Page 2 of The Sicuro

As I am running, at what is more like a jogger’s pace my mind turns to work. I am on the bar from 10pm until close again tonight and it will be as busy as it was last night. I’m hoping for a quick finish as I am on the 10am until 4pm tomorrow. Sundays are deep clean and restock, every Sunday. It never needs much due to how clean the place is kept, but the bar is closed until 8pm, it’s quiet and I can put music on as long as it is kept at a low volume. I wonder if he will be there tonight. He has been every night this week, which is unusual for him, maybe 2-3 times a week he would visit. The image of him, sitting in his booth silently, is back in my mind. I imagine what his body is like under his suit, if he looks that incredible in it surely, he looks better under it.

Fuck’s sake, I sigh, trying to remove him from my thoughts yet again, what the hell is wrong with me. It may be the fact that I haven’t had an intimate relationship or been bent over and fucked since I was about 20, and that was two years ago now. It’s not that I haven’t been asked out, but my focus is on leaving here so why make any kind of relationship that could even marginally derail that course? Plus, I’m not one for one-night stands and there are more than enough toys that can help me with self-pleasure, and the websites sure make it easy shopping for them. Not that I have a vast amount, but they are no longer kept in my underwear drawer and have been placed in the one below with only nightwear accompanying them. The nightstanddrawers are kept beside the bed, within easy reach should I ever want to release the tension. The tension that has recently been building up more than usual. Pulling my thoughts back I notice that I have been jogging for 35 minutes and decide to make a turn that will take me back home, I push harder picking up my pace in an attempt to get him out of my mind. I have my headphones in, but haven’t noticed the music that is playing, so pull my concentration to it. The next track begins, Aphrodite by Sam Short pours into my ears, instantly drawing my mind back to him and what it would be like to straddle him whilst he is sat in his booth, fucking me until I crash around him.

Fucking hell, it’s like I have a teenage crush. I end my run about half a km from my apartment and walk the rest. I feel it again, the sense that I’m being watched, my body tingling with nerves. Is it nerves or is it the fact I can’t get him out of my head? I walk through the door locking it behind me, remove my trainers, throw my phone and headphones on the table, and walk to the bathroom. I pull my running top off over my head, reach around my back to unclip my sports bra, pulling it forward and release my tits, noticing that my nipples are hard. I take my running leggings down, tugging my socks with them as they go, gather up the sweaty kit and place it in the laundry basket. I turn the shower on, but before stepping in I head into the bedroom and open my lower bedside drawer. I take out the rosebud clitoral stimulator, this one never fails me, a quick check that it has power and off to the shower I wander.

I place myself under the hot stream of water, allowing it to cover my whole body, soaking my hair as I push it back out of my face and down my back, my thoughts running back to him sitting there looking at me. My nipples are still hard, and my pussy comes to life with a throbbing that craves release. I take a small step forward, the water running down my back, over my shoulders down my pert breasts, I cup one with my left hand brushing my fingers over my stiff nipple, imagining him gently gripping it with his teeth. I move my hand down between my legs, over my smooth pulsating pussy, I glide over it and as I come back slowly inserting one finger, feeling the wetness that the thoughts of him have brought. I slide it in and out, increasing from one finger to two, my body tensing, and my breathing deepens, I reach for the rosebud that’s sat waiting to be put to use. My other hand takes control of it, I glide my fingers around my pussy opening my lips, placing the toy over my pink swollen clit, and flick it onto the second setting. As the toy starts its suction motion a moan escapes me, I continue with my fingers pushing in and out of my pussy causing my juices to coat them. My mind focused on one thing only, him, sitting and watching me as I take control of my need for release. Every single hair on my body stands on end, my legs start to shake, and the wetness from my pussy covers my hand. I increase the level on the toy, and it takes me higher, I am on the edge of climax, my breathing fast and shallow, I’m there, as I slip my fingers back inside me my eyes clench closed, all I see is him. My whole-body trembles as I fall apartaround myself, juices cover my hand and my thighs.

I don’t move whilst I allow myself to come down from my heightened state. Eventually turning the toy off, I wash it in the shower, it’s needed, I can’t remember the last time I came like that. Toy cleaned I pop it on the side, stepping back into the shower deciding that I should wash my hair first to give my clit time to calm down. By the time I have dried my hair and dressed, I ponder about what I want to eat and my stomach grumbles telling me to hurry up and feed it. I make a sandwich after I can’t find anything in the kitchen that I want. Whilst my shower antics released my tension, and the sandwich filled my empty stomach, neither has brought me any feeling of complete satisfaction. I know what I need, a decent meal and a good fuck, both of which haven’t passed any of my lips in some time. I spend the rest of the day cleaning the apartment, changing the bedding and the usual mundane tasks that I leave for a Sunday but since I am at the bar tomorrow, I get them done today. Deciding that I need to get some kind of gratification I book dinner for myself at 7pm at the Bistro restaurant that’s on my way to work. It’s a nice place, and I feel comfortable there on my own. A 7pm dinner means I will have plenty of time to relax and then sort my uniform at work.

I grab my work kit, the book I am currently attempting to read ‘Atomic Habits’, hoping it will help me move forward in life, and put it in my bag. I was at the Bistro bang at 7pm, seated and my order was taken within 10 minutes. I can’tcook a steak myself, so I opt for that with a trio of vegetables, convincing myself it’s healthy and ignore the fact it’s cooked in butter. I accompany it with water, which would normally be a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc, but I never drink before work. I don’t get my book out and opt to sit and people-watch instead. I find it therapeutic, to watch people talk, smile, laugh, wondering what words are passing their lips. My meal arrives and as I look up to thank the server a figure passing the window catches my eye. Before I can focus on the man, he’s passed and out of eyeline.

“Was that him?” The words escape my mouth, instead of the Thank you to the waitress.

“I’m sorry?” She responds confused.

“I mean, Thank you.” Fuck me, I need to get this man out of my head, this is getting ridiculous now.

I finish my meal, settle the bill, and make my way to work, I arrive for 8.30pm and use the staff entrance and make my way to the staff room, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment to the Dave’s working security and the girls already working. I sort my uniform and then chill out with my book before it’s time to start. The time passes and I make my way into the bar at 9.45pm ready to take off Jade. She confirms everything is in order and hands it over.

It’s a standard Saturday night and the time passes quickly, then there he is, walking over to his booth. Must be midnight, I check the clock it has gone 1.30am. His facial expression shows he isincensed, I pour his usual. He walks to the bar and takes it, something that is not done here. Ilook over for one of the Dave’s and see David, I make eye contact and he walks to the bar. We move to the side out of any members’ view, and I tell him what’s happened. As minor as this seems Mr DeMarco has rules for The Sicuro and one being it is table service only. David tells me not to worry and that he has eyes on. The night continues to go like any other, with the exception that Mr X has had more than his usual couple – something has pissed him off. I catch his eye, and he’s looking straight at me. I look away quickly but find myself drawn back, he's still looking at me, or staring straight through me. I busy myself and make sure I don’t look his way again. But that doesn’t stop me feeling him staring at me. The last member’s leave and I glance over at booth one, he must have left without me realising. I’ve overthought this, he wasn’t looking at me, I convince myself he was staring into nothingness, with only the reason why he was pissed off on his mind. I clean up, there’s no Sarah tonight which means no post-shift drinks, but I am happy to just get home. I change, say goodnight to Dave who’s locking up and make a move. It’s there again though, that feeling of being watched and after overthinking it at work I can’t shake it. I don’t wait and look around, I pick up my pace and go home. By the time I make it there, I’m sweating due to pretty much running most of the way. I collapse into bed at 4am, and his image is there, his stare, the one I am trying to convince myself wasn’t at me. I still don’t know if it made me nervous, scared or turned on.

Three

Gabriel

As I sit with my whisky I glance around the floor, the regulars are in, and each one nodded to me in acknowledgment as I walked to my booth. I’m positioned in the same spot as always, I chose this one due to the view it provides. I can see the entrance and thanks to the mirrors at the back of the bar shelves, the seats that I can’t directly see, I can see in them. It’s not routine for me to be here every night but this week has seen some changes in the business. I’ve run it for the last three years, the first six months behind the scenes, and made a partner twelve months ago in preparation for what is about to occur, so it’s not like I’m not prepared. My grandfather brought me in when I was 25, after my parents died in a head-on collision with another vehicle, that no one survived. At the time I was working on the rigs, so I had a decent income and my own place. I didn’t know who my grandfather was, I didn’t even know he existed, which I now know was down to my mother. She didn’t want my father around him never mind me. They had me when they were young, mother 19 father 21, my Mum wanted more for me than the life they had.After my grandfather Antonio DeMarco was informed of my parent’s passing, he reached out. I don’t know what I was expecting when he did, but he wasn’t what I imagined. Although close to his 70’s he looks after himself, in shape and eats well, he could put people half his age to shame in the gym. When he invited me into the business to work with him, it pissed some people off and I didn’t know if I wanted it. The rigs were good money, but I was away for six to eight months at a time, then when I was back, I had nothing to occupy my mind. I had some savings so thought fuck it let’s see what it’s all about.

My grandfather wants to retire but it’s not that easy in this line of work. He has an out planned, which has been in the makings for the last two years. His image to the outside world is that his wife left him after making me partner as she disagreed with it, then his health took a turn, and he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. It’s all bullshit. He has a cabin in the hills in America where his wife is waiting for him. They have no other family, only me. Only a handful of people know this, me, his wife, his personal bodyguard Anders, and a doctor that he’s paid off to provide evidence of the lies.

The Sicuro, the most lucrative, prestigious bar in London, the bar that I will outright own on Sunday after my grandfather ‘passes away’ is not a corrupt business, but not one you could call straight, however, it is in the eyes of the law. It is a genuine exclusive bar. There is only one way to become a member, and that isn’t easy.

The initial ever member, is Mr Geovanni, who owns the Italian restaurant on West Street. He was setting up his business and was short on funds. He knew my grandfather from school and that his bar was making decent money, so asked him for a loan. He granted him the loan, with a set repayment percentage like you would expect from any reputable bank. My grandfather is an intelligent man, and to enable repayments to be paid directly into an account without questions he set up his VIP member’s book.

Members are given priority bookings and are not required to pay a ‘bill’ at the end of their evenings, as this is settled monthly along with their ‘membership fee’. The membership fee is the same for all members, it’s their monthly ‘spends’ in the bar that fluctuates across them to make up their repayments to the required amount.

This has been going on for decades now, so much so that the only people here on any given night are those that owe my grandfather, or now me, money. One thing that I questioned early on was how we would collect if the need arose. DeMarco’s don’t get their hands dirty, we stay clean and legal, which is why we have a contracted ‘security team’. Managed by David Sampson, another man who grew up with my grandfather. He keeps his team separate and manages them, each one addressed as Dave, which is obviously not their real name, but it keeps things simple and private. I was never going to question that, David is built like the Mountain from Game of Thrones, and I believethat he could also easily kill you by gouging your eyes out. It’s one of the things I recommended for the serving and bar girls, for them not to use their real names, along with no dating members, and to sign an NDA.

When anyone applies for a position a background check is completed on them by the HR team, if there is anything that I feel doesn’t fit right their application isn’t taken any further. If I think it looks acceptable, then a ‘second’ check is done by Anders which investigates everything that a standard ‘legal check’ doesn’t. By the time it’s completed, I know their childhood pets’ name, where they go, what they do and how often they take a shit. Once they are cleared, they are invited in for what they think is an interview. When they arrive, they are brought via the guest entrance and guided up to the HR office to sign an NDA before going any further. Should they sign, they are then handed the contract with all the rules, pay, etc and offered the position. The background checks are thorough enough that I know who they are fucking, what debt they have and even when they have their periods, so there is no requirement for any further questions. Due to the nature of the job, as basic as it may seem, being a bar girl or waiting staff, we ensure that the girls are looked after, they are never left alone or lock up at the end of a shift. It’s in the security teams’ contract that there is always a member of them with them whilst working.

My grandfather’s ‘retirement’ is going according to plan, there’s even going to be afucking funeral. He decided on Monday that he is dying on Sunday, which is why I have been in here every night. We have been going over every possible detail that has anything to do with the business before I end the evening in the bar.

It’s draining, but the bar girl has distracted my mind, she’s stunning. Curves in all the right places, her pert tits and arse make her waist longing to be grabbed. I’ve thought about grabbing it each time I have seen her, that, and wrapping her brown hair that’s pulled into a ponytail around my fist so I can pull her into me. The image of her bent over, her hands tied down, mine gripping her hips as I slam into her plays like a continuous reel. Each night I have sat in this booth thinking of every way I can fuck this girl until she screams my name. When I leave the bar after fantasising about her, I go home and think about it all over again whilst I thrust my hand up and down my throbbing cock, getting myself off, each time thinking about how mind blowing entering her sweet pussy would feel. My mind always goes to what I think she tastes like, which has made me burst and me cum explode out of me like I haven’t had a release in months. I’ve never been one to have a girl on my arm, and if I need a fuck, it’s easy enough to find someone that will have no idea who I am, or that I’ll ever see again. Which suits me fine.

Each night this week, I’ve had the lock-up security guy make sure that she’s got home safe, from a distance. It’s not routine for staff to be followed home but I want to know moreabout her. She has been with us for about six months now, and I tend to get an updated background check done at least every year in case their personal lifestyle changes. The money they can make has seen some of them enjoy the finer things which can attract certain company for them. She hasn’t changed a thing and keeps to herself, something that I am pleased about.

It’s Saturday, and my grandfather and I have our last meeting together before he ‘dies in his sleep’. We talk business, the plans he had, the outstanding debts, the people to keep close and those to keep at arm’s reach. Everything that I already knew, but for his peace of mind I sit and listen whilst he goes over it all. He’s only been in my life for the last three years, but I’ve grown fond of him, the fact he treated me as a man and after six months of working behind the scenes for him, he saw my ability, potential, the fact I don’t take any shit and could handle things the way he wants. That alongside finally seeing his way out. He may be legally dead in twelve hours, but he will still be looked after. Part of the plan was for his wife to leave him and be set up financially, and he will join her after he’s ‘died’. We’ve been sitting in the office since 6pm it’s now almost 1.30am and it’s time to say goodbye. But we don’t, after a few minutes of silence we both stand and embrace, something that’s only happened less than a handful of times. We have similar traits one being we are not emotional men, we do what’s needed and move on. As we break, we look at each other for a short moment before I makemy way out the door without a glance back and go downstairs to the bar.

As I walk through the door, the bar girl who goes by Lucy and I have been fantasising about fucking notices me and begins to prepare my usual for the server to take to my booth. I don’t wait for the server and grab it from the bar as I walk past, breaking one of the rules of The Sicuro. I see Lucy nod to David, and I know it’s to inform him of the broken rule, but she has no idea who I am, and David will tell her he will keep an eye on me. Which he does, but not for the reason she thinks, he thinks my grandfather is on his deathbed and he doesn’t know how I will react when he dies. I sit and sink another three double whiskies’, as I continue to watch her as she works the bar, imaging fucking her throat as she looks up at me. The blood rushes to my dick making it throb inside my boxers, and the tightness of my suit trousers causes me to readjust myself. As I slip my hand down to pull my dick up and pin it in the waistband, I make sure my shirt stays tucked in as my shaft is big enough that the head is resting above it. I don’t take my eyes off her, she knows I am staring, she has noticed me at least once and is trying not to look over again. Looking around the bar, I realise that it’s starting to clear out – it is 2.45am. I see David, I can’t see his facial expression clearly, but I know he’s keeping eyes on me. It’s time to leave. I pass David, tap his shoulder, and ask him to make sure Lucy gets back safe.

“Dave’s on it Boss.” Deciding I am not going home, I go back upstairs to the office, now myoffice. There is an armchair and small end table directly to the right of the door, where Anders usually sits. An imposing desk is positioned at the end of the office but slightly to the right allowing a couch and coffee table to be positioned on the left side. A bookcase stands proud behind housing numerous bottles of whisky and a decanter. There’s a TV mounted on the left wall, my grandfather had it installed so that when he was stuck in the office if his wife wanted to, she could come and just be with him, and she would have something to do. I take a bottle of Black Bowmore from the shelf and pour myself two fingers and, sit on the couch. Taking a gulp of the £30,000 whisky and I relish the soft burn gliding down my throat. I stare out the window, knowing that not only is everything about to change, but this hunger I have to find out what she tastes like isn’t going to go away any time soon. Maybe I should just find out.

I wake, still on the couch, bottle in hand. I pull my head up, I feel better than I should but I sure as shit don’t look it. Thankfully there’s what can only be described as a hotel bathroom/change room at the back of the office. It isn’t instantly noticeable when you look around the room. When he designed it, my grandfather didn’t want ‘visitors’ to be able to notice it so it was built in by shortening the length of the room but due to the vast size of it, it was easily done. It’s not my first time spending a night here, so have learnt to ensure that there are clean clothes andanything I could need here. I shower and make myself presentable, knowing that at some point today I will receive the call saying he’s passed. What has happened is he paid off a doctor, from the beginning, to provide all evidence needed to confirm his diagnosis and his death. The body he is using is a homeless man who was brought into the hospital earlier in the week, there was no ID and no way of confirming who he was. Which is why it’s now or never. I make my way through the funeral arrangements, he wrote down everything he wanted, and who needed to be there. The HR team could take care of this, but it’s something that I need to finish myself.

I get the call at 1pm. It’s time to set things in motion at this point, I know that he left his place in the early hours and that the homeless guy was put in his bed. The doctor visited every morning over the last week so the was no reason for concern when he arrived at 10am. When the coroner arrived to confirm the death of the individual lying in the bed and take him to the mortuary, his personal bodyguard identified the body as his.

I go downstairs, Sundays the bar is closed until 8pm, as I walk in, I see ‘Lucy’ working away, and David sitting in the end booth. I approach him lean down and inform him of the death of my grandfather. He removes himself from the bar to start making calls.

I am standing at the bar, she’s bent down cleaning, her peachy arse pushing outwards, making her hourglass figure more prominent, I envisage her naked, my hands on her waist as Idrive into her. As she stands, she notices me in the mirror and snaps herself around to face me. Her face shows me she’s shocked that I’m here, but the way her eyes widen, makes me think it’s not just panic that’s running through her body. I tap the bar with a single finger, she knows I want a drink. She tells me that the bar is closed but she barely gets the words out, her voice is shaken. As much as I want to play with her, I am not in the mood today and tell her to make the fucking drink. But to keep her on her toes I use her real name. I can see her chest rise and fall as she tries to control her breathing. She complies, all while looking around the bar for David. Her obedience makes my dick twitch, as she puts my whisky in front of me.

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