Grand Theft Auto 4: Vengeance
folder
+G through L › Grand Theft Auto
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
3,068
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+G through L › Grand Theft Auto
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
3,068
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Grand Theft Auto, Rockstar Games, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prelude
Author Notes
Grand Theft Auto : Vengeance follows four months on from Roman's wedding, the main influences on the work is primarily Grand Theft Auto related which contains characters from various Grand Theft Autos, past and present including characters created for the purpose of the story. The first 'stage', if people could call it, is set in Broker, Dukes and Bohan, (the sites mentioned in GTA 4.) {Also cars, motorbikes and planes mentioned will have their GTA names respectively} to generate that GTA feel even though access to all islands is available. There's going to be a possible seven chapters, (sorry). Any criticism will be appreciated.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Northern Gardens – Broncs Street.
20:34 P.M Saturday.
Tony Walcott stared drunkenly at the thong-wearing dancer in the Triangle Club; she danced upon one of the two main stages occupying the pink lit-up body odour smelling pit. Her curvaceous body titillating and sensuous as it pulled off fast flowing moves of spins and twists, Tony could not retract his hollowed glazed vision from her perfectly rounded breasts, which despite their natural size and shape, refused to sag. Lifting the square tumbler to his drooling lips, Tony emptied the remaining liquor over his pinstripe suite, missing his lips completely. Mumbling incoherently to himself and dropping the glass to the floor, which smashed loudly between his black shiny shoes, he waved his arms towards the girl, with a joker fashioned grin stretching from ear to ear.
“C’mon sir, you’ve had enough for one day.” Came a deep resonating rumble in his ear, a strong grip clenched against his arm, pinning Tony in place.
In a blur of drunkenness and distortion Tony couldn’t remember how he found himself outside the Triangle Club, it was as if he floated there on the wings of alcohol. Turning back to face the walkway entrance to the club, two doormen stood their shoulders obscuring the door back into his pleasure dome. Swaying uncomfortably with his hands in his pockets Tony turned to view the car park in the isolated darkness that eclipsed the unseen metallic cars occupying car park spaces.
Two ordinarily dressed men approached the Triangle Club, their appearance neither one to be concerned about or raise suspicion. Shaking his head Tony staggered and swayed towards the main quiet road, the low rumbling of a rock song resonating from the stripper bar as the doors opened briefly.
Tony’s blurred vision lingered on the grey pavement beneath him, one black shiny shoe following the other in a mishap of uncoordinated footing, on three occasions Tony found himself swerving left then right, even leaning forwards to steady his balance. Shaking his head the well-dressed drink stinking Tony pulled out his cell phone to call for a lift home.
While his meaty fingers switched on the flip styled phone, Tony leaned against the Triangle Club building for support, while his blurring vision, shifted down the contact address in his electronic phonebook. Once reaching ‘N’ a silly even childish grin spread across his sloshed face. Pressing ‘Call’ on his phone, Tony raised the flip-phone to his right ear.
“Hey amigo, got a light?” called out a Hispanic toned voice from behind Tony. Tony turned round sluggishly, while the cell phone called. Tony shrugged his shoulders in reply, not seeing the two ordinarily dressed men before him holding two MP5’s, the muzzles aiming at his chest, their bodies positioned ready for the recoil of the weapon.
Tony’s call was answered.
“What Tony? I’m trying to sleep here.” Came an annoyed Eastern-European draped accent from the receiving end. And in an expensive apartment block in Algonquin a man’s interrupted sleep was violently woken to the sounds of high calibre deafening bullet fire and his friends gargled muffled cries of help.
*
Chase Point – Attica Avenue
20:45 P.M. Saturday.
“Urrgh, yeah,” Grunted Vincent Malone in his two seated crimson coloured Feltzer. Vincent’s eyes closed momentarily, while his back straightened against the custom enhanced bone-white leather seats. Lowering his head downwards and opening his azure coloured eyes, he saw the 20 dollar prostitutes ebony coloured locks obscure his jeans fitted legs, where her tongue lapped against his erect shaft, sweltering in her hot mouth.
His gnarled hands, fingers spread and fat, combed through her matted hair, to fall unflatteringly against her right side, revealing pink burn marks highlighting a stump of a remaining left ear. Something kindled in the lusty heart of Vincent, while burn marks may turn men sickened; he grew more virile. His hand that combed her hair pleasurably now grasped her hair between his meaty fingers, holding her head forcefully to keep his impaled throbbing member inside her choking mouth. While his free right hand forcefully pulled down her well fitted leather dress bottoms, revealing a well-rounded dark skinned rump of the prostitute, who’s head now bobbed forcefully upon Vincent’s member.
Through gritted teeth Vincent groaned aloud, while his erected shaft died in the tight mouth of the prostitute, his seed rifled into the back of her throat within seconds, forcing her to swallow what she could. Tilting her head back from Vincent’s deflated member; she sat facing Vincent in the passenger seat. Her face was hidden in the darkness, while the faint glow of the few working streetlights gave colour and shape to her body. A black corset fashioned dress hugged her body, pushing what ample breasts she had to an even perked level, those breasts Vincent eyed lustfully, while his seed leaked continuously from his dying shaft.
“I want them now.” Snarled Vincent, with a grin spreading across his lips.
His dark interior car, devoid of light, lit up in flashing colours of red and blue, the sounds of a police siren killed his momentary thoughts of pleasure.
“Ahh, for fucks sake.” Groaned Vincent, who placed his sweating manhood and testes back into the folds of his jeans and buckling his oversized real-snake skinned belt. The prostitute picked up her scarlet handbag from underneath the passenger seat calmly, while three taps issued upon the Feltzer driving seated window.
The automatic window winded down; a pale faced policemen with green eyes whispered.
“Could you step out the car please, miss?”
“She’s helping with investigations, about pumping oil from drains.” Cackled Vincent, dipping his hand into his right jeans pocket he produced a real leather brown wallet, which bristled and about to burst with 50 dollar bills.
“How’s about you run along, and fuck off with some cash, eh?” Finished Vincent Malone eagerly. Ignoring the fact that the Latino looking prostitute had existed his car and her stiletto heeled shoes clicked against the pavement whilst she left the scene.
Vincent held up the wallet, against the ajar window where the policemen was standing. Vincent hadn’t the time to talk, or to argue he had work in eight hours and a wife to return too. Growing impatient Vincent turned his head to the open window of his car; the cool breeze of night whistling into his steaming custom made playboy car.
“Listen, pig…” Barked Vincent, reaching the end of his tether with the cop, most of Liberty City’s policemen or policewomen could be bribed with money, to avoid the endless paper work at the office, or the long court room appearances.
Vincent’s face changed systematically as a single barrelled black shotgun aimed between his lips.
The bark of the gun, the flash of the muzzle, and Vincent Malone cannoned over in his luxury car, his leather bone coloured seats awash with his blood, flesh and matter.
Silence descended upon the dark scene, as the cop raised the smoking gun to his shoulder and trotted off back to the police car, the red and blue lights flashing continually. Placing the gun protectively in the boot of the car, the policemen entered the vehicle, and turned his head to face the Latino prostitute applying cherry coloured lip-gloss upon her full pouting lips.
“Broker. Cerveza Heights.” She ordered, the policemen with a grin started the engine.
Grand Theft Auto : Vengeance follows four months on from Roman's wedding, the main influences on the work is primarily Grand Theft Auto related which contains characters from various Grand Theft Autos, past and present including characters created for the purpose of the story. The first 'stage', if people could call it, is set in Broker, Dukes and Bohan, (the sites mentioned in GTA 4.) {Also cars, motorbikes and planes mentioned will have their GTA names respectively} to generate that GTA feel even though access to all islands is available. There's going to be a possible seven chapters, (sorry). Any criticism will be appreciated.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Northern Gardens – Broncs Street.
20:34 P.M Saturday.
Tony Walcott stared drunkenly at the thong-wearing dancer in the Triangle Club; she danced upon one of the two main stages occupying the pink lit-up body odour smelling pit. Her curvaceous body titillating and sensuous as it pulled off fast flowing moves of spins and twists, Tony could not retract his hollowed glazed vision from her perfectly rounded breasts, which despite their natural size and shape, refused to sag. Lifting the square tumbler to his drooling lips, Tony emptied the remaining liquor over his pinstripe suite, missing his lips completely. Mumbling incoherently to himself and dropping the glass to the floor, which smashed loudly between his black shiny shoes, he waved his arms towards the girl, with a joker fashioned grin stretching from ear to ear.
“C’mon sir, you’ve had enough for one day.” Came a deep resonating rumble in his ear, a strong grip clenched against his arm, pinning Tony in place.
In a blur of drunkenness and distortion Tony couldn’t remember how he found himself outside the Triangle Club, it was as if he floated there on the wings of alcohol. Turning back to face the walkway entrance to the club, two doormen stood their shoulders obscuring the door back into his pleasure dome. Swaying uncomfortably with his hands in his pockets Tony turned to view the car park in the isolated darkness that eclipsed the unseen metallic cars occupying car park spaces.
Two ordinarily dressed men approached the Triangle Club, their appearance neither one to be concerned about or raise suspicion. Shaking his head Tony staggered and swayed towards the main quiet road, the low rumbling of a rock song resonating from the stripper bar as the doors opened briefly.
Tony’s blurred vision lingered on the grey pavement beneath him, one black shiny shoe following the other in a mishap of uncoordinated footing, on three occasions Tony found himself swerving left then right, even leaning forwards to steady his balance. Shaking his head the well-dressed drink stinking Tony pulled out his cell phone to call for a lift home.
While his meaty fingers switched on the flip styled phone, Tony leaned against the Triangle Club building for support, while his blurring vision, shifted down the contact address in his electronic phonebook. Once reaching ‘N’ a silly even childish grin spread across his sloshed face. Pressing ‘Call’ on his phone, Tony raised the flip-phone to his right ear.
“Hey amigo, got a light?” called out a Hispanic toned voice from behind Tony. Tony turned round sluggishly, while the cell phone called. Tony shrugged his shoulders in reply, not seeing the two ordinarily dressed men before him holding two MP5’s, the muzzles aiming at his chest, their bodies positioned ready for the recoil of the weapon.
Tony’s call was answered.
“What Tony? I’m trying to sleep here.” Came an annoyed Eastern-European draped accent from the receiving end. And in an expensive apartment block in Algonquin a man’s interrupted sleep was violently woken to the sounds of high calibre deafening bullet fire and his friends gargled muffled cries of help.
*
Chase Point – Attica Avenue
20:45 P.M. Saturday.
“Urrgh, yeah,” Grunted Vincent Malone in his two seated crimson coloured Feltzer. Vincent’s eyes closed momentarily, while his back straightened against the custom enhanced bone-white leather seats. Lowering his head downwards and opening his azure coloured eyes, he saw the 20 dollar prostitutes ebony coloured locks obscure his jeans fitted legs, where her tongue lapped against his erect shaft, sweltering in her hot mouth.
His gnarled hands, fingers spread and fat, combed through her matted hair, to fall unflatteringly against her right side, revealing pink burn marks highlighting a stump of a remaining left ear. Something kindled in the lusty heart of Vincent, while burn marks may turn men sickened; he grew more virile. His hand that combed her hair pleasurably now grasped her hair between his meaty fingers, holding her head forcefully to keep his impaled throbbing member inside her choking mouth. While his free right hand forcefully pulled down her well fitted leather dress bottoms, revealing a well-rounded dark skinned rump of the prostitute, who’s head now bobbed forcefully upon Vincent’s member.
Through gritted teeth Vincent groaned aloud, while his erected shaft died in the tight mouth of the prostitute, his seed rifled into the back of her throat within seconds, forcing her to swallow what she could. Tilting her head back from Vincent’s deflated member; she sat facing Vincent in the passenger seat. Her face was hidden in the darkness, while the faint glow of the few working streetlights gave colour and shape to her body. A black corset fashioned dress hugged her body, pushing what ample breasts she had to an even perked level, those breasts Vincent eyed lustfully, while his seed leaked continuously from his dying shaft.
“I want them now.” Snarled Vincent, with a grin spreading across his lips.
His dark interior car, devoid of light, lit up in flashing colours of red and blue, the sounds of a police siren killed his momentary thoughts of pleasure.
“Ahh, for fucks sake.” Groaned Vincent, who placed his sweating manhood and testes back into the folds of his jeans and buckling his oversized real-snake skinned belt. The prostitute picked up her scarlet handbag from underneath the passenger seat calmly, while three taps issued upon the Feltzer driving seated window.
The automatic window winded down; a pale faced policemen with green eyes whispered.
“Could you step out the car please, miss?”
“She’s helping with investigations, about pumping oil from drains.” Cackled Vincent, dipping his hand into his right jeans pocket he produced a real leather brown wallet, which bristled and about to burst with 50 dollar bills.
“How’s about you run along, and fuck off with some cash, eh?” Finished Vincent Malone eagerly. Ignoring the fact that the Latino looking prostitute had existed his car and her stiletto heeled shoes clicked against the pavement whilst she left the scene.
Vincent held up the wallet, against the ajar window where the policemen was standing. Vincent hadn’t the time to talk, or to argue he had work in eight hours and a wife to return too. Growing impatient Vincent turned his head to the open window of his car; the cool breeze of night whistling into his steaming custom made playboy car.
“Listen, pig…” Barked Vincent, reaching the end of his tether with the cop, most of Liberty City’s policemen or policewomen could be bribed with money, to avoid the endless paper work at the office, or the long court room appearances.
Vincent’s face changed systematically as a single barrelled black shotgun aimed between his lips.
The bark of the gun, the flash of the muzzle, and Vincent Malone cannoned over in his luxury car, his leather bone coloured seats awash with his blood, flesh and matter.
Silence descended upon the dark scene, as the cop raised the smoking gun to his shoulder and trotted off back to the police car, the red and blue lights flashing continually. Placing the gun protectively in the boot of the car, the policemen entered the vehicle, and turned his head to face the Latino prostitute applying cherry coloured lip-gloss upon her full pouting lips.
“Broker. Cerveza Heights.” She ordered, the policemen with a grin started the engine.