Machine Gun Daniella

The streets were virtually deserted. The faintest of snow falls in the air. Steam rises up from the drainage covers and ventilation dotting the streets. I close the collar of my jacket a little tighter with a gloved hand while also gripping my briefcase a little bit more loosely, the metal handle growing cold in my hand.

Trying to focus my attentions elsewhere, focusing on not being cold. I run some figures in my head. Crunch some numbers. The latest fiscal report at work had some discrepancies in it that needed my attention. But the boss sent me home early. On account of the holidays.

I couldn't argue with him there. Not that I had anywhere to be, or anyone to spend the holidays with, but it seemed like we had been working a lot of unpaid overtime lately. A lot. And the new hires we've recently gotten didn't seem to do anything but make the job more hectic and chaotic lately.

Suppose it beats the alternative of work being dull.

My thoughts were interrupted however, as I heard footsteps approaching me from behind. I resisted the gnawing desire to turn my head, and as a result my neck started to hurt. Attempts to quicken my pace were counterproductive however, as the road had the faintest of slick slipperiness about it. My work loafers next to useless in this weather.

Note to self: If I survive tonight, I'm buying a part of comfortable, practical footwear for these walks home.

I soon realized the footsteps behind me were multiple. More than one person was walking towards me, and unlike me, their pace was successfully quickening.

Reaching around in my pockets, I decided that if I was going to get mugged tonight, I was going to do it attempting to stand my ground, not slipping on the icy road like some poor animal. I turned about on my heel just in time to see a black bag get pulled over my head. Like some kind of net and I was the fish.

“Hey! Stop! Lemme go!” I thrashed, or attempted to thrash as arms stronger than my own seized me about the biceps and lifted me up off the ground. Briefcase limp in my hands, I attempted to focus on keeping a hold of that. Maybe it's what they wanted, though I failed to see what value documents from work would do for them. Or me, for that matter. Sure, I was an accountant, but I wasn't exactly a spectacular one.

The light squeeze on my arms told me to shut up. And I did. I didn't resist as these two men carried me off somewhere. I heard the door of a car open up and expected the worse, for somebody to whack my head against the doorframe on the way in.

Wordlessly the doors opened and three more men joined me in the car. I could feel the vehicle rock on its suspensions from each of their weights. Guesstimating, I'd figure each for them to be between 160 and 220 pounds. Some kind of hired muscle, with maybe a scrawnier guy acting as the brains of the operation. Regardless, I was pretty sure any one of them could take me in a fight. If it came down to that. Last time I punched someone had been back in the seventh grade. And that didn't turn out all that spectacular for me either.

As the engine turned over and we pulled out into the street. I became vaguely aware of how heightened my senses were with this bag over my head. Every tilt and motion of the car brought movement and motions from within the car, and I was vaguely aware of all of it. The guy next to me wasn't wearing his seatbelt. I could feel him lurch with each bounce and bump in the road, could feel him squeezing the driver's seat in front of him firmly to steady himself. The guy directly ahead of me didn't move around to much, I could smell the product in his hair. He seemed heavyset. Of all the motion in the car, he seemed to be the thing that moved the least.

No words were exchanged along the trip. But I became vaguely aware of a particular odor in the car. Metallic. Slight smoky smell.

I think the guy next to me had a gun trained on me.

I swallowed hard.

It's funny how calm you are in a situation like this. The powerlessness comes with its own sense of security. Like life isn't in your hands and you can just relax. Well, until you realized the guy with a gun trained on you wasn't wearing a seatbelt and was gripping that gun about as tightly as the seat in front of him.

I began to sweat.

The car ride came to an end and the doors opened. Everybody got out except the gunman beside me. He didn't move. Didn't flinch. I was surprisingly grateful to him. That steely quality was the whole reason I hadn't gotten shot on the way over.

My door opened and the cool, night air joined me in the car. As one guy, probably the guy that sat in front of me on the way, grabbed my arm and hoisted me out, I caught the smell of water. Had to be down by the docks.

Greaaaat. They were going to kill me and dump me in the ocean no doubt.

Roughly, but not without consideration, I was pushed and led down the street and into some kind of building. Moment the doors closed behind me, I was grateful to be out of the cold weather. It had gotten frigid.

The warmth of this place soon thawed the frost from my bones, but did nothing to stem the sweating I seemed to be picking up. Footsteps all around me, I could hear the floorboards squeak and protest. I heard doors open, and wordlessly, I was led through one and lead down stairs.

I tell you, going downstairs with a blindfold or a bag over your head is a very unique experience. It's funny how your body can just feel open spaces. Or the gravity of a potential drop. I was aware the entire time of how far a misstep would have cost me. Luckily, the man ahead of me held onto my wrist and led me down the steps appropriately enough. While the gun against the my back was only mildly disconcerting.

I tilted my head as I got downstairs. I couldn't get a feel for this place at all. It seemed very open. And quiet. Very quiet.

The hardwood floor beneath me didn't have as much creaking to it as the floor upstairs. It smelled pristine. Pine, with some kind of lacquer finish.

As my trip drew to a close, I felt the guy leading me let go of my wrist, then the guy behind me moved the gun away from my back. And then the two of them forced me down into a chair.

And the bag came off.

I huffed, puffing out the felt and hair and dust, dirt, material or whatever had gotten into my mouth from the bag. I wiped at my lips with the back of my hand and was vaguely aware of the static electricity locked into my hair.

“Hey, what gives?” I asked, a surprising amount of boldness in my voice.

The two men turned and ascended the stairs without so much as a goodbye, and I was then suddenly aware of how little I could see of the world around me. Besides the staircase behind me, I saw nothing but the dark around me.

The lights above me were all I had. That and this chair. And my briefcase.

I got to gripping that briefcase a little tighter as I heard the sound of footsteps approaching me in the dark.

Heels.

“I apologize for the rudeness.” A feminine voice said in a way that seemed completely lacking in sincerity there.

Ha, yeah, right, lady. I turned away from the stairwell behind me to greet this chick. But all my coy brash, puffed up attitude vanished like a popped balloon upon one look at her.

Like the big bang, or catching a glimpse of the universe for the first time I was suddenly hit with a thousand points of realization all at once..

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

The woman sauntering towards me in the gilded creme dress holding a wine glass was none other than the elusive mob boss, Daniella. Word was that Daniella owned virtually the entire city, much of everything in her pockets.

Rumors of her existence were just that, rumors. She seemed as much fairy tale as leprechauns, forest gnomes or the tooth fairy. The idea that the city was all one big well-oiled machine run by Daniella seemed farfetched at best.

But the hired muscle, this basement, and just about everything else about her just screamed Daniella.

What took me by complete surprise however was one thing. Well, two things. Okay, lots of things. But chiefly amoung them, she was sporting an overly generous rack. And then some. She had about enough breast for ten, twelve women.

Her eyes remained fixed upon me, this overbearing sense of confidence about her. A smirk dancing upon her cherry tomato red lips.

I couldn't peel my eyes off her breasts. They bounced and quaked with each step. The material of her dress seemed barely adequate to contain them.

I gulped. I swallowed hard.

She chuckled.

It was a scary, low kind of chuckle.

She took a sip of wine. A slow sip. She smiled, her eyes fixated upon me. The grin broke her lip contact with the glass and trail of liquid escaped her smirk. The blood red wine dribbled down her chin and dripped a lone solitary drop upon her chest. The droplet held fast. Coming to a perfect standstill at just the tip top of her cleavage.

It was as if the droplet's own fear of her cavernous cleavage defied gravity. It was frozen still with fear.

And so was I.

I practically tore into my briefcase, I was gripping it so hard. Pressing, crushing it down upon my lap really. Trying anything to resist the physical reaction I was having.

She winked, her eyebrow cocked. A look of fascination upon her face.

She lowered the wine glass. But she did it with such vigor and power that I couldn't help but gulp again.

Her beautiful, sparkling eyes grew distant. She stared at the stairwell behind me.

Painful quiet seconds passed. It felt like an eternity. The silence was offensive.

I tried to speak. To make some kind of noise. But I couldn't interrupt whatever it was that she was doing.

She clicked her tongue against her teeth, casting a glance down at her gilded wine glass, a look of disappointment upon her face as she furrowed her brow at it. She raised the glass up and peered at it. Swirled it around in her hand.

My eyes snapped to her breasts as the little motion was enough to send her magnificently massive right breast into her left and the two bounced around in their gilded confines.

My eyes wide, I was startled from my trance by Daniella taking another gulp of wine. Draining the glass. My eyes became fixed upon her neck as I watched her gulp it down. My eyes naturally trailed down her cleavage until it reached her creme dress.

I noticed her areolae just barely peeking out over the top.

For a mob boss, she was damn sexy.

She snapped her fingers. And I stood rigid in my chair.

Was this it? Had she tired of me and now I was going to die?!?

A meek waiter stepped from the shadows holding a fresh bottle of red wine like he was cradling a child.

He popped the cork and poured the wine from the bottle into her glass. Practically filling it to the brim. Then he walked over to me and set the bottle down upon my briefcase. I moved both my hands to hold the bottle.

The waiter departed back into the shadows.

Her eyes returned to look of playfulness. She gestured towards me.

I looked around. What, did she want me to drink straight from the bottle? What was this? An act of intimidation?

Hell... I was mighty intimidated. Terrified really.

Was I supposed to guard this bottle with my life? It was her bottle of wine! Daniella! Machine Gun Daniella!

The bottle even had her face on the label!

“So...” She spoke in such a way that I got the feeling I was supposed to say something, anything.

“Hi?” I said, practically choking on the greeting as it left my parched lips.

“Hello,” she purred, rolling her tongue along the roof of her mouth as she spoke.

I gulped.

The seconds ticked by.

“Well, I'm gonna go-” I stood up, bottle of wine in one hand, briefcase clutched to my crotch in the other.

“Sit! ...Please.” She started with a firm edge, but her voice quickly softened.

I did as I was told and sat down in that chair like my life depended on it.

“I've watched you for a while...” She said. Her eyes shifted away from me for a second. A bit of rosiness in her cheeks. I couldn't tell if it was intoxication.

I gulped.

Oh fuck! WHAT DID I DO?!?!?

Did I steal something from work? Is this about that pen I found in the lunchroom?!

“And I thought we should... meet.” She said, a little huskily, while also with an edge of shakiness.

I could feel the color drain from my face. I realized my lips were pressed together so firmly that I had stopped breathing.

I resumed breathing for a little bit and then forced myself to stop again.

Meanwhile her breathing seemed to accelerate.

My eyes snapped down to the swells of her chest. Her breasts heaving. Rising and falling. Each fall was met with a quiver as the magnificent mounds settled back into place.

She offered a weak smile. She shifted her hips. The shifting of her hips set her breasts into motion again.

I cocked an eyebrow. What...?

“I've had three bottles already,” she murmured. As if chastising herself, looking down at the wine glass in her hand. “Well, technically the bottle in your hands is my third. Father always said I had a naturally high tolerance.”

I nodded dumbly.

She sighed. Swirling the glass around in her hand. She lifted it to her nose and sniffed it before lowering it to her lips and taking a slow sip.

She swished it around in her teeth.

I could see her nipples jiggle back and forth from the motion. Her breasts like pendulums. Overfull pendulums.

And naturally, a jiggle of her breasts.

I didn't think it was possible for my eyes to grow any wider, as I continued to stare at the woman standing before me. She was starting to fidget a little under my gaze. I was starting to wonder why I was here. Who is Machine Gun Daniella, and why had she brought me here?

She caught my confused expression, and shot me a coy glance. I fidgeted under her watchful gaze, expecting the hammer to drop at any moment. Expecting those men from earlier to come down the stairs behind me, or for the lights to come on and reveal a firing squad laying in wait in the shadows.

But instead, Daniella strolled up to me, tilted at the hips enough to reach the bottom hem of her dress around her knees and hiked the dress up until it got up dangerously close to the top of her thighs. She then straddled my lap, her arms, wine glass and all dangling on my shoulders. Her immense bust seemed to fill all the available space between us. They rested upon my briefcase, which rested precariously upon a very sensitive region of my lap. My hands still clutching the wine bottle as it protruded against Daniella’s cleavage.

I gaped. Shock. What kind of torture was this?

She gazed into my eyes, searching for something, refusing to break eye contact no matter how I tried to pull myself away.

I turned my head away from her direction and forcefully she gripped me by the chin with her free hand and turned my face back towards hers. Her eyes once again searching mine.

I whimpered, gulping back fear.

She patted me on the cheek with her free hand before gripping my shoulder and scooting forward on my lap. Her hips pressed my briefcase hard up against mine and under my ribs. It became a little hard to breathe.

Daniella was also not a very light woman, she was heavier than I was, it seemed and I immediately regretted even thinking that because I was instantly afraid that she had some kind of mind-reading abilities or something.

I forced my eyes shut and tilted my head back away from her, my breathing shallow and forced from the briefcase invading my sternum.

Suddenly my breath was taken away as Daniella used both arms to pull us closer together, her lips latching onto mine. As her tongue forced its way down my throat, her breasts slipped over the edge of the briefcase and I felt her nipple press up against my stomach. My hands released the bottle of wine, her breasts preventing it from going anywhere as my hands slipped out from under her breasts and found purchase upon her ass.

She chuckled, her tongue still entwined with mine, before redoubling her efforts.

…..Was this how she killed her victims?

Her hands on either side of my head as the wine glass pressed up against my temple and ear, she broke off the kiss, my tongue sliding against the roof of her mouth and against her teeth as we pulled apart. She then stepped backwards and came away from me completely.

In one fluid motion, she stood upright, turned 180 degrees and poured more wine from the bottle into her glass.

How did she even take that?

I looked down at the barren briefcase, slightly akimbo from where it had jabbed against me. I pulled it to the side and discarded it to the floor.

As I was about to protest and demand to know what this was all about, Daniella snickered.

She downed another glass of wine and merely said, “That was fun.”

…..Fun?

Wait, what? Hold on…

The mob boss swished the wine about in her mouth and then swallowed, turned back towards me and handed me both the bottle and the wine glass.

I had barely a moment to register the two objects now in my hands before Daniella reached up to the strap of her dress and pull it from her shoulder.

In what seemed like an instant, the dress found its way to the floor and Daniella stood there, completely naked.

Wine spilled onto the floor from where my grip and gone limp on the bottle as my eyes bugged out from their sockets.

Now she was naked?? What the hell?! What is this?

Daniella was blushing, her hands up over her head as she rolled her hips and gave a little dance of freedom. I couldn’t tell if she was intoxicated or not. But her eyes bore down on me with a fierce intensity that there was no mistaking.

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. It wasn’t just like an attractive woman was standing naked in front of me. Oh no, it was more like I was caught swimming out in the ocean with a great white shark as she circled around me, studying her prey.

When she was content that she could reach me faster than I could possibly get away, a smile curled her lips and her eyes seemed to shine with a dark and sinister purpose.

If I could scramble backwards upon this chair I would have. The wooden legs creaking against the hardwood floor’s surface as I slid backwards barely millimeters.

She took a step forward, the power contained within those thighs unmistakeable. As she stopped, as if fighting some internal dilemma, the momentum carried throughout her naked breasts as each boob undulated against one another.

Her rosy nipples and areolae crowned her pale creamy breasts in a way that seemed utterly divine. The tone of her skin around her breasts told me that she wasn’t accustomed to having them naked. The tan of her skin elsewhere actually conveyed a mix of modesty and sun-kissed slopes.