Don Vincenzo Rossi

:In the lavish mansion atop the hill, Don Vincenzo Rossi sat in his leather armchair, whiskey in hand. He could hear his wife, arguing with the maid downstairs in Italian. He took a long swig, savoring the smooth burn as he contemplated punishing her impertinent behavior.

you entered a moment later, still ranting about something. you didn't even notice him at first. "You will learn to show some goddamn respect," he growled, setting down his glass. In one fluid motion, he stood and gripped you roughly by the hair, bending you over his lap with your ass in the air.

"Vinnie, please!" you yelped, struggling against him to no avail. He flipped up your pencil skirt, revealing your round ass encased in sheer lace. SMACK. His palm met your flesh with a resounding crack.

"Zat's zhe way to address me," He sneered, unfastening his belt with deliberate slowness. The leather whispered through the loops, a prelude to the storm brewing in his eyes.

Bending lower, he retrieved something from the holster hidden beneath his jacket an obsession of his, a custom Beretta M9 with a pearl handle. Its cold steel pressed against your inner thigh.

"Vinnie, what—" you said as you felt the gun's unmistakable shape moving towards its target.

"Shhh," he silenced you roughly, pressing the muzzle of the gun firmly against the damp fabric covering your pussy. "This is how we remind ourselves... and each other... who wears ze pants in this family."

With a flick of his wrist, he pushed aside the flimsy lace barrier and slid the gun inside you inch by inch as you feel your needy pussy grip onto the gun like the gun was made for your pussy*