by Loki Renard
“Liar,” Angelo hissed, drawing his hand back to slap Bobby’s ass hard. “You know you want this. You just want this to hurt because you know you deserve to hurt.”
Bobby drew a sucking breath through his teeth. The cane welts flared underneath Angelo’s hand as the older man started to whip his ass all the while teasing his anus with the head of his cock. It hurt, but the pain felt good. Felt essential. He couldn’t do this any other way. His ass needed to be fucked. He needed to be dominated. He needed to be taken in the most shameful way a man can be taken, his ass fucked like a pussy, taken like a girl.
“I’ll hurt you,” Angelo promised, his voice rough with intensity. “I’ll hurt you like you need to be hurt.”
Tears formed in Bobby’s eyes. Not tears of pain. Tears of sorrow. For everything he’d lost and everything he’d become. Everything he’d always been, right in the depths of his dirty soul. Angelo wasn’t doing this to him. Angelo was just showing him what he was.
“Cry for me, baby boy,” Angelo growled, urging his hips forward.
Bobby let out a little sob. A blob of wetness fell onto the blotter beneath his face. Angelo commanded everything. His ass. His tears. His fucking soul.
“You’re a demon, Bobby, and a demon needs a devil,” Angelo panted as he sank himself himself deep inside Bobby’s ass, his cock claiming virgin territory with a rough thrust which made Bobby let out a pathetic whimper.
He was being fucked. Bare. There was nothing between them, nothing to protect him from whatever dangers lurked inside Angelo. He cried out as Angelo fisted his hair and thrust back and forth, his cock taking advantage of the remnants of lube and the looseness of his hole. With every stroke, Angelo narrated his descent.
“You’re not redeemable, Bobby. There’s no going back for you. Don’t look for a savior. One isn’t going to come. All you’ve got is me, and what passes for my heart.”
Fuck. Deeper. Harder. More. Please. More.
Thoughts fled. No more words. Just the pounding shaft which stretched his innards crudely wide, stroking the gland inside his hole with every back and forth. This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him - and it felt the best.
Angelo’s voice became ragged and he stopped speaking. Flesh met flesh, cock in ass. They were joined. One thing. One writhing, grunting, evil creature. Bobby couldn’t feel where he ended and where Angelo began. He couldn’t understand what he was anymore. He didn’t care. What was Bobby and why did it matter?
Angelo reared back and pulled out before thrusting deep again, making Bobby feel it all. Every inch of his hard flesh, spearing in and out.
Orgasm.
The notion floated to him through the haze of sensation. What was the point of it? He didn’t want an orgasm. He didn’t want this to end. He wanted to be here forever, completely debased.
16
ANGELO
He wasn’t just fucking Bobby. He was jacked into him. Their flesh was a flashpoint for a damn near cosmic connection. Running his hands through Bobby’s hair, he drew his boy up and back, lifting his head from the desk so he arched his back elegantly, his full ass pushed out.
This was beauty. Raw, real beauty. The kind that only came once in a lifetime. The rarity which could only flower between two souls who understood the depths of the dark.
Urging his hips forward and back, Angelo let his pleasure spiral down his spine, drawing energy from every part of his body. His orgasm was not coming from his cock. It was coming from his fingers, his toes, his hair. It was being sucked from every inch of his flesh, energy condensing at the base of his back to burst forth in a bright supernova which triggered the volcanic explosion of his seed deep inside Bobby’s bowels.
He heard Bobby scream, felt the boy’s ass clench tight as he started to shake uncontrollably, the muscles in his arms and his legs twitching as if he’d just been given another bolt of the taser. He grunted and he groaned, his ass humping like a filthy animal as he tried to take Angelo’s dick deep as possible, sucking his seed all the way inside.
The tremors went on for a while. Angelo held himself unsteadily erect and ran his hand down the length of Bobby’s exposed back, settling and calming his boy. Now was the real test. Would he be overcome with loathing? Would he cry? Would he break from reality entirely? Anything was possible.
“Talk to me, boy.”
Bobby made a muffled, not quite coherent sound. He wasn’t quite with it. Not yet. Angelo slid his cock free of the hole he now owned, eased Bobby up from the desk and carried him to an arm chair in the corner of the room. He settled Bobby in his lap and together they recovered.
Bobby rested his dark head against Angelo’s shoulder, his chest rising and falling deeply. Angelo waited, patient. The answer would come. There was no need to rush it.
“Fuck it,” Bobby breathed eventually. “That was incredible.”
Angelo smiled. Perfect.
17
BOBBY
He was no less a captive, but things changed from that moment. Angelo didn’t keep him cuffed or chained. He gave him a semblance of freedom - though that was all it was. Just a semblance. Totally meaningless in any practical sense.
He tested the theory by trying to leave. He walked out the front door and started to walk toward the driveway. Before he got even ten feet from the front door, he was accosted and taken back inside between two very burly men.
“Hands off,” he snapped as they held him by the arms, delivering him directly to Angelo, who was at work in his office.
“We found him outside the front door,” the senior of the two announced, dropping him in it.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Angelo said, sitting back from his computer. He tutted at Bobby as the guards left. “What were you doing?”
“Leaving.” There was no point lying about it.
“You know you can’t leave, don’t you?”
“I do now,” Bobby scowled, crossing his arms over his chest.
Angelo picked up a pen and ran his fingers along it in a stroking motion. “I’m not done with you, Bobby. You’re not going anywhere without me.”
Bobby bit his lower lip in an effort to keep himself from losing his temper at Angelo. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, not really. Angelo had stolen everything from him, fucked him senseless, and seemed intent on keeping on doing so.
“What more is there for you to get, Angelo? What else can you take?”
Angelo smirked. “Everything.”
“You should be careful what you ask for, Mr Vitali,” Bobby said as his temper flared. “You might actually get it.”
The smirk turned into a smile of genuine amusement. “Oh I hope so, Bobby. I’m busy now, but you can show me all you’ve got to give later. Now run along.”
Dismissed like a meaningless distraction, Bobby was only too glad. Angelo was underestimating him. He’d learn what a mistake that was soon enough.
18
ANGELO
Angelo had never indulged in anything other than short term passionate flings. It was easier to find and fuck someone than try to bring them into his world. But Bobby was already part of the world, and had to be kept close. Very close. For both their sakes.
Bobby didn’t understand, but he didn’t need to. All he had to do was obey. That was significant challenge for a boy used to calling the shots, but Angelo’s cane stood at the ready to remind him if necessary.
It was strange, to wake up in the morning and have Bobby there, snoring softly next to him. The boy spread out in his sleep, forcing Angelo to the edge of the bed to the point Angelo considered tying him up before bed to keep him contained.
As the days went on, the situation became increasingly intense. Bobby’s stubble was left in the bathroom sink. He farted under the covers. It was all getting incredibly domestic - in spite of the fact theirs was a relationship of captor and prisoner.
Angelo was used to being surrounded by a staff and a slew of bodyguards, but no other people in his personal space. Work u
sually dominated his day, but with Bobby it was often a matter of spending his day dominating the boy.
Bobby was raw in so many ways. He had all the makings of a boss, but he lacked the maturity to do what he needed to do. Angelo was taking advantage of that inexperience, but to his mind, he was also taking care of Bobby at the same time. Bobby was damn fortunate that Mason Malone had chosen Angelo to take care of the situation. Most other people in his business would have settled things with a bullet.
Now, as he stood and stared at the wreck that used to be his private bathroom, Angelo wasn’t so certain he hadn’t made the wrong choice.
“Bobby!”
“What?” Bobby lifted his head from the bed where he was napping - at two o’clock in the afternoon.
“Don’t say what to me, boy,” Angelo growled. “Clean up your damn towels.”
“Prisoners don’t have to clean.”
“Prisoners get their asses fucked if they’re not careful. Is that what you want?”
“That happens if I am careful too,” Bobby shot back.
“Bobby, boy. I am not playing,” Angelo growled. “Clean this room up. Now. This is not a frat house. This is my bedroom.”
“You have staff for that.”
Attitude. The boy was daring to talk back to him. Bobby needed a refresher in manners.
Without another word to his impudent brat of a prisoner, Angelo went to retrieve his cane. It was in the corner of his office, along with a few other implements Bobby was going to be introduced to if he wasn’t careful. Just as he picked the cane up, his phone rang. A familiar and fairly important number flashed on the screen. He would have to take this call. Bobby could wait.
“Mason, how are you?”
“I’m well, Angelo. How’s your guest?”
Angelo allowed himself a dark smirk. “He’s suitably distracted.”
“Really. Because his men are still sniffing around my compound.” Mason’s voice was clipped and tight. “Get a proper handle on him, please, Angelo. Or our deal is off.”
Mason ended the call abruptly, leaving Angelo displeased. It hadn’t occurred to him that Bobby still had outside actors capable of acting independently. This was a surprise, and Angelo did not like surprises.
He walked back to the bedroom, tapping the end of the cane against his leg. When he got there Bobby was sitting in the messy bed wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts and reading a paper. He apparently considered their conversation to be at an end. He was very wrong.
“Well,” Angelo said, lifting the cane to whack it against the palm of his hand. It left a searing mark, but it also made enough noise to get Bobby’s attention.
“What?” Bobby gave him a guarded look.
“It seems your men have been carrying out orders. Your orders. Strange, given you can’t pay them anymore.”
“I guess they haven’t got that message yet.”
“Call them off, Bobby.”
Bobby sat up straighter, cocking his head to the side. Suddenly Angelo wasn’t talking to his little fuck toy captive anymore. He was talking to the man who had Mason Malone and half of New York on the run
“Why should I?”
“Because I’ll hurt you if you don’t.”
“You’re going to hurt me anyway,” Bobby said calmly. “You’re keeping me captive. I have no assets. No freedom. You have no leverage with me anymore.”
Little shit. Angelo kept his calm though. He was actually enjoying this dark sparring immensely, much more than Bobby’s domestic ineptitude.
“I’ll turn every part of you into leverage if you’re not careful,” he threatened. “Turn over boy, pull your underwear down. Let’s see how this cane makes you feel.”
Bobby gave him a cold stare of pure hate which only served to excite Angelo. Whipping this deserving boy’s ass was going to be one of the highlights of his day.
“If I have to put you into position, I’m going to whip your ass hole before I fuck it.” He let the crude threat hang in the air between them, loving the way Bobby’s face paled even as his eyes narrowed.
“You’re making a mistake, Angelo,” Bobby said, sounding ever more petulant. “A really, really big mistake.”
“I’ll give you my phone and you can call your people off after I cane you.”
“You can shove your phone up your ass,” Bobby snapped. “I don’t give a shit what you do to me. My men are going to find Aiden and make sure he gets what he deserves.”
His temper had betrayed him, as it always did. Angelo stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Bobby needed the cane - not because of his attitude, or because of his refusal to acquiesce, but because he would never amount to anything if he couldn’t control that impulsivity which made him give everything away.
Bobby fought, as he always did. Then he lost, as he always did. It wasn’t hard to wrestle him down and pin him in place, but it was fun to let him tire himself out, his hot writhing body kicking and squirming in protest. In the end, Angelo mounted him from behind, an arm around his neck, cutting off oxygen enough to make further struggle impossible.
“Stop fighting me,” he growled in Bobby’s ear as he crouched over the boy’s body. “You won’t ever win.”
“I’m winning right now,” Bobby squeaked back.
“How do you figure that?”
“My men are still looking for Aiden. They’re good too. They’re going to find him. They don’t give a shit about you holding me here. They trust me to get out.”
“Maybe I need my men to pay your men a little visit,” Angelo said. “How many pistol clips will it take to deal with your men, Bobby? How many of them are prepared to die for you?”
“Fuck you,” Bobby growled, furious. “You better not touch my men.”
“I’ll do whatever I like to them. Because they’re not your men anymore, Bobby-boy. They’re mine. I own you. And I own everything of yours.”
“You don’t own fucking anything,” Bobby said. He was going to go on, but Angelo had enough of the conversation. This rebellion wasn’t getting either of them anywhere. He tightened his arm, cutting off the flow of blood and oxygen even more. He felt Bobby go limp under him before he eased off and stood up. Bobby was still out. No problem. He could fix that.
Looming over Bobby’s inert body, he lined the cane up and brought it down with a hard CRACK.
Bobby screamed back into consciousness, his eyes wild and red with almost instant tears. Angelo brought the cane down again, catching his ass a little lower. Bobby tried to get up and get away, but Angelo reached down and caught him by the boxers, using them to hoist Bobby into a wedgied position as he slammed the cane against his deserving backside, the Lexan biting into Bobby’s skin over and over until there were a dozen lines crossing his rear and the little mafioso was crying out like a baby.
Angelo released him then, dumping him back onto the bed unceremoniously. “Go clean the bathroom.”
Bobby’s face was contorted and red with the pain of the punishment as he gingerly got up from the bed and did as he was told - as he should have done in the beginning. Angelo stood over Bobby as the boy went to the bathroom and gathered the towels, catching Bobby’s thighs periodically with the tip of the cane if he moved too slowly.
“Was that so hard?” He smirked the question when the room was suitably cleaned. Bobby didn’t reply. He was too busy wiping the tears he was trying not to cry from his cheeks and avoiding Angelo’s gaze.
Angelo held out his phone to Bobby. “Now, call your men off.”
“No.”
“No?” Angelo’s brows practically hit his hairline. “Boy…”
“Choke me out, beat me, I don’t care,” Bobby said, staring defiantly all of a sudden. “Aiden is a dead man, I swear it.”
19
BOBBY
“You’re willing to let me torment you endlessly for Aiden?”
“I’m willing to endure pain to get what I want. And I want Aiden dead.”
He saw a
grudging respect in Angelo’s gaze.
“I’ll give you credit, boy,” Angelo said. “You have drive, but I tell you now. He’s not worth what I’ll do to you if you don’t call your men off.”
“He’s not worth anything at all,” Bobby agreed. “But that little fucker is going down.”
Angelo stood back, crossing his arms. That damn cane was still in his hand, and Bobby’s ass was in fucking agony, but that didn’t matter
“You lied to me,” Angelo said. “This isn’t about sex. You didn’t fuck Aiden Taylor-Chapman. Tell me why you hate him so much.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“Boy…” Angelo growled.
Bobby threw his hands up and started to explain. “There isn’t a reason. Not really. He used to work for me, then he started slacking off, smoking his profits, being a messy little bitch. He shorted me about fifty times and thought I wouldn’t notice. He tried to fuck me. I don’t tolerate being fucked.”
Angelo nodded slowly. “You are a vicious little boy, Bobby.”
“Yes,” Bobby said. “I am. I don’t give a shit about his money. I don’t want his money. I know what will happen to him if he doesn’t overdose. He’ll land on his feet, because that’s what little rich boys do. They get away with everything. He’s not getting away with this, Angelo. He’s not going to slip back to his privileged lifestyle and blow me off. He’s going to suffer. He’s going to pay.”
There was a long pause as Angelo thought. Bobby waited for the inevitable scathing judgment. Then Angelo lifted the cane and pointed it at him. “You are my kind of man, Robert.”
Was that respect?
Bobby’s scowl smoothed out some. He didn’t know. His ass was a mass of welts. Why should he care what a man who had just choked him out thought? But he did. He cared precisely because Angelo was the sort of guy to choke you out and beat you if you didn’t do as he said. He and Angelo spoke the same language: vicious violence.