Dinner with the captain wasn't much. Me, pretending to listen to his stories, nodding my head and occasionally smiling at the weak jokes, but I didn't accept a date with him for the association, I needed to find information and the only way I could do that was if I got him back to his home, and the only way to get him to his place was, well you know.
In the back of the cab, I immediately got him in the mood. The outfit I had on was a short tan Channel skirt with a matching jacket, nothing else. Throughout the night, I noticed his eyes looking down the V -- of the jacket, which was closed only by one button, by the time we were in the cab, my mouth was on the tip of his rock hard cock. His left hand, held tight my pulled back hair, while his right was up my skirt, fingering me in the pussy. His cock was average size, much smaller than Manuel's. Ten minutes of me giving him a blow job, he came in my mouth. He pushed my head deep into his thighs, and held me with both hands until he was empty. When he let go of me, I leaned back, hiked up my skirt, and began fucking myself looking at him with a smile. He breathing became erratic, like he was ready to jump on me and fuck me until there was no tomorrow. The cab driver smiled at the two of us through the rear mirror and announced he had arrived at the Captains home.
The Captain paid the driver and pulled me out the cab and dragged me into his small apartment where by the time the door closed, he was undressed and waiting. I unzipped my skirt and unbuttoned the jacket and at once, he grabbed me and threw me on the bed, placed my legs over his shoulders and entered my ass. My tight hole and I guess the entire situation made him cum within a minute. Afterwards he dropped to the side of me on the bed and went to sleep.
I couldn't believe that I had the opportunity so quick to take a look around his place, without him noticing. I was sure I would have to get him drunk to do so.
The apartment wasn't large at all; it was more like a studio, one big room, with an adjoining kitchen and a bathroom to the side. Beside the bed was a night stand and before looking in it I thought, finding anything in there would be so clichΓ©d and it was, a small black book, with the names and numbers of the people that I was told to ask about.
"Wow. This detective work isn't that hard."
I wrote the names down and walked out.
A few hours later I was congratulated by some higher ups, but was asked to continue to stay under cover to gain more information.
"No. Don't' do it. I don't want you to. It's too dangerous." Marie tells me.
And she was right. Although I had a free spirit and open mind, I enjoyed life and as much as I enjoy sex, I really didn't desire to become a forced sex slave. What was I to do? I gave my word that I would help.
"Your mother." Marie tells me. "Didn't you say your mother had a lover that was in the mafia here? Ask her to ask him to help you."
Marcel, how could I have forgotten?
I called my mother who gave me the number to Marcel, a local gangster who obsessed over my mother. He was the biggest fan of her porn, and when my father made some dumb financial decision, she became the mistress of the most powerful crime boss in southern France to get us out of the mess. If anyone knew about this drug and sex trafficking thing, it would be him.
Marcel was more the happy to hear from me and was elated to see me after almost eight years. I went to a night club to meet up with him and talk. I knew I couldn't just approach him with my situation; I had to talk his language. Physically I am a spitting image of my mother, and Marcel loved my mother, everything about her. Her openness, sexuality, physical beauty, she drove him mad, even more so, because she would not leave her husband for him.
I wore a tight see-through evening dress to meet up with him at his club, an underground casino on the outskirts of town. The room was filled with people placing bets on the roulette wheel, and card tables and to the back of the room, sitting surrounded by young women, was Marcel.
"Hello Marcel." I said. The smoke rising from cigars and cigarettes, spots of light hitting my dress, that I could see from reflections had become sheer. He looks at me and smiles.
"You look like your mother." He says standing leaving the girls behind. If looks could kill, the looks from the three dumb brunettes would have killed me.
Marcel walks towards me and grabs me pulling me tight towards him. I could feel his bulging cock between his thighs.
"I see you happy to see me."
"Always happy to see, my favorite mistress daughter."
"I need a favor."
"Whatever it is, it will cost you."
"Let me give you a down payment."