My son is very particular about who fucks me. He has no problem pimping me out, but it is usually for profit, to settle a debt, or for a special occasion to a best bud. He was not at all happy to discover that a revival had kidnapped me, and was keeping me captive in his dungeon. For days, Master Roberto forced me to perform all sorts of sex acts on him. All the while taking pics and sending them to my son with messages like, “She’s my bitch now,” and “You can’t protect your women.” Their rivalry with women goes way back. I never liked him. Even as a little boy he was a sick cruel fuck. I never told my son that once during a sleepover, he came into my room and violated my ass with a baseball bat. My son would have murdered him.
My son is smart, smarter than Roberto. Recognized the dungeon from the photo he texted him. He showed up to claim what was his, me. Roberto acted like it was all a joke. It may have been to him, but not to my son. My son swung a tire iron at his head, knocked him out, and grabbed his phone. My son’s hands covered in blood, he scrolled through the pics of Roberto forcing himself on me. He cut me down as I was suspended upside down. My son kissed me, then realized I had Roberto’s cum on my face. The fact that he came in and on me meant Roberto had to die. He violated his mother, a sin punishable by death in Italian communities.
I helped tie him up. My son drove us to the marina, where his boss keeps his boat. We borrowed it. Took that boat out far enough that a body would never wash up on shore. This boat had a fishing plank, so my son made him walk the plank to his death. But to make it more interesting, my son cut off Roberto’s dick first. Let him get covered in blood, then stuffed his dick in his mouth and forced him off the boat. The sea was turning red with his blood. Schools of scavenger fish were circling him. Rumor has it that piranhas are in that part of the ocean. Regardless, he was gonna drown, bleed out or be dinner to the oceanographic life and never be a problem for me or my son again.
My son and I watched him struggle, his head bobbing up and down for several minutes while the blood ran out of him, while he was dinner for the local wildlife. My son even snapped a few pictures of him drowning. My son kissed my forward and said, “You’re MY slave, don’t ever forget it,” or you will rest with the fishes too.
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