THE BARON

The slender red-haired girl walked with the poise and seductiveness known for the sesso lavatatori. Her destination; where the bulky looking man lounged on his leather chair.

Smoke drifted in the air like a phantom haunting the room.

As she walked, her gaze first fell on the imposing mahogany desk, adorned with intricate carvings of Italian Renaissance motifs. Behind it, Baron Antonio 'The Tempest' Falcone lounged on his high-backed leather chair, his gaze on her, a ravenous glare. 

A self-imposing painting of the Baron in one of his midnight silk suits and bloodred tie held by a Falcone sigil inscribed gold tie clip, nestled on the wall behind the Baron. The pair of lifeless eyes glared at her, highlighted by the stark scar running down the right eye.

She tore her eyes away to admire the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, crafted from the finest Tuscan oak, stretched towards the vaulted ceiling, lined with ancient tomes bound in worn leather and adorned with strange symbols. She knew all these details because she was once a noble man's daughter with a keen eye for detail, but now, like the other girls who serviced the Baron, she was here because her family owed The Tempest.

The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, a mix of expresso, dark chocolate and spice from the Cohiba Siglo VI dangling between two of the Baron's fingers as he occasionally puffed. During those early days of agreement, the Baron had often gifted her father with the same cigars, until he took everything away… including her. A hint of bergamot and the intoxicating tug of Hype added to the mix.

Even in the early morning, a roaring fire crackled on the stone hearth, illuminating the shadows of the Consiglieri seated across the room. Above the fireplace, in a glass case were mementos collected from the vanquished enemies of the Baron. 

Gold and silver rings, different sizes and types of bullets, locks of different colored hair, an old gold pocket watch, tie clips, earrings and necklaces. It was a tradition begun by the late Baron, Roberto Falcone 'The Warlord", after he rose to power from an underboss to a Baron by exterminating the bloodline of his late Baron, Don Vincent. And winning the quad war, he instigated between the four factions to place his faction "The Scarlet Brotherhood" on top.

The sparse spaces on the walls detect the removal of everything that had belonged to the previous Baron. His portraits, his trophies of horror and terror. And in its place were the few artifacts and weapons of Baron The Tempest. It's no secret that everyone thinks he's weak since the rise of the fifth faction "The Greys" ( the Espositos) who, in just a few years of existence, was already challenging their supply chain and production of Hype.

His father, Baron The Warlord, had wiped out the entire succession of his own Baron and kept the three factions in their place, and he, himself couldn't seem to take care of just one new faction. 

This was one of the reasons he had cleared the study of everything belonging to his father. He had more than enough reminders of the man's prowess and accomplishments. 

In the shadows, a vintage globe sat atop a delicate, ornate stand, as if waiting for the Baron to plot his next move. A nearby console table held a crystal decanter, filled with fine Italian whiskey, from whence his Consiglieri had poured the gleaming coppery liquid in their glasses.

Alia's ruby robe swept the rich, dark hardwood, polished to a high sheen. The wood, so dark it almost appeared black, with subtle hints of crimson that seemed to emerge in the flickering firelight. The floorboards were wide and long, each one carefully selected to showcase the natural beauty of the wood.

Her feet melted into a plush, hand-woven rug in a deep, crimson red with intricate patterns and subtle sheen. The rug was strategically placed to define the seating area, where a quad of black and red leather armchairs housing the Consiglieri faced the fireplace. 

In a ploy to calm her raging nerves, apparently the last girl to attend to the Baron just some hours ago left without her head because she failed to please him. She kept her gaze everywhere away from the Baron. On the small, ornate box on the edge of the desk, adorned with a delicate silver lock; the vintage, crystal paperweight on the console table, refracting the firelight into tiny rainbows; and the dreaded "Kaze no Kami" (God of the wind). 

Resting on its black, velvet-covered stand, positioned at a precise angle to showcase its lethal beauty was the menacing, majestic, ornate katana with a blade so sharp it seemed to hum with deadly intent. The name, etched in black elegant Japanese characters along the blade's length. Its polished, silver-gray steel glimmered in the light, revealing the subtle hamon, a tempering pattern that testifies to its legend of falling a head in just one strike. 

No doubt, it was the weapon behind the incident of the last girl. 

Standing before the dark suit clad Baron, Alia let her robe fall, revealing her Aphrodite-likened body. For months, she had been trained for this very moment, yet nothing prepared her for the shudder that ran through her as the Baron's callused palms cupped her butt, pulling her closer.

For a man with a hideous heart, the Baron The Tempest was devastatingly handsome… at least for a man in his late fifties. With a strong, chiseled face and piercing brown eyes that seemed almost black as it devoured her. A strong jawline, prominent nose, and the scar that slashed from his temple down his right eye in the shape of a crescent moon.

His dark, slicked-back hair which was graying at the temples added to his cruel hinging look. 

Another wave of pleasure shot through her as his hands brushed the hair of her center. Then he began stroking her, slowly at first, the cold kiss of his signet ring biting against her skin and sending shivers of cold desire all over her.

In her fit of pleasure as the strokes became rough and fast, she almost forgot the one rule Signora Donna laid emphasis on; "Do not touch, don't make a sound, just obey". She had wanted to sink her hand into his hair and then those words echoed through her mind and she kept them where they were, at her side.

She would have lost that hand had she tried it. A shot of pain pried her eyes open as the Baron squeezed hard on her rigid peach bossoms. She bit down on her lower lip as he squeezed and squeezed, his tongue rimming her bush in no gentle way. She almost screamed as his teeth bit her, but she stifled it by cupping her mouth tightly with both of her hands and jerking her head back so he wouldn't see the tears staining her eyes.

With her head jerked back, she saw the Consiglieri clearly enjoying the sight. One of them was even stroking his rod with one hand while sipping his whiskey with the other. 

She gripped the edges of the desk as her body tensed, whilst the Baron slipped his signet ring into her, the metal caressing her walls. Even without looking, she knew blood stained her center, not that of purity, but that from the bites left by the Baron. The whisper of breeze on her chest confirmed that her boobs weren't spared either. 

She could feel the blood trickling down her globes from the moon claws his nails left. Pleasure drowned out the pain as the Baron thrust his finger inside her, a moan escaped her lips and she was rewarded with a resounding slap as the Baron yelled, "You like that sì, you porca puttana! Well, what about now?!" She felt herself stretch, and her knees almost buckled as all five of his fingers slid into her.

Pain. Pleasure. 

She wasn't sure which of the two she was truly feeling, but from the feral glaze on the Baron's eyes and the way his body quivered with each thrust, he was clearly drugged by the latter. 

A part of her mind was glad, at least she wasn't going to end up like the last girl. 

"Just a few more minutes." 

"Just a few more tears." 

"Just a few more waves of pain" 

She echoed those words in her mind, assuring herself that it would soon be over. According to Signora Donna, the greater the pain, the greater the pleasure for the Baron and with that comes his finale.

"Kneel"

That command snapped her away from the hope that he was close. Masking a smile, she knelt as the Baron toyed with her fiery curls. Those words of reassurance echoed through her mind as she tried not to fidget under his touch or show the fear that was hammering in her chest.

"Ahhh!" She found herself yelling as the Baron pulled a handful of curls. Another slap made her silent and caused her eyes to water. And this time, he saw the streaks.

She tilted her face to the ceiling as she felt his tongue lick her tears.

The ceiling was a stunning example of Renaissance-inspired design, featuring a series of ornate, octagonal coffers. Each coffer, adorned with a delicate, hand-painted scene from Italian folklore, surrounded by intricate moldings and gilded accents.

At the center of the ceiling, a magnificent plasterwork medallion dominated the space, featuring the Falcone family crest (the letter F in black elegant font with golden outstretched falcon wings flanking the sides, all within the three gold bands representing the three founding families of the Falcone empire) in exquisite detail. The medallion was surrounded by a delicate filigree of interlocking circles, creating a sense of depth and visual interest.

The coffers were painted in a soft, muted palette, with subtle gradations of color that were meant to evoke a sense of warmth and intimacy, but for her, it represented something and someone she despised.

"Now, worship your Baron" he gruffed in that deep tone of his as he reclined and spread his legs.

With quivering fingers, Alia unzipped his fly, reached for his glorious pink-tipped rod and took him whole with her mouth. 

"Cazzo!" He yelled as he jerked his head back, then he slapped her hands away and closed his hands around her neck as he thrust fast and wild in her mouth.

She was choking. She couldn't breathe as he thrust faster and faster most times, reaching the wall of her throat. Her hands tapped and pounded frantically on the Baron's lap, red visions swarmed through her mind as she felt herself slipping away.

Seeming far away, she heard someone yell "Mio dio!" and something warm, mucky, sweet and slightly nutty with hints of cigar smoke and red wine filled her mouth before she passed out.