"These moans of yours, Zemira, they tend to tamper with my head. They're making my mind a haywire, 𝓜𝓸𝔂 𝓿𝓪𝓶𝓹𝓲𝓻." He whispered into my ear, sending shivers down my spine. His dominance was giving me power to show my dominance.
If he wants to...
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In this discreet, dimly lit dining hall, a scene unfolds that hints at the clandestine world of organized crime. The dining hall exudes an atmosphere of both elegance and danger, where a sense of power and authority permeates the air.
Dressed in impeccably tailored suits and dresses, we all gathered in this room with a presence that commanded respect and caution. The aroma of rich, savory cuisine wafts from the open kitchen, tempting the taste buds with the promise of culinary delights. Plates adorned with exquisite dishes, ranging from classic Italian fare to decadent delicacies, are meticulously arranged before the members.
Zemira commands attention as she sits on the table rather than the conventional chair, embodying an air of confidence and authority. Dressed in a black dress that barely covered her thighs and cinched at her waist as well as made her tits almost pop out exudes elegance and strength.
She leans back, one leg crossed over the other, exhibiting a nonchalant demeanor. With a glass of rich, ruby red wine in her hand, she delicately swirls the liquid, observing its hypnotic dance within the crystal vessel. The intoxicating aroma fills the space, teasing the senses and adding to the allure of her presence. The wine, like her, is bold and complex, reflecting her multifaceted nature.
As she taunts me, a mischievous sparkle gleams in her eyes. Her voice, smooth and velvety, carries a commanding tone that resonates throughout the room. As she indulges in the wine, her confidence radiates, lending an air of mystery and allure to her persona.
"Yesterday, while we were having dinner," Zemira stresses on 'dinner', holding her index finger up like she was pissed at me. "Mr. Orpheus was out there, by the beach, playing KungFu Panda with pretty pretty Albanians," She finishes with sarcasm dripping from her tongue.
Aillard struggles to hide his laughter, and shuts down his little chuckles as soon as he sees Zemira glaring at him. Sighing, I recline in the wooden chair, a sly smirk hints at my lips.
"If I knew that you loved and cared about me to this extent, I would've told you where I was going, baby," I coo, my sarcastic reply dances on the edge of mockery.
The unexpected situation brings a delicate flush of color to Zemira's cheeks. As she sat on the table with the dress dangerously up her thighs, the comment catches her off guard, eliciting a subtle blush. The blush starts as a soft, rosy hue that spreads across her cheeks, contrasting against her typically composed expression.
Despite the blush, her composure remains intact, and she quickly regains her footing, allowing the color to fade as she reasserts her authoritative presence. With my wandering hands, they close proximity to Zemira's thighs. With a subtle smile on my lips, I engage in a playful game of teasing. My fingers graze her inner thighs in a feather-touch, leaving a trail of anticipation in our wake. I look around to make sure that this sinful act was being done discreetly.
"What Zemira is trying to say is that," I begin, flickering my gaze to every person in the room. "we need to pay more focus on the hidden mafia. Their main enemy is Zemira and I, not the mafia." I finish.
