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The team of hired killers could never boast of particularly happy and even more sane people.
Everyone had their own habits, even their manner of killing.
Some just... had more pronounced oddities.
Or those that no one knew about, which was even more stressful.
Melone was...
Strange
Very.
Starting from his personality, fixing the stand and frightening with unexpected fetishes that hid deep in this skinny and burst out at the most unexpected, sometimes inappropriate moment. To see them, you didn’t even need to be in a sexual or even friendly relationship with him.
Behind the cold, distant facade, which attracted and inspired the image of a professional killer, there was a perverted maniac, who not only could not be left alone, but even in company with whom it was sometimes... a little uncomfortable.
It's surprising how Risotto ever sent him out into society without proper supervision.
Sure, maybe it was just a colorful exaggeration, everyone still liked Melone and treated him as an equal. They were all on the same level.
Most of the team, while they knew about Melone's... interesting quirks, also knew that around people he was just a quiet guy, the kind you'd probably meet in the back of the class, silent and friendless.
No one could doubt for a second that this guy could be relied upon.
After all, there was a very simple rule here:
If this sick bastard did some weird shit - you didn't see anything, you didn't hear anything, and you don't even know him.
Risotto knew all these features very well, too.
After all, he had to, as the Leader.
Perhaps he even knew them before anyone else due to recruitment, no, simply taking another unfortunate soul under his wing in the past.
However, it was precisely because of this closer knowledge, compared to the others, that Risotto shielded Melone from certain conditions that could knock him off his feet, did not send him on missions that could provoke certain inclinations or, God forbid, provoke new ones that they did not yet know about, didn't send him on a team with someone who could somehow react inappropriately to him.
Except for Ghiaccio, of course. Somehow, these two got along perfectly.
And maybe that make him a bad Leader, overprotective of his team members like some single father with many grown stupid children.
But he was sure that the mission would only be successful if the killer had a 101% chance of success, and the teamwork had at least as much mutual understanding.
And the most important thing, which Risotto never allowed himself to allow.
Let Melone get the upper hand.
He never allowed himself to be under his power when a
Semblance of a relationship had arisen between them.
Even if neither of them ever called it out loud.
Risotto was not a soft person.
In fact, he was perhaps even too callous at times.
He could hardly say that he was afraid of something or that something could surprise him.
At the very least, he was unlikely to voice it.
But the ability
Melone's Stand really scared him somewhere inside.
What would happen if you fell under the control of a man who meticulously approached every area of his business and had no doubt or uncertainty during his domination over the victim?
How did all those women feel who became the vessel and food for his stand?
Well, maybe those thoughts did flutter through his mind from time to time.
Even more than he would have liked.
After all, Melone wouldn't hurt his Leader, right?
He wanted to believe that.
– Melone.
The look Risotto caught was exactly the one he was used to seeing.
Empty, dull, relaxed, and perhaps even frightening if they were in slightly different roles.
Dull sea-green irises, dilated pupils from working on the computer, slight dark circles under the eyes from too much work in front of the screen.
Perhaps he really loved this side of Melone.
– The woman you consider suitable for Junior's birth.
Melone's gaze did not even waver, remaining unchanged despite the sensitive topic.
– What is she like?
– Why do you ask.
Risotto, if he thought about it, didn't know the answer to that question himself. In fact, he wasn't even sure what outcome he expected or wanted from this situation.
But perhaps that note of unfairness with which he never allowed Melona to show herself was deeply rooted within.
In any case, he didn't need to know the true motives.
Risotto exhales loudly and deeply, putting a small intermediate point in their conversation.
Leaning back in a slightly creaking, not the newest chair, he interlaces his fingers and tilts his head back, not only giving himself time to think, but also outwardly demonstrating a thoughtful pose, although this does not seem to particularly impress Melone.
– For the sake of better use of such abilities as Leader, I must understand what I'm dealing with.
Melone, as expected, remained silent in response, but only to digest the question, accepting this reason for curiosity.
Even if he didn't particularly like sharing something like that.
It should have remained only between him, his stand and the temporary woman.
But now that Risotto occupies a significant place in his life, not only as Capo, perhaps he could trust something like that.
– There is nothing unusual in my choice.
Melone slowly looks at the laptop screen, as if there was anything interesting there other than the many open websites, lazily tracing the keys with the pad of her thumb.
– A mother must first of all have an excellent, physically healthy body in order to bear a child.
Risotto hasn't found anything interesting yet.
– Mental health is no less important. She must be confident, stress-resistant, able to stand up for herself, not be a victim by nature or, on the contrary, an uncontrollable aggressor.
Melone slowly, but at the same time unpleasantly quickly, turns his gaze to Risotto, who he was ready to swear saw a dubious glint in the blue iris, but in fact it was nothing more than analytical interest.
– Otherwise, taking control over Junior will be either difficult or simply impossible.
Risotto nods slightly, accepting the perfectly acceptable and logical reasoning, there was definitely no lie in it, not only because Melone's pupils didn't change, and their gazes crossed at the end, perhaps he was simply firmly convinced that Melone wasn't the type to even think of lying to him, at least not directly to his face.
The room is silent for a while.
It was normal for them. Neither of them were the most talkative people.
Melone, having clearly answered the question, continues typing at an enviable, albeit intermittent, speed on the laptop of Ghiaccio, who was forced to go on a mission.
They sit like that until Risotto finally finds the strength to continue the conversation he himself started.
– What about me?
He was ready to swear that he noticed, no, felt how the air in the office grew colder, causing a strange tingling somewhere in his chest and temples, from which he could not help but tense up, focusing his languid gaze clearly on Melone in order to avoid any, even theoretical, actions.
And the encounter with a deeper, more predatory gaze only reinforced this strange, oppressive feeling, the nature of which he could not explain.
In Melone's face, however, a silent question can be read in parallel, that uncertainty with which he did not know whether it was necessary to ask it right now.
– What do you mean.
– What I said.
Risotto narrows his eyes slightly, not enough to be noticed, noting every little change in Melone's face, body, and demeanor.
– If we were to think about it. Would you choose me as your mother?
Melone's eyes widened wider than usual, meeting these words with a heavy smile.
Risotto saw his lower jaw twitch, his lips curve, judging by the movement of his thinly closed lips, fighting against the rising wave of saliva, his posture became tense.
But more hesitantly than threateningly.
– And what should I... do with this information?
– Answer the question, I suppose.
The pupils inside the blue eyes were narrowing and widening, darting from one thought to another.
– Probably, yes.
Risotto nods slightly again, lowering his eyelids.
He probably didn't expect a more decisive answer.
– Good.
Even to his own surprise, Melone flinches slightly, albeit more from bewilderment than anything else, when Risotto suddenly gets up from his seat, heaving his magnified dimensions, and walks around the desk, from which he hasn't even bothered to clear away the papers, pen, and other small office supplies that are stuck on the surface of the desk.
And finally turns his back to him…
He never turned his back on anyone, without exception.
It was a well-established precaution that Risotto had already simply intuitively observed in the presence of people and did not violate, even when among his comrades.
Everyone knew this.
And the realization of this fact sent shivers down Melone's spine.
He slams the laptop shut, which will definitely get him in trouble from Ghiaccio later, when the sound of the metal fastenings of the chest straps clicking hits his ears.
– What are you doing?
There's a slight tremor in the quiet voice, the nature of which isn't entirely clear, but it more than allows Risotto to feel a note of calm, knowing that he's most likely still in a dominant position.
– I'm pretty big, it'll be awkward in a cloak.
Melone involuntarily, without even realizing it, swallowed at such a promising description, which, in fact, simply stated a fact.
As if he had received a green signal in his own head at the sight of bare strong shoulders, he hesitantly, somewhat jerkily, rises from his seat, almost dropping the laptop from his knees to the floor.
The black rough fabric slides lower, and Melone chokes on his own tongue as soon as his eyes brutally cling to the bare broad back, getting lost in these strong, tortured by harsh reality, protruding muscles.
The cloak clattered to the table at Risotto's own will before he turned over his shoulder to look at the shortened distance between them, raising an eyebrow in enticing words.
– You used to like taking my pants off yourself.
Melone was still unsure of the nature of this whole situation, but that didn't stop him from reacting instantly to these words.
Pressing himself against Risotto's back, he buries his nose in his protruding shoulder blades and wraps his arms around his strong thighs, feeling the tense muscles beneath his palms before gripping the edges of his striped pants.
– Consider it a small gift.
A wave of goosebumps runs through Risotto's body as a burning, stabbing pain hits somewhere in the withers, causing him to involuntarily hiss, baring his white teeth and arching his back.
The sudden movement causes him to collide and hit Melone, splitting his lip as a result of being clamped between teeth and his torso.
– Since when do you bite!
Risotto growls, after a little karma, and additionally swings his hand, feeling a few more persistent bites, as if Melone was not bleeding at all.
And not at all light, gentle bites, it's like he was trying to devour him.
However, he seemed to pay no attention to any response actions.
– When I first started mastering my stand…
Thin fingers, still slightly trembling from the overwhelming variety of emotions, thoughts and desires, surprisingly deftly unbutton the button and loudly lower the fly on his pants.
– I tried everyone's DNA. I created Junior with the DNA of each of the team.
Such information, in fact, although it was quite an oppressive atmosphere, but somewhere deep in Risotto's soul, it was as if he expected such an outcome.
He still frowns hesitantly, however, as he faces it, but can't find the courage to turn around, either from not wanting to see that dark, maddened depth in Melone's eyes, or from his own thoughts about how this man managed to get Sorbet or Prosciutto's DNA in the first place.
– But you.
Heart leaps as an aristocratic hand squeezes the hefty bulge in underwear, creeping in further.
– You seemed so unapproachable to me. Untouchable.
Risotto chuckled softly, craning his neck as Melone's hand finally reached its destination, squeezing tightly around the base of the fleshy, inviting member even in its dormant state.
– I could only dream of having your child.
The nature of these words still seemed strange, illogical, and did not fit into Risotto's head.
Okay, maybe he couldn't deny that Melone's cries during their... private meetings with pleas to impregnate him, to make him a child, were damn arousing, but he definitely wouldn't admit it and, in the end, he wouldn't fully understand the motive for this strange obsessive desire.
And the almost choking voice with which Melone voiced his own twisted thoughts could only foreshadow what the decision to give him power could lead to.
He again plunges his surprisingly even teeth into Risotto's tense back, who clearly didn’t particularly appreciate such a sign of attention.
But his strength and patience were far from exhausted.
Changing his position, he casually yanks his pants off his hips, which tremble in surprise, leaving them hanging just above the knees.
But only to squat down and sink his teeth into a round, firm buttock, predatorily reveling in the sweet sensation of how it squeezed under the painful pressure.
A quiet growl escapes Risotto's lips, bursting out with force through the conscious resistance of vocal cords, which couldn't help but bend a crooked grin on Melone's face.
Fragile-looking, but strong and tenacious hands, hidden under a layer of gloves, squeeze around the buttocks, kneading, pushing them apart and tracing the tight ring with his thumbs.
Despite the discomfort of careless and slightly jerky movements, Risotto obediently leans forward, lowering his head with a clank of bells on headdress, leaning elbows on the table and spreading legs wider to give Melona more space.
And he takes advantage of this, almost immediately reaching out and sliding his hand from below between spread legs along sunken belly from the strange caress, while the sweet, rough skin with a pleasant, barely perceptible metallic taste was covered with deep kisses with an open mouth and tongue.
You didn’t have to be a fortune teller or a genius to understand the whole essence of this obvious, and therefore frightening gesture without any words.
The opportunity to so openly and from all the desired sides admire the sweet views of their Leader, who was now only at his disposal, was always so distant that it almost seemed like a dream right now.
And Melone planned to fully enjoy what he might never get again.
His hands tirelessly wander over the heavy curve of the waist, weighty hips and wide legs, not missing a single muscle, not a single thin white hair.
And Risotto accepted this admiration without protest, every caress that Melone decided he needed to give him, even feeling some semblance of calm and relaxation after the threatening beginning.
But, apparently, this was an overly hasty decision.
He shudders, throwing aside any semblance of blind peace, as a strange, oppressive weight forms on his back.
The body is charged with electricity, straining every muscle available, before the impulse reaches the brain and convulsively screams at him to turn around. However, at that very moment, having only managed to jerk his head, an aggressive or painful roar escapes from Risotto's lips, the only thing he catches is the sharp movement with which he is slammed face-first into the table without the right to consciousness.
He chokes, feeling the uncontrollable leakage of oxygen from his lungs.
Reaching out, Risotto grabs the tentacle that is tightly wrapped around his neck, which does not particularly appreciate the unwanted gesture of resistance, ending up only squeezing tighter around his throat.
– Mel... one..
From the slowly leaking, remaining strength he makes an almost inaudible wheeze, even through the clouding veil before his eyes he feels new movements, as new tentacles wrap around his stomach, cock, only adding to the intensity with which he catches his breath.
– Don't judge him, he's a little excited too.
Risotto's breath trembled as the realization that Melone was talking about his Stand hit him.
It wasn't that it wasn't obvious, but when it was directly confirmed...
Maybe it was a bad idea after all.
However, Melone himself seemed to be little bothered by the tense atmosphere in which Risotto was literally fighting for his life and the banal right to breathe.
With a slight smile, he looks out and meets Baby Face's curious eyes, placing his palm on the surface of the computer-like object and gently stroking the peeking face with his index finger.
This gesture seemed to calm or at least convince the stand to increase the speed, and the tentacle to slightly loosen its grip around the throat, instantly filling the office with ragged, noisy gulps of air.
But even such a gift, no less, didn’t particularly brighten the situation.
– Why is he here.
Out of breath, Risotto squeezes out of himself, this time not risking and not even particularly eager to turn around.
– Sorry, but I will die if I kill time to prepare you.
Risotto frowns in confusion, left confused and, to be perfectly honest, tense, considering that he was simply thrown with the fact that he could not count on any foreplay or preparation.
However, while Melone calmly and in his own mind examined, kneading the sometimes clenching buttocks, towering over the bent, much larger body, Nero seemed to find more and more questions in his head with each passing moment and became more and more concerned about the connection between these words and the Stand's call to his lower back.
But Baby Face turned out to be extremely kind, clarifying the situation on behalf of its owner.
But such an explanation was hardly pleasant, even if it didn't lack clarity.
All that fills the room before the drumbeat of temples fills the ears is a slimy scraping sound.
It's a fleeting warning, followed by a body that simultaneously contracts and tears apart from within.
He breaks out in a cold sweat that instantly appears on his forehead, his vision darkens, and his head becomes completely empty, losing any thoughts that exist at all. The fragile, unprepared and never having seen such an outside invasion, walls stretched dangerously tight around a large tentacle, albeit covered in strange slime, that pushed its way inside the helplessly shuddering body without warning.
All Risotto can do is remember to breathe, consciously clenching his teeth and, fighting the deafening pain, slamming his hands on the table, causing some things on and off the table to fall, colorfully demonstrating the reaction to the traumatic sensations of the writhing appendage inside, trying to feel the most secret, softest and warmest corners.
– Have you ever been in a receiving position? So tight. My hand almost goes numb.
Melone demonstratively shakes his hand, still holding his trembling hips with the other.
A light chuckle dilutes the wheezing that fills the room.
With a satisfied look, seemingly not at all burdened by what is happening, he moves one buttock further to look in fascination at the tentacle ramming Risotto's fragile insides, around which a tightly stretched ring of muscles pulsating with tension.
Melone can't help but smile, choking on the sight and melody of the choking sounds.
However, he wasn't a tyrant or a sadist.
Or was
But one way or another, one of the tentacles, trying to break the body with the contrast of pain and bliss, wraps around the weighty organ, squeezing around the testicles and pushing the tip right into the urethra, insistently, even threateningly shaking and causing Risotto's legs to shudder for a moment from the fleeting spasm that pierced him.
– Too deep.
– I know. He can't wait to leave a piece of himself riiight here too.
In support of his words, Melone leans forward with a satisfied look, putting pressure not only on the stand that reacts to close physical contact, but also on Risotto's stomach, tracing simple patterns with his fingers and pressing on the protruding mound.
– The number of sexual partners does not affect a person's physiology and its quality.
He notes, even though Risotto seemed to have stopped listening to him altogether, concentrating exclusively on the appendage filling his insides.
Melone moves back with curiosity, straightening up and gently stroking the base of the aching sphincter with the pad of his thumb, slightly pressing on the tirelessly moving tentacle, from the pressure of which Risotto could barely keep himself on his feet.
– But if I get here first…
The flood, no, rush of thoughts that his own words had caused his pupils to dilate, unable to look away for even a moment from the more colorful sight that opened up when he pressed and pushed one of the walls aside with his thumb.
The reddened edges of his anus made him forget to breathe, and the feeling of them trembling from the force with which they were stretched, the harder Melone pressed, seemed to almost make him lose consciousness.
But it was also no less exciting, perhaps even flattering, considering that Baby Face wasn't that big compared to Risotto.
Squinting, lost in his own, increasingly dark and oppressive thoughts, Melone was met with an intense, uncontrollable jerk from Risotto, with which he noisily crashed his body into the table and howled, tearing his throat, when a thumb squeezed in, crowding with a tentacle.
It wasn't that his fingers were particularly large, on the contrary, they were quite thin, but even that was too much.
– Don't squeeze. You're hurting yourself.
Risotto slams his forehead into the table with a ragged animal growl, exhausted from the piercing sensation of the finger that had pushed in earlier, which began to carefully feel the soft, velvety walls, already swollen from stimulation, but his howl was caused by how Melone roughly, in one movement, pulled the wall aside and gave himself an even more vivid view of how the reddened, lumpy walls pulsate around the writhing tentacle.
– Take a deep breath.
In fact, looking at how hard they were both struggling for oxygen, albeit in different circumstances, the addressee of this phrase seemed to be in question altogether.
He only had time to lick the streams of saliva flowing from his mouth, like a hungry wolf, while Risotto made, rather, a relieved sigh, believing that Melone would finally get down to business and call off this ill-fated stand.
And this thought even consoled him for some time, motivating him to ignore the still persistently ramming appendage, but it consoled him only until he felt a new pressure hitting his already tortured entrance.
The long-hard, oozing head pressed against pulled back edge like a bowstring, shaking and already sending light, sweet tingling along the skinny body from friction against the stand.
– Melone! You're not gonna-
A heavy voice squeezed the air around them, seeming to almost deprive both of them of oxygen.
A large body, carved by a harsh life, almost with a crunch of the spine, arched in the back, as soon as one tip pushed inside, and biting his tongue until it bled, when without delay, with the next jerk, half of the cock, no less, plunged into him with pressure.
– I can't believe that I'm inside.
They both froze, shuddering from the new level of physical intimacy, even the stand stopped, slightly shuddering inside, taking over the emotions and thoughts of the owner.
But such a waste of time was unacceptable.
With predatory zeal, Melone grabbed Risotto's hips with his hands, digging his nails even through the gloves into the rough, life-hardened skin in order to make the final and completely immerse himself in the enveloping, almost literally burning insides.
Through his clouded consciousness, Risotto shudders, clearly and in the smallest detail feeling how the tentacle threateningly crowds and intertwines with the organ, simply not giving him the opportunity to get used to the overflowing fullness or the same type of movements, each time managing to find new angles, ways to twist and hit in not the best places.
Melone himself trembles from the indescribable tightness.
Not only because of the proximity to the foreign appendage, but also because of the panicked contracting walls, tightly hugging him and... him.
And it is impossible not to feel this trembling, especially when he begins to convulsively make the first, ragged and scattered thrusts, as if forcing himself not to stand still and to rush forward.
This obviously didn’t brighten up the situation.
And Risotto hates these moments even more, only more because of Melone's lack of agreement with himself.
The impatient tentacle of the Stand and its owner's hips move in a chaotic, uncoordinated rhythm, filling the gaps between thrusts and cruelly depriving him of the opportunity to breathe freely.
– Would you like to bear my child, Risotto? Just think... just think how deadly he could be..
Melone himself felt like he was suffocating, but Risotto knew damn well that the reasons for their lack of oxygen were extremely and unfairly different.
– Fu-ck, you're so tight. You're just something, Risotto. You're just magical.
He continued to whine tirelessly, periodically, not even completely clearly, with his head bowed submissively and his fingers, like a vice, gripping Risotto's broad and tense shoulders, leaning his legs for more support on his back, wavy with protruding stone muscles.
This insane stream of barely legible words only pressed harder. And he hated with every fiber of his body the fact that these perverted, shameless and stupid compliments echoed not only in his head, but also in his groin.
– That's it. You take everything I give you like such an obedient boy, Risotto... You're doing so well..
Melone was already openly lying on the wide and cozy back under him, sometimes uncontrollably rolling his eyes and burning skin with hot, hoarse moans, intertwined with Nero's muffled, stuck somewhere in his throat roars.
With one hand, already weakened by the exhausting emotional impulse, he was hugging the emotionless observation stand, clearly not objecting to being squeezed between two sweaty bodies.
With the other, he dug his nails, even through the layer of a thick glove, into Risotto's chest, time after time invariably pushing to the very base and gradually, thank heavens, finding a single rhythm with the tentacle.
Although it was hard to say how much better it made the situation.
And did it..
– Just look how hard you are. You are hard too. I want to feel you clench around me when you cum...
Risotto twitches again, feeling another round of bites on his already battered back, which would definitely leave bruises, and he wasn't sure if it wouldn't leave scars.
– Cum for me, Risotto. Cum while I take you from behind.
Another unexpected quirk of Melone was his damn annoying tendency to talk excessively when he got overexcited, regardless of the context of the situation.
And Risotto couldn't guarantee that he wouldn't hit him sooner or later.
– Shut up. Just shut up already.
He growls, clenching his fists until they bleed, either from the desire to hit, or mainly because of the malicious tentacle writhing and rubbing around his wet member to the delight, caressing, no, terrorizing with the tip the urethra, oozing and exhausted from such attention.
– I can't concentrate.
The whining, rough voice elicited a low purr from Melone, who was chuckling to himself behind the bulky Sicilian and was helping him focus with all his kindness, slamming his hips hard into the already tight, clenched ass.
Baby Face almost immediately took over the owner's breakthrough, pushing his tentacle into the unknown depths of the hot, sweetly accepting, tight interior.
Risotto could have sworn he saw the light.
– FFFFUCK—
– Just look how roomy you are, the Baby will be so cozy here…
Selflessly, he circles his lumpy, tentacle-filled belly with both hands, barely keeping himself on feet from just this thought, feeling, and anticipation.
– I'm going to puke.
– Toxicosis? So early?
Humbly and in an attempt to somehow alleviate his condition, Risotto leans over the table, feeling how his own legs are starting to fail him and give way, and a huge, impenetrable lump is rising in his throat.
A little more and, it seemed, gritting his teeth until they cracked, he scratched the already full-fledged wood in all the ways available to him, digging his teeth into the table from an uncontrollable, strong and completely unwanted orgasm, crashing down on his body like a typhoon for reasons inexplicable to him, as if the body itself persistently ignored the fact of the traumatic penetration deep into his large intestine.
With thick, heavy threads of thick, rich semen he stains everything beneath him.
The floor, the table, and especially the tentacle that mockingly continues to move around and along the special sensitive edges of his member, everything was painted a lovely, delicate shade of milky white.
This orgasm was unwanted precisely because, as expected, Melone didn't think to stop moving, to give the slightest respite, but on the contrary, only with even greater enthusiasm began to crash inside together with his stand.
The tip of the shoot, not formed into a limb, curled around the head itself, milking every, even insignificant drop, it seemed, for its own pleasure, enjoying the growing hypersensitivity.
The same sick stand.
– Risotto, you are so..
Melone sobs sweetly.
– Squeezing around me.
He deceptively pitifully sighs into Risotto's back, whose surprise and confusion were indescribable when they were about to make him choke.
The tentacle around his neck began to tighten tighter again, instantly squeezing his larynx.
– Melone-! Air—
He hisses venomously, almost spitting saliva, like a snake, but it doesn't have much effect. Not only is he ignored, but doesn't loosen the grip, suddenly yanked back by the neck and leaving no choice but to tear himself away from the creaking table and arch his back.
His body began to be mercilessly pounded by truly painful convulsions, under the onslaught of which he would have certainly collapsed with his entire huge body on the floor, considering how weak his legs were and how empty his head was, if he had not been held in place by a surprisingly strong stand.
He was shaking and it was only getting worse.
Because of the uncontrollably jerking body in unpredictable directions, he himself, without wanting it, hit and impaled himself with fragile, already exhausted walls right on the jerkily pushing appendage and member.
– Risotto... I'm so close..
Nero was ready to fall to his knees right there and start praying, calling on any existing wonders of the world that Baby Face wouldn't have the biological ability to cum, because the realization that none of his victims survived fertilization came only now.
– So close to giving you my child... will you accept him? Will you accept our baby?
– Shit, shut up.
Like an unbridled animal, he growls back, almost not even hearing what Melone is saying due to the lack of oxygen.
– No. Say it. Say you'll accept him. That you'll accept our baby.
Such a sharp answer, apparently, angered either the stand, or its owner, or both at the same time, because Risotto again strains, really starting to choke from the tentacle, squeezing around his throat with renewed force, while the second one gains depth and pushes further inside.
– I'll accept! Loosen the grip, Melone-!
Risotto croaked with his last strength, rolling his eyes and squinting, while Melone seemed not to hear what was being said to him at all, even though he himself had insisted on it. All he could think about was the hot tightness inside the body vibrating after the voice and shrinking from lack of air, quietly humming like a kitten eating, and purring behind, already with his own last strength, jerkily crashing his hips into the already reddened ass.
Wheezing and trembling, drenched in sweat, Nero, albeit painfully, but with a note of relief that echoed deep in his heart, strains every cell of his body, pulling every existing muscle.
He shudders, almost singing, when the tentacle, albeit with a sharp, careless movement, but breaks out of him and instantly disappears after the appendage around the neck and cock.. The room is instantly filled with a heavy and low, guttural groan, with which Risotto involuntarily closes from the tension around the pulsating and expectant cock.
And, sinking his teeth one last time into the back covered in bites and bruises, Melone lets out a strangled moan, convulsively thrusting his hips into the much larger body, hugging him around the waist along with the stand and, finally, planting every drop of seed as deep as possible into this hospitable insides, prepared especially for him, as if he really hoped to give birth to new life.
Risotto feels an indescribable weakness that he seemed to have never experienced before, shuddering after each unstable jerk, his temples playing a drum solo, and the light rapidly fading from his eyes.
– I've dreamed of this for so long…
Risotto was ready to go to church right here and now to thank God, when the stand finally completely disappears, allowing him to breathe freely.
Finally realizing his freedom, he greedily gulps in air, as if he was ready to start fighting for every atom of oxygen in the office.
His body, switching off several times for a few moments, almost collapsing from exhaustion, but each time pulling himself together in time.
With his eyes clouded, his voice gone, and his vocal cords torn, he desperately leans and grabs onto the table, holding himself up with his fingertips like a professional ballerina.
He bares his teeth, turning around and glaring at Melone, who would be killed for the horrific and unexpected things he did to his own Leader.
And how much Risotto despised himself the next second, when he lost all desire to do anything at all, let alone do anything with Melone, seeing the contented, peaceful look with which he was basking on his back, as if it were the most comfortable bed that had ever existed.
After all, if you think about it, he wanted this himself, he was aware of all the risks he was taking.
Perhaps he should be more careful with his own desires.