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Bmkkp
Moon
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2025
Hello! VK here, a med student currently in France. Thanks for reaching out if my profile caught your eye ! I'm always up for a chat and some casual conversation!
Non english native here - doing my best ! Looking forward to connecting!
Limits : Incest, rape, gore...
A mob war, mob wives story
A fit, stunning blonde stands confidently at the helm of a speedboat, one hand lifted to shield her eyes from the midday sun. Her long, sun-kissed hair is braided neatly down her back, accentuating the graceful curve of her spine.
She wears a barely-there brown string bikini that clings provocatively to her flawless, bronzed skin. Tiny, glittering jewels sparkle at the small of her back, drawing the eye to her sculpted hourglass figure. Among the Padrona’s inner circle, Giulia was perhaps the most athletic—her perfectly shaped backside had a reputation of its own among the Mafia ranks. But don’t be fooled by her Instagram-influencer looks. At just 23, Giulia Bianchi was already one of the most ruthless killers in Italy.
“Tch... so this is where you were hiding? Genoa... right under my nose,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain.
A man in his forties—naked, gagged, and bound—struggled helplessly at the stern of the boat.
“...Mmmmhh!!...”
Giulia stood poised, her toned legs and curvaceous hips fully on display as she balanced effortlessly on the deck. One hand gripped the wheel, the other scanned the horizon. The boat sliced through emerald waters, gliding past sunlit cliffs carved by wind and time.
“This is where your ambition brought you,” she murmured. “You could’ve had it all... but you got greedy. You betrayed the Padrona, you betrayed us...”
A weight had been fastened to the man’s ankle. Without hesitation, Giulia seized him by the hair and dragged him overboard.
He sank slowly into the depths, his muffled screams swallowed by the sea.
Non english native here - doing my best ! Looking forward to connecting!
Kinks
Multiple orgasms, Teasing, Body worshipping, Squirting (receiving), Face Fucking (receiving), Dirty talking, Bondage (Light), Pleasure control, Denial, Gang bangs, Harems, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Begging, Restraints, Cheating, Hotwifing, Cuckholding (light)
Multiple orgasms, Teasing, Body worshipping, Squirting (receiving), Face Fucking (receiving), Dirty talking, Bondage (Light), Pleasure control, Denial, Gang bangs, Harems, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Begging, Restraints, Cheating, Hotwifing, Cuckholding (light)
Limits : Incest, rape, gore...
Hotwives Palace Hotel
(more smut oriented)
(more smut oriented)
Monaco, an early afternoon…
By a line of luxury car brands, a woman in a white, halter-style knit mini dress and carrying a black, crocodile-patterned handbag, was joined by her husband in front of the prestigious Imperial Grand Palace Hotel of Monaco.
As you open the door of the black SUV for Mrs. Bonilla, she offers her hand, allowing you to assist her into the rear seat. A fleeting, knowing smile curves her lips, before you gently close the door. You circle to the other side, your demeanor impeccable : left hand discreetly tucked behind your back - your fingers still slightly damp - while using your right hand to open the door for her husband.
“Madame, Monsieur, have a wonderful afternoon,” you say, your tone polished to perfection.
“See you tonight,” Mrs. Noelia Bonilla replies with a quiet satisfaction that betrays nothing.
Unsuspecting, her husband pays no attention. At a place like the Monaco’s Imperial, such courtesy from the staff is simply par for the course. The driver eases the vehicle into motion, embarking on an afternoon tour of Monaco. In the backseat, Noelia subtly adjusts her short dress, a necessary gesture, truth be told, traces of your cum still dripping onto her thong.
Mere minutes ago, less than half an hour in fact, while her husband was occupied on the golf course with other millionaire customers, you were filling his wife’s hole, the Executive Councilor to the city of Milan, in her Suite Prestige’s wardrobe.
Ever the efficient Customer Relations Manager, you’d honored her schedule: fifteen minutes to bring her to climax, her cries reverberating through the opulent chamber before Signore Bonilla returns.
Such clients were the routine of your life in Monaco. Perhaps accepting this job to replace your college buddy had been your shrewdest move yet. This high-end Customer Relations Manager job not only paid handsomely, but afforded you the privilege of fucking some of the world’s richest women…
Your cock still tainted with her cream, and the Milanese beauty not due back until evening, the afternoon stretches before you, an open window to fulfill the promise you made to the Russian customer of Suite No. 3, Mrs. Марина Мамалат (Marina Mamalat), for an initiation to anal pounding…
By a line of luxury car brands, a woman in a white, halter-style knit mini dress and carrying a black, crocodile-patterned handbag, was joined by her husband in front of the prestigious Imperial Grand Palace Hotel of Monaco.As you open the door of the black SUV for Mrs. Bonilla, she offers her hand, allowing you to assist her into the rear seat. A fleeting, knowing smile curves her lips, before you gently close the door. You circle to the other side, your demeanor impeccable : left hand discreetly tucked behind your back - your fingers still slightly damp - while using your right hand to open the door for her husband.
“Madame, Monsieur, have a wonderful afternoon,” you say, your tone polished to perfection.
“See you tonight,” Mrs. Noelia Bonilla replies with a quiet satisfaction that betrays nothing.
Unsuspecting, her husband pays no attention. At a place like the Monaco’s Imperial, such courtesy from the staff is simply par for the course. The driver eases the vehicle into motion, embarking on an afternoon tour of Monaco. In the backseat, Noelia subtly adjusts her short dress, a necessary gesture, truth be told, traces of your cum still dripping onto her thong.
Mere minutes ago, less than half an hour in fact, while her husband was occupied on the golf course with other millionaire customers, you were filling his wife’s hole, the Executive Councilor to the city of Milan, in her Suite Prestige’s wardrobe.
Ever the efficient Customer Relations Manager, you’d honored her schedule: fifteen minutes to bring her to climax, her cries reverberating through the opulent chamber before Signore Bonilla returns.
Such clients were the routine of your life in Monaco. Perhaps accepting this job to replace your college buddy had been your shrewdest move yet. This high-end Customer Relations Manager job not only paid handsomely, but afforded you the privilege of fucking some of the world’s richest women…
Your cock still tainted with her cream, and the Milanese beauty not due back until evening, the afternoon stretches before you, an open window to fulfill the promise you made to the Russian customer of Suite No. 3, Mrs. Марина Мамалат (Marina Mamalat), for an initiation to anal pounding…
A mob war, mob wives story
A brutal mob war ignites across Europe. At the center is Diletta Leotta, the cold, calculating Padronna of the Italian Mafia. Her ambition? Nothing less than total dominance — from the alleys of Naples to the corridors of London and the nightclubs of Warsaw. The continent descends into chaos as each family carves their empire in blood.
She will clash with her rivals : the French connection led by the vixen Isabeau De La Tour, the British syndicate, the Polish network…
But she’s not the only one withblood-cum soaked dreams. Beneath the smoke and gunfire, a force stirs — something far more dangerous than any of them.
What do Diletta and all her rivals have in common? They’ll all "face" you.
In the Lingurian sea ...
She will clash with her rivals : the French connection led by the vixen Isabeau De La Tour, the British syndicate, the Polish network…
But she’s not the only one with
What do Diletta and all her rivals have in common? They’ll all "face" you.
In the Lingurian sea ...
She wears a barely-there brown string bikini that clings provocatively to her flawless, bronzed skin. Tiny, glittering jewels sparkle at the small of her back, drawing the eye to her sculpted hourglass figure. Among the Padrona’s inner circle, Giulia was perhaps the most athletic—her perfectly shaped backside had a reputation of its own among the Mafia ranks. But don’t be fooled by her Instagram-influencer looks. At just 23, Giulia Bianchi was already one of the most ruthless killers in Italy.
“Tch... so this is where you were hiding? Genoa... right under my nose,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with disdain.
A man in his forties—naked, gagged, and bound—struggled helplessly at the stern of the boat.
“...Mmmmhh!!...”
Giulia stood poised, her toned legs and curvaceous hips fully on display as she balanced effortlessly on the deck. One hand gripped the wheel, the other scanned the horizon. The boat sliced through emerald waters, gliding past sunlit cliffs carved by wind and time.
“This is where your ambition brought you,” she murmured. “You could’ve had it all... but you got greedy. You betrayed the Padrona, you betrayed us...”
A weight had been fastened to the man’s ankle. Without hesitation, Giulia seized him by the hair and dragged him overboard.
He sank slowly into the depths, his muffled screams swallowed by the sea.
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