Dominic Garspuccio Short Film Novels & Stories

“Enrico Garcia… He’ll be stronger than all of us.” I nodded. “He’ll have to be.” We sat in silence for a long moment, the baby sleeping between us. Then Jace’s phone vibrated. He checked it, and his entire posture changed. “What is it?” I asked. “Dominic’s on the move again,” he said. “Near the coast. They’re setting up something big.” He stood, strapping a pistol to his side. “No,” I said, grabbing his hand. “Don’t leave yet.”

When Dominic finally pulls out, Marcus can feel Dominic's cum dripping out of his destroyed hole. Dominic stands slowly, completely unconcerned about his nakedness, completely confident in his dominance. He looks around at all the men who've been watching, and he smiles. "He's had a good education tonight," Dominic announces to the club. "He came four times, took all fifteen inches of my massive cock, and got to see what being completely owned actually feels like." The other men watching actually applaud, a surreal moment where Marcus realizes that he's just become part of the club's collective experience, that his first gay experience has been a public spectacle, and that he's somehow compl

Sierra asked, giggling. Dominic groaned. "Don’t remind me. I spent the next two days getting flour out of my hair.” "It wasn’t that bad!" Sierra protested, still laughing. "I looked like a white walker, Sierra," Dominic said, amusement clear in his voice. "Okay, okay," Sierra admitted, her cheeks flushed with laughter. "Maybe you aren’t cut out for the whole baker's lifestyle." "Maybe not," Dominic agreed, "but I've got other skills. Like that time I outsmarted Marco in poker."

The room dropped a few degrees, and Matteo’s friends instantly straightened on their seats, their arrogant expressions completely dissipating at Dominic’s commanding presence. “Matteo? What are you doing?” He asked, his tone almost sounding bored as he stepped further into the room. “Ah, Dom! You’re here,” Matteo chuckled as he zipped up his pants and turned to Dominic. “Just trying to have some fun with this piccola puttana. She’s quite a looker, isn’t she?” Dominic grunted as he strode towards the main leather couch across from us and took a seat. His broad shoulders were relaxed, but there was something threatening about his gaze as he rubbed his fists and stared at my kneeling form.

By noon, she was at Marco’s apartment. He was still half-asleep, hair matted, shirtless beneath a loose hoodie. His gaming setup glowed faintly behind him in his studio—an obsessive tangle of monitors, cords, and LED strips. It smelled like Red Bull, burnt toast, and overpriced cologne. “You look like hell,” he said, blinking at her. Dominique dropped her backpack on the floor and stepped inside. “I need you to hack a ghost.” Marco arched a brow. “Define ‘ghost.’”

The production was approaching its end. The director of Summertime Sadness and a few others visited Gabriella's set. They greeted Dominic warmly with a smile. "You must have your hands full, Mr. Dominic." "Goodness, if it isn't Mr. Dylan! What brings a busy man like you here?" Dominic replied. He diverted half of his attention to his old friend, but his gaze never strayed far from the monitor. "I'm just dropping by. Hugo, this is Dominic Sutton. Mr. Dominic, I'm sure I can save Hugo's introduction. Hugo is a dedicated young man. If you have any good scripts in the future, do consider him," Dylan Zinc smilingly introduced the people around him.

Matteo’s voice cracks, begging, pathetic. Dominic exhales, almost weary. In one smooth move he raises his gun and pulls the trigger, the quiet pop of the silencer hardly eliciting even a flinch from the other men until Matteo falls. My stomach lurches. I stumble back from the doorway, forcing air into my lungs, fighting the urge to be sick. This is Dominic—my husband—in a way I’ve never seen before. Cold. Final. Absolute.

Dominic is standing near the center of the room, in his perfect, designer suit, he looks like the undisputed king of this world. The moment our eyes meet, his conversation with the people he’s talking to vanishes. A slow, genuine smile spreads across his handsome face, and he begins to excuse himself, his intent clear. He is coming for me and I can’t wait to be in his arms. My face beaming, I start to take a step toward him when the blue screen flickers, cold and unforgiving out of nowhere. [ NEW TASK: THE GHOST ] [OBJECTIVE: IGNORE DOMINIC GREYHOUND FOR THE REMAINDER OF THE EVENT.]

“This is a demonstration.” “Of what?” “That your structure has ghosts in its bones.” Silence stretched, tight, meaningful. Internal compromise. Not total, but real. Dominic accepted that fact instantly. No denial phase. No emotional recoil. “Scope,” he said. Vale nodded approvingly. “Good question. Limited ghost-key. Single building. Single window.” “How long?” I asked. “Eight minutes.” I laughed softly. “That’s generous.” “I’m a generous adversary.” “No,” Dominic said. “You’re a theatrical one.”

Dominic whispered, “Come closer.” My heart raced as I moved closer to him. He put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a half-hug. As the painter worked, a photographer passing by raised his camera and took a picture of us. Assistant Dexter quickly stepped in, negotiating with the photographer to ensure the photo wouldn’t be posted on social media. He paid for the photo and handed it to Dominic. Dominic glanced at it and seemed pleased. “This photo is quite atmospheric. Let’s keep it,” he said.