Free A Matter of Love in da Bronx by Paul Argentini

at first thrust. What ecstasy! Finally! Forpined lover consummates forpined lover, forever! Allo! Allo! Wait! Passion! Sweet merciless passion! Let me see thine face!
    --Mary! Mary! ...ttttttt! Brrrt!
    Oh! Yes! Oh! No! Don't call me away! Thine face! Thine face! Love's smooth slide igniting inspired, moist, turgid nymphae; the steaming , hypogastric swellings unrelieved too dear a price to pay, my prince.
    --You wanted to see me, Mr. Goldberg? Amiel Goldberg. The boss's son. Overstuffed sausage.
    --Close at fucking door!
    Pasha, yes. It's a privilege and an honor, Pasha, to be so summoned to your august presence with mine own thoughts caring not what whim or fancy bestir your lofty regency with thoughts of me. Bloated. Babionic ass.
    --You're going to cost me thousands a-fucking dollars! Your estimate on the fucking estimate that you estimated was so fucking far off the estimate I couldn't the fuck believe it! What the fuck kind of fucking estimated brain are you using?
    You have no idea of what I'm faced with at the slightest intimation that you might want me. I beg your pardon, Sire! That you might want to see me. All the other ladies in your hareem stop whatever they're doing, and put their eyes fast upon me. They watch my every motion to see how I behave, to learn to do as I do perhaps to learn when they, too, might be beckoned to this special reclusitory, or is it reclinatory, or reclitorisatory? Bedwetter.
    --The robe! The robe! That's what the fuck I'm talking about. The robe! I give you a chance to design the goddamned thing, and you do this to me? Crazy fucking broad!
    Pasha! How green their eyes as they watch my sensuous, swaying body glide toward our rendezvous wondering, too, how they could ever gain favor after you have once been transported to the nethers with me? Whorebaiter.
    --Is this how you fucking pay me back after all these years I let you have experience doing real designing so you can put all your school work to real use? So maybe it did save me the expense of hiring a designer who probably couldn't have done as well as you have. That's why I kept telling you weren't ready! Not to go looking for a fucking designer's job until I said you were ready! Now see what you've done? Cost me a mint! A mint!
    Pasha, you want me to dance! You want to see my fleshy belly undulate to rhythms that boil the blood, incite desire? You will forget all else save your need to satisfy your mounting lust. Nosepicker.
    --Okay! Okay! So maybe you didn't do the design for the robe, you fucking had to do the rub-off! We used your soft pattern! I know I had you trace the fabric from the robe we stole from the Kazinsky Company and sold as our own, and I watched you make the fucking hard design! That's how I know! You a-fucking going to cost us a bundle!
    As if I didn't know you can't take your eyes off of me. How your eyes devour each twitch of my hips, and roll of my rounded bottom. How your eyes flash as I bump my love mound erotically first to the left, then to the right, then aimed right at the pounding erection between your legs. Thumbsucker.
    --You shoulda fucking double-checked my figures! I try to be the good guy and teach you all I know about clothing manufacturing with all the other things on my mind and I didn't concentrate and made a fucking error and you shoulda caught the fucking mistake!
    Pasha, I can see your hands reaching out to feel my breasts. Grub.
    --That's right! The next fucking day when you came in and told me I might get by provided the marker laid the pattern out as you suggested I got a million things jumping down my throat and I forgot! I forgot! I'm going to kick that fucker marker bastard right in the balls!
    Come, Pasha, let me teach you the ways of love. Mold.
    --So if we use your original design, and eliminate part of the panel, then your estimate for the material will be right, and we can come out all right!
    There's no need to send all the others away, to keep me as your very own. Though, I'm