Posing for the Mafia

*MARCUS’ POV*

“Ahh!..F*ck...Don’t stop!”

Marcus Wolfgang, an overworked, sleep deprived, and deeply sexually-frustrated man, growled low in his throat. Similar to countless other late-morning Saturdays, the dark haired club owner sought out to find a distraction from the tiresome monotony of his everyday life.

And thanks to the willing participation from one of his new servers, Vivian—a beautiful auburn-haired girl, Marcus was allowed to forget who he was. Even if it was just for an hour or so.

His hands tightly gripped Vivian by the ankles, pulling her legs further apart. With his tongue, he lazily licked a wet path up the girl’s inner thigh.

“Uhhn, ahh!” she cried.

He let out a deep chuckle. Oh, yes. This was his favorite part. He loved watching his women come apart under his touch. Of all the power he possessed, this was the only kind that he truly enjoyed.

What few knew, and many others did not, Marcus Wolfgang lived a double life. To the outside world, he was nothing more than just another nightclub owner who resided in the Upper West part of Manhattan. ‘The Mad House’, established by his late relatives, was known for its posh leather interior and its dim lighting. If one wanted to seek a break from the norm, that was where they would go.

However, beneath that expensive and mysterious decorum was another version to the man. A dangerous force that came with its own title and its own chair at the head table where the rest of the leading Mafia leaders of New York existed in secret.

Wolfgang was known for his brutality when it came to hunting people down, as well as gaining any necessary information. Those who didn’t know this about the recklessly handsome man fawned over him, while those who did, feared him out of respect.

Marcus happily watched as the girl beneath him withered in euphoria. Her hands were happily pinned upon her head by a pair of matching metal handcuffs. Not tight enough to cause pain, but enough to make her remember who was truly in control.

He hooked his arms under Vivian’s legs and had her rest the pads of her feet on the canvas of his covered thighs. Marcus reached up the length of her body to where his fingers brushed across her lips while his other hand opened her up like a blooming flower.

“Now, now. If you keep making those noises, someone is going to hear,” he said teasingly.

The girl moaned. “Uhnn, ahh, I don’t care!”

He smirked, his hand dragging down the girl’s chest. His fingers lightly teased her nipples, cupping the curve of her breasts. It was like playing a beautiful instrument. Every stroke created a delicate, sensuous noise. It was music to his ears.

“Well then...” Marcus kissed the innermost part of her thigh. “Try not to scream too loudly, sweetheart.”

All at once, his mouth descended on the girl’s mound, his tongue teasing and licking at her cl*t before delving deep between her slick folds.

**Buzz. Buzz.**

**Buzz. Buzz.**

Marcus growled in frustration at the sudden interruption. He tried to keep his rhythm steady but was finding it impossible as his phone continued to go off. He snapped his head back and grabbed the device.

“What?” he barked.

“B*stard, I dare you to give me that attitude of yours when you know damn well I asked for your help today!” Karoline shouted back.

Marcus cursed under his breath. Sh*t, was today the day that his sister was moving into her new sorority house?

As much as he wanted to argue, Marcus already knew he had promised to help Karoline move what was left of her stuff out of her dorm room. But, Jesus Christ, her timing was terrible.

For a long moment he just stared down at the naked girl on his bed. A devilish idea came to mind.

“Kar, I’m sorry but I really don’t think I can make it today. I’ve been up to my eyes in ‘work’ since this morning,” he lied.

Wolfgang knew all too well that his sister was about to go off on a long tangent. He took the opportunity to finish the job he had started by placing his phone on silent and returning to the task at hand.

With both his pointer and middle finger he leisurely stroked the girl’s wet, slick folds. He quickened his pace causing her back to arch off the bed. When he knew the girl was nearing her climax, he stopped and circled her clit with the pad of his thumb.

With Karoline ripping him a new ass through the phone, Marcus spent the next six minutes repeating this tantalizing process until the girl was nothing but a bundle of nerves, not paying a single mind to what Karoline was yelling about.

The corner of his mouth curved upwards. He took his bottom lip between his teeth. Without warning he slipped his fingers inside the girl’s p*ssy and thrusted deep.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Vivian groaned.

“You know what, Kar, I think my schedule is about to open up. I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Marcus said calmly.

He ended the call before Karoline could get a chance to bite his ear off again.

“It appears I have other matters to attend to. But I don’t like leaving things unfinished,” he rasped.

Marcus curled his fingers, now feverishly thrusting them in and out. The girl’s breathing grew quick and shallow. Her hands gripped the bed sheets, trying to fight off her orgasm as long as she could. But it was no use, the moment he spoke, she fell apart at the seams.

“Be a good girl and c*me for me,” he purred.

The girl’s mouth fell open, her expression twisting in sweet agony. Her hips lifted off the bed in hopes to cling on to that deep feeling of ecstasy.

A devilish smile spread across his lips. As previously mentioned, Wolfgang absolutely loved this form of power he had. He enjoyed bringing others pleasure in any form he could while knowing that he possessed equal ability to take it away. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough.

Marcus was willing to give and give, but deep down he knew that he would never get what he wanted in return. And with that thought in mind, it left a consistent emptiness burning a hole in his chest.

***

*BONNIE’S POV*

“Oh, God. Please make it stop,” Bonnie groaned weakly.

The young, twenty-four year old college student at Columbia University helplessly fought for her compromised immune system to improve from under her various bedsheets and pillows. It wasn’t, by any means, unusual for her to be sick. Unfortunately, it had become too much of a regular habit whenever she was feeling overworked, or worse. Depressed.

The so-called glamorous life of being one of New York’s most prized models was certainly not all it was cracked out to be. At least according to Bonnie, it wasn’t. Being placed in front of a flashing camera for countless years had certainly lost its luster for the young woman whose bones felt heavier than lead at the moment.

Her head was pounding, her throat was too dry for her to swallow properly, and worst of all, she didn’t possess the strength to lift her aching body out of bed. The only gracious relief Bonnie had was that she was alone.

Her former roommate, Karoline Wolfgang, was currently in the midst of moving into her new sorority house after being initiated just a few weeks ago. The room was quiet but far too cold for Bonnie’s liking. Then again, that was probably the fever inside of her talking.

She bunched her hands into the thick blankets and curled them tightly around herself. Her hazel colored eyes cracked open to find her phone screen lit up and buzzing. Through her blurry vision, she saw the name ‘Stella’ written across the top.

“Not now, Stells,” she mumbled into the sheets. “Not...now.” She adored her best friend, but she didn’t have the energy to sustain a coherent conversation at that moment.

In times like this, Stella was her rock. She’d supply Bonnie with whatever was necessary to make her feel better. Whether it was extra blankets, chicken noodle soup, or sending notices to all her professors that she wouldn’t be attending classes for the next two days, Stella was on it.

However, there was something different about this certain kind of illness that didn’t quite feel like the previous ones she’d experienced. It felt heavier. Colder. Like two weighted hands were pressing themselves into her chest, preventing Bonnie from breathing properly.

She didn’t have the strength to answer her friend’s phone call and several missed messages, but she knew that Stella would forgive her missed call. Although, she was not looking forward to seeing her friend scowl once the fever would finally break. She could already hear the lecture about ‘the importance of taking care of one’s health’ ringing in her ears.

‘She’ll understand,’ Bonnie thought to herself.

Without another moment’s thought, her hand slipped from the side table where her phone sat. Another terrible wave of nausea and chills crashed over her. The room melted away to nothing but darkness and the unbearable cold.

All Bonnie could make out was an unfamiliar sound of heavy footsteps hitting the floor just outside her door. Her heart thundered wildly in her chest. It was as if a jolt of adrenaline shot through her chest and delivered a few lasting seconds of mobility.

A terrible shiver raced down her spine. There was no way that those hulking footsteps belonged to Stella, which only made her think of one other unpleasant alternative. Her modeling agent, Marcy Wallace.

There was nothing that ever snuck past that woman when it came to Bonnie’s life. From every head cold she endured to every secret she tried to hide, Marcy knew. Somehow that woman was always two steps ahead.

‘Of course it would be her,’ Bonnie thought bitterly.

Someone at the agency must have let it slip that she wasn’t feeling well, and now they sent Marcy to pacify the problem. Unlike Stella’s motherly approach to handling a cold, her agent preferred the short-cut to recovery. Pumping her full of probiotics was a lot more efficient to knocking the sickness out of her, rather than allowing it to work through her system naturally.

Bonnie sucked in a deep breath and struggled to pull herself up from her bed. If it really was her agent, she couldn’t be found in bed as she was. Sick or not, Bonnie needed to appear functioning and semi put together.

But the more she moved against the weight of her bedding, the more impossible it was for her to get up. She heard the doorknob begin to rattle and realized that there was no chance of escaping Marcy’s wrath.

Her heart dropped into her stomach while she surrendered to the lulling weight of the soft blankets and pillows. Her eyes fluttered closed once more. Bonnie silently prayed for a miracle.

‘Please don’t be Marcy,’ she said to herself. ‘Please, God. Send me anyone else but her... Anyone.’