Mafia Princess Claims College Boys

Mafia Princess Claims College Boys

Isabella Rossi was not a woman you crossed. At twenty-four, she was the only daughter of Don Marco Rossi, the most feared mafia boss on the East Coast. While her father handled the guns and the money, Isabella handled the fear. Beautiful, merciless, and brilliant, she had inherited her father’s empire and her mother’s cold elegance. Men wanted her. Men feared her. And tonight, five college boys from the elite Hawthorne University were about to learn exactly how dangerous she could be.

It started with a stupid dare.

The five friends—Ethan, Marcus, Liam, Noah, and Tyler—had broken into one of the Rossi family’s private warehouses on a drunken bet. They filmed themselves spray-painting crude messages on expensive crates and posted the video online with the caption “Mafia? More like Mafia Clowns.” The video went viral in their circle before it was wiped. But Isabella had already seen it. And she never forgot a face.

Three black SUVs rolled onto campus at 2 a.m. Masked men moved like shadows. Zip ties, black hoods, and the sharp prick of sedatives later, the five young men woke up in hell.

They came to in a sprawling underground chamber beneath the Rossi estate. The walls were black marble veined with gold. Soft red lighting bathed everything in a sensual, dangerous glow. Each boy was stripped naked, wrists cuffed to heavy chains that hung from the ceiling, ankles locked to the floor. They could stand, but barely move. Their muscular college-athlete bodies were on full display—broad shoulders, toned abs, powerful thighs—exactly the kind of raw material Isabella liked.

She stepped out of the shadows wearing a tight black leather corset that pushed her full breasts high, a matching thong, thigh-high boots, and long gloves. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like ink. Red lips curved into a predator’s smile.

“Welcome, boys,” she purred, her voice low and silky. “You wanted to play with the mafia. Now the mafia is going to play with you.”

Ethan, the leader of their little group, yanked at his chains. “This is illegal! Let us go, you crazy bitch!”

Isabella laughed softly. She walked straight to him, grabbed his jaw hard, and forced him to look into her dark eyes. “Illegal? Sweetheart, my family owns the police, the judges, and half the politicians in this state. You belong to me now.”

She snapped her fingers. Two silent female attendants brought in a large, padded bench and placed it in the center of the room. Isabella circled her new toys slowly, running gloved fingers over their chests, abs, and hardening cocks despite their fear and anger.

“You’re all so pretty,” she murmured. “Perfect for breaking.”

She started with Marcus, the tallest and most athletic. She unlocked his ankle chains but kept his wrists cuffed. With surprising strength, she shoved him down onto his back on the bench. Before he could react, she straddled his face, lowering her leather-covered pussy onto his mouth and nose.

“Eat,” she commanded.

Marcus struggled, bucking beneath her. Isabella simply squeezed her powerful thighs around his head and ground down harder. His muffled protests vibrated against her core. She moaned, rocking her hips, smothering him with her weight and heat.

“Breathe when I allow it,” she said calmly. “If you make me cum, I might let you have air.”

The other four boys watched in horrified arousal as their friend’s face disappeared under Isabella’s ass. His legs kicked uselessly. His chest heaved. After long, terrifying seconds she lifted just enough for him to gasp desperately before slamming back down. She rode his face with ruthless rhythm, using his nose to stimulate her clit while his tongue worked frantically for survival.

When she finally came, shuddering and grinding hard, Marcus was red-faced and gasping. She stood up, looked down at his tear-streaked face, and smiled.

“Good boy. You’re learning.”

One by one, she claimed them.

Liam was next. She made him kneel while she attached nipple clamps to his chest, tightening them until he whimpered. Then she sat on his face in reverse, facing his body so she could stroke his cock while smothering him. Every time he pleased her with his tongue, she rewarded him with slow, teasing strokes. Every time he faltered, she cut off his air completely and laughed at his desperate thrashing.

Noah, the quiet one, received special attention. Isabella locked him in a stockade device that bent him over, ass exposed. She flogged him first—sharp, stinging lashes across his back and ass until his skin glowed red. Then she mounted his face while another attendant used a vibrating wand on his denied cock, edging him mercilessly while Isabella suffocated him beneath her.

“Please… please, I can’t breathe…” Noah begged when she briefly lifted.

“You don’t need to breathe,” Isabella whispered. “You need to please me.”

Tyler tried to resist longer than the others. He cursed her, called her every name he could think of. Isabella enjoyed that. She chained him spread-eagle on the floor and spent nearly forty minutes facesitting him in different positions—forward, reverse, full weight, side saddle. Every time he begged for mercy, she pressed down harder, her leather thong pushed aside so his tongue could dive deeper into her wet heat.

“You thought you were men,” she taunted. “Now you’re just holes for my pleasure.”

Ethan, their former leader, was saved for last. Isabella had the attendants bring all five boys together, forcing them to kneel in a circle around her throne-like chair. She sat regally, legs spread, and pointed at Ethan.

“You filmed the video. You made them do it. So you get to watch them break completely before I break you.”

For the next two hours, Isabella used the other four boys as living furniture and sex toys while Ethan watched. She rode Marcus’s face while stroking Liam and Noah’s cocks. She made Tyler lie flat so she could sit on his mouth and grind until she squirted across his chest. Their desperate, muffled begging and the wet sounds of tongues desperately serving her filled the chamber.