Doppio’s gut sinks as he catches a whiff of the bouquet of Masseto wine, stopping in his tracks outside of his superior’s door. Curious eyes assess the mahogany of it as if doing so enhances his hearing, swallowing with trepidation.
It had taken many years of devotion and sycophancy to gain the Boss’s trust enough to be let anywhere near this confidential location. During their time together, Doppio had developed a keen sense of his motives and needs, anticipating them sometimes even before the Boss knew he had them. He’s more transparent than he thinks he is; Doppio is thankful for that, making his job as the Boss’s foremost devotee and assistant much easier. He’s more than happy to do his dirty work, whether it be maintaining the hideout or assassinating a rival gang member.
At first, he thought nothing of the Boss secluding himself to his office, retreating into the solace of isolation without a word. He’s a private man, making himself known only when necessary in order to maintain the petrifying effect he’d built over decades of ruthless obstination. It was widely known throughout the organization that the moment you saw the Boss’s face was the moment you were dead, or at least wished you were. But the smell of alcohol was a dire sign; something must be terribly wrong to drive him to the bottle.
Doppio had grown immune to his intimidation, seeing the glint of approval in his features grow each time he dutifully carried out an order to perfection. The Boss was intrigued by Doppio’s giddiness each time he’d praised him for a job well done; he’s usually not one to pick favorites, but the boy’s idolization of him admittedly boosted his ego. Soon, Doppio was the only one he could truly trust, his undying allegiance tested time and time again. Even in the most tempting circumstances, Doppio never faltered, enduring torture and refusing bribery under the santcity of their bond.
Of course, from trust blooms intimacy. Diavolo lost count of how many times his servant practically begged to suck his cock or perform for him, starved for praise and ready to please. He admits he might get more from their relationship than Doppio does, taking what he wants, when he wants, always impressed at the boy’s enthusiasm no matter the circumstance.
Diavolo’s thoughts are far from his companion now, though. He stares outside the window across from his desk, the curtains drawn in a rare moment of contemplation. Nighttime saunters in, the twinkle of stars bordering the last remnants of blue sky. The taste of merlot lingers on his lips as he swirls what little remains in his glass absentmindedly. The burn of alcohol in the back of his throat soothes him in ways he can’t begin to describe.
He’s immediately irritated by a knock at the door. Who had the audacity to disturb him at this hour?
Doppio’s sweet voice soothes his piqued nerves, though his unchanging expression would never show it. He decides to stay quiet, closing his eyes and taking another sip of his wine. He’d had enough of exhausting personal interactions for one day, wishing that power didn’t have to accompany inane negotiations and, well… leadership.
He knocks again.
“Can I come in, maestro ?” he offers kindly.
Diavolo sighs. How does he even know he’s in here?
“Not now,” he spits, chasing his vitriol with a swig of wine.
Doppio smiles, leaning against the door. The fact that he’d responded at all was a pleasant surprise. If he were truly invested in solitude, he’d have said nothing at all. He waltzes away, brewing a mischievous plan with every step.
Diavolo must’ve nodded off, since the knocking at his door startles him awake. He swallows thick saliva, dehydration soreing his throat.
“ What? ” he croaks, craning his neck to straighten out the kinks from sleeping on his desk.
“Your appointment has arrived,” a familiar voice answers cheerfully.
He’d never neglected his schedule before, scrambling to retrieve his calendar that he’d hastily tossed onto the floor.
Nothing was written in for today. His next thought is how strange it is that an “appointment” arrived sometime around 5 in the morning.
He settles back into the chair, one hand rubbing his temples. “Pertaining to?”
A beat of silence, then the voice continues. “Maid service.”
Diavolo blinks, his brows furrowing as he processes the statement. Maids? Who on Earth would have let them in? It couldn’t have been Doppio, he knows better than to let some insidious strangers into his abode without his permission.
Incensed, he stands from his chair, woozy from the booze and stumbles towards the door. He swings open the door with indignation, only to be knocked stunned into stillness at what he sees.
Doppio wavers a feather duster behind his back, mimicking the excited wriggling of a cat’s tail as he looks up at the much-taller Diavolo. His bubblegum hair flows freely down his shoulders, curled precisely and adorned with a dainty headband, frilly and refined. The freckled skin of his boyish shoulders makes way for the ruffled neckline of his dress, angelic white and pure. Diavolo follows the path of his collarbone, the hollow of it pointing towards the front-laced corset nestled under his chest, delicately tied with a bow.
“Oh dear,” Doppio smiles, “this place surely needs some tidying up…”
Diavolo’s eyes catch on the hint of a garter that peeks from the hem of his dress along his thighs, holding ruffled thigh-high stockings in place as he strolls into the room and looks around. He frowns at the sight of uncorked wine bottles lining the edge of his desk, but quickly perks up as he spots a dress shirt that Diavolo flug over the arm of a chair. He tucks the feather duster into the pocket of his apron, long white-gloved fingers dancing along the handle to situate it comfortably.
Diavolo is speechless, reduced to merely shutting the door behind him and observing, the clicking of Doppio’s mary-jane shoes muffled by the opulent rug under his desk. Doppio bends at the waist exaggeratedly to retrieve the shirt, swaying his back to flash the lacy, cheeky panties that frame the roundness of his ass from under the dress. Diavolo rolls his lips between his teeth, wondering if the room was spinning because he was still drunk, or from the rush of blood draining from his head to… other places.
“ Padrone …” Doppio begins with a patronizing tone, rising back to the fullness of his height and turning back towards his Master. “You know better. This will get wrinkled…”
He retrieves the feather duster and twirls it between his fingers as he sways his hips, returning to his Master’s side with a sultry grin. Diavolo isn’t sure if he wants to give him the satisfaction of knowing how alluring he is, though soon his body betrays him. Doppio pouts his lips, never breaking eye contact, as he gropes the growing bulge between his legs. He swings his arm around Diavolo’s shoulders, wielding the feather duster to flounce the softness of it against the larger man’s cheek. He scowls in return, though the lust in his eyes speaks volumes; he slaps the duster from Doppio’s hand with an impudent flick of his wrist, setting his foot down and antagonizing Doppio into more dramatic action. It tumbles onto the floor with a dance of its fronds.
He tsks as he drapes the shirt around the back of Diavolo’s neck, goading their faces closer together. Diavolo studies the blush of Doppio’s cheeks, his hands coming to rest on the pleats that bounce from his hips. Doppio rises onto his toes to place a chaste kiss on Diavolo’s unsuspecting lips, grinning cheekily when his Boss leans into it for more. He slacks his lips for a deeper kiss, but Doppio rears back, shooting him a frisky glance.
“You left me quite the mess to clean up,” he drones, keeping hold of the reigns around Diavolo’s neck as he revolves to press his back onto his chest. Diavolo hums as he nuzzles into the softness of Doppio’s neck, held in place by the shirt, his eyes closing with the scent of lilac perfume. It’s much more pleasant than the stink of alcohol on his breath. He moves to grope Doppio’s chest, only for him to start slowly sliding down his chest with a bend of his knees.
Doppio releases his hold on the shirt when he’s sure Diavolo is looking down at him, though he can’t begin to imagine just how intently. Doppio slides his hands down the breadth of Diavolo’s chest, then his waist, flicking his thumbs along his hips before settling on the ruffles on his chest. He hooks his thumbs on the straps before steadily dragging them down the peaks of his shoulders, craning his neck to look up at Diavolo; his gaze is unmet, the larger man’s eyes locked on the translucent, ruffled garment that surrounds his breasts, dotted with bows and revealing the baby pink of his nipples.
“Boss…” Doppio mewls, feeling himself get hard under his unrelenting gaze. He melts under his touch as his palms encapsulate his shoulders, the rest of his body kept out of reach by Doppio’s crouch.
Diavolo’s hubris bolsters as he stands above Doppio, catching sight of his cold-hardened nipples just begging to be touched. The fog of stress and alcohol break to make way for absolute arousal, humbled that his servant would go to such lengths to please him. Doppio senses his desire from the tenseness of his thighs, rising to press his back against Diavolo’s chest again. They hiss with the contact, though a grin crosses Doppio’s features as he feels the hardness of Diavolo’s cock press against him, straining through his trousers.
Diavolo begins to grow impatient, his hands slapping onto the exposed skin of Doppio’s chest and swiveling his fingers across his nipples. Doppio gasps, tempted to let him keep going, especially with the undulation of his hips. He’s headstrong, though, and snakes his palms onto the back of Diavolo’s hands, wrapping his fingers around them with authority.
Diavolo’s lip curls as Doppio slides his hands from his chest to his waist, puppeteering his fingers as he works to untie the silky bow of his corset. Diavolo plays along despite the lightheartedness getting on his nerves, watching closely as the corset unravels, the fabric beginning to sink around his hips.
As the corset falls to the ground, Diavolo discovers that what he thought was a dress was merely a skirt, the fabric of Doppio’s top and apron remaining laid over his waist while the skirt pools around his feet.
Diavolo’s cock throbs as the apron tents from Doppio’s hardened cock. He snaps his hand away from Doppio’s to yank the apron out of the way, revealing bulging panties almost as pink as his hair, the tip of his cock peeking from the lacy hem. Doppio shuts one eye with the movement, a puff of air pouting his lips as Diavolo gropes the prominence of his balls through the smooth silk. What little control Doppio thought he had is quickly rescinded as Diavolo succumbs to the buttons he’d been pushing, gripping the waistband of his panties and ripping them from his hips with a good yank.
“ Maestro …” Doppio squeaks, his knees coming together to catch what’s left of his panties around his leg. Diavolo responds with a grunt, his other hand pushing their bodies closer together to knead the plushness of his breast hungrily. Doppio shudders as he pinches and rolls his nipple between the pads of his fingers, his other hand exploring his balls and the base of his cock. He nibbles the crest of his ear, taking in the sounds of Doppio’s moans as he rolls his balls between his fingers and flicks his thumb across his nipple.
“My beautiful Doppio,” Diavolo utters close to his ear, his voice gravelly. “You know better than to tease me.”
Doppio squeals with surprise when Diavolo’s teeth clap down on his ear, pinning him in place as he takes Doppio’s shaft into a tight fist. It throbs under the pressure, making Diavolo’s lips curl with satisfaction.
“You’ll have to clean up the mess you’ve started to make for yourself, houseboy,” Diavolo sneers, releasing his teeth with a snap. He licks the indents that he’d made, his thumb probing the dot of precum that already formed on the tip of Doppio’s cock.
He’s usually not one to go along with whatever ridiculous scenarios Doppio managed to devise, but maybe the haze of alcohol and his sudden good mood persuades him more than he realizes.
“Yes, Master,” Doppio peeps, breathless from the long, hard stroke that Diavolo awards him with.
His appreciation doesn’t last long, releasing his more sensitive spots in favor of a harsh clutch of his shoulders. Doppio cries out as his knees drop to the floor, burned by the carpet through his stockings, his balance held by Diavolo’s reliable presence.
“Turn,” Diavolo commands, releasing his shoulders and posturing himself. Diavolo does as he’s told, shuffling on his hands and knees to face Diavolo’s imposing bulge at eye-level.
Diavolo waits with his hands on his hips, the boy’s wide, brown eyes gazing up at him as he rubs his cheek against the hardness. His tongue darts from between his lips to soak the fabric with spit, following the contour of it and nuzzling his nose into it. Diavolo hisses between gritted teeth, unable to look away from the spectacle beneath him, the heat of Doppio’s mouth only making him harder and more impatient.
Doppio smirks as he parts from the bulge, a string of spit lingering on his lip, his hands quickly getting to work to undo the Boss’s belt buckle with a hurried jingle of metal. He unzips him slowly, making him wait for it, though he knows that might backfire later. Diavolo abides by his teasing for now, enjoying the hunger in his eyes as he watches his cock spring forth from the now-relieved bondage of his pants.
“Good,” Diavolo praises. “You know just what to do, don’t you, mio domestico ?”
Doppio nods, hurrying to take the base of his cock into his grasp, giving him leverage to drag his tongue along the underside towards the tip. Diavolo relaxes with the heat of his tongue, his hips slinking forward in encouragement. Doppio flicks his tongue against the meeting of the head and shaft before rising higher on his knees to take the tip between pouted lips. His tongue rolls around the blood-thickened girth before he starts gently sucking, his cheeks hollowing just enough to accentuate the angle of his cheekbone dotted with freckles.
“Look at me,” Diavolo orders, his palm coming to rest on the nape of Doppio’s neck.
Doppio’s fanlike lashes flutter upwards as he obeys, warm brown eyes meeting Diavolo’s green, his lips pursed around his cock as he starts to bob his head into rolling rhythm. Both of their cocks ache; Doppio is intensely rewarded by Diavolo’s lustful expression, while Diavolo surges from the sight of his cock getting sucked so dutifully. It’s enough to make him lose his patience.
“More,” he growls, his grip on the back of Doppio’s neck telling him just how serious he is. Doppio nods once before taking more of him into his mouth, his tongue curling around the meat of it. He picks up a faster pace, slicking him with spit that floods his mouth from the taste and satisfaction. His cock rubs against the apron with each jostle of his body, hardly able to take half of what Diavolo has to offer despite his best efforts.
His best isn’t enough.
Diavolo holds Doppio’s head in place as he grinds his hips forward, the tip jutting against the back of his throat. Doppio recoils in surprise, his eyes closing shut as he gags on the intrusion, the shutting of his throat infuriating Diavolo. He takes the back of Doppio’s hair into an angry fist, holding him in his place despite the resistance of his neck.
“ Look at me ,” Diavolo repeats, tugging on his hair just enough to send a message. Doppio strains to do so, his lashes fluttering from the urge to clench his eyes shut. “Good.”
The praise excites him into widening his eyes until Diavolo drives himself further, parting the muscles of his throat to accept him in his entirety. He throws his head back for just a moment, only to return his gaze to his servant who tries to desperately to take him. Doppio forces his throat to relax so he can breathe, his tongue bolstered across the bottom row of teeth.
Diavolo gives no more instruction before he withdraws just enough to pound back in, tears pooling along Doppio’s lashline as he struggles to swallow the length. Diavolo combs his other hand onto the back of his head, stuffing himself further, his balls pressing against Doppio’s chin. He groans at the entirety of his throat squeezing him, tickled by the way Doppio still wriggles his tongue across the base of his cock. Such a good pet…
He gains leverage with a shift of his position before sliding in and out of his throat, slowly at first. Then, as Doppio learns to bounce with the rhythm, he picks up the pace and thrusts meaningfully. Doppio leaks precum in gobs from his touch-starved cock onto the carpet, though he doesn’t dare touch himself without the Boss’s permission.
Diavolo enraptures himself with the delightfulness of Doppio’s throat, taking both sides of his head into his palms before succumbing to his most primal urges. Doppio gags and sputters with each hurried thrust that Diavolo expects him to take uncomplainingly, keeping one eye open and locked on Diavolo’s face despite the tears that blur his vision. Spit froths and dribbles from the corners of his mouth, his lips stubbornly wrapped around the shaft, dripping onto his apron.
“Yes…” Diavolo rumbles, dotting his thrusts with barely-audible grunts.
Doppio coughs, but no air comes out. He salivates at the thought of pleasing his Master this much, so much in fact that he starts to lose the control that he holds so dear. His calculated trusts devolve into erratic vibrations, grinding the base of his cock against Doppio’s waiting tongue, exploring his throat and shuddering each time the muscles of it clamp to attempt to reject him.
“Ah, Doppio--” he snarls, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as the pressure in his balls sears hot. He cums hard and fast, spurting deep in Doppio’s throat. He keeps himself thoroughly planted, fighting the resistance of Doppio’s instinctual need to cough him out. Doppio manages to open his eyes enough to watch the muscles of Diavolo’s abdomen quiver, gluey cum sputtering from his lips with nowhere else to go.
“Swallow,” Diavolo breathes curtly, white-knuckling his hair and settling into the release that he didn’t know he desperately needed.
He does his best to force his throat to accept Diavolo’s cum, eager for a reward for his efforts. He feels the heat of it pool in his stomach, his tongue falling limp with the gratification of doing such a good job that Diavolo came so violently. The look that his Master gives him makes the singeing in his sinuses and soreness of his throat worth it in droves.
Diavolo pumps once, twice, before withdrawing. He tugs the back of Doppio’s hair, urging him to crane his face up towards him, mouth agape. Doppio’s chest heaves with desperate breaths, strings of cum and spit breaking from between his lips as he swallows what’s left with a roll of his tongue. Diavolo smiles briefly at how exhausted he already looks, his lips flamed red and lids heavy. He swipes his thumb across his lower lip, an act of compassion that Doppio knows is his greatest form of gratitude. He begins to settle back onto his calves, precious oxygen relieving his dizziness.
Diavolo hardly gives him time to recover, yanking him back onto his feet with a rough tug of his upper arm. Doppio stumbles with Diavolo’s assertive guidance towards his desk, tripping on his feet and slamming his face onto the surface of it.
“Ow…!” he whines, though his complaint goes unheard, his form quickly covered by Diavolo’s primal hunch. He squirms as his cock ruts against his ass, gripping the sides of the desk and shuddering at the coldness of the wood against his cock. Diavolo leans in close, lips grazing the back of his neck, slicking Doppio’s hole with cum and spit.
“ Il mio piccolino, ” he grins, gripping the belt of his garter and dragging his hips back onto his, “forgive me.”
Trust goes both ways. Doppio has devoted his life and personhood to his Master, knowing that any harm that came to him would be for his own good. He’s never had a reason to doubt their bond, kept in line with astute guidance and care. Diavolo rests his forehead between Doppio’s shoulder blades, reaching between their bodies to angle the tip of his cock against his entrance.
Even at Diavolo’s roughest, Doppio knows he’s only acting in his best interests.
Diavolo groans, gruff and genuine, as he drives half of his length inside with a deliberate sinking of his hips. Doppio grits his teeth, his lips falling agape as he huffs a breath, the pleasure of being filled so suddenly easing his worries and piquing his lust. Diavolo nuzzles into the softness of his shoulder, sighing as he draws his hips back slowly, enjoying the tightness of his muscle around his cock. His long hair tickles Doppio, but more overwhelming sensations capture his senses, the scent of his cologne nearly driving him mad.
Diavolo inches in further with his next thrust, restraining himself from bottoming out in the interest of preserving his subservient’s endurance.
For now, at least.
Diavolo tears the threads of his garter belt with the effort of personal restraint, rolling his hips and catching the sensitive brim of his tip on Doppio’s tightness before sinking back inside. The warmth excites him to his core, his eyelashes fluttering against Doppio’s skin as they close.
“M-Master…” Doppio utters, spit dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “More… please…”
Diavolo’s eyes roll with his words, opening as he rears himself up onto his elbows. With his meek subordinate begging him for more, Diavolo can’t hold back; he pounds himself flush with Doppio’s entrance, earning a hearty groan from both of them. His cock rubs against the most sensitive spot inside him, jolting his knees together from the sudden shock of pleasure that shoots through his gut.
Diavolo kicks his shin between Doppio’s legs, swinging it out to spread his thighs again. Doppio sinks further, giving Diavolo the leverage he needed to hammer himself as deep as he can go. He grabs hold of the apron’s tie to bounce their hips together, the rapid pace of their fucking curling Doppio’s fingers and pushing his limits. Diavolo clenches his jaw, ignoring the beads of sweat that start to form at his hairline, their thighs slapping together loudly with each meeting of their bodies. He’s transfixed on his houseboy’s expression, a hint of a smile masked by neediness and pleasure, his eyes staring at nothing in front of him before they roll and flicker closed.
Diavolo dances his fingers along the sweat-slicked skin of Doppio’s back, following the hollow of his spine and resting his palm along the roundness of his ass. He uses his thumb to pry the plushness out of the way of his view, watching his shaft disappear inside the stretched pink of Doppio’s hole. He licks his lips at the sight, feeling him loosen under his gaze, only to tighten once more with a particularly rough slam of his hips.
Precum dribbles onto the mahogany of the desk, glistening in the dim light afforded by the moon. He struggles to keep himself together, the stimulation of his prostate easing his sanity from him one stroke at a time. Diavolo brings him back with a curt slap of his ass, startling him and raising his chest from the desk.
“Down,” Diavolo growls, thumping the heel of his hand against his shoulder to pound his chest back into place. Doppio huffs, the breath knocked from his lungs, swallowing his grunt as he takes the pounding with conviction. He dares not move his chest again despite the need for a full breath of air.
Diavolo drags his body farther from the desk towards him with a tug of his garter belt, sliding his arm under the curve of his hips. Doppio is putty in his hands, his back arching as he’s hoisted onto his tippy-toes to give his Master better access to his ass. The new angle sparks sharp tension deep in his pelvis, the flesh of Doppio’s ass jiggling each time Diavolo pulls his hips back as he thrusts forward. He digs deep, deeper than he’s ever gone, Doppio’s back arching as he takes what’s rightfully his. With each pump, Doppio utters a delicious peep or huff of breath, the noise of it spurring Diavolo’s hunger further.
He settles his weight onto Doppio’s back, focusing his efforts on the steady rhythm of his hips. The smaller man beneath him holds firm as he stirs his cock inside him, stretching his limits farther than he’d ever asked of him before.
Diavolo releases the tension in his jaw, only to sink his teeth into the muscle of Doppio’s shoulder, keeping him in place as he gives him one, two, three hard, thorough fillings of his ass. He cries out, the pain of his bite intensifying the unpredictable method of Diavolo’s rutting, his hand rising to take hold of his hair instinctually. His cock aches deeply, the burn of impending orgasm hanging heavy in his balls.
Diavolo sucks hard, bruising the skin beneath his lips in a territorial mark. Doppio quickly grows unsuitably desperate, daring to utter a word despite past lessons teaching him differently.
“M-Master…” he utters between the croaks of his gasping moans, “I-I need…”
Diavolo doesn’t bother listening to him, enraptured in his own pleasure and fulfillment of his needs. He juts his jaw sideways, shutting Doppio up for a moment and hopefully giving him the hint that his needs weren’t what mattered right now.
“Cum…” Doppio gasps. “Please, I need to…”
Diavolo snarls a throaty groan into Doppio’s skin, driving himself deep as he cums again. His brows furrow, sweat winding around the contours of his forehead as he releases himself with lazy pumps. Doppio gasps as hot seed spills inside him in ropes, his muscles relaxing from the break of their rancorous fucking. His fingers fall limp, dropping his hand from Diavolo’s head and onto the desk with a thud.
Diavolo’s jaw falls slack, the relief from pain making Doppio shudder. Excess saliva drips down the roundness of his back, combining with his sweat on the desk.
Through the heat and exertion, Doppio finds himself startlingly lucid. A smile grows across his face, lazily brightening his features. His superior is surprised by the expression when he finally manages to open his eyes, expecting the usual fatigued grimace that he puts on after he’s been thoroughly used. They stare at each other, though Doppio’s eyes are partially obstructed by strands of sex-tousled hair.
“Twice…” the underling utters, his lips hardly moving.
Diavolo rests the entirety of his weight onto him, keeping himself rooted deep inside. Doppio worships his presence, feeling more at home under him than anywhere else.
“Indeed,” he states simply, his voice unusually heightened by exertion.
His weary chuckle confuses Diavolo until he realizes the boy is practically patting himself on the back. Diavolo scoffs; as if he’d done anything other than do as he’s been told dozens of times before. Still, he has to admit the impressive nature of a second orgasm, especially one so full and relieving.
Well, maybe Doppio does deserve something for his dedication. He’d have to beg him for it, though.
“Boss,” he breathes, his voice bolstered by false confidence. “Please…”
“I know,” Diavolo whispers. He’s not keen on kneeling to commands, but when Doppio begs with such a sweet voice he’s left with no other choice.
It’s all he needed to say for a wide smile to grow across sweat-glistened features. He gives Diavolo all the time he needs, grimacing as he pulls his weight off of him just after he’d gotten used to it.
He slides his hips back just enough to slip his cock from Doppio’s hole, the still-hard member rubbing into the crest of his hip and his thigh. He’s totally relaxed, awaiting what reward the Boss has in mind for him and his next command.
As Diavolo settles back onto the stability of his feet, he admires at the properly used hole laid bare for him. Rimmed red and angry and left open from the girth of his cock, dribbles of his cum leak from his cavity and down along his balls, snaking onto the hem of his stockings or plopping onto the rug.
He slicks his index and middle fingers along the inner rim, exploring the texture that his cock so desperately craved. Doppio shudders a moan as he’s stretched even more, his inner muscles pulsing with the pressure. His ring throbs red, riverettes of white exposing a sight to Diavolo he hadn’t seen before. It’s evidence of a job well done, his hole exploited to its fullest extent with the peace he’s made as his undying servant.
“Come here,” Diavolo commands, withdrawing his fingers and cleaning them with a swipe along Doppio’s stocking.
Doppio rises instantly, fighting the fatigue and shakiness in his muscles as he follows Diavolo to the chaise on the other side of the room like an obedient dog tugged along by a leash. He expects to be the one sitting, usually brought to orgasm quickly from an empathetic handjob. Diavolo has something else in mind, though, as he lounges onto the cushion and beseeches his companion with a suave wave of his fingers.
Doppio eyes the open window in front of him, cars rushing by with the sun rising over the horizon. Businessmen and tourists line the sidewalks; Diavolo pats the seat next to his hip, sensing his apprehension.
“On my lap,” he directs, seemingly unconcerned with the direct view that he lays under. Before, the pair could get away with the sheath of night and the dim lighting of his office to obfuscate their activities. For the first time, Doppio curses his Boss’s rather inconspicuous choice of location, previous lauding it as an act of genius; after all, the place people least expect is right under their noses.
Doppio obeys, though, his shoulder brushing with the glass as he straddles the man’s hips. The flesh of his thighs pools around the hem of his stockings with the position, attracting the attention of Diavolo’s curious fingers. He can practically smell the desperation on his breath, his cock throbbing and begging for his touch. When he doesn’t give it, merely offering a pensive stroke of his thighs, Doppio’s hand trembles towards his groin to do it himself.
Diavolo snatches his wrist with impunity, earning a pitiful whine deep from Doppio’s convictions.
“No,” he scolds heartily, the sound of it straightening Doppio’s spine. He rolls his hips and smirks at the boy’s reaction, chest puffing and rounding the lace around his nipples. “Don’t use your hands.”
Doppio frets, gyrating his hips in wanton need, Diavolo’s still-hard member slicking against his ass. Diavolo flexes it, wordlessly commanding him; he gets the hint, his panicked expression soothing as he realizes release is under his own authority.
He hurries, trembling hands angling the tip of his cock to press against his waiting entrance. His fingers are soft and warm from the silky gloves. Diavolo licks his teeth as Doppio plunges, their hips meeting with a slap and a full-bodied whine. Doppio’s lids fall heavy, though his eyes drift to ponder the reactions of those outside. Luckily, they seem too absorbed in their own lives to notice the bouncing of his hair and his conspicuous expression.
Diavolo contemplates snapping the houseboy’s attention back onto more pertinent matters, but is pleased to find when he does so himself. He balances his weight with his palms pressed against the breadth of Diavolo’s chest, raising himself up on his knees and rolling his hips back down with a snap. The angle is perfection, the spongy head of Diavolo’s cock prodding his prostate delectably with each fervent fall of his hips.
Diavolo merely watches with amusement as Doppio uses him for personal gain, wondering if he knows that he’s merely a spectacle to dote over. No matter.
The pads of Doppio’s fingers dig into the meat of Diavolo’s chest, his increase in speed and the bauble of precum rounding atop the slit of his cock bespeaking his needs more than any words could convey. He’s close, dangerously so, uttering what syllables he can manage as he floods his prostate with stimulation. Diavolo smirks as he watches Doppio’s balls tauten, his shaft bouncing erotically with each bounce of his hips.
Diavolo surprises him with a sudden yank of his bra, his finger hooked under the strap across his collarbone to pull their faces closer. It knocks Doppio off of his rhythm just enough to spur an irritated whine. He uses the authority of his other hand along the small of Doopio’s back to sway his chest close to the kiss upon his sternum that waits for him.
“Boss…” Doppio begs breathlessly, trying to fight the resistance of Diavolo’s grasp. It’s fruitless; he’s left to whimper as Diavolo takes one of his nipples into his mouth with a graze of his teeth. He crumbles into the contact, the warmth of his tongue tightening his ass around Diavolo’s cock. Diavolo nearly chuckles at the boy’s persistent efforts to ride him hard and fast, desperate for even a glimmer of release. His hand grasps at the window sill while the other sinks into the softness of the lounge’s cushion behind Diavolo’s head.
With a suck and and a salacious pop, Diavolo parts his lips from Doppio’s chest to look up at the red-cheeked boy, looking down at him pathetically. He whimpers and pouts, almost like he’s ready to cry from the sheer frustration of it all.
Diavolo considers leaving him like this, the expression quite satisfying in its own right; it’s like Doppio can read his mind, succumbing to the painful tension in his balls and giving Diavolo what he knows he wants.
“Boss, please…” he breathes, his voice wavering. “Please let me cum…”
Diavolo hums, driving his hips upwards much to the appreciation and relief of Doppio. He hisses and accepts the gift with gratitude, a smile warming his features as his head whips back. His headband springs from its place and onto the lounge beside them, though its presence goes unnoticed. Diavolo pounds into him again, and once more before he returns his lips onto his breast with an anchoring bite.
Doppio squeals, his teeth gritting as tears bud in the corners of his eyes. Diavolo gives him what he needs, holding him steady and thrusting relentlessly to the tune of Doppio’s gratitude.
“Thank you… thank you… ah…! Master…” he huffs, his cock rubbing against the muscles of Diavolo’s abdomen each time his cock drove deep inside him, his balls bouncing with the beat of their fucking.
“I’m… I’m gonna…” Doppio slurs, his voice breaking with the breath that he holds tight in his chest. The burn of prolonged teasing and the promise of release glimmers his eyes with hope.
Diavolo grins as he watches that hope darken back into despair, holding his hips still and then slowly, inch by inch, sliding his cock from the obviously distraught boy’s hole.
“Boss!” Doppio cries, tears of dissatisfaction and need streaking his cheeks. Diavolo almost pities him, spoiled from the thorough emptying of his balls.
Diavolo drags his teeth from Doppio’s breast slowly, concluding with a pinch of his nipple between his incisors as he looks up innocently. Doppio is speechless, not sure what else he would have to do to achieve the release that he so desperately needed. Instead of baseless words and pleasantries, Diavolo purses his lips and wraps his fist around the apron’s tie, tearing it from Doppio’s waist with a tempestuous jerk. Doppio sighs as he’s exposed in his entirety, left only in his garterbelt and white ruffled top bunched at his hips.
Diavolo releases his authority from Doppio’s back and slides his palm onto his thighs, snapping the band of his garter as Doppio stares down at him incredulously. With his other hand, he strokes the smoothness of his cheek, giving him a moment of respite before taking his chin into his powerful grip.
Doppio’s back hunches as his face is brought close to Diavolo’s, his cheeks squished by his finger into a pout. Diavolo slides his tongue across them before taking them between his own, a deep, hungry kiss engulfing Doppio’s being and sinking heavy in his gut. Diavolo nibbles his lip a bit too hard, simpering at the pained bleat that vibrates into his throat. He drags the sinew of his lip between his teeth as he draws back, topping off the kiss with a lap of his tongue.
“Well, get to it, then,” Diavolo sneers. “This is what you wanted, right?”
Doppio’s face brightens with the most ebullient expression Diavolo has seen all day, letting his face slip from between his fingers like releasing a butterfly. Doppio beams as he settles back onto his knees, almost feral in his approach as he ruts himself hard and deep onto Diavolo’s cock. His chest, nipples slicked with sweat and marred red by the indentations of his Master’s teeth. His blood vessels break like watercolor under the skin around his areola, his chest bruising in a lovemark from Diavolo’s heavy sucking.
Diavolo takes in the spectacle of the headstrong Doppio finally getting what he needed, feeling accomplished that he’d managed to get his underling so riled up. Normally quick to tidy himself and swipe the lipstick from his cheek, Doppio finds himself completely absorbed by the need for release despite the spit that dribbles from his lip and sweat slicking his hair to his forehead and neck. What a mess he’s made for himself, Diavolo thinks, following the bounce of his Doppio’s chest with each fervent dive of his hips. Indeed, he hardly seems to remember that he’s not just Diavolo’s spectacle, the obvious movement and expression assuredly catching passerby’s attention.
Diavolo resists the urge to take Doppio’s engorged prick into his grip, instead digging his fingers into the crests of his hips. The springy tip flushes rosy, the slit bubbling with precum. The force of his pace causes one of the garters to snap from the hem of his stocking, recoiling into the air and leaving the sock to drift towards his knee.
“Diavolo…!” Doppio cries out, capturing his lover’s intrigue with the use of his name for the first time that night. He smiles in return, wishing that Doppio would open his eyes, humming in approval as the needy cock before his eyes pulsates.
With a choked whine and a guttural groan, cum shoots from the slit at last; ropey tendrils spurt onto Diavolo’s chest and neck with momentum only denial could afford. Doppio’s eyes roll as they open languidly, his hips rocking back and forth as he rides out his orgasm that wracks its way through the entirety of his body. The muscles of his abdomen quake too much to roll his hips smoothly, instead resorting to what jittery movements he can afford.
He catches his breath with a drag of his hand through his hair, clearing his face from the pesky stray hairs that stuck there. The beginnings of clarity knock against his consciousness, though he’s too stubborn in his orgasmic relief to accept reality just yet.
Diavolo says something, but Doppio doesn’t hear. His eyes flash open as Diavolo grinds himself further into him, still hard enough to rub his tip against his prostate. Doppio mumbles nonsense, his balance feeling weak, the length of one of his gloves bunched along his forearm.
“Doppio,” Diavolo must’ve repeated, sounding much more insistent. Doppio manages to look down at him with a vague sense of understanding, an iridescent dribble of cum following the milky white as it pools along Diavolo’s navel. “You’ve done well.”
The compliment raises a lazy smile across the subordinate’s face, genuine though admittedly hazed by exhaustion. Diavolo rewards him with more strokes of his prostate, draining his balls of every last stubborn drop of cum. Like a leaky faucet, Doppio seeps the heat of it into a bubbly stream of vicious wetness. Diavolo watches with amusement as he finally grips the length of his cock, only to drag his thumb along the underside of it to milk the last of his cum onto his abdomen. It’s enough for Doppio to shudder a breath, sinking the entirety of his weight onto the reliable stability of his Master.
Diavolo gives him a moment to collect himself before sloughing the dead weight off of his lap, settling the exhausted boy next to him on the lounge. Doppio snuggles into the muscle of Diavolo’s shoulder, his arm flopping across his chest with the debilitation of overstimulation. The larger man doesn’t usually indulge in Doppio’s penchant for closeness, but after tonight he’s too impressed and fatigued to fight him. There’s still something to be tended to, though, before he can allow his companion to settle into the evenness of his breathing and inevitable well-earned rest.
“Houseboy,” Diavolo crones, tapping his fingers against the boy’s forearm, “clean this mess up.”
Doppio grins meekly, stirring against the comfort of the Boss’s chest to retrieve the apron that had been rashly discarded. He evens out the fabric from its wrinkled ball, gingerly wiping up his cum with a smooth wiggle of his wrist. Diavolo oversees his ministrations with leniency, accepting the residual he leaves in favor of casting the apron back to the ground.
“Thank you, Boss,” he sighs, transparently begging for further approval and praise. He looks up at Diavolo with doll-like eyes as he settles back onto his chest, reminding him of a cat bunting against his leg.
He gratifies him just this once, sliding his fingers under Doppio’s chin before settling into his hair, blessing him with genuine gratitude.
“Thank you ,” he utters, his voice low from the unfamiliarity of the affection, “my Doppio.”