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“All this for me, hm?”
Aldo will be the first to admit he doesn’t take great care of himself, but he does try to mitigate the worst of the physical decay that inevitably comes with aging, with eating reasonably healthy (when he has the time to eat) and at least some form of exercise as often as possible. Right now, however, he wishes he was frail and decrepit as a centenarian. Mostly because if that were the case, he’s fairly sure he wouldn’t be as painfully hard as he is now.
“Well, not all this,” Goffredo amends, giving his cock another squeeze, his hand wrapped around Aldo’s most vulnerable spot, tucked into his boxers. He leans over Aldo, pressing him into the wall behind him, fondling his dick lazily. “There’s not much there, is there?”
“It’s-” Aldo’s voice cracks as Goffredo rubs his slit. Clearing his throat, he tries again: “It’s - it doesn’t matter, and it - it -”
“Oh, poor little frocio,” Goffredo coos in faux-sympathy. “Is that what you think?”
“I - yes. Goffredo, don’t - I don’t like - don’t make fun -”
“You don’t like it?” Goffredo gives him another squeeze, and Aldo is helpless against the urge to hump up into his hand desperately. Moaning, he drops his head back as he rubs against Goffredo’s palm. “Oh, caro, I think you like it a lot. That’s alright. Let me see, hm? Let me see how much you like me making fun of your cute little cock.”
He moves to drag Aldo’s pants down, and Aldo balks. “No-” he says pleadingly, throwing a glance at his closed office door - had Goffredo even locked it behind him? “No, Goffredo - later, later, after work -”
“But you’re needy now,” Goffredo says, like it’s reasonable. “And more than that, I want to see you now.” He clicks his tongue and pulls away the tiniest bit. “But if you really don’t want to…well, I might as well leave right now. I already had the meeting I came here for, so why shouldn’t I just go home? Leave you with nothing?”
Aldo closes his eyes, feeling his cheeks burn like molten slag. The idea of doing this is terrifying, but so is the idea of Goffredo leaving him alone with his ball of need and desire and want, arousal coursing through him. If Goffredo leaves now, it’ll likely be months before Aldo sees him again. Months of sleepless nights to avoid his empty bed, with no touches more intimate than His Holiness patting his hand and Thomas lightly touching his shoulder. Months of being painfully aware of just how much he wants to be touched, to feel human warmth next to him. What he has with Goffredo is humiliating and anxiety-inducing and sometimes painful, but sometimes Goffredo tells him he’d done well. The scrap of praise is a lifeboat.
“No,” he whispers, “no, don’t leave.” Tears roll down his cheek, but - oh! - Goffredo lifts his hand and gently brushes a drop away with his thumb. Delicately, he pops it into his mouth, as if Aldo’s tears are to be savored. The sensation of warm skin against his overwhelming, even as fleeting as it is, and Aldo exhales with a shudder.
“Bravo ragazzo,” Goffredo murmurs, and Aldo’s traitorous heart swells. “Now. Let me see.”
Ruthlessly, he drags Aldo’s pants down, taking his boxers as well, and looks at Aldo with an assessing eye, a butcher deciding how much he’ll go for at market. “Poor thing,” he says, taking Aldo’s cock between two fingers, idly teasing the head. “You never had a chance, did you?”
“It’s not - oh - it’s not that small,” Aldo says weakly. Yes, he’s below average, but - there are smaller, aren’t there?
“Isn’t it? Are you sure, Aldino? It’s smaller than my hand, after all.” Goffredo wraps his fist around Aldo, a tight, hot squeeze that has Aldo bucking up into him wildly. “Look at yourself,” Goffredo commands. Aldo resists for half a second, before he caves in and glances down. Goffredo is correct: his hand entirely engulfs Aldo’s cock. He barely has to shift his wrist to stroke him fully. Aldo lets out an embarrassed whimper.
Goffredo tsks, and pulls his hand away. “Too small to waste my time on,” he declares, and Aldo moans, wanting to hide away in a cave and never been seen again. But that means losing the pressure of Goffredo’s body against his. In a moment of kindness, Goffredo dips his head and kisses Aldo roughly. It’s full of teeth and dominating tongue, but it leaves Aldo pleasantly lightheaded and panting.
Unfortunately, Goffredo ruins the moment by opening his mouth. “It’s okay, caro,” he purrs, “it’s not like you’d ever actually use that silly little pecker, is it? Not when you know your real worth is this.” He squeezes Aldo’s ass in his hands, and Aldo tells himself he does so affectionately, not mockingly.
And it’s not like he’s wrong. Aldo lets out a breathy moan, grinding eagerly into Goffredo’s greedy hands, brain already melting at the thought of being fucked. He can’t help it - as soon as Aldo had learned, from magazines stolen from drugstores and read in the dead of night, of what homosexual sex generally involved, he’s been obsessed with being filled. Opening for another man like that, taking him…Aldo whines, thrusting his hips into the air fruitlessly, heat swirling in his pelvis.
“Slut,” Goffredo snickers. “Aren’t you? Tell me, who else are you bending over for like a bitch in heat?”
“No one,” Aldo says at once, even as his mind’s eye explodes with his deepest fantasies. Thomas would never, but Aldo can’t help but daydream about his long, lean body pressing Aldo into the mattress, that devastatingly sexy accent murmuring for him be a good boy, take it darling, fuck yourself on my cock…
Aldo blinks the fantasy away. He’s here, with Goffredo, and even if Goffredo is cruel, and hurtful - well, Aldo gets off on it, doesn’t he? This is what he deserves.
“Slut,” Goffredo says again, pinching his hip. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what,” Aldo gasps, as Goffredo grabs one of his ass cheeks and spreads him. “Tell me what you are,” he says, smug and satisfied as a cat, as Aldo twitches his hips back against the fingers now teasing his hole.
Oh. Aldo closes his eyes in humiliated acceptance, and whispers, “I’m…I’m a slut.”
“A cockslut.”
“Goffredo-”
“Well, slut leaves room for, eh, interpretation. I don’t want anyone thinking you’re running around putting your pathetic dick anywhere, when what you really are is greedy bottom bitch cock whore who needs a big dick filling his slutty hole.”
“No-” Aldo whimpers.
“Yes,” Goffredo says, almost sweetly. “Oh yes, la puttana. How can you deny it? You’re not made use your cock - what could you even do with it? You’d certainly never pleasure anyone with it; I doubt anyone taking it would even know that it’s in. No, you were made to be fucked, to be my little cumdump.”
He takes his hand away from Aldo’s hip and instead opens his own trousers. Against his own will, Aldo’s eyes fall to where Goffredo is pulling his own cock out. Oh, it’s obscene, long and thick, the foreskin pulling back around the eagerly drooling tip. Aldo’s body reacts without his own permission, made dizzy by the proof of Goffredo’s arousal, the sight and scent of him.
“There,” Goffredo says, “this is a real man’s cock. See?”
He leans forward, takes their cocks in one hand. The warmth and pressure against his cock is so good, but embarrassment rises up violently in him at the visual - Aldo is tiny, pressed next to Goffredo’s longer, thicker cock. There’s no comparison.
“It isn’t that small,” Goffredo quotes mockingly. “Still think that, Aldino? No, no. It’s unfortunate, but you just weren’t made to be a real man, hm? Not with this little clit.”
Aldo gasps, his whole body shuddering. “No-” he objects at once, but Goffredo barrels past his discomfort.
“A little clit,” he muses, as if he’s discovered something profound. “Yes, that’s what it is. A useless little organ, distracting from your real purpose - your wet pussy, just begging to be bred.”
Having a fag as a son - would’ve been better to have a daughter. You’re worse than a girl.
They’re his father’s words, decades old, but Aldo hears them like the man himself is standing in the room. “Don’t,” he says, “don’t call me that-“
“No? But look how hard your clit is,” Goffredo points out, and the yawning pit in Aldo’s stomach widens even further. He is hard, cock twitching. Despite his discomfort, Aldo is too weak to pull away from the scrap of fulfillment and affection being dangled over his head.
With a defeated sob, he slumps in Goffredo’s arms. “Please,” he chokes out, “just - Goffredo, please.”
“Aw, poor bitch,” Goffredo says, and spins Aldo around, pushing his face into the wall, the other hand tugging Aldo’s ass back so his spine arches, presenting like - well. Like a needy bitch. He spits, the glob landing right on Aldo’s hole, and Aldo gasps at the sensation, a thrill running through him.
“A bitch in heat,” Goffredo says, and shoves his fingers in Aldo’s mouth. Aldo starts licking and sucking at them at once, and he can’t ignore the way his cock leaks at the action. He likes having Goffredo’s fingers - thick, manly, his Cardinal ring metallic and skin warm on his tongue - in his mouth. Bobbing his head, he loses himself to the lovely sense of serving in this way. Maybe if he does well enough, Aldo thinks wistfully, Goffredo will let him suck his cock.
“Such a fucking frocio,” Goffredo sighs, and pulls his slick fingers from Aldo’s mouth. Aldo doesn’t need to be told that spit is all the lube he’ll be getting, and he whines quietly as the fingers brush over his hole. The next moment, he chokes on a gasp as Goffredo sinks two fingers into him, fucking him with a punishing pace immediately. As always, Aldo tries to stifle his moans - it’s a horrible pain-pleasure mixture, except the pain is the pleasure. Aldo can provide a lot of reasons why he believes his soul is damned and he will not see the Kingdom of Heaven, but the strongest evidence that he can give is that Goffredo’s finger’s, spreading him open too fast, too roughly, sends Aldo into ecstasies. He loses his battle against stoicism quickly. Whimpers and soft cries of pleasure leak from Aldo’s mouth as Goffredo fingers him, occasionally brushing his prostate, although clearly not on purpose.
Evidently deciding he’s done waiting, Goffredo pulls his fingers from Aldo’s hole, and taps the head of his cock against the furl. Grunting, he grabs one of Aldo’s wrists, pulling his hand from the wall to his ass. “Hold yourself open,” he orders roughly, “I want to see that pussy while I split it open.”
Aldo moans. He wants to punch Goffredo. He wants to push back and take his cock to the hilt. Shakily, he uses his hands to spread his cheeks, earning another glob of saliva on his hole, before Goffredo pushes in.
It hurts. Aldo isn’t nearly open or wet enough for it to be an easy slide in. Goffredo forces his way in, using his weight and strength to push Aldo against the wall, so there’s nowhere for him to go, so he has no choice but take it. It hurts. It’s good. The pain fills Aldo’s head until he can think of nothing else, can think of nothing but the cock spearing him open, and then Goffredo bottoms out and blissfully, finally, Aldo isn’t thinking of anything at all. The relief of an empty mind is overwhelming. Aldo moan-sobs and sags against the wall, pushing back on Goffredo needily.
“There’s my whore,” Goffredo snorts, slapping one of Aldo’s ass cheeks. “Your pussy is always ready to be bred, isn’t it? Good slut.”
Good. Aldo drinks in the praise like a glass of ice-cold water. Distantly, he wonders what life would be like if he weren’t such a perfectionist. If he was willing to fail, or at least accept that he could not succeed in everything. He probably wouldn’t be shaking like a bitch in heat while Goffredo Tedesco fucks him ruthlessly, desperately chasing the elusive high of feeling like he’s done well and can finally let someone else take over.
“So tight,” Goffredo grunts, thrusting hard and carelessly. The friction is insanely intense, Aldo’s hole clinging needily every time he pulls out. The breath keeps getting knocked out of his lungs with every inward thrust, but Aldo…fuck. Aldo loves it. He’s always loved getting fucked hard and fast and rough. The image presented to him in his childhood - himself as the patriarch of his own household, a frigid wife under him as he fucked her in missionary with the lights off - had horrified him for as long as he could remember. Right up until he had learned there were other options, sinful though they may be.
This, though? A fat cock spreading him so wide it feels almost distructive? A pounding rhythm, using him like a toy? God, it feels so right, like Aldo is fulfilling his purpose. He’s never regretted swearing off heterosexual life, not when he knows he wouldn’t be able to bed a wife without dreaming of a man in bed with him.
…It would be nice if Goffredo loved him. It would be nice if Goffredo cared about Aldo’s pleasure, or what he wanted. But Aldo can’t have everything.
He whimpers, high in his throat, and it turns into a squeal as Goffredo keeps slamming into his prostate. There’s no chance Goffredo is doing it on purpose, it’s merey a result of the way Aldo’s back is arched, but that doesn’t make it any less pleasurable or intense. Goffredo laughs, in between his grunts.
“You even sound like a common street-whore,” he snarks, “you like it that much, hm? You know what you are.”
Aldo can’t reply, his words getting lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth. Thinking is not his strong suit, in situations like these, dominated and pinned and being used. It’s a strange sense of loss and relief all at once - Aldo knows his guard is down, knows he’s humiliatingly dumb like this, but having his brain turned off for once is the most ecstatic alleviation. There are no thoughts of policy or diplomatic relationships or writing or homilies running through his head; all he has to do is keep taking Goffredo’s dick, be a good, useful cocksleeve…
“Ah - unhhh - ohhhh -” Aldo moans, face pressed painfully against the wall of his office. “F- fu - oh my god -” His body rocks with every thrust, and a tension starts growing in his pelvis, his cock dripping, balls tightening.
“Blasphemy,” Goffredo chides, and when had he lowered his mouth to Aldo’s ear? “Are you going to come, little faggot? Such a desperate little cockdrunk bitch - coming just from being fucked? Go ahead, then, show me how your little clit squirts while you get bred.”
Aldo screws up his eyes, moaning so hard he can feel it in his chest, and shakes apart, held between Goffredo and the wall, which he paints with a few wild spurts. Every time Goffredo slams into his prostate it forces another helpless wail out of Aldo. All too quickly, it turns into oversensitivity, Aldo’s legs trembling like a fawn, his brain full of static. He gives over to it, closing his eyes against the force of Goffredo’s thrusts, focusing on nothing, just letting his mind float away while his body struggles for breath. The sensation of Goffredo spilling deep in his ass is almost nice. It makes him feel wanted - at least he’s a good enough hole to be worth coming in.
Goffredo pulls out with a slick pop, and Aldo whimpers a little as his ass aches, ridiculously upset about the loss. Now that he’s not being touched, he feels like he might drift away, miles away from everyone else. But Goffredo isn’t one for cuddling in the afterglow.
No, Goffredo will tuck himself away with a snarky comment and walk out the door, leaving Aldo a disgusting puddle of fluids and loose-limbs on his office floor. When he regains his higher brain functions, Aldo will hate himself - for letting it happen. For enjoying it. For not enjoying. For wanting more, and for wanting it to never happen again. Right now, he sags against the wall, drool spilling from his open, panting mouth as Goffredo spreads his ass again and snorts at the sight of his cum leaking out of Aldo’s hole. Maybe it’s his imagination, but Aldo thinks he hears the sound of a camera click.
“What a loose, used up pussy,” Goffredo says, pulling his hand away in disgust. “You better have tightened up again, next time.”
Next time. Aldo sinks to his knees, face still turned to the wall. The floaty, fuzzy feeling is still lingering in his brain, and all he can grasp onto with his sluggish thoughts is that Goffredo wants to fuck him again. He’s wanted. He’s been good.
He’s been a good girl. A good bitch. Maybe that’s all he can be. It will have to be enough.