A contract with the Syndicate
allows no escape clause,
even for a Contract Cocksucker...
I recognize the way his cock expands, pulses hard up against the roof of my mouth. And the familiar way he grunts with animal satisfaction the moment before he cums. I nuzzle in closer, taking that fatness comfortably tight into my mouth as the tremors begin, the explosions that shock upwards from his balls, along the sperm-duct connecting us, deluging tides of semen into my receptive mouth. He's breathing hard so way above me. I'm gulping, always ready, always prepared, sometimes a little overwhelmed by the sheer amount of his emission. Alternating a hard aggressive sucking, with a gentler coaxing pace, draining the last oozes, until he relaxes back into the chair, spent. I tighten my lips around the base of his cock, and draw my mouth slowly up the full length, ensuring that the last few drops of semen are eased clear, so there's absolutely no chance of spillage staining his perfectly-pressed suit. But I keep his cock in my mouth, using my tongue in soft stimulations around its head.
'You see' says Correleonè, 'this boy knows how to suck cock. He has a mouth made for pleasure. And you can see how much he enjoys doing it.'
I'm the only one naked in the room. So the others, the three enforcers, the accountant, the two girls, can all see my embarrassing erection. I have no control. Can't help it. It's natural. Some of the girls here, I know, would love to be in my position, with his cock in their mouths. You can tell the way they glance across with those pouting, inviting expressions. They're probably working girls from his various cat-houses, and like me they've likely done porn shoots for him. They know that to get in close with him would help boost their careers and open up luring opportunities. But he chooses me for his morning blowjob. Every morning. Without fail.
'You know?' he addresses me directly, looking down, meeting my eyes. 'You've always been straight with me. Well... maybe straight is not the right word, no. But you know what I mean.' Then he turns to address the others. 'I'm not Gay, you all know that. But there's an honesty about this boy that I can trust. He's not after favour. He's not seeking gain. He wants nothing of me.'
He looks down at me. 'I think there's something you should know. I think it's about time you were made aware of certain aspects of your life. You've been honest with me. We should be honest with you. It's time for some unpleasant truths.'
He clicks his fingers, and Enforcer Mario jumps to do his bidding, bringing the iPad across so we can both see its screen. He scrolls through a few sites. I'm confused. Not sure how to react.
At the Don's bidding I raise my head warily out of his groin, allowing the softening cock to slip out from between my lips, leaving only a few parting fish-pout kisses on its still impressive glans. My head is giddy with blood-rush, as I try hard to concentrate on what he's showing me. It's a clip that looks to be CCTV footage. I glance this way and that. Correleonè stabs his finger at the screen, so I focus my attention on what I'm seeing.
It shows a corridor, as in some low-rent hotel. At first it's empty, then there's a man with his arms around two younger men, staggering and lurching. My heart skips a breathless beat. It's Philip. The lover I'm doing all this for. But what is he doing with those two younger guys? Instantly the perspective switches. They're inside one of the rooms. There are cheap half-drawn curtains through which you can see the city skyline. And a wall-mirror that reflects everything. I've known all along that the syndicate bugs these rooms for blackmail and coercion purposes. Incriminating film can be a useful tool to manipulate judges, ensure the loyalty of lawyers and guarantee police compliance. But why show me this now?
