Chapter 17 #2
Stefano's hands slid higher on my thighs, thumbs now just inches from where slick was gathering despite my recent release.
"Much better," he approved, eyes dark with hunger as he watched me fall apart under Marco’s and Matteo’s attention.
"I prefer these sounds to your sarcasm, little prince. Though both have their charms."
I wanted to tell him exactly where he could shove his preferences, but Matteo chose that moment to graze his teeth against my nipple, and whatever cutting remark I'd been formulating dissolved into a pathetic whimper.
My wit had abandoned me, leaving behind an empty shell capable only of desperate noises and incoherent pleas.
"Look at him," Marco murmured against my chest, his breath hot against sensitized skin. "Already falling apart again. His nipples are so responsive—I could probably make him come just from this."
"An experiment for another time," Stefano said, his thumbs now tracing maddening circles in the creases where thigh met groin, so close to where I was already aching again. "Tonight we have other plans."
His fingers finally, finally slid between my legs, tracing the slick-dampened skin with teasing lightness.
When one digit circled my entrance without quite breaching me, I nearly sobbed with frustrated need.
My hole was apparently developing separation anxiety from alpha fingers, clenching desperately around nothing like an abandoned puppy.
"Please," I gasped, the word escaping before I could stop it, pride completely abandoned in the face of overwhelming desire. "Inside… need… please. The emptiness is… psychological torture. Cruel… unusual punishment."
"What was that, little prince?" Stefano asked, his finger continuing those maddening circles, gathering slick but not pushing in. "I couldn't quite hear you."
"Need… inside," I managed, face burning with humiliation as my hole clenched around nothing. "Fingers… please. Don't make me… beg more. Already… destroyed dignity… irreparably."
"Whose fingers?" he pressed, still teasing, still not giving me what we both knew I desperately needed. "Who do you need inside you, Leo?"
I knew what he wanted—the specific word that would simultaneously satisfy his ego and deepen my submission.
The word that had already slipped out during my most desperate moments, the one I'd sworn I wouldn't use again.
The linguistic equivalent of waving a white flag of surrender while also gifting them the deed to my soul.
"Y-yours," I tried, hoping it would be enough. "Need… your fingers. Yours… specifically. Not… just any fingers. Yours. Exclusively. Very… specifically… yours."
His hand stilled completely, and I could practically feel the disapproval radiating from all three alphas. "Try again," Stefano said, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that made something in my stomach clench with both fear and anticipation. "Who do you need, little prince?"
Marco's mouth hovered just above my cock, his breath teasing the sensitive skin. "Say it properly, or you get nothing."
The silence stretched as my pride waged its final, futile battle against my body's desperate need.
I closed my eyes, unable to watch their smug expressions as I finally, completely surrendered.
This was rock bottom with a basement level, a sub-basement, and possibly several additional floors descending straight to the center of the earth.
"D-daddy," I whispered, the word burning my throat like acid. "Please, Daddy. Need… fingers. Inside. If this… ever leaves this tent… I'll deny it… to my dying breath. Will claim… drugged… or hypnotized… or possessed by… kinky demon."
"Good boy," Stefano praised, the approval in his voice sending an unwelcome wave of warmth through my chest.
His finger pushed inside without further preamble, the intrusion both relief and torture as my body eagerly accepted him.
The single digit felt impossibly large, stretching me in ways that should have been uncomfortable but instead had me pressing back against his hand, silently begging for more.
My hole welcomed him like it was auditioning for Most Eager Omega Orifice, making a mockery of whatever resistance I still pretended to have.
Marco's mouth descended on mine again, swallowing the desperate sounds I couldn't contain as Stefano's finger worked deeper. His tongue explored every corner with methodical thoroughness, claiming me from the inside out while Matteo continued tormenting my nipples with alternating attention.
I was being assaulted from three directions—Stefano's finger pumping steadily inside me, Marco's tongue claiming my mouth, Matteo's teeth and fingers working my chest. The synchronized attack left no possibility of defense, no capacity for anything but surrender.
If they ever decided to quit the mafia business, they could make a fortune as a coordinated omega pleasure assault team. The Navy SEALs of orgasm extraction.
When Marco finally released my mouth, I was gasping for air, my chest heaving with desperate breaths. "More," I begged, all pretense of resistance abandoned. "Please… more. Deeper. Need… more. Like… drowning man… needs oxygen. Or addict… needs fix. Desperately."
"Listen to those sounds he's making," Marco murmured, his lips brushing against my throat. "Our little prince loves being filled, doesn't he? Made for it."
I wanted to deny it, but Stefano chose that moment to crook his finger, finding that spot inside me that made coherent thought impossible.
A broken moan escaped my throat as pleasure jolted through me, my cock jerking against my stomach.
It was like he'd located a hidden button labeled Destroy Leo's Dignity and was gleefully pressing it on repeat.
"M-more," I gasped, my body taking full control of my mouth. "Please, Daddy, more. Need… bigger. Fuller. More… everything. My omega biology is… staging revolt. Demanding… complete surrender. Traitor cells… everywhere."
Stefano rewarded my begging with a second finger, the stretch burning in the best possible way as he scissored them inside me, preparing me for something my conscious mind refused to acknowledge but my body eagerly anticipated.
My hole greedily swallowed his digits, clenching around them like it was afraid they might escape if not properly restrained.
"So tight," he murmured, his free hand sliding up my inner thigh to cup my balls with gentle possession. "So perfect. Taking Daddy's fingers so well."
His praise hit something deep inside me, something that responded to the approval like a starving man to food.
My omega biology—that traitorous parasite that had been cheerleading this assault from the beginning—practically purred under the attention.
I was developing a praise kink in real time, my body's reward centers lighting up like a Christmas tree at each "good boy" and "so perfect. "
Marco's mouth trailed down my chest, pausing to lavish attention on each nipple before continuing its journey southward. When his lips finally closed around my cock, taking me deep in one smooth motion, my back arched off the pillows with a strangled cry.
The dual sensation—Stefano's fingers working inside me while Marco's throat constricted around my length—was too much to process, my nervous system completely overwhelmed.
All I could do was whimper, my hands clutching desperately at the sheets beneath me like they could somehow anchor me against the tsunami of pleasure threatening to sweep away whatever remained of my sanity.
"Do you have any idea," Stefano said conversationally, as if he weren't currently two fingers deep inside me while Marco swallowed my cock, "how perfect you look right now? Spread out for us, taking everything we give you, begging for more?"
I couldn't answer even if I wanted to, not with Marco's lips wrapped around my cock and Stefano's fingers hitting that spot inside me with unerring precision.
My world had narrowed to points of contact, to wet heat and stretching fullness and the edge of an orgasm I shouldn't have been capable of after coming so many times already.
If my reproductive system had a suggestion box, I'd be filing a complaint about unrealistic performance expectations and inadequate recovery periods.
"I think we need to make sure you remember who you belong to," Stefano continued, his fingers curling inside me in a way that made stars explode behind my eyelids. "Make sure your body never forgets, even when that clever mind tries to deny it."
Matteo appeared at my head again, his hands framing my face as he leaned down to claim my mouth.
The kiss was different from Marco's—more methodical, more thorough, as if he was cataloging every response for future reference.
His tongue pushed past my lips in rhythm with Stefano's fingers, creating a sense of being penetrated from both ends that made my head spin.
I was surrounded, consumed, owned from every angle. There was no escape from the pleasure they were forcing on me, no defense against the coordinated assault on my senses. They'd studied the blueprint of my nervous system and were exploiting every vulnerability with military precision.
When Matteo finally released my mouth, I was sobbing—tears leaking from the corners of my eyes as pleasure built to unbearable heights.
"Can't," I managed, my voice breaking on the word.
"Too much… can't… Human bodies aren't… designed for this.
Nervous system… overloading. Blue screen of death… imminent."
"You can," Stefano assured me, adding a third finger alongside the first two, stretching me wider, pushing deeper. "And you will. Your body knows what it needs, even when you fight it."
The third finger burned, but in a way that somehow transformed directly into pleasure, my nerve endings apparently completely confused about which sensations were which.
Marco's mouth worked my cock with devastating skill, his tongue finding all the spots that made me see white, while Stefano's fingers maintained a rhythm that had me teetering on the edge of what felt like the most intense orgasm of my life.
"Gonna… can't… please," I babbled, beyond coherent speech, beyond thought, beyond anything but sensation. "Need… come… please… My brain is… melting. Vocabulary… extinct. Only… feeling… nothing else."
"Not yet," Stefano commanded, his fingers slowing inside me, denying me the friction I desperately needed. "Not until you tell us who you belong to."
With a nod from Stefano, Marco released my cock, leaving me gasping at the sudden loss.
Both alphas began repositioning me, flipping me onto my stomach with the pillows now elevating my hips, presenting my ass at the perfect height.
I was being rearranged like human furniture—the expensive omega coffee table, now in spanking position.
"Wha—no—stop—" My protest cut off on a shocked gasp as Stefano's hand connected with my right ass cheek in a sharp slap that echoed through the tent.
"Count," he commanded, his voice dropping to that register that made my spine tingle despite my outrage.
"F-fuck… you," I snarled, the words slurring together as I tried to glare over my shoulder. "Not… counting… sh-shit… This isn't… Sesame Street. Not… teaching numbers… to preschoolers. Won't… participate… own humiliation."
The second slap landed on my left cheek, harder than the first, the sting radiating outward in a way that shouldn't have felt good but somehow did.
My cock, trapped beneath me against the pillows, throbbed traitorously in response.
Apparently, my ass had developed a direct neural pathway to my arousal centers, bypassing all normal pain processing.
"That's two," Stefano said calmly. "You've forgotten to count both. Shall we start over? Or perhaps add extra for your disobedience?"
"Shove… extra… ass," I managed, fragments of threats spilling out between gasps. The words sounded pathetically weak when my body was responding so eagerly to his discipline. "You can… take… counting and—FUCK!"
The third strike landed with brutal force at the crease where ass met thigh, a particularly sensitive area that sent electricity shooting straight to my cock.
The sensation hit like a lightning strike, pain transforming into pleasure through some alchemical process my science education had failed to cover.
"Th-three," I gasped involuntarily, the number forced from me by sheer shock. "You… psycho… gonna… kill… when regain… motor functions. Death by… household objects… your future."
Instead of anger, Stefano's response was to lean down and press his mouth against the spot he'd just struck.
The contrast between the sharp pain and the sudden wet heat of his tongue made me jerk against the pillows with a strangled cry that contained no actual words.
My linguistic abilities had packed their bags and left for vacation, leaving behind only animal sounds and half-formed expletives.
"Such colorful attempts at language," he murmured against my heated skin, his breath cooling the wetness he'd left behind. "But I don't hear gratitude, little prince."
"Grat—? Delu—? Fuck…" My broken attempts at coherence dissolved completely as his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh. "Hell… freeze… Satan… ski… vacation. Universe… joke… my expense."
The fourth strike landed before I could brace myself, followed immediately by Marco's mouth soothing the sting with gentle kisses that somehow made everything worse.
The dual sensation—sharp pain followed by soft lips—was short-circuiting whatever remained of my verbal abilities.
My brain's language center had officially gone offline, replaced by a primitive system capable only of registering pleasure and making embarrassing noises.
"F-four," I choked out, face pressed into sheets. "Kill… sleep… rusty… thing… spoon. Eyes… first… then… kneecaps."
"Promises, promises." Marco laughed, his tongue tracing the handprint blooming on my skin. "But you're forgetting something important."
"F-fuck… impor… not… thanking—Oh God."
The fifth blow landed directly over where Marco had been kissing, the sensitized skin making the impact twice as intense. Before I could recover, Stefano's mouth replaced his hand, teeth scraping over the abused flesh before his tongue soothed the sting.
"F-five," I sobbed, my body betraying me completely as more slick gathered between my thighs. "Hate… so… much… all of you. Going… hell… premium tickets… VIP section."
"Your mouth tries to say hate," Stefano said, fingers tracing the wetness now streaming down my inner thighs. "But your body is singing a very different song, little prince."