Fletcher, Clint, and Cole, all three, then proceed to ejaculate all over Holder and my faces. The ropes of their pearly white cum dripping down our foreheads, cheeks, and chins before Fletch shoves his cock into Holder's mouth to finish himself off in him. The other guys are falling limply on the sofa behind us. I lick my lips as Fletcher pulls out, and Holder turns back to me.
"That was so fucking hot... Fuck me, Holder," I beg, barely above a whisper. Holder pushes me on my back onto the carpet, spreading my legs as his pierced cock shoves into my warm wet pussy. We both groan as I taste Fletcher now on his tongue too. Holder barely makes it a few strokes before he explodes powerfully in my wanton cunt. The activities of the evening being too much for him to last any longer.
Holder falls heavily on top of me, but I love it. His weight is warm, familiar, and secure. The safety and the protection of all my men, their bodies surrounding me, sends pleasure chills down my spine. Between the dancing, the blood, the fucking, and the cuddles. I am one satisfied boss bitch today.
I never wanted more out of life until I met these Sons of Fortune... Wanting to fuck them, learning that they cared for me, that they would kill for me, well, it has made me greedy. They made me want to love them. And love them, I do.
__________
After I run upstairs for a super quick shower, sans the guys, can't have them getting me all dirty all over again quite yet…
"Come on, Clint," I jerk my head towards the back door, "I guess we need to go check on our new favorite informant." He chuckles as he follows me out the back door to the workshop.
Entering in, we find Dante still cuffed to the chair, still bleeding down his bare chest, his head dangling loosely.
"Well, fuck, did I kill him?" I pout as Clint walks over to him, lifting his head up by the hair, before letting his head fall back down.
"Nah babe, he probably just passed out from the blood loss." He says, coming up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and nuzzling my neck.
Before Clint can talk me into round three for the night, Ahmya and Fletcher come in through the workshop door.
"Wussup, Pinkie-Pie?" Ahmya asks me, as we fist bump.
"Nothing much… just kicking ass and taking names- ya know, the usual," I reply with a grin.
"You guys are so fuckin' extra. It's weird as hell." Fletcher sighs before walking towards me with a sweet kiss on my cheek.
"Wasn't expecting you here tonight, Ahmya."
"What can I say Blue, the things Fletchy told me over the phone intrigued me, and since I was in the neighborhood anyway, I came on over to deliver this in person."
Well, that's a lie. No one lives in Clint's neighborhood; he lives about an hour away from bumfuck Egypt in the countryside of New Orleans. I'm not going to bother prying for more with her. Yet my eyes linger over the folder in her hands.
Ahmya hands over said folder, her eyes briefly flitting over our captive.
"That pretty guy Winnie's fuckboy?" She asks, lazily pointing at Dante's bloody slumped figure. I nod. "Nice."
"Yea, something like that," I chuckle back. "But hey, he held out longer than I thought he would."
"Not to be insulting, but..." she starts, and I feel my eyes rolling.
"Spit it out, Ahmya; Blue doesn't like games." Fletcher quips.
"Oh, but baby, I know you do," Ahmya says saucily as she starts going through some of the cabinets and drawers around the room. "Relax. Relax," Ahmya says, glancing back at me afraid she may have overstepped her bounds when it comes to Fletch and me. "All I mean is, this isn't your first 'torture' session, is it?"
"Of course not," I scoff back.
"Ahhh, here we go," she says as she pulls a medicine vial from a cabinet and a syringe from a drawer, placing them on the countertop. She then grabs some tape and gauze, placing them near the other items before moving everything onto a metal tray cart, which holds a bowl of soapy water, latex gloves, and a dry cloth. She rolls the cart near Dante. She slips on the surgical gloves, and inserts the needle into the vial, withdrawing some of the liquid.
"I ask because I don't know about you, but I prefer my informants not to get infections and live another day to tell me more." She says with a smirk. "Infections are a messy, smelly, painful bitch later to deal with." She cringes as if remembering a past torture mistake. "Now, Fletchy, do be a dear and hold him steady in case he wakes up."
Fletcher looks at me, and I nod my consent.
Fletcher grasps Dante's head as Ahmya injects Dante in a few spots around the cut marks. Dante wakes with a start from the needle's sharp pain and the starting burn of the medicine. He tries to jerk his head, but Fletch is there to help restrain that motion.
"Relax fuckboy, if you could handle what that crazy bitch over there just did to you, you can certainly handle the cleanup," Ahmya says with irritation in her voice.
"This is Lidocaine," She says, flipping the now used needle around. "It's a local anesthetic that blocks nerve signals to the body of fuckboy here. It will numb for about 20 minutes."
"Should have given it to me before cutting me then."
"You are an ungrateful bastard. I could still kill you if you prefer." I answer his smart ass back.
Ahmya applies direct pressure to the cut with a clean cloth to stop the bleeding. She then mixes up the water and soap in the bowl and flushes out the wound, before patting it dry again. She then applies a thick piece of gauze, which she tapes around the edges. "I recommend changing the dressing every couple of days as long as it's not oozing blood or puss. I'd say give him a tetanus shot too if you have one, but you know, your discretion, fuck it ya know." She says, pulling her gloves off.
"Thanks for the cleanup lesson, and the folder." I nod my head in respect to Ahmya. "I owe ya big time."
"And don't worry, you'll pay up soon enough when I'm ready to call in my favor. I'll be in touch. Toodaloo bee-otches!"
Fletcher, Clint, and I roll over some stools to one of the metal strap down tables and spread out the files Ahmya gave me. I scan quickly through the file. It appears to be a lot of sexy text messages between Dante and Winnie, a few naughty pictures back and forth, small poems, and proclamations of love by Dante to Winnie. Two things immediately come to mind, and I look at both my men as I relay this to them, so we are all on the same page.
"One- Dante must really be Winnie's man. He's seriously pussy whipped. I mean, look at the evidence Richard had against him. Hell, none of you assholes ever wrote me a poem." I grumble. "No wonder Dick knew which buttons to press with him."
"Babe…" Fletch starts to whine, but it helps me snap out of my mild irritation of knowing that gangbanger Dante is a Casanova of sorts.
"Oh yeah, and two- Holder cannot see this folder. He will have an aneurysm thinking of twatwaffle over there defiling his baby sister."
"Agreed. So, what's the game plan now?" Clint questions.
"Let's go talk to the other guys. Maybe have Holder check to see if Bastien and Augustine are on the way here. Since it appears Dante is another victim in all this, I guess we can leave him in 'protective' custody with Bastien and Augustine while we hash out our 'vacation' Florida plans."