CHAPTER ONE

As she slowly and methodically freed both of her large, bouncy breasts from their titslingers, Coochie could feel a seismic shift in the atmosphere. 

The hall went stone silent, the cheering and jeering that had filled the room when she came on stage ceased, one could hear the sound of a pin drop and it gave everyone in the room one singular emotion: Anticipation. They could all tell that the show was about to begin.

The music hit, the lights came on, and Coochie got to work.

She gently stroked both of her huge jugs for a while, with her eyes closed and her teeth giving her underlip a gentle nibble. She pushed her chest forward, making constant snake-like movements, and made sure to balance her weight on her toes, as against standing on her heels. It performed more life, as it appealed more to the eyes that she was there to satisfy. Every detail mattered, no matter how little it seemed.

When she erotically ripped off the pasties from the dark and succulent nipples of her breasts, making sure to execute this action very slowly, Coochie could feel the atmosphere getting tenser by the minute. The soft jazz playing in the background was already doing its bit by creating melodious, relaxing sounds, which would work hand in hand with the dim lights scattered all over the hall and the spotlight she was under to place the focus on her and set the tone for a very erotic and fulfilling performance. Soon, she began to hear the positive and ecstatic feedback from her perverse audience, as they watched and drank in her display.

"Hell, yeah, Coochie!!" 

One man at the back of the hall called out, his voice sounding rather labored. In the back of her mind, Coochie was 90% sure that whoever had bellowed just now most likely had his meat in one hand, already tugging at it in a frenzy, and wouldn't even be able to hold on until she got to the peak of her performance before releasing jizz all over the floor. Such was the sexual tension her performance was working into the bodies of her beholders. 

"I love those rock-solid tits, Coochie!" 

Another one yelled. This voice sounded closer than the first guy. Coochie guessed that he was seated in one of the more expensive seats, much closer to the stage she was on at this Pay Per View event. He sounded more relaxed than the first guy, which probably meant that he wasn't 'helping himself' yet. But, she was sure that, pretty soon, he would be.

She was performing this nudie under the spotlight, and her audience was encapsulated, paying rapt attention to her every move and lost in the depths and bubbles of their fantasies. 

Now, Mercedes slowly spun while making sure to align her movement patterns with the rhythm of the music, as one of the major things she was here to do was dance. She now had her back to the audience.

After a few moments of intentional inaction, Coochie began to wiggle her perfectly shaped, thick butt slowly, softly, and sensually. This brought about 'Oooohhhs', 'Aaaahhhs', and 'Yeeaahhs' from the audience. She could tell they were having fun, but she was just getting started.

While Coochie was offering premium entertainment to her perverted customers, someone else was arriving at her location at that exact hour who had no intention of having any fun, but, was more keen and hellbent on spoiling someone else's. 

Just outside the building of Tequila, the strip club where Coochie was presently performing, with the moon shining brightly and the mid-February winter in full force, a black 1979 Lincoln Continental pulled up. Out of the front passenger seat came a young man in a brown coat and hat, who in turn went to open the door of the right, rear passenger seat. Then, out of that door came another man, also dressed in a brown coat and hat. He looked like a man in his mid-fifties, with wrinkles and grey hair here and there, but, he had a gracious amount of shiny, black hair that had been worked into a ponytail and could be seen under his hat. He also had an air of authority about him and did not look thrilled. He was Don Fabrizio Colpani, boss of the Uomini Marrone, an Italian crime organization. Bystanders noticed him and began to mutter and whisper to each other; everybody who knew the streets most likely knew the Uomini Marrone and had heard rumors about Don Fabrizio being the leader of the gang. Instantly, fear and caution were struck in their hearts.

As he and his bodyguard made to go through the door, a well-built, bald bouncer in a black T-shirt, ripped jeans, and sneakers attempted to stop them. He wasn't supposed to let just anybody in.

"Woah, woah… Stop right there, Mister. I need to see some I.D…"

ClearlTheidn't know who it was he was messing with. But, he was about to find out.

The Don immediately shot his bodyguard a sharp, menacing look that said 'take care of this', and in a swift, powerful motion, his guard, a smaller man, struck the muscular bouncer in the ribs with a knee, and while the man was still dealing with that, Don Fabrizio's guard grabbed the poor bouncer's bald head, bounced it forcefully against the steel door three times and then, let him fall face down to the floor, beaten, bleeding and knocked out cold. Fighting skills trumped size when it came to combat, and Don Fabrizio's boys were some of the best-trained fighters in the whole of Los Angeles. The message was clear: The Don wasn't there to fuck around.

At this point, the bystanders, who'd been wary of Don Fabrizio since he stepped out of his luxurious vehicle and who had witnessed this immediately began to hurry away. None of them wanted any trouble, and these two Italians in brown coats looked exactly that. And so, with one accord, all who had seen him from the moment he stepped out of his luxurious vehicle and who had witnessed this immediately began to hurry away. None of them wanted any trouble, and these two Italians in brown coats looked exactly that.

But what, they wondered as they fled, could a man like this possibly be doing here?