous orgasms. Take it from me, guys. If your sex life needs spicing up, just seduce a Mafia don's wife and you've got the world on a string. For a while at least. Afterwards Carolina collapses on me like a beached whale. We discuss my future, which is bleak. Your only hope, says Carolina, is to move to France and have a sex change operation. The idea has its appeal. I love chocolate croissants and the idea of wearing sexy lingerie. But still and all, I'd hate to give up 'Big Dan', which is what Carolina calls my cock in between sucking it and urging me to fill her up with it one more time. I'd become attached to 'Big Dan', you might say. My partner in landscape gardening, Alphonso, was from Colombia and had taught me Spanish. So the upshot of it all is that I disguised myself as an Evangelical Christian missionary and boarded the red-eye special for Colombia. During the flight I convinced Bob, one of my fellow passengers, to accept Jesus Christ as his personal savior and also found time to induct his wife Margaret into the Mile-High Club just before our plane touched down in Medellin. So I go to work as a landscape gardener with Alphonso's cousin Esteban. Our main client is a Medellin businessman who for some reason everyone calls El Diablo. When he's not attending funerals, he's on his cell phone arranging big shipments. A real wheeler-dealer. One day after I'd pruned the gardenias, El Diablo invites me up to his patio for a pisco sour. Out from his mansion walks a vision, an angel here on earth. His daughter Gabriella. Deep brown eyes the size of silver dollars, breasts like honeydew melons, legs that go on forever. "Daniel," says El Diablo in Spanish as he pats Gabriella's butt, "the greatest pleasure in a man's life is his family, especially a virtuous daughter. Take Gabriella here - sweet, shy, and virginal. She's my pride and joy as a father. You should have such a daughter as Gabriella." Something about this conversation seemed familiar. It was déjà vu all over again. But I went ahead and had his daughter anyway. She invited me to climb the rose trellis up into her bedroom at midnight. By two o'clock I'd taken her virginity, given her a bath, and licked her pussy clean. By then the darling girl was ravenous. She dined on my cock. About that time her mother Juliana hears her daughter moaning and sighing. Walks into the bedroom and passes out cold. You can't blame her, considering shy virtuous Gabriella was on her knees buck naked and swallowing a man's cock. We bring the old girl to, after which Gabriella whispers into Mom's ear words in Spanish I can't quite follow. Something about "orgasmo fantastico," "éxtasis puro," and "un pene muy grande y delicioso." Whatever she said, it piqued Juliana's interest. To the point where it wasn't long before 'la madre' lay back on the bed, raised her nightgown, and drew my head between her legs. Like an explorer I burrowed through the thickest, blackest bush I've ever seen to the treasure beneath. The woman's clitoris was soft and juicy, as big as a marble. I licked and sucked on it until Juliana cried "Ave Maria!" and a lot more stuff I couldn't understand. After that she just had to know if my cock could please her as did my tongue. She hit upon a simple way to find out. The answer was yes. But okay, I admit it. Enjoying a threesome with a Colombian drug lord's wife and daughter, well, that's just asking for trouble. Especially when, being good Catholic girls, they went at once to confessional and told all to Father Augustino. Who then picked up the phone and called El Diablo. But to be fair, I don't blame Father Augustino. If given the choice of incurring the wrath of the Lord or that of a Colombian drug lord, which would you choose? Right. So no hard feelings, padre. At any rate, next thing I know I'm fleeing for my life in a stolen Peugeot. Hurtling down the deserted streets of Medellin at five in the morning, all the while spitting out some of El Diablo's wife's pubic hair that was still lodged between my teeth. And who's in hot pursuit? The Medellin police, that's who. El Diablo ordered them to find me and gun me down like a dog. A sad commentary on law enforcement in Colombia, if you ask me. Somehow I made it safely to Bogota. But I was in a jam; a pickle; up to my knees in the bisque. If I stayed in Colombia, my life wouldn't be worth a plugged peso. And I couldn't go back to the states because Mad Dog Mancini was waiting to pounce on me. So I sat down and took stock of my life. I decided then and there I'd been tempting fate, skating on thin ice, walking a tightrope too long. Time to settle into a safe easy life. I ended up in Saudi Arabia as the chauffeur for Sheik Ahmed al-Omar. He was also known as the Scorpion because anyone who ruffled his feathers ended up out in the Arabian Desert and was never heard from again. But the old geezer was pushing eighty. So I figure it's a safe gig. On my third day I'm having a cup of rose petal tea with the Scorpion in the courtyard of his palace. Out from the palace comes a woman who he introduces as his wife Yasmine. Well slap my ass and call me Judy. She's still in her womanly prime, not a day over forty. No doubt as firm and juicy as a ripe pomegranate under all those black veils. It gets worse. Beside her are daughters Laila and Ameera. Their eyes are even bigger and darker than Gabriella's. All three women are looking me over like cats eyeing a mouse. "Daniel," says the old Scorpion, "the greatest pleasure in an Arab sheik's life is his family. And in our culture, a man knows that his wife will always be ... what's the word I'm looking for?" "Virtuous? As faithful as the day is long?" "Exactly! Yasmine lives only to please me, her husband. And look at my daughters Laila and Ameera - two desert flowers, are they not? Beautiful and yet ... " "Shy? Virginal? A father's pride and joy?" "Yes! I can see you already understand these things. My last chauffeur, unfortunately, did not. I caught him winking at Laila. They later found his bleached bones out in the desert, picked clean by the vultures. A pity. But you, Daniel, I sense are trustworthy, a man of principles and honor. Which is why I want you to escort my wife and daughters on a shopping trip to Paris. I can rest easy knowing you'll watch over them. Nothing could possibly happen that would make me angry or upset." Well, maybe so and maybe not. Anyway, I'm now sitting here in my room at the Hotel Ritz, not far from the River Seine. On the coffee table in front of me are two packages just delivered by the bellhop. In one of them is the keycard to Yasmine's room. Wrapped in her panties. In the other is the keycard to Laila and Ameera's room. Wrapped in two pairs of panties. So you see my dilemma. I cannot ignore these summons to sexual debauchery, because hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and all that. A sensible man might just make a mad dash for the front door of the hotel and run like hell down Place Vendome. But if I abandon the Scorpion's wife and daughters to the evils of Paris, leave them high and dry so to speak, it will anger him. His bodyguards will hunt me down. Years from now my bleached bones will be found out in the Arabian Desert. But if I throw caution to the wind and take a helping of this and a helping of that from the sexual buffet eagerly awaiting me, my fate will be the same. Again, bleached bones in the desert. Oh, what the heck. No one lives forever. Let's see now, who do I want first?