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Diavolo was swiftly thrust into yet another waking nightmare.
No matter how many times it happened, the new chapters of his endless personal hell always began with him being severely disoriented. By now, it should have been something he’d grown long since accustomed to.
But it had since been determined that there was no way to tell just what would be waiting for him on the other side, and that left a constant lingering terror to fester at the edges of his conscience. And this time, it was something new. Something many times more horrible than the last, and than the one before it. And it all boiled down to the fact that he knew fully well who this man was. It was the first time in his days of existence within nightmares that there had been anyone which Diavolo truly recognized as someone he had known in the waking world. What made it all the more horrifying for him was the fact that he knew full well it was someone he’d so shamelessly betrayed.
Risotto stood, one leg crossed over the other, leaning against a dingy off-white wall. The object of his interest was shackled to the ground by chains cuffed around his wrists and ankles, though he didn’t seem to notice that fact for himself just yet. The fool was too busy gawking at him, a look of such utter disbelief that La Squadra’s leader would have found it severely amusing had it been smeared across anyone’s face except that man’s.
But the identity of just who was here beneath him, now helpless and more fit to be groveling and pleading for mercy, filled Risotto with such intense feelings of disgust and power as he looked down upon the shivering wretch on the floor.
Diavolo’s current destination was a dungeon, of sorts. There were two metallic tables not unlike those he’d been opened up on in the first miserable, early hours of his renewed and cursed existence. The lights were dimmed, though not enough so that he wouldn’t be able to make out the distinct shapes of an array of instruments both blunt and sharp arranged in neat rows atop them.
Unused chains and coils of rope hung from a handful of scattered hooks along the walls. The captive’s fearful gaze lingered temporarily on the shape of a silvery rope which reminded him of snake skin, it’s entire length dotted here and there with sharpened metal studs that jutted out like the thorns of a rose bush.
“Admiring the scenery Diavolo? I do hope it is to your liking. Sadly I did not have so much time to prepare for such guests, but i’m sure you can understand.”
Risotto’s voice sounded in front of him, and the wretch snapped back to attention. There was an absolute deer in the headlights look about him, one that the silver haired man found to be quite pleasant under such circumstances. He knew it could be made so much worse with a few simple actions - ones he intended to go through with in short time. But there was no need to rush it, and Risotto did not have any intentions of cutting his playtime short.
Diavolo did not speak. The one who was currently examining him as if he were a most tender cut of meat found that to be quite disrespectful. After all this freak had caused, how many lives he’d thrown away - those of his own men, no doubt, the absolute least he could do was to offer an apology. Yet Risotto would expect no such thing of him. He knew that it was the mind of a pure, twisted coward. The offer of apology would not have so much as crossed his mind, because he was not inclined to do so. The kind of man who’d done all he could to extinguish the life of his only daughter.
Risotto stepped towards him, and the bigger man did not shy away from him just yet. Slender fingers reached out to lift his chin, deceptively gentle as he stared into the eyes of his plaything. To think that he had once feared this man. Respected him, even. A disgusted sneer came to him then.
A droplet of sweat slowly made it’s way down Diavolo’s cheek, and note was taken to the subtle way in which the muscle under his left eye twitched. All very slight, yet significant signs that a thin mask of composure was soon to come undone. The audacity he must have had to think he could act as if nothing were wrong. With all he’d done, Risotto thought, the wretch should throw himself down and grovel at his feet like a dog.
His grip on Diavolo’s jaw tightened now. Hard enough to make him wince, even as slight as the reaction was. Risotto would make him do it.
“I don’t need to tell you why you’re here with me today.” He said simply, releasing his grip on the other man’s face. “Know that you do not deserve an explanation, really. The fact that i’m even wasting my breath speaking to you, filthy mutt, it truly humors me.”
His gaze remained unyielding, crimson eyes seemed to burn holes into Diavolo as the miserable freak averted his gaze for one shameful moment.
“You feel *sorry* for yourself, don’t you dog? I can see it plainly in the way you hold your body.”
And his prisoner did not even bother to respond to this. He knew it in full, yet Risotto found his continued silence to be an extension of the coward’s disdain. Because even now, Diavolo only felt sorry for himself.
Risotto delivered a swift kick to his ribs. His former boss coughed harshly, fists clenched in pain - or perhaps it was rage. He smiled pleasantly at this display, knowing so well how Diavolo must be wanting to take his position right now. Finally getting subjected to his own treatment must have felt unbearable, the worst sort of “injustice” that the heartless bastard could ever hope to fathom.
La squadra’s leader had thought it over, time and time again, just what he’d want to do in the case that he’d find himself in such a perfect circumstance. That was why he had no shortage of plans. There was an extensive list of ideas, ideas which had so recently been nothing but tantalizing fantasy. Now that the opportunity had presented itself just perfectly so, Risotto was going to draw this out in a way that would ensure his “boss” would be given the most humiliating sendoff he could muster.
He reached to grab a fistfull of Diavolo’s hair, pushing his head down between his feet so the tip of his nose was pressed against his left boot. Diavolo glowered up at him then, eyes burning with such an intense hatred it would appear as if he were trying to kill with the look alone. Risotto would have to change that. He would change it to the purest form of agonized suffering.
Risotto lifted his foot enough that the sole was visible, once again giving a hard push with the leverage he had on Diavolo’s head in a way that made him teeter forwards he was thrown off balance. Punishment for thinking of such defiance…
“Now, you miserable excuse for a man. Lick it clean.”
Diavolo had no better option, lest he risk further harm by his own foolish disobedience. He stuck out his tongue, dragging it along the bottom of Risotto’s boot while the other man watched with a scrutinizing gaze.
Such intense *hatred* leeched from the submissive’s demeanor. It was laughable to think that even now he was more worried about his ruined pride then the true fact of his “life” once again being in jeopardy.
Risotto could not wait to watch him writhe beneath his hold. When the moment came in which Diavolo shot him a glance - just a second’s eye contact, Risotto dug sharpened nails into his scalp. “That was not part of the agreement. Are you questioning me, boy?”
A firm upwards tap of his foot connected with the boss’s jaw. It wasn’t an awfully hard hit, and yet it was enough to split Diavolo’s lip just slightly enough so a thin line of blood welled up inside his mouth. Diavolo instantly spat it out, lip curling in a look of disgust before that quite quickly changed to something blank. He’d recognized the mistake, but it was much to late for that now.
Risotto stood, towering over the chained man with such an air of critical finality that the physical response he was given in return translated to nothing but terror.
“You should know better than to dirty my home, Diavolo.”
Diavolo would not look at him. He drew back one leg and kicked hard, nailing him directly in the same bruised spot as he had the first time - there was a subtle crack to be heard under the pressure, and it was enough to send the Diavolo toppling to the side.
Those chains that bound him offered scarcely enough room to collapse in such a way - it also meant he could not move back from the continued assault he was met with, Risotto’s boot once again connecting with his side. Then his stomach. The pink haired man coughed harshly, and not a second later a harder kick was brought to his midsection.
Risotto’s excitement only grew as he tormented the same man who had once struck terror into his own heart. Years spent working for this absolute waste of space - there was little limit to the extent of pleasure he was now gaining upon watching his former boss struggle in near silence. The only sounds he’d made were those that had been forced out of him - Risotto wanted to make him scream.
The captive could see a distinct outline of the bulge between the other man’s legs. Beneath tight clothing there was not much left to the imagination, and Diavolo did not want to think just what the man who now held him entirely at his mercy would choose to do with him now.
Risotto stamped his heel down on one of Diavolo’s hands. This earned him a pathetic little cry of pain, several small bones cracking under the sudden weight. Knowing what he’d done brought a distinct flood of arousal, and he was itching to inflict more damage upon the man who’d become nothing but property for him to beat on.
A sudden protrusion bulged out from the wrist of Diavolo’s uninjured hand, and he cried out once more as a silver blade pressed it’s way out of the skin with such ease that it tore like paper. Risotto snatched the knife from his quivering hand. The stand’s power had left a sizable swatch of Diavolo’s skin torn off, but it was only surface damage. He’d been sure to make it so that the object of his aggression would be fully aware and conscious of what was happening as it came, and such excessive blood loss so soon would have hindered his captive’s ability to experience the suffering he was to further endure.
He dragged the blade across Diavolo’s chest, tracing between his pecs and drawing a thin line of blood from the skin he’d just barely pierced. This trailed all the way up his neck, small beads of crimson welling up and dripping at leisure down the pale expanse of his throat. Such shallow wounds only left a slight, tingling sting in their wake - this was far from over with.
Risotto taunted him silently, pressing the blade to cut right where much further pressure would have been fatal. He imagined watching blood spout and bubble from within, reveling in the chained man’s dying gasps as he struggled to breathe but found his own life’s essence to be flooding his throat. He felt his cock twitch at the thought, and yet the hopes of a quick death from hereon were extinguished for the tormented bastard laying at his feet as the weapon’s cold touch vanished from his skin.
As Risotto stared into the eyes of his victim, a brief fantasy about slashing into his guts and having him bleed out like slaughtered livestock came to mind. Yet this would still be far too merciful. He’d had a much more painful idea on hand from the beginning, one that would allow Diavolo to feel utterly humiliated and objectified. Risotto was unsure of how many deaths he had suffered so far, but was certain that this was by far the most personal.
Again he took a fistfull of Diavolo’s hair in one hand, forcing him onto his knees. The other held the pocket knife between white-knuckled fingers. This knife was brought to rest on Diavolo’s cheek, inches away from his right eye. The look the wretched man gave him then was pleading and woeful, a look that just begged to be marred with viscera and contorted in agony until his last breath was drawn and the body seized to function. To think that this fool would ever try to gain his sympathy, even if it was done out of authentic desperation. No amount of punishment he gave would suffice to get back at everything he’d done over too many long years, but Risotto would do his best to make it even.
He positioned the blade’s end directly against the white of Diavolo’s eye. He tried to jerk his head back, but the grip was just so that he scarcely managed to flinch. Saliva began to run from one corner of his mouth, the muscles in his neck visibly straining as his futile attempt at movement continued. Risotto reveled in the scene for some seconds longer, admiring the flawless expression of torment across his enemy’s features.
Then, the blade sank deep. His undamaged eye rolled wildly in it’s socket, whole body jerking back - though the involuntary attempt at self preservation failed just as the rest of them had. A burst of fluid trickled from the cut, running down his cheek all while the metal sank deeper and was twisted as if Risotto were trying to screw it into his skull.
His intact eye welled with tears, spilling down as blood flowed from the other side in a generous burst of warm color. Risotto yanked the knife out of the jagged hole he’d torn into Diavolo’s face.
Diavolo watched him, pure misery shown clearly. He begged to be put down now - Risotto only longed to tear him apart from the inside out.
He let the blade fall to the ground with a clatter, droplets of blood flicked messily over the ground to join the small crimson puddle that was collecting under Diavolo’s head. The man was shivering, tears streaming down his face all while more blood spilled from the empty socket.
Risotto finally removed his cock from the confines of his pants, pressing the head to Diavolo’s lips. His jaw fell open, weak and slack, and Risotto immediately pressed himself forward so the whole length of it was jammed down his throat.
Soon after this the bigger man began to gag, but there was nothing he could do to help himself now. Risotto could feel the squeezing contractions of his throat around his length while he desperately attempted to breathe, and he stayed like that just up to the point where it seemed Diavolo was beginning to loose consciousness.
Then he pulled back, listened to the wracking breaths that his plaything took - hoping for some minuscule act done in his favor, anything just to regain some trace of comfort in this personal hell he was destined to reside in for all time onwards.
Risotto refused to let him catch his breath. Again, he buried himself as deep as he could into the wet heat of the tortured man’s throat. Diavolo’s nose was pressed up against his pelvis, and Risotto began to thrust violently in and out of his mouth.
He let this go until, once again, he could sense Diavolo was beginning to fade out - so he pulled back, and this time actually allowed some time to ward off the lightheaded rush that was brought with such loss of air.
It was only so he would remain fully present for this final act of their encounter.
Risotto pressed the tip of his cock to the bloodied face, giving almost no time to react before he sank it into the cavern of pulsating, raw flesh.
Diavolo’s body jerked, his mouth opened in what looked like an attempt to scream. No sound came out, and that left the wet squelching of his length being pressed deep into the makeshift hole to fill the silence.
Hot blood spilled out against his cock, painting his groin with the dark fluid as the morbid assault turned fatal. He could only last for so long like this, and the damage quickly pushed far enough to become irreparable.
Risotto’s gaze remained locked on that of Diavolo as his intact eye became glazed over and lost it’s focus. He buried himself fully within and remained that way for some time, basking in the heat of Diavolo’s shredded flesh while he watched the muscles go slack.
His enemy was dead, but that didn’t stop Risotto from finishing the job properly. He pulled out and thrusted into the gash, fluids dripping around him as he did. This was followed by several more hard thrusts.
He wouldn’t last long like this, not after being so pent up since the moment the torture had begun.
As he took in the sight of Diavolo’s limp body, he was drawn once again to that dull stare. The most expressive aspect of him now, distant and expired. It sent a jolt of arousal coursing through Risotto’s body. He felt his length twitch within, rubbed against tight, blood slicked walls, and then he felt the orgasm hit as he snapped his hips hard against Diavolo’s face.
Semen mixed with blood and viscera, and Risotto did not pull out until long after he’d finished spilling out all he’d been holding into the mutilated corpse of his former boss.
When he pulled out, no note was taken to the drying blood which now slathered his thighs and cock. He could only look with affectionate scorn upon the broken body before him, releasing his grip so that it flopped limply to the side.
There Diavolo would remain, contorted and filthy until maggots would feast upon his corpse. But while that took place, a new chapter of his existance had already begun again…
***