PRESENT OF A MAFIOSO by XDemencia (me ^o^)
Find more stories on my profile: https://www.deviantart.com/xdemencia/art/Present-of-a-Mafioso-984821150
[GAY/ MALE FOOT FETISH/ DOMINATION/ HUMILIATION/ TEASING/ SHOES/ SOCKS/ COCK TRAMPLING/ FOOT WORSHIP]
[...]
In a quiet corner of the city, tucked away from the bustling streets, stood a small pasta shop. The owner, Marco, was a young and somewhat scrawny man. But on this particular evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the windows, Marco was about to receive an unexpected encounter.
The doorbell tinkled softly as it swung open, announcing the arrival of a stranger. Marco looked up from behind the counter, his hands covered in flour, to see a remarkable figure striding in. This newcomer exuded confidence, dripping in arrogance that commanded attention.
The man was younger, probably had the same average age as Marco, except the stranger was a very taller guy with chiseled features and smug expression that created an irresistible allure. With a display, he removed his hat and produced a cigar, expertly lighting it. The fragrant smoke wafted through the air as the stranger's enormous shiny black social shoes clapped against the wooden floor with each measured step. The echoes created by each clap build some tension within Marco (what size were those big shoes anyway? 15 maybe?!).
Initially frozen by the audacity of this intrusion, Marco finally found his voice:
— I'm sorry, but we're closed for the night! — he stammered, attempting to assert himself.
The stranger merely smirked, his perfect white teeth gleaming.
— Closed, huh? That's a shame, sweetheart. I came to collect a little something… and I'd “haaaate” to be disappointed. — He spoke with a teasing tone with a hint of menace and immaturity.
Marco's heart raced as he realized the lad's intentions. This was no ordinary visitor; this was a messenger from the mafia, sent to collect protection money. The stranger's presence was intimidating enough, but his magnetic charm and striking appearance left Marco both paralyzed and entranced.
As the stranger's gaze bore into him, Marco couldn't decide what was more overwhelming: the fear of what this man represented or the undeniable attraction he instantly felt like the lad had cast a spell on him.
The stranger's attire, an elegant vest that perfectly matched his chiseled, pretty face, seemed to accentuate every contour of his well-toned body.
It was a clash of emotions within Marco — fear, desire, and an inexplicable fascination. He didn't know if he was more terrified by the intimidating aura of the stranger or by the mesmerizing allure of this godly figure who had just walked into his humble shop.
— I-I… — Marco gulped as he tried to build the courage. — I won’t be intimidated by any sort of mafia criminal trash! HURRY UP AND LEAVE BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!
As Marco tried to stand his ground, he soon realized the gravity of the situation. The thug didn't take kindly to resistance. With a swift and brutal strike, he struck Marco across the face, sending the smaller man sprawling onto the floor. The impact left a stinging pain on Marco's cheek, but it also brought him face to face with the harsh reality of the situation.
The thug, nonchalantly retrieved a weapon from inside his coat, aiming it squarely at Marco. His polished black shoes continued to tap rhythmically on the wooden floor, drawing Marco's attention to their imposing presence.
The thug's soft teasing tone cut through the tension.
— Man, shut up… — he sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance.
It was clear who held the power in this encounter, and Marco felt his resolve weaken under the thug's relentless pressure. But the thug wasn't content with just words. His keen observation hadn't missed a detail… especially the telltale sign in Marco's hard pants.
An amused smirk played on his lips as he took note of Marco's dilemma.
— Whole Mole, you're one of those dirty pigs into that kind of shit, aren't ‘ya? — he mocked, lifting his shoe and gently pressing it onto Marco's straining erection.
The pressure was both painful and pleasurable, and Marco couldn't help but let out a muffled moan as the sensation washed over him.
The thug put more pressure on Marco’s hard-on and, as he closed his eyes, fully opening his mouth to produce a huge moan — with a lot of gusto this time — the thug quickly produced a pistol, shoving it into Marco's trembling mouth.
Fear gripped Marco as he stared wide-eyed at the weapon, his heart pounding in his chest. The thug, undeterred, gripped the back of Marco's head, tangling his fingers in Marco's hair and holding him in place.
— Hmm… — The thug purred with a wicked glint in his eye. —, you know… mine's bigger than this weapon. — He demonstrated with a slow and provocative back-and-forth motion, causing Marco to gag slightly and draw saliva as the thug pressed the tip of his shoe onto Marco's bulge, trampling it against the floor.
Pain and pleasure mingled as Marco's moans filled the air, muffled by the pistol's presence in his mouth. The thug's sadistic dominance left Marco feeling weak and helpless at his mercy.
— I'd say you get it. Right, my boy?! — the thug mused. He wore a sly, cut smile as he continued. — Let's see if you really understand. Give a nice, wet slurp on my gun's barrel if you're with me.
Marco looked up at the man above him, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desire. With a theatrical flourish, he sucked on the pistol's barrel, eliciting a smirk from the thug.
— You're a good slut, aren'tcha? — the thug chuckled like a boy would playing with his dog. He then retrieved a small towel from his pocket and proudly cleaned the gun cowered in saliva. — Just to turn things official, how about pledging your loyalty to the family?
The owner, still trembling from the ordeal, quickly responded to the thug's request.
— Yes, sir! I pledge and devote my loyalty to you!
The thug chuckled in response, amused by the owner's eagerness.
— Nooo... your moron! — he teased playfully. — You were to pledge to the Dom, haha! But guess this is fine anyway... if you want to be my little bitch, guess this counts as a pledge for the family too. Just give me whatever changes you made today, and we're good.
With a sense of relief, the man swiftly rose to his feet and retrieved the cash from the register machine. He nervously handed it over to the young, taller thug, who took it nonchalantly with a yawn.
— That's it all? — the thug questioned with a hint of disappointment. — Man... can't believe I made the boss change his mind about 'ya. “No boss, don't put a bullet in his head,” I said. He's gonna be so sad when he sees these chump changes. — He wore a smirk, clearly enjoying the owner's discomfort.
“Ha, what's up, man? — the thug continued, his tone shifting to a friendlier demeanor. — I was just kidding. You're really a nice obedient boy. Usually, I need to break two or more teeth to teach them a lesson, but just took a well-done hard stomp in your cuck’s lil’ dick to make the trick, huh?"
The taller, handsome man leaned against a nearby counter, lifting his right shoe and slipping a finger into the back of it. He moved the shod down and let it drop onto the wooden floor, creating a definitive thud that echoed in the empty store.
He continued to strip off his long black sock with deliberate slowness, never taking his eyes off the owner, who remained on his knees, his mouth agape as though he were beholding an angel.
The taller man stuffed his soaked, warm sock directly into the owner's mouth. The vinegary scent permeated the air, invading the owner's nostrils. The sour and salty sweat slowly flooded his mouth, slipping to the back of his tongue and down his throat.
— That's just a reward for showing your loyalty, sweetie. — the thug cooed. — Now, lie down, would ‘ya? Lemme me give you one last present…
Desperate to see what else that godly figure of a man stored for him, Marco quickly dropped on his fours, leaning his chin on the ground with nothing but the lad’s long, plump, visible glimmering with sweat, strong toes in the line of sight.
Without warning, the helpless owner watched as the thug's foot advanced toward his face. The thug's toes wrapped around the owner's nose, gently pushing his face against the sole of his foot. The man whimpered loudly as he felt the moist, slippery skin gripping and rubbing against his nostrils and covering all his face easily almost swallowing it in between his wrinkles.
— That's right, boi... short breaths and deep whiffs! — The thug instructed, his voice filled with satisfaction as he continued to dominate and humiliate the owner, who whimpered meekly.
As the thug pulled away, leaving the owner in a state of lustful frustration as he sensed he was just about to cum. The lad quickly retrieved his hat from the table and got dressed. The owner watched with a puppy expression as the handsome lad stopped just short of the corner where his shoe lay.
— Well... message delivered! You can keep my sock as a souvenir... bye, lil' fella! — the thug's voice carried a teasing tone as he spoke, slipping on his shoe without even turning back. With one hand stuffed casually in his pant pocket, he waved his other, muscular hand in a mocking goodbye.
Desperation filled the owner as he called out:
— WAIT! — The taller man halted in his tracks, still not turning to face the owner. — PLEASE, SIR! Come back again tomorrow night! I promise I'll serve you the best Carbonara you've ever eaten in your whole life... as a sign of my gratitude... “SIR”! — the owner emphasized the last word, his voice heavyweight with lust and desire.
The taller guy turned back with a cocky smirk, walking toward the owner. He took a final drag of his cigar and made a sign, pointing to his own mouth with his free hand, while nonchalantly looking down at the smaller man.
Understanding the unspoken command, the owner obediently opened his mouth, and the good-looking man deposited the final ashes of the cigar into it. He dropped the lightning-burning tip and stamped it out on the floor, creating a messy pile of ashes.
— Well, sweetie... serve me the best meal you've cooked in your life, and... — the thug casually glanced to the side, as if considering something. — If I like it, I'll let you clean those big bad bare boys with your tongue, got it? They'll be marinating in those tight shoes all day just for you! — He winked suggestively.
Both men looked down at the floor, witnessing the wet pants of the owner dripping with a sticky, transparent liquid that formed puddles on the ground. The taller man couldn't help but chuckle at the sight.
— Now clean this mess, will 'ya, sweetheart?! It's not good for mafia's business if everyone knew they have a pig as a protegee, right?! — he gave the owner's cheek a firm, but not overly harsh, slap, eliciting a small moan from the man. Then he turned and left the store, whistling.
The owner dropped to his knees on the slimy ground, amidst the black ashes, still trying to process what had just happened.
—Whoa… who was this guy?!
[THE END… MAYBE?!]
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