*Xavier Bulgare
I exited the warehouse, heading straight for the docks where my gunmen waited with rifles in hand. One approached me, toting an AK-47 loaded and with an extended magazine bristling with bullets.
"I've never seen anything like it, Xavier. They've erected a barricade at the favela's entrance—enough men to start World War III."
GB handed me a bulletproof vest, which I put on in silence, uncertain of the unfolding events, but keenly aware that something was amiss. Navigating the alleyways on my motorcycle, from the lookout, we had a privileged view of those attempting to invade our turf. In terms of firepower, they were outgunned, and not even their makeshift army could breach the defenses of my stronghold. From above, we fired ceaselessly; men piled up like toy soldiers. My enforcers, defending the entrance to the hill, also opened fire. I knew our casualties would be substantial—these weren't ordinary men; they were trained soldiers. Once the bulk of the attacking force was decimated and they retreated, taking a few of them hostage promised answers I needed. An ordinary man, no matter how wealthy, doesn't command such firepower, nearly breaking through the front lines of the highland stronghold.
"What do we do with our losses, boss?"
GB inquired with a look of concern. I understood the gravity of such a massacre—delivered to the residents, a son, a husband, or brother returned in a coffin—it’s a difficult thing for a leader.
"Give them a proper funeral. Fortify everyone's resolve," I directed regarding the support we should provide to the families, and GB nodded, acknowledging the order. Gutemberg was one of my trusted lieutenants—sending him on my behalf was akin to my own presence, though of course, I would also show up. Afterward, I headed to my shanty, and right at the entrance, a young runner approached me.
"Salute, boss."
He held a rifle and came forward.
"Send one of those whores up. I need to cool off."
He chuckled as I entered my dwelling, my mind heavy with troubles. The blonde bombshell from the warehouse was trouble—what she had in looks she matched in propensity for mischief. I opened the door to find Mel lying on the couch, clad in a minuscule pink pajama set, smiling at me—a stunner, a tasty morsel gifted by the former, now deceased, boss of Rocinha who I had sent straight to the devil's lap.
"I told you not to parade around the house as if you own it, dammit."
She walked towards me, attempting a kiss which I rebuffed, knowing all too well what she did with that mouth— performing oral is far from the least of her talents.
"Don't screw with me, Melinda. I'm not in the mood for your annoyances."
She whimpered, throwing herself face down on the sofa, presenting her delectable derriere. I might just indulge in punishing this bitch. As I approached, she quickly sat up, moistening her lips while watching me remove my shirt.
"Get on your knees and get to work, slut," I commanded, grabbing her hair, and she complied. Her hands reached the waistband of my shorts, sliding them down slowly, her nails lightly scratching my leg as I tightened my grip on her neck.
"Draw back those claws or you'll lose your fingers."
She smirked and pulled down my underwear. Melinda took me in her mouth greedily, caressing the tip with her tongue, her gag reflex tested by my size. As she fondled my testicles, I thrust deeper into her throat. Melinda looked up, tears in her eyes, taking as much as she could. Just as I was about to finish, I pulled away and climaxed on her face, which she loathed, her face a mess with my release.
"Enough out of you, bitch. I'm not done yet."
Positioning her over the backrest of the sofa, I produced a condom from my pocket and sheathed myself, spreading her legs with a knee and entered her forcefully, eliciting a scream.
"Ouch," she moaned loudly. As I squeezed her breasts and thrust harder into her, she howled like the wanton woman she is, begging me to go harder. I drove deep, and her whimpers matched my every move.
"Damn it, Xavier, slow down," she pleaded.
"Show some respect—it's Venom. Stop your whining, you can take it, whore, you love it rough."
She rocked back against me, enticingly showing off her backside even more. Reaching my climax, I finished inside the condom and she heaved with her own orgasm, calling out my name before breaking down. Disengaging from her, while she was still covered in my mess, she tried to cling to me.
"Get lost, Melinda."
I flung her baby doll shirt at her, and with a smile, she wiped her face with it.
"I’m going to take a shower."
"Have as many as you need," I grasped her arm, adding sternly, "At your place."
Naked, she looked at me with a tearful expression.
"Let me put my clothes on."
"I've already told you I don't want you here; you came of your own volition."
At that moment, as I opened the door, a sultry brunette stood smiling.
"D2 sent me up."
With a mischievous smile, she entered.
"Go take a shower and wait for me in the slaughterhouse. I don't want whores in my bedroom."
She sauntered off, and Melinda gave me a look.
"We just had sex, and you're going to be with that slut?"
"I don't owe you a damn thing," I retorted sharply. "It was just a good fuck. You and any other woman on this hill would get the same from me—hot dick and nothing more. Now get the hell out and don't be a problem."
Slamming the door behind her, I could hear her muttering on the other side, my sadistic side itching to drag her cum-stained face across the asphalt to teach her respect. But in that moment, I had more pressing matters—I needed to summon the son of a bitch Pato for a chat, welcome our captured guests, and enjoy the brunette waiting upstairs.
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