Madame of the House

It is one thing to be courageous, and it is another to be outrageous.

That’s how it was that day, the day I will forever keep etched on my mind.

She is the madam of the house, the owner of the massage parlour established for her by her Mafioso husband. You know what happens with these Mafia guys – cross the line and you are dead meat, you vanish off the face of the earth without a trace.

She is tall, willowy; big, full breasts that you couldn’t fancy on her body and a waist of a Michelangelo’s carving. Her shoulder length, tar black hair is like the sliver of the moon, and she always smells nice – frangipani and jasmine. Talk of beauty embodied.

But untouchable.

She too knows this. If, and God forbid, one dared live cremation is a mild comeuppance. Moreover, she couldn’t allow it, of that I was sure, no chance in hell. She burned with passionate love and commitment to her Casanova Mafia husband.

As her husband’s head of security I access areas out-of-bounds to many – like going to her private room at the parlour where she plays Peeping Tom watching the shenanigans of authoritative public figures, high ranking government officials and politicians on a bank of screens live from high-power miniature cameras concealed discreetly in each room of vanity and profanity.

I was sent by the boss to fetch her – her presence was needed at the business meeting that was going on on the parlour’s patio.

I stirred as I opened the door when she feebly said “Come in.”

There she was – the woman of my dreams, in reality. For an instance I wanted to bury my head between her breasts, breath in the fragrance of her hair, caress the softness of her skin and explore the treasures between her legs – all forbidden fantasy.

Instead, I said, “Your presence is needed at the negotiation table outside” and turned to leave.

“Not so fast, security boy,” she said giving me the wink and a pout of her scarlet lips.

She came to where I was, pressed her lithe figure against me, and the next minute I felt her hands inside my pants. I wasn’t surprised I was already aroused. However, I felt the erection growing, hardening, in her soft hands.

I also made another earth-shattering discovery – I was as fearful as I was aroused.

I felt my trousers fall down my knees; her hand cupped my scrotum, and then trailed a single nail along the underside of my rock hard shaft, from base to tip.

“I’m no fool, Carlos,” she said. “I see the way you look at me.” She encircled the length of my penis with her fingers. “I must be lying if I said I haven’t fancied how it’d be.”

I hit back a moan, but the twitching of my cock betrayed me.

She then kissed me, moving her soft hands up and down my shaft.

I couldn’t hold it any longer. I felt my throbbing gadget thrust futilely into empty air, discharging copiously, and I knew better than to ask for more.

“I don’t mix business with pleasure,” the madam of the house said. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Hmmm….” Is all I managed to utter.

Copyright © Rati, 2012. All Rights Reserved.