The Power

[daddycool]

Chapter 1 – Mucca Night​

Friday night, May 15, 2026. The thirty-sixth season of Muccassassina—Disco Drama Gold Edition—was in the absolute thick of its frenzy.

Aurelio Mancini, fifty-three years old, Member of Parliament, stepped out of the private elevator of the Montecitorio palace, his tie already loosened and his white shirt stretched tight over his prominent belly. He was stocky, five-foot-ten of pure presence: broad shoulders like a former provincial rugby player, a bull neck, and a gut that pressed against his custom-made leather belt from Via Condotti. He wasn't handsome in the classic sense, but power gave him a brutal sensuality. His iron-gray hair was cropped very short, his beard well-groomed, and his blue eyes were as cold as the marble of his construction sites.

For thirty years, Aurelio had been building Rome: apartment complexes, private accredited clinics, shopping malls. His holding company controlled tenders worth tens of millions, private healthcare that invoiced through the National Health Service, and luxury real estate that he flipped to politicians, entrepreneurs, and soccer players. An openly gay man since his forties, he had never hidden it. On TV and on the floor of the Chamber, he defended civil rights with the same ruthlessness he used to crush competitors in boardrooms. But his true passion, the one that made him feel alive, was something else: guys between twenty and thirty years old, athletic, preferably straight. He wanted them for himself, seduced them with money, and dominated them until they shook. He had never been passive. He was active, demanding, at times cruel. Power wasn't just political: it was also that exact moment when a straight guy, with a mortgage to pay and his dignity hanging in the balance, got down on his knees for him.

That night, after a hellish week split between Health Committees and meetings with Chinese developers, he needed a release.

Enzo, his driver and right-hand man for fifteen years, was waiting for him with the black Mercedes S-Class in the inner courtyard. Enzo knew everything: about the bribes, the rigged tenders, the nights like this. He didn't judge. He just drove.

"Mucca, Enzo. Qube. And get ready, tonight we’re coming back with two more."

The Qube, at 212 Via di Portonaccio, Casal Bertone, was lit up like a spaceship. Muccassassina, born in '91 to self-fund the Mario Mieli Club, had become a legend: thirty-six years of drag, go-go boys, dark rooms, and pure transgression. Dario, the artistic director for years, welcomed him at the entrance of the ground-floor VIP area with an almost reverential bow.

"Congressman Mancini, what a pleasure. Your table is ready. Krug, as always. Tonight we have the drag show and the new box dancers. Everything is sorted out for you."

Aurelio gripped his shoulder heavily. "Dario, you know how it is. I help my friends. That permit for the summer club nights at the Baths of Caracalla... taken care of. And that contract for the renovation of your coat check? Signed last week. We're even."

Dario lowered his eyes gratefully. "Always at your service, Congressman."

In the VIP area, amidst velvet couches and LEDs blasting colors, Aurelio sat down with two acquaintances: the city's Commissioner for Mobility and a chief chief physician from his accredited clinic. On the main stage on the ground floor, drag queens were lip-syncing to Vogue with fierce intensity, while the go-go boys—already slick with sweat—moved on the side platforms. The music was deafening, remixed commercial pop, with LED screens flashing soft-core adult videos. The air smelled of sweat, chlorine, poppers, and desire.

Aurelio took a sip of champagne, his gaze locked onto the oil-slicked bodies. After forty-five minutes, he gave Dario a nod.

"Take me to the dancers. I want a closer look."

Dario didn't hesitate. He led him through a service corridor, bypassing two bouncers who greeted Aurelio with deference. The dressing room was large, low-lit, with mirrors everywhere, thick with the smell of male sweat, body oil, and Red Bull. Five guys were resting on black couches between sets.

Dario introduced them one by one in a professional voice.

"Congressman, these are our dancers for tonight. Boys, say hello to Congressman Mancini."

First: Lorenzo, 28 years old, from Rome. Former rugby player. Six-foot-two, massive shoulders, a smooth, shaved chest, perfectly sculpted six-pack abs, and bull-like legs that were slightly leaner now but still powerful. Olive skin, short black hair, and a three-day stubble. He wore nothing but a white jockstrap that could barely contain a dick that was thick even at rest. Openly straight, father of a three-year-old boy. He looked Aurelio straight in the eye without smiling.

"Pleasure, Congressman," he said in a husky voice, shaking his hand. His grip was strong, almost a challenge. "I've been dancing here for a year. By day, I’m a construction worker."

Aurelio smiled to himself. Straight. Perfect. He gave him a heavy pat on his bare shoulders, then, with the natural ease of an owner, a second slap on his firm, high ass, squeezing the buttock tightly through the fabric of the jockstrap.

"Impressive physique, Lorenzo. Rugby did you good."

Second: Kevin, 25 years old, of Cape Verdean descent. Dark, shiny skin, muscles defined like cords, veins bulging on his forearms, a prominent print evident under his tight black shorts. Six-foot-one, tribal tattoos across his chest and arms. "Congressman, it’s an honor," Kevin said with a cocky smile, almost brushing against his arm. Bisexual, but marketed himself as "straight for anyone who pays."

Third: Filippo, 29 years old, from Naples. The most massive one: six-foot-three, 215 pounds of pure muscle, a former amateur bodybuilder. Hairy chest, large dark nipples, arms that looked like tree trunks. Red jockstrap that left very little to the imagination. "Congressman," he grunted, offering a calloused hand. "Work the construction sites by day. I’m only here to make some extra cash."

Fourth: Matteo, 24 years old, from the Veneto region. The most "magazine-ready" one: five-foot-eleven, a sculpted swimmer's body, perfect washboard abs, a high, round ass, wavy brown hair, and the face of a bad angel. Openly gay, but very masculine. He wore only a gold thong. Dick already half-hard from the adrenaline. "Congressman Mancini, what a pleasure," he said in a warm voice, looking him in the eyes. "I’ve heard so much about you."

Fifth: Davide, 26 years old, from the Roman suburbs. Six feet tall, a fitness influencer's physique: narrow waist, long legs, a smooth and defined chest. Shaved on the sides, well-groomed beard. Gay, but discreet. "Pleasure, Congressman," he murmured, blushing slightly.

Aurelio sized them all up, slowly, taking his time. He could already feel his dick hardening in his trousers. Lorenzo and Matteo. One pure straight, the other gay but with that masculine aura he loved to break. Perfect.

He stayed for a few more minutes, exchanging casual banter: "Lorenzo, looking sharp, keep training." "Thanks, Congressman. I try to." "Matteo, how long have you been dancing?" "Two seasons, Congressman. I like the stage."

Then he stepped out of the dressing room with Dario. In the corridor, away from prying ears, Aurelio spoke plainly, his voice low and authoritative.

"Dario, I want two of them: Lorenzo and Matteo. I want them tonight, at my place. After closing. Have them meet the car in the back. Payment: a thousand euros each, cash. And tell them it's just for tonight, but if they behave... there will be other opportunities."

Dario swallowed hard. It wasn't the first time, but these guys weren't professional escorts. They were box dancers: they danced, they showed themselves off, but going to a client's house was another level. "Congressman... I’ll try. You know, they’re not pros. Lorenzo is straight, he has a family. Matteo is gay, but he doesn't usually do this."

Aurelio smiled coldly. "Convince them. Remind them who I am. And who you are."

Dario went back inside. First, he pulled Lorenzo aside into a corner of the dressing room.

"Lorenzo, listen... the Congressman noticed you. He wants you and Matteo tonight. A thousand euros each, cash. Just company, nothing weird. He’s a powerful man—MP, entrepreneur. He can open doors for you. Your wife will never know. The mortgage on the house... you know how it is."

Lorenzo went pale. He ran a hand over his sweaty, shaved chest. "Fuck, Dario... I’m straight. I have a kid. I’ve never done anything like this. I dance, people look at me, but going to bed with a man... for money? A thousand euros is a lot, but... I’m not a whore."

Dario pressed on, his voice low but firm. "Nobody is forcing you. But the Congressman has helped Mucca many times. And he helps the guys he likes, too. Think about the future. Just one night. You don't have to do anything you don't want to. He’s active, he knows what he wants. You... let him touch you, maybe. A thousand euros net."

Lorenzo stood in silence for nearly a minute, his gaze cast down. He thought about his kid, the payment on his Fiat Panda, the fact that his wife thought he was just at work. He swallowed hard. "...Fine. Just tonight. But if he touches me too much... I’m getting up and leaving."

Dario nodded, relieved.

Then it was Matteo’s turn. "Matteo, the Congressman wants you and Lorenzo. A thousand euros. He's serious, he's a man of power. He wants you."

Matteo immediately shook his head, his face tense. "Dario... no. A thousand euros is a lot, but I don't need money that badly. And I've never done that. I’m not an escort. I dance on the box, I have fun, but going to a client's house... no. Not tonight. Not with him."

Dario tried to push, but Matteo was immovable. "I'm sorry. Tell him I'm flattered, but it's out of the question."

By 4:50 AM, Mucca was winding down. The crowd was filtering out, the music fading. The Mercedes was parked in the reserved back lot, engine idling, windows tinted. Enzo opened the door.

Only Lorenzo got in, his hoodie unzipped over his tank top, jeans tight over his jockstrap.

Aurelio was already sitting next to him, legs spread wide, his gut pressing against his shirt. He looked at him slowly, savoring the moment. Just Lorenzo. Even better.

"Welcome, Lorenzo," he said in a low, warm, dominant voice. "Tonight you are mine. And I always get what I want."

The car pulled away toward the villa on the Appia Antica. Aurelio felt his blood pumping harder. Lorenzo sat rigid, staring fixedly out the window. Inside, Aurelio was smiling. True power isn't exercised in Parliament. It's exercised like this.

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 2 – The Villa on the Appia​

The Mercedes glided silently over the wet asphalt of the Tangenziale Est, the city lights growing sparser as they approached the Via Appia Antica. It was five o'clock in the morning. Lorenzo sat rigid on the black leather seat, his knees pressed together, his hoodie still unzipped over his white tank top, which was soaked in sweat and body oil. The jockstrap under his jeans squeezed his package—a constant reminder of just how exposed he was. Aurelio was close to him, legs spread wide, his prominent gut pressing against his white shirt.

Aurelio’s phone buzzed. A message from Dario.

Dario: Congressman, I’m so sorry. Matteo came down with a stomach bug at the last minute. He threw up in the dressing room. He couldn't make it. My apologies, I’ll make it up to you personally next time.

Aurelio read it and smiled coldly. A stomach bug. Sure. He knew an excuse when he saw one. He didn't reply. He silenced the phone and put it away.

"So, Lorenzo," he began in a low, warm voice. "Twenty-eight years old, a three-year-old son... tell me more. How do you balance it all? The family, the construction site by day, the box dancing by night."

Lorenzo swallowed, his gaze shifting from the dark window to the man across from him. "Well... it’s not easy. Giulia, my wife, thinks I work as a bouncer. If she knew I dance practically naked... I don't know. Little Matteo is the best thing I have, but the money is never enough. The mortgage, daycare, the car... and she wants another child. She’s... normal. Like me."

Aurelio nodded, his blue eyes locked onto him. "And you? Do you feel normal when hundreds of men watch your ass on the box every weekend?"

Lorenzo blushed. He paused, then dared to ask a question, his voice low, almost timid. "Congressman... what about you? You’re... well, you're an MP, you're rich, you have everything. Why does someone like you... look for guys like me? Couldn't you have anyone you want?"

Aurelio smiled, a slow, predatory grin. "Because I like the taste of true power, Lorenzo. Not the kind you see on TV. I like it when a straight guy with a normal life, a wife, a kid, decides to let his guard down. To give me something he would never give anyone else. It’s far more exciting than any professional escort."

Lorenzo shifted in his seat, uncomfortable yet intrigued. "And... do you do this often? I mean... guys like me?"

"Often enough. But not everyone accepts. You accepted. And you made the right choice." Aurelio leaned forward slightly. "Tell me the truth. When I felt your ass in the dressing room... did you feel something?"

Lorenzo looked away. "I don't know. I was... surprised. No one had ever touched me like that."

The dialogue continued throughout the journey, suggestive and loaded with tension. Lorenzo asked about Parliament, the public contracts, the life of the wealthy; Aurelio replied with half-truths, hinting at how easy it was for him to bend rules and people. Every word brought Lorenzo closer to the inevitable.

The Mercedes crossed the automatic gate of the villa on the Appia Antica. Once parked, Enzo remained in the car without a word.

Inside the massive living room—antique parquet, dim lighting, a black leather couch—Aurelio dropped heavily onto the sofa.

"Strip. Everything. Naked. Slowly. I want to look at you."

Lorenzo obeyed with trembling hands. Hoodie off. Tank top off. His smooth, shaved, shiny chest appeared, his visible abs contracting from the tension. Jeans and shoes kicked away. Finally, the jockstrap. His thick dick sprung out, still soft but already heavier. He stood naked, arms at his sides, his breathing accelerated.

Aurelio stood up and walked around him. His large hands started from the chest: he cupped the hard pectorals, pinching the nipples until they hardened. He slid down over the abs, tracing them one by one with his fingers. Then he moved behind him. His hands grabbed the muscular buttocks, pulling them apart slowly, massaging them, squeezing them. A calloused finger slid along the tight crack, pressing against the virgin hole without entering, just teasing it. Lorenzo shuddered violently. His dick, a traitor, was swelling, turning hard against his stomach.

Aurelio noticed and laughed softly, pleased. "Look at this... already hard as a rock. You like being felt up back there, huh? A real straight guy..." He continued to play: opening and closing the cheeks, slapping them lightly, sliding his finger deeper between the folds without penetrating, just to feel him contract. Lorenzo breathed through an open mouth, shame flushing his face and neck.

"Beautiful," Aurelio murmured. "Just like I imagined."

"Get on your knees."

Lorenzo obeyed, knees on the cold parquet. Aurelio extended a foot. "Take off my shoes and socks."

Lorenzo untied the laces, removed the elegant dress shoes, then the black socks. Aurelio's hands stroked his hair.

Then Aurelio unbuttoned his trousers. His dick popped out: not exceptionally long, but very wide, thick, and veiny, with a red, shiny head wet with pre-cum. He took it in his hand and slapped it twice against Lorenzo's cheek, heavy.

"Open your mouth."

Lorenzo looked up, his voice cracking. "Congressman... I’m straight. I can't... I’ve never done this..."

Aurelio grabbed his head with both hands and shoved his dick between his lips. Lorenzo opened his mouth. The strong, musky taste filled his tongue. The dick was so wide it stretched his lips almost painfully.

"Suck it."

Lorenzo closed his eyes and began, clumsy at first, then with more rhythm. His tongue swirled around the wide head, sucking, dropping down as far as he could. Aurelio groaned, thrusting with slow but firm hips.

Inside Lorenzo: Fuck... I’m sucking a man's dick. I’m a father. I have a wife waiting for me at home. Yet he kept going, saliva dripping, his own hard dick pulsing between his legs.

Aurelio looked down, surprised and aroused. Usually, he needed a tight ass to come, to dominate completely. This time, the warm, wet mouth of this straight guy was bringing him to the edge fast. "Fuck... you're about to make me come just with your mouth," he growled. "Usually I need a nice ass to blow my load... and you instead... good boy, keep going."

He picked up the pace, fucking his mouth with deeper thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against Lorenzo's chin. Saliva was everywhere, on his chin, on his shaved chest. Lorenzo coughed, his eyes watering, but he didn't pull back.

"I'm going to come," Aurelio gasped. "Swallow it all."

One final thrust and the orgasm exploded: thick, hot, salty ropes that filled Lorenzo's throat. He swallowed as best he could, coughing, a few splashes dripping from his lip. Aurelio held his head still until he was finished.

When he pulled out, his dick still thick and shiny with saliva, Aurelio let himself sink back against the sofa, breathing heavily. He looked at Lorenzo on his knees, mouth open, semen on his chin, dick still hard.

"Damn... you surprised me," he murmured, almost laughing. "Usually I need to fuck you to come. And instead, you with that mouth... good boy."

It was almost six in the morning. Fatigue suddenly washed over Aurelio. It had been a long week.

He stood up, buttoning his trousers back up. "Listen, Lorenzo... it's late. I'm sleepy and you're wrecked. Stay the night here. There's a guest room, or you can stay in my bed if you want. Let's not rush things. Tomorrow morning I'll drive you back, no rush. And I'll give you the thousand euros anyway."

Lorenzo, still naked and confused, with the taste of Aurelio in his mouth and a dick that refused to go down, nodded slowly. "...Alright."

Inside himself, he thought: Just to sleep. Tomorrow I go home, to Giulia, to the little one. It's over. But a part of him, the part still pulsing between his legs, knew the night wasn't truly over.

Aurelio placed a hand on his shoulder, almost affectionately. "Let's go upstairs. The night is young... even if it's almost morning."

​

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 3 – Night and Morning on the Appia​

It was almost six in the morning when they went upstairs. The villa was silent, lit only by dim, ambient lights. Lorenzo, still completely naked, his semi-erect dick swaying with every step and the salty taste of Aurelio still in his mouth, hesitated on the threshold of the master bedroom.

"Congressman... can I take a quick shower? I feel... sticky."

Aurelio, who was already unbuttoning the shirt stretched tight over his gut, nodded. "Sure. The bathroom is right there. Make it quick, then get into bed. I’m waiting for you."

Lorenzo stepped into the black marble and stainless-steel bathroom. The shower was massive, equipped with multiple jets. He turned on the hot water and stepped under it, letting the stream pelt his back and his ass. He closed his eyes.

What the fuck did I just do? he thought, running his hands over his shaved chest. I sucked a man's dick. A fifty-three-year-old MP. I swallowed his cum like a whore. I'm a father, for fuck's sake. Giulia is waiting for me at home with little Matteo... and here I am, naked, my ass still sensitive from his fingers.

A wave of disgust tightened his stomach. Yet, as he lathered his still-contracted hole, he felt his dick hardening again. Why the hell did I like it? That voice, that power... he treated me like his property. And it turned me on. A strange attraction, warm and humiliating, stirred inside him. Fear and desire intertwined.

He washed thoroughly, trying to erase the smell and the memory, but every time his fingers brushed his dick and his ass, a shiver shot through him. He dried off quickly and returned to the bedroom, naked.

Aurelio was already in bed, covered only to the waist by a gray silk sheet. He was sending voice notes, his tone low and authoritative. "...yes, regarding the contract for the new clinic in Ostia, I want the variance report by Wednesday. Tell them if they don't budge, we'll block the permits at the Regional level. And for Thursday's session in the Chamber, draft my speech on the private healthcare decree. I want precise figures on the profit margins."

He ended the audio, placed his phone on the nightstand, and looked at Lorenzo. A slow smile spread across his lips. "Come here. Come on, let's sleep. It's incredibly late."

Lorenzo slipped under the sheet. Aurelio switched off the main light, leaving only the nightstand lamp on. Then he pulled up behind him, his stocky, warm body pressing flush against Lorenzo’s muscular back. An arm wrapped around his waist, palm resting flat against his flat stomach. Aurelio’s lips brushed his neck in light, almost tender kisses.

Lorenzo shuddered. The sensation was bizarre: Aurelio’s soft gut against his back, the semi-hard dick pressed between his thighs, the warm breath on his neck. I should hate him. Instead... this feels nice. I feel protected and dominated all at once. He closed his eyes. A few minutes later, they both drifted off to sleep.

Before sliding into slumber, Aurelio thought: Why the fuck am I being so soft with him? Usually I just fuck them and kick them out. This straight guy, a family man... he's getting under my skin in a way I don't like. But he didn't pull away. He held him tight.

The next morning, shortly before eleven, Aurelio woke up first. Light filtered through the heavy drapes. Lorenzo was sleeping on his back, the sheet slipped down to his waist, his athletic body completely exposed: shaved chest, visible abs, his thick, heavy dick resting against his thigh, already semi-hard from morning sleep.

Aurelio felt a violent surge of desire. His wide dick hardened instantly. He turned toward him, sliding a hand up Lorenzo's thigh, then onto his dick, stroking it gently until it became fully erect. Lorenzo groaned in his sleep, opening his eyes in confusion.

"Congressman..." he murmured, his voice husky.

"Morning, handsome." Aurelio kissed his neck, then his chest, greedily sucking on one of his nipples. His hands explored: squeezing his buttocks, a finger returning to tease the tight hole.

Lorenzo was panting, aroused despite everything. But when Aurelio pulled two silk ties from the nightstand, Lorenzo went rigid. "Wait... Congressman, no. I don't want to be tied down. Not like this." He tried to sit up, but Aurelio pushed him back down firmly, a hand flat against his chest. "Lie down. Hands above your head."

Lorenzo shook his head, his breathing quickening. "No... please. Don't tie me up. I'm not ready for this. I'm... I'm straight, fuck. Last night was... different, but that's enough now."

Aurelio looked him dead in the eye, his voice low and dominant. "Lorenzo. You already took my dick down your throat last night. Now do as you're told. Or do you want me to call Enzo and have him drive you home without your money?"

Lorenzo swallowed, shame burning his face. Finally, he slowly raised his arms. Aurelio tied his wrists to the bed slats, tight but not painfully so. Now he was completely exposed, legs spread, his hard dick pulsing against his stomach, his body trembling.

Aurelio positioned himself between his legs, generously lubricating his wide dick and applying some directly to Lorenzo's hole. "Breathe. It's going to hurt at first."

He pressed the wide, red head against the tight ring. Lorenzo grit his teeth and tried to squirm away. "Fuck... no... it's too big... please, stop!"

Aurelio pushed anyway, slowly but inexorably. The wide dick stretched Lorenzo's virgin walls open, inch by inch. The pain was agonizing: a deep, tearing burn, as if he were being ripped apart. Lorenzo pulled against the silk ties, his body arching violently, tears welling in the corners of his eyes.

"Ahhh! Fuck... you're splitting me open! Take it out... I beg you!"

Giulia... my baby boy... I'm betraying everything, Lorenzo thought as the pain exploded inside him. I'm a man, a father, a straight guy... and I'm letting myself get fucked like a whore.

Aurelio paused halfway in, but he didn't pull out. "Relax. Breathe. Your ass is tight as hell... but you're going to take all of it." He waited a few seconds, then pushed again. Another inch.

Lorenzo screamed in pain, sweat beading on his shaved chest, the veins in his neck bulging. The burning was unbearable.

"Look at you, taking a man's dick, you family man," Aurelio growled, his voice raw and filthy. "Your ass is sucking down the whole thing, Lorenzo. Feel it? It’s already trying to swallow me up."

He bottomed out, his prominent gut pressing flush against Lorenzo's balls. He stayed still for a moment, savoring the tight, pulsing heat. Then he began to move: slow, deep thrusts at first, making Lorenzo groan in agony. Every affondo produced an obscene, wet sound—slap, slap, slap—as Aurelio's heavy balls smacked against the boy's sweaty ass. The smell of male sweat, lube, and hot skin filled the room.

After several minutes, the pain began to shift. Every thrust hit his prostate, sending electric jolts of pleasure mixing with the burn. Lorenzo's dick, a total traitor, dripped copious amounts of pre-cum onto his stomach.

"See? You're starting to love it," Aurelio growled, picking up the pace. The thrusts became harder, deeper, almost violent. The bed creaked rhythmically. "Tell me the truth, Lorenzo... are you taking it like a good little whore while you think about your wife waiting for you at home?"

Lorenzo groaned loudly, a mixture of pain and uncontrollable pleasure. I can't come like this... I can't come with a dick in my ass... I'm straight, fuck... and yet... I'm about to blow...

"Ahh... yes... fuck... harder... I don't know... you're destroying me..."

Aurelio fucked him mercilessly, sweat dripping from his gut onto the boy's body. He felt Lorenzo's ass contract violently around his shaft and knew the boy was right on the edge. Suddenly, he stopped completely, buried deep inside him, motionless.

"No... no, please..." Lorenzo gasped, desperate, his dick pulsing furiously against his stomach, a hair's breadth away from climax.

Aurelio smiled cruelly. "Tell me you want to come. Tell me you want to shoot your load with my dick inside you, you family man."

Lorenzo had tears in his eyes, his body shaking. The shame was devouring him. "...please, Congressman... let me come..."

"Louder."

"Please... let me come... I'm losing my mind..."

Aurelio resumed fucking him with savage, deep thrusts. "Good straight little slut. Take it all."

Lorenzo exploded. His dick shot hands-free: thick, white ropes of cum blasted up onto his chest, his neck, and even his chin. His body spasmed around Aurelio's dick, milked to the very last drop, as he screamed in a mix of pleasure and humiliation.

Aurelio growled, "I'm coming... I'm filling you up." With brutal lunges, he came inside him: hot, thick, powerful torrents flooded Lorenzo's core. The warmth of the semen and the sensation of being claimed made the boy tremble even harder.

They both lay there panting, sweaty, bound together in that moment. Aurelio leaned down to kiss Lorenzo on the mouth—a deep, possessive kiss. Then he slowly untied the silk ties.

Lorenzo, with Aurelio’s dick still inside him, his ass pulsing with pain and the semen beginning to leak out, stared blankly at the ceiling. Aurelio pulled out slowly, stood up, and slipped on a robe. "I'll call you a cab. You'll find an envelope with the doorman on your way out. Get dressed in whatever you've got."

While Lorenzo dressed in silence downstairs, Aurelio called the doorman from the bedroom. "When the boy leaves, give him the envelope with thirteen hundred euros. Cash. And tell him not to cause any trouble."

Lorenzo walked out of the villa shortly after. His ass hurt with every step, Aurelio’s creampie still inside him. He got into the taxi waiting outside the gate and, once seated, opened the envelope with trembling hands. He counted the cash. One thousand... eleven hundred... thirteen hundred euros.

He pulled out his phone. A WhatsApp notification was on the display, arrived just a few minutes prior. It was from Aurelio.

Aurelio: Be a good boy at Mucca tonight. Talk soon.

Lorenzo stared at the screen for nearly a minute, his face burning with embarrassment. His fingers hovered over the keypad. Finally, with a mix of shame and a strange, lingering excitement, he typed:

Lorenzo: Of course, Congressman.

He hit send. Then he rested his head against the taxi window, his ass still aching, the taste of Aurelio still on his tongue, and watched Rome roll past as he headed back to his "normal" life. But he already knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 4 – Saturday of Power​

Aurelio remained standing on the villa’s terrace until Lorenzo’s taxi vanished past the front gate. It was eleven-forty on Saturday morning. The May air was already warm, thick with the scent of pine and jasmine. He ran a hand over his prominent gut, still bare beneath his silk robe, and smiled to himself. Lorenzo’s ass still pulsed in his memory: tight, virgin, stretching open only for him.

He went downstairs to the dining room. The table was already set: strong coffee, hot croissants, fresh-squeezed orange juice, scrambled eggs, and the day's press review printed on thick paper. The maid had done everything in silence, as always.

A few minutes later, Gianluca walked in.

Twenty-eight years old, from Rome's upscale Prati neighborhood, graduated with honors in Political Science from Sapienza University, and Aurelio’s parliamentary assistant for the past two and a half years. Six feet tall, with a swimmer’s build: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and abs that subtly showed through his perfectly pressed white Oxford shirt. Wavy brown hair, green eyes, tortoiseshell glasses that he didn't always wear, and a good-boy smile that masked a fierce ambition. He was openly straight, and had been dating a girl for a year who worked at the Chamber as a secretary for a senator. But with Aurelio, there was a different dynamic at play.

It had started six months after he was hired. Late one evening, after an endless budget session, Aurelio had invited him for a glass of whiskey in his private office at Montecitorio. Gianluca had accepted. One thing led to another: first, just a hand on the knee; then, a warm mouth wrapped around Aurelio’s wide dick; finally, after weeks of playing games, the boy let himself get fucked on the office's black leather couch. Since then, it happened every three to four weeks—never scheduled, always whenever Aurelio felt the need. Gianluca wasn't in love, nor was he particularly gay. He was ambitious. He knew Aurelio could open doors for him that no one else could. And Aurelio paid him well: his assistant salary plus generous cash "bonuses," paid vacations, and an apartment in Trastevere registered under one of the holding company's subsidiaries. In exchange, Gianluca was discreet, efficient, and, whenever needed, available.

"Morning, Congressman," Gianluca said as he entered, his voice professional but laced with that warm tone he reserved only for him. He placed a tablet on the table with the press review already pulled up.

Aurelio looked at him as he sat down. The assistant's shirt pulled slightly across his chest. "Sit. Eat something. You look like someone who didn't get much sleep."

Gianluca smiled, blushing slightly. "Group meeting lasted until 1:00 AM last night. After that... well, you know."

Aurelio chuckled softly and poured him some coffee. As they ate, Gianluca began running through the headlines.

"Corriere della Sera and Repubblica are opening with the private healthcare decree. They're attacking us, claiming it favors private providers like your group. Il Giornale, on the other hand, is defending us. There's also an op-ed in Repubblica about you: 'Mancini, the tycoon-MP who wants to privatize health.' Nothing new, but the tone is more aggressive than usual."

Aurelio nodded, chewing on a croissant. "And inside the party?"

Gianluca leaned forward, dropping his voice lower. "There's a lot of friction ahead of the internal congress in June. The party leader wants you as national deputy secretary with an economic portfolio. But there's resistance from De Santis's faction. They're saying you're too... 'personal.' That your stakes in construction and clinics create a conflict of interest. I heard they’re putting together a dossier on some of your holding company's public tenders."

Aurelio took a sip of his coffee, his blue eyes turning cold. "A dossier. Let them try. I have the numbers in the committee, and three senators ready to jump ship if necessary. Draft a counter-statement for Monday morning: I want the exact figures on how many jobs my companies have created over the last three years. And wipe any trace of those 2024 invoices with the Regional administration."

Gianluca nodded, jotting down notes on his tablet. Once breakfast was finished, Aurelio pointed toward the ground-floor study. "Stay here at the villa. There's a vacant office. Work on the counter-statement and be ready for the 3:00 PM meeting. I need to make a couple of phone calls."

Gianluca said nothing. He stood up, grabbed his tablet, and headed toward the office without suggesting anything else. He knew exactly when Aurelio wanted to be left alone.

Aurelio was left to his thoughts. He thought about Gianluca: the boy kneeling in his office, his high, smooth ass taking his wide dick without a peep, his green eyes watching him as he swallowed. A convenient relationship. No complications. But this morning, with the taste of Lorenzo still fresh in his mind, he didn't want him.

At 3:00 PM sharp, the two politicians arrived: MP Roberto De Angelis, 61, the floor leader, and Senator Marco Liguori, 54, head of party organization. They locked themselves in the first-floor study. For two hours they talked about the upcoming congress: strategies, votes to buy, alliances to break. Aurelio dominated the meeting, his voice low and commanding, handing out assignments and veiled threats. By the time the two left, he already had a blueprint to neutralize the opposing faction.

The party that evening had been on his calendar for days: the terrace of Villa Medici on the Pincio hill, hosted by a major real estate developer who was a close friend. Politics, showbiz, high finance. Ministers, actresses, soccer players, influencers. A place where appearing was everything.

Aurelio poured himself a whiskey and stepped out onto the terrace. The sun was setting. He decided he wouldn't go alone. He wanted to show up with a young, beautiful guy to pass off as his boyfriend. Not just any escort, but someone who could play the part, smile for the cameras, and turn heads. Someone he already knew, had already fucked, and already controlled.

He sat back in a teak armchair and began mentally reviewing the candidates—all gay men with whom he had shared various encounters.

• Emanuele, 26: An up-and-coming theater and TV actor. They had met at a premiere at Teatro Valle, and Aurelio had brought him home that very night. Gorgeous, cultured, elegant; he knew how to converse about politics and art. They had fucked three times: a warm, deep mouth, a perfect and yielding ass, completely passive and devoted. One hundred percent presentable.
• Simone, 29: A junior architect at a friend's firm. He had met him at a business dinner and fucked him in the restaurant bathroom. Openly gay but discreet, slim and refined build, impeccable taste in clothes. Intelligent enough to hold his own in any conversation without a hitch.
• Tommaso, 24: A law student and intern at a legal firm near Montecitorio. Aurelio had "helped" him secure a paid internship in exchange for evenings spent in his office. A sweet, almost timid boy with a swimmer's body, deeply devoted. He had taken him on the office couch multiple times, always receiving an adoring gaze.
• Luca, 27: A luxury personal trainer who worked at the private gym used by several MPs. Aurelio had paid him multiple times for "special" sessions at his villa. A very masculine guy, chiseled physique, cover-model smile. He had made him sweat and scream with pleasure under the shower.
• Matias, 25: An Argentine model who had moved to Rome, openly gay and highly active on social media (though only within select circles). Aurelio had met him at a private party and fucked him in the suite of a five-star hotel. Exquisitely beautiful, exotic yet elegant, fluent in Italian. The memory of his olive skin arching as he took Aurelio’s wide dick made his member pulse beneath his robe.
• Federico, 30: A freelance lifestyle journalist. Aurelio had met him during a press conference and taken him to bed that same night. Highly educated, witty, he knew exactly how to carry himself in high-society environments. He had dominated him on a luxury suite bed, making him beg to come.
• Nicola, 23: The son of a small-time fashion entrepreneur whom Aurelio had helped secure a public contract. Lifelong gay, very effeminate but refined, with a beautiful cherubic face. Aurelio had fucked him twice at his villa and found him adorable to show off, though a bit too much like a "pretty boy."
• Alessio, 28: A bartender at a private club frequented by politicians and tycoons. Aurelio had "discovered" him there and brought him home several times. A very masculine guy, discreet tattoos, an excellent conversationalist who knew how to navigate power and high society without blinking an eye. The last time, he had taken him standing up against the kitchen wall, hard and animalistic.

Aurelio took a sip of his whiskey, weighing every option.

Emanuele was undoubtedly the most suitable: cultured, elegant, used to the spotlight, capable of playing the "boyfriend" role effortlessly. He would be perfect for the photos, for smiling at ministers, for ensuring everything went flawlessly.

And yet... that wasn't what he truly wanted tonight.

He felt a different, more visceral urge. Matias or Alessio.

Matias: that exotic body, those dark eyes looking back at him while he took him from behind in the hotel suite, the way he groaned in Spanish when he came. He was wild yet refined all at once, perfect for turning everyone's head without looking trashy. Alessio: masculine, tattooed, with that asshole smile that hid a total submissiveness. The last time, he had made him scream against the wall, and the memory of his tight ass contracting around his wide dick made his member harden.

Emanuele was the rational choice. Matias or Alessio were the choices of desire. And tonight, Aurelio wanted to indulge his desire.

He chose Matias. The Argentine had an exotic, dangerous edge that excited him more. Imagining him by his side, with that model smile, while everyone wondered who Congressman Mancini’s new "boyfriend" was, gave him a thrill of pure power.

He picked up his phone and typed:

Aurelio: Party tonight at Villa Medici. I want you with me as my boyfriend. Picking you up at 9:00 PM. Dress elegant. Don't say no.

He hit send. Then he smiled at the Roman sunset.

Saturday had only just begun.

​

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 5 – The Terrace of Villa Medici​

Matias was lying on the couch in his small Trastevere apartment, the windows open to the noisy street below, when his phone buzzed. It was 7:40 PM. He read Aurelio's message and felt a warm shiver travel down his spine.

Aurelio: Party tonight at Villa Medici. I want you with me as my boyfriend. Picking you up at 9:00 PM. Dress elegant. Don't say no.

Matias stared at the screen for nearly a minute. The name "Aurelio Mancini" instantly brought back memories of that night a month ago—the only time they had seen each other.

It had been at a private party in a villa on Lake Bracciano, hosted by an Argentine film producer who was a friend of his. Matias was there as a model, invited to serve as "eye candy" among the guests. He was twenty-five years old and had arrived in Rome from Buenos Aires two years prior with a single suitcase and a modeling contract for an Italian fashion campaign. Six-foot-two, with an athletic physique sculpted in the gym five times a week: broad shoulders, a defined chest, perfect washboard abs, a narrow waist, and that round, high, incredibly firm ass that drew everyone's eyes. Olive skin, high cheekbones, dark Latino eyes, wavy black hair, and a smile that could be innocent or provocative depending on the moment.

Aurelio had noticed him immediately, standing near the edge of the illuminated pool. The Congressman had approached him with a glass of champagne in hand, his icy blue gaze sizing him up without shame.

"You’re Argentine, right?" Aurelio had asked, his voice low and warm.

"Yes, from Buenos Aires. And you... you’re Congressman Mancini, right?" Matias had smiled, tilting his head slightly.

"Call me Aurelio. And you are?"

"Matias."

They had started chatting. Aurelio didn't waste time: he asked about his modeling work, how long he had been in Rome, what he liked about the city. But every sentence was loaded with double meanings.

"You have a body that looks like it was made to be stared at," Aurelio had said at one point, his eyes dropping to Matias's chest, visible through his open shirt. "And that ass... it must be spectacular up close."

Matias had laughed, but he didn't back down. "Depends on who's looking. And how they look."

"I look like a man who knows what he wants," Aurelio had replied, taking a step closer. His prominent gut had almost brushed against Matias's chest. "And right now, I want to see if you're as good as you are beautiful."

The flirting had lasted nearly half an hour. Aurelio shared anecdotes about Parliament in a low voice, brushing against his arm, his waist. Matias responded with provocative remarks, telling him about a fashion show in Milan where he had walked wearing nothing but a thong.

"Would you like to see me like that?" Matias had asked, his eyes flashing.

"I’d like to see you with nothing at all," Aurelio had shot back, his hand sliding down Matias's back to graze his firm ass through his trousers. "And to feel you as I open you up."

Matias had swallowed hard, already half-hard. "Here? Now?"

"No. In the suite upstairs. In five minutes."

It had ended exactly like that. Aurelio had taken him to the suite, closed the door, and shoved him against the wall. Aurelio’s stocky body against his athletic frame, the soft gut pressed against Matias’s hard abs. He had ripped his shirt open, yanked his trousers down, and taken him right there, standing up, his wide dick forcing its way into his round, firm ass with very little foreplay.

Matias had groaned against the cold marble, his palms flat against the wall, while Aurelio fucked his ass with deep, possessive thrusts. "Good boy, Argentine... that ass was made for me," he had growled into his ear. It had lasted nearly half an hour. In the end, Aurelio had come inside him with an animalistic grunt, claiming him. Matias had come shortly after, splattering against the wall, his legs shaking violently.

Then Aurelio had stepped back, buttoned his trousers, and slid four one-hundred-euro bills into the pocket of Matias's shirt, which was still open over his sweaty chest. "For your trouble," he had said with a half-smile. "And to remind you who's in charge." He had roughly kissed the back of Matias's neck and left without another word.

They had spoken the next day. Aurelio had texted him, suggesting they meet up again that same week. Matias had accepted immediately, excited. But two days before the date, Aurelio had canceled with a brief message: "Urgent political matters at Montecitorio. Talk soon."

Since then, silence. A full month.

Matias got up from the couch and went into the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror: his tall, athletic body, the round, firm ass that still remembered Aurelio's hands. He had been openly gay his entire life, but he wasn't stupid. He had already figured out how things worked in Rome: the powerful pay, the powerful decide. And Aurelio was one of those who decided everything.

A month ago he used me like a high-end whore in that Bracciano suite and left a four-hundred-euro tip in my pocket, he thought. And now he wants me as his "boyfriend" in front of all of Rome's high society.

Doubts flooded his mind. What if I get photographed? What if it ends up in the papers? My modeling agency would drop me in a second. And besides... he's a fifty-three-year-old man, stocky, not exactly my type. But fuck... that power. That voice. The way he took me against the wall, calling me "my boy" while he filled me up...

He ran a hand over his face. I am not your whore to show off, Aurelio. I'm not. Yet his dick was already half-hard in his underwear. But fuck, the idea of standing by your side in front of all those people turns me on, knowing that everyone will realize you're going to fuck me again tonight. I'll do it. Not just for the money—though he knew it would come. I'll do it because the thought of being the trophy of the evening excites me, even if a part of me wants to smash your face in for how you treat me.

He prepared himself meticulously. A hot shower, a flawless shave, expensive cologne. He chose a slim-cut black Tom Ford suit—a white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, no tie—which accentuated his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and that high, firm ass. Hair slicked back, a hint of stubble. By 8:55 PM he was ready, his heart beating faster than usual.

Aurelio was already in the car. Enzo drove the black Mercedes S-Class toward Trastevere. When they pulled up outside Matias's building, the young man walked down and got into the back seat. Aurelio looked at him: elegant, sexy, perfect.

"Hey," Matias said with his slight Argentine accent, his voice a bit colder than he intended.

Aurelio didn't answer with words. He placed a hand behind the boy's neck, pulled him close, and kissed him. A long, deep, possessive kiss. Aurelio’s tongue invaded Matias’s mouth, his thick lips devouring him. Matias groaned softly despite himself, responding with the same hunger, his hands moving up Aurelio's chest.

The kiss lasted nearly two minutes, Aurelio's hands gripping his neck and his thigh, sliding down to squeeze his firm ass tightly through his trousers, almost as if branding him. When they broke apart, Matias's lips were swollen and his breathing was shallow.

"You’re perfect," Aurelio murmured, his voice raw. "Tonight you're my boyfriend. Act like it."

Matias ran his thumb over his lower lip, which was still wet. Your boyfriend for one night. Not your slave. But the heat between his legs told him that, at least for tonight, he would play the part to perfection.

The Mercedes pulled away toward the Pincio hill.

Villa Medici was illuminated like a movie set. A terrace overlooking Rome, a breathtaking view of St. Peter's Dome, dim lighting, live jazz music. There were at least two hundred people: ministers, MPs, actresses, directors, entrepreneurs, even a few soccer players from AS Roma. Aurelio stepped out first, offering his arm to Matias. The boy took it, smiling as if it were the most natural thing in the world, but inside he felt a knot of Argentine pride tightening his stomach.

They walked in. Immediately, eyes locked onto them—some curious, some envious, others openly ravenous. Aurelio introduced Matias with a possessive ease: "My partner, Matias."

They first encountered the Minister of Economy, a sixty-year-old man who shook Matias's hand with a smile that lingered a bit too long.

"A pleasure, Matias. And what do you do?"

"I’m a model, Minister. But tonight I'm just Aurelio's partner." Matias replied with a warm smile, brushing Aurelio’s arm intimately, but inside he thought: Partner for one night. Not his toy.

Then a famous fifty-year-old actress kissed Aurelio on the cheeks and eyed Matias from head to toe: "Congressman, you always know how to choose well. Matias, you are stunning."

"Thank you, ma'am. You, on the other hand, are even more beautiful in person than on screen," Matias replied gallantly, but with a slight touch of defiance in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Aurelio chatted with a Milanese developer who held contracts with his holding company. "Congressman, regarding that permit from the Regional administration... we're ready."

"Good. Tomorrow morning I'll send Gianluca over with the paperwork. And remember: I keep my promises, but I demand punctuality."

Around 11:30 PM, while Aurelio was engaged in a conversation with two senators, his rival emerged. His name was Vittorio De Santis, 48 years old, an MP from the same party but from the opposing faction. Handsome, tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-maintained physique. He arrived accompanied by his partner, an elegant forty-five-year-old woman in a Chanel pantsuit.

De Santis approached with a fake smile, the woman on his arm. "Mancini, what a pleasure to see you here... with your... how shall I put it... accessory for the evening." The homophobic jab was clear, delivered in a light but poisonous tone as he looked Matias up and down.

Aurelio didn't blink. He clenched his jaw for a split second, then fired back with a razor-sharp smile: "Vittorio, at least my accessory is beautiful, young, and knows how to carry himself in a crowd without making a fool of himself. Yours, on the other hand, looks like she stepped right out of a 2005 trophy-wife catalog. Good evening, ma'am."

De Santis's partner blushed slightly. De Santis forced a laugh, but his gaze was ice-cold. "My accessory, as you call her, has been my wife for fifteen years. You, on the other hand, change boys every month, Mancini. Careful, sooner or later someone is going to notice."

Aurelio placed a possessive hand on Matias's waist, sliding down to grip his firm ass tightly beneath his jacket, practically feeling him up in front of everyone. Matias felt the fingers dig into his flesh and a wave of heat rushed to his face. I am not your accessory, you bastard, he thought, but his dick pulsed inside his elegant trousers.

"Perhaps," Aurelio replied. "But in the meantime, I’m having fun and you’re getting angry. Have a good evening, Vittorio."

De Santis and his partner walked away, but the look De Santis shot Aurelio made it clear: open warfare. It wasn't just about Matias. It was political. The internal congress was approaching, and De Santis was looking for any weakness.

Aurelio took a sip of champagne, his eyes cold. "That bastard," he muttered between his teeth, intended only for Matias. "Tonight I'll show him who he's dealing with."

Matias squeezed his arm, excited by the power vibrating beside him, but with a slight, crooked smile. Show him, Aurelio. But remember that I have my pride too. And tonight, when you fuck me, I want to hear you say that you can't live without this Argentine ass.

The night was still young.

 

[daddycool]

The Power​

Chapter 6 – The Terrace and the Window​

The terrace of Villa Medici seemed suspended over Rome. The city lights sparkled below like a carpet of diamonds, while live jazz wrapped everything in a veneer of discreet luxury.

Aurelio and Matias stayed for nearly two hours after the confrontation with De Santis. Aurelio wanted that image burned into everyone's minds: him, the powerful congressman, with a young, tall, and gorgeous guy on his arm. They walked slowly through the various crowds. Aurelio’s hand remained low on Matias’s back, occasionally dropping lower, onto his round, firm ass. Every now and then he would squeeze—a possessive gesture that Matias felt loud and clear.

They first ran into the Minister of the Interior and his second wife.

"Congressman Mancini, finally showing your face in charming company," the minister said with a smile that was a bit too wide.

Matias extended his hand elegantly. "A pleasure, Minister. Matias. Tonight I'm just Aurelio's partner."

The wife eyed him up and down. "You are... very photogenic."

Matias smiled, but inside he thought: Photogenic. As if I were an object.

Shortly after, it was the turn of the fifty-year-old actress and her agent.

"Mancini, you always know how to amaze. Matias, you are stunning."

"Too kind," Matias replied, brushing against Aurelio’s arm. Inwardly, he added: I stand by his side, not at his feet.

Then came a Milanese entrepreneur and his influencer girlfriend. The man shook Matias's hand a second too long. "Nice catch, Aurelio."

Matias felt Aurelio’s fingers dig into his buttock and clenched his jaw. I’m not a catch, I’m a man.

At one point, Aurelio dragged him into a darker corner, behind a large oleander plant. He shoved him against the stone wall and kissed him violently. Matias kissed him back, but when he felt Aurelio pull down his zipper and slide a thick finger inside him without warning, he gasped and broke the kiss.

"Fuck, Aurelio... not here," he growled quietly, his voice raw.

"Shut up," Aurelio murmured, pushing the finger deeper. "This ass belongs to me here too, right in front of everyone."

Matias panted, his legs shaking. Bastard... he turns me on to death and makes me furious at the exact same time. A second finger entered, stretching him open. Matias bit Aurelio’s lip to keep from groaning too loudly, pride and desire warring inside him.

"Let’s go," Aurelio finally said, pulling his fingers out with a cruel smile.

In the car, on the back seats of the Mercedes with the privacy partition raised, the atmosphere changed completely. Aurelio pulled Matias against him and kissed him for a long time—slowly, deeply. His large hands explored the boy's body over his clothes, unbuttoning two buttons of his shirt, caressing his defined chest. Matias pulled away from the kiss, his breathing still rapid.

"Hey... can I tell you something?"

"Tell me anything," Aurelio replied, his hand moving down Matias's thigh and squeezing it.

"At the party... sometimes I felt like an object. The Minister of the Interior and his wife staring at me like I was a trophy on display. The Milanese businessman holding my hand too long and saying 'nice catch.' And then... what you did behind the plant. You shoved two fingers inside me like I was a cheap whore, in front of all those people. I liked it, fuck, I loved it, but... it made me furious. I’m not an accessory, Aurelio. I’m a man."

Aurelio listened to him in silence, his blue eyes locked onto him. Then he smiled, a slow, warm smile, and ran his thumb over the boy's lower lip.

"You’re right to be furious. And you know what? That’s exactly why I like you." His hand moved down to Matias's neck, then his chest, caressing him gently. "But you’re not an object. You were brilliant tonight. You smiled at the minister, you answered the actress like a prince, you held De Santis's gaze without blinking. Everyone looked at you and thought, 'Fuck, Mancini snagged a guy who's worth his weight in gold.' Not an object. A partner. My partner."

Matias sighed, though he didn't relax completely. "But you treated me like one anyway. Those fingers... right in front of everyone..."

Aurelio laughed softly and slipped a hand between his legs, firmly gripping his package through his trousers. "Because you drive me crazy. Because you're so fucking beautiful and I can't resist reminding you that you're mine. But you're right, maybe I crossed the line." His fingers massaged him slowly, making him groan. "But tell me the truth... did you like it or not?"

Matias closed his eyes for a second, blushing. "I loved it. And that's exactly why it makes me so mad."

"Good boy," Aurelio murmured, kissing him again, more gently this time. "You’re proud. I like that. I don't want a lapdog. I want a man who stands up to me... and then lets himself get fucked against the glass while all of Rome watches."

His hand kept touching him, slow and possessive, for the rest of the ride. Matias let himself sink against him, his breathing heavy, his pride still alive but completely conquered by desire.

They arrived at the villa on the Appian Way shortly after 2:00 AM. Enzo opened the door and vanished without a word. Aurelio took Matias by the hand and led him inside. He turned on the dim lighting.

"Come, let me show you my Rome," he said with pride.

For nearly half an hour, he took him from room to room. The massive living room with antique parquet and master paintings; the illuminated pool outside, shimmering under the moon; the designer kitchen with a black marble island; the library packed from floor to ceiling with antique books; and the study overlooking the private grounds, featuring the desk where he signed multi-million-euro contracts. Matias touched everything with reverence, his eyes wide open.

"Fuck... this is incredible," he whispered several times. "I live in a one-bedroom apartment in Trastevere with mold on the walls and a leaking ceiling."

Aurelio smiled proudly. "This is my Rome. And tonight, it’s yours too."

Then he took him to the top floor, a large attic made entirely of glass walls overlooking the nocturnal city. The illuminated Colosseum, the domes, the river gleaming like a silver serpent. Matias stopped in front of the window, his palms flat against the cold glass.

"It feels like being on top of the world," he murmured.

Aurelio approached him from behind, wrapped his arms around him, and kissed his neck.

"Tonight, you are my world."

He undressed him slowly, piece by piece, leaving him completely naked in front of the glass facade. Matias's athletic body shone under the lights of Rome: broad shoulders, defined chest, ripped abs, and that round, firm ass that looked sculpted. Aurelio undressed in turn—his prominent gut, his wide dick already hard and glistening with pre-cum.

He shoved him against the glass. Matias pressed his palms against the window, his breath fogging up the pane. Aurelio spread his buttocks apart with his large hands, spat on his head, and pushed inside with a single, slow but brutal thrust.

Matias screamed, his forehead against the glass. "Ahhh! Fuck... it's huge... you're tearing me apart!"

Aurelio buried himself all the way inside, his gut pressed against the boy's back. "Take it all, you Argentine whore. Feel how I open you up?"

He began to fuck him with slow, deep thrusts, his hands tightly gripping his hips. Every impact made Matias's firm ass tremble. The wet sound of skin slapping skin filled the attic: clap... clap... clap. Rome glowed beneath them, thousands of lights looking like silent spectators.

"Look at yourself," Aurelio growled, grabbing his chin and forcing him to stare at his reflection in the glass. "All of Rome sees you getting plowed by the fat old congressman."

Matias was panting heavily, his hard dick slapping rhythmically against the glass. "Yes... harder... ahh! Fuck, yes!"

Aurelio accelerated, his thrusts turning violent, brutal. "Scream. Tell me you like getting used by my wide dick."

Matias shrieked with pleasure, but between groans he snarled back: "Call me a whore all you want... but this Argentine ass drives you out of your mind, Congressman! Can you feel how tight it holds you?"

Aurelio laughed hoarsely and fucked him even harder, sweaty and gasping for breath. "Good proud slut. Your ass is sucking down everything. You're just a luxury hole to me, aren't you?"

Matias screamed in ecstasy, the humiliation driving him insane. "Yes! I'm your hole... but remember that you're the one who can't live without it! Ahhh! Harder, fuck!"

Aurelio yanked his hair back with one hand, biting his shoulder. "Come on, slut. Cum on the glass while I fill you up."

Matias exploded first with a long, raw shriek, his body contracting violently around Aurelio's dick. Thick, white ropes splattered against the window, dripping down in long streaks.

Aurelio followed right after with an animalistic grunt, driving deep with every spurt, filling him with hot, powerful bursts. They stayed like that, panting, Aurelio still inside him. Then he pulled out slowly and turned him around. He kissed him with a surprising, almost sweet tenderness.

"You were perfect tonight," he murmured. "And you are mine."

Matias, with semen still dripping down his thighs, smiled against his lips, his gaze fierce and proud.

"I know. But don't you ever forget that I own a piece of you, too."

​

 

[daddycool]

Do you like ? Should I continue ?

 

[n0thum4n]

Please do!

 

[Aathens30]

This is great, keep going!

 

[michaelnola]

Do you like ? Should I continue ?

Yes, please do. Awesome story and excellent writing.

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 7 – Showers and Promises

“Let’s go wash up,” Aurelio murmured against Matias’s lips. “You’re completely covered in me… and I like seeing you like this.”

He took him by the hand and led him into the master bathroom. He turned on the massive shower, adjusted the warm jets, and pushed Matias under the water as if he were his personal property.

The hot water enveloped them. Aurelio grabbed the soap, poured a generous amount onto his hands, and began washing him calmly, yet with a firm, almost clinical touch. His large hands slid over the sculpted chest, over the still-sensitive nipples, and down the tight abs. He moved lower, between his legs, carefully washing the semi-hard dick and heavy balls.

“Tell me the truth,” Aurelio said, his voice low and somewhat cynical, as his soapy fingers slid between Matias’s buttocks, cleaning his own semen from the still-yielding hole. “Do you have someone waiting for you in Trastevere? Someone who calls you 'baby' when you come home after playing the pretty boy around town?”

Matias closed his eyes, enjoying the touch despite the tone. “No. No one. A guy every now and then, but nothing serious. I came to Rome to work, not to fall in love.”

Aurelio smiled faintly, sliding a finger inside him with calculated slowness, cleaning him more thoroughly. “And the work? Modeling… does it actually pay, or is it just an elegant way to have people look at your ass for money?”

Matias laughed bitterly under the water. “Sometimes I like it. Sometimes I feel like a piece of meat. ‘Turn this way, show your ass, smile.’ Just like tonight at the party.”

Aurelio spun him around, placing him back-to-chest, and continued to wash him, massaging his shoulders with strong hands.

“You’re not a piece of meat, Matias. Not to me… at least as long as you're useful.”

Matias turned around abruptly, water streaming down his face. He locked eyes with him for a second, then kissed him. It was a deep, hungry, almost desperate kiss. Matias’s hands grabbed the back of Aurelio’s neck, pulling him closer as their tongues intertwined with force. The kiss lasted a long time under the hot stream, until both were left breathless.

“Thank you,” Matias whispered against his lips. “For asking about my life. Nobody ever does.”

They stepped out of the shower. Aurelio dried him slowly with a huge towel, then dried himself. Naked, they climbed into the king-size bed. The silk sheets felt cool against their still-warm skin.

They lay down facing each other. Aurelio drew Matias against him with a possessive arm, one leg intertwined with the boy's, his prominent gut pressed flush against the young man's ripped abs. They remained in silence for a while, sharing only breaths and body heat.

Then Matias spoke, his voice low but firm.

“Aurelio… how long am I going to be your partner? One night? A month? Until you don't need me for the party congress anymore? I want to know.”

Aurelio caressed his back with his fingers, but his tone had already turned more cynical.

“I don't know yet. It depends on us. On how things go. I’m not promising you eternity… but it’s not a one-night stand either.”

Matias pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. His Argentine pride returned, razor-sharp.

“Then why did you text me back after a month of silence? That night at Lake Bracciano you fucked me against the wall, left four hundred euros in my pocket as a tip, and then… vanished. Why tonight? Why me?”

Aurelio smiled, a slow, predatory grin.

“Because I need you, Matias. Because you’re beautiful, tall, elegant, and you know how to carry yourself in a crowd without making a fool of yourself. And because that ass… you already know how much I like it.”

Matias held his gaze, his jaw tight.

“Fine. But remember one thing, Congressman: I am not one of your box dancers or interns to be paid off and thrown away. If you want me, you take all of me. But if you don't treat me right… I can end this story at any moment. I am not for sale. I am here because I want to be, not because I need to be.”

Matias’s words, delivered with that fierce, proud Argentine grit, hit Aurelio like an electric shock. He felt his dick harden instantly against the boy’s thigh, his blood pulsing violently.

Without a word, Aurelio got out of bed. His stocky body moved with an ominous calm toward the dark wood wardrobe next to the glass wall. He opened the doors. Inside, hanging in perfect order, were various items: silk ties, belts, and, at the back of a drawer, a thin, flexible black leather crop with a small metal handle.

He took it in his hand. The leather was cold and smooth.

Matias, still lying down, propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide.

Aurelio walked back toward the bed. With a sharp flick of his wrist, he cracked the crop against the mattress, just inches from Matias’s hip. The sharp, violent snap echoed through the room.

Matias jumped, his heart leaping into his throat. A mix of fear and arousal flashed through his gaze.

“On your knees,” Aurelio ordered, his voice low, authoritative, leaving no room for argument. “On the edge of the bed. Ass in the air. Hands on the mattress.”

Matias hesitated for a second, his eyes moving from the crop to Aurelio’s face. He was scared—truly scared—but his traitorous dick had hardened completely, pointing straight up.

“Aurelio… what the fuck are you doing?” he murmured, his voice trembling.

Another snap of the crop against the bed, closer this time.

“I said on your knees. Now.”

Matias swallowed. Slowly, his breathing rapid, he got into position: knees on the edge of the mattress, his round, firm ass offered upward, his back arched, his hands flat on the sheet.

Aurelio stood behind him, the crop swaying gently in his right hand.

“Good boy,” he said with a cruel smile. “Now let’s see how long your Argentine pride lasts when I treat you exactly how you deserve.”

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 8 – The Crop

Matias was still on his knees on the edge of the bed, his round, firm ass offered upward, his hands flat on the silk sheet. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it in his temples. He hadn’t expected this move. The black crop Aurelio was gripping in his right hand was thin, flexible, and menacing.

Aurelio stood behind him, naked, his prominent gut rising and falling to the rhythm of his heavy breathing. His wide dick was hard once again, glistening with pre-cum.

Without a word, Aurelio cracked the crop through the air once, just so the boy could hear the sound. Then he struck.

Swish-crack!

The first lash caught Matias’s right buttock with surgical precision. The boy’s smooth, silky skin, still warm and slightly damp from the shower, reddened instantly into a thin, perfect welt. The pain was immediate and blistering—like a blade of fire slicing across his flesh.

Matias winced violently, a choked groan escaping his throat.

Aurelio gave him no time to recover. The second blow landed on the left buttock, even harder. Crack!

“Fuck!” Matias growled, his voice already breaking.

“Shut up,” Aurelio ordered coldly. “Count.”

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Steady, precise, alternating blows. Each lash left a vivid red line on Matias’s silky, olive skin, which twitched and trembled at every impact. The leather bit into that firm, smooth flesh, leaving marks that would stay for hours. Aurelio relished every reaction: the way the model’s perfect ass contracted, how the silky skin grew hotter and redder by the second.

“One… two… three… four…” Aurelio counted in a low, cruel voice. “Look at that beautiful red. The skin of a proud boy giving in.”

After twelve lashes, he tossed the crop onto the bed. Matias was panting heavily, his ass on fire, his buttocks covered in throbbing red streaks.

Aurelio stepped closer and ran his large hand over the battered cheeks, squeezing them hard. The skin was boiling hot, silky to the touch despite the marks.

Then came the slaps.

Aurelio’s open hand came down heavy, loud, and carnal.

SLAP! A massive hit on the right buttock, already scored by the crop. The firm flesh quivered, the sound echoing through the room. SLAP! SLAP! SLAP! A barrage of brutal, alternating spanks that made Matias’s round ass bounce. Each slap left a white handprint that quickly turned crimson against the smooth, silky skin.

Matias couldn’t stay still anymore. The burning was unbearable, but the pain was melting into a humiliating heat that made pre-cum drip onto the sheet beneath him.

Aurelio kept going, his voice low and filthy:

“This model ass that thought it was too beautiful to be punished… look how red it gets for me. You’re just a beautiful toy, Matias. A beautiful Argentine ass that takes whatever I give it.”

Matias groaned loudly, his forehead pressed against the mattress.

Aurelio spat twice onto the already reddened hole and shoved two thick fingers inside without any warning. Matias gasped, pushing his ass back to take them deeper.

Aurelio moved them around, scissoring them, stretching him open. Then he added a third. The boy was shaking.

“Fuck… that’s three…”

Aurelio didn’t answer. He shoved in a fourth finger, forcing the tight ring to its absolute limit. Matias’s hole dilated painfully around the four thick fingers, his inner walls burning and spasming. Matias screamed, a raw, desperate sound, his body arching high.

“Ahhh! Too much… it’s too wide… please…”

Aurelio smiled sadistically, slowly pumping his entire hand.

“Take them. Feel how I open you up? This proud ass is swallowing four fingers of my wide dick. You’re just a hot hole to me, Argentine. A beautiful toy that stretches whenever I tell it to.”

Matias was trembling violently, tears welling at the corners of his eyes, but his dick pulsed hard and dripping against his stomach. He was surrendering completely. His pride had crumbled.

Aurelio pulled his fingers out with an obscene, wet sound. He grabbed Matias by the hips and penetrated him all at once, in a single brutal thrust. His wide dick tore him open again, deeper than before. Matias shrieked, pushing back to take every inch of it.

Aurelio wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, squeezing just enough to make him feel his absolute control, his other hand firmly on the boy's hip. He began to fuck him with savage force, holding him pinned by the throat.

“Like that,” Aurelio growled, bottoming out with every thrust. “Take your master’s dick while all of Rome is out there. You’re mine. Just a beautiful ass to be used.”

Matias was completely undone. His athletic body shook, his firm ass smacking rhythmically against Aurelio’s gut. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He wasn’t resisting anymore. He was nothing but pleasure and submission.

“I’m yours… use me… fuck me…” he moaned, his voice broken.

Aurelio accelerated, sweat dripping from his stomach onto Matias’s back. After a few minutes, he yanked him up by his hair, turned him around, and shoved him down onto his knees on the floor.

“Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

Matias obeyed instantly, his eyes glossy. Aurelio shoved his dick between his lips and fucked his throat with short, deep lunges. After a few seconds, he growled and came: dense, hot, powerful ropes that filled Matias’s mouth until he choked.

“Swallow it. All of it. Down to the last drop.”

Matias swallowed convulsively, his eyes closed, the salty, thick taste sliding down his throat. He swallowed every last drop, then licked Aurelio’s dick with devotion, cleaning it completely.

Aurelio pulled him up, took him into his arms, and carried him to the bed. Matias was wrecked: his ass was red and marked by the lashes and slaps, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were watery. But his face held an expression of pure ecstasy, as if he had just touched heaven.

Aurelio embraced him from behind, his stocky body enveloping the boy's athletic frame. He kissed the back of his neck with a surprising tenderness, almost sweet.

Matias let himself go completely against him, his voice weak but sincere.

“You turn me on so fucking much… for such an asshole.”

Aurelio smiled against his skin and gently kissed his neck—a slow, warm, possessive kiss. He said nothing. He just stayed there, holding him tight, while outside, the Sunday morning light filtered through the drapes.

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 9 – Silk Morning

The morning light filtered softly through the heavy drapes of the penthouse. It was nearly ten-thirty on Sunday. Aurelio woke first, Matias’s warm, heavy body still pressed against his. The boy was sleeping on his back, one arm draped carelessly across Aurelio’s chest, his breathing slow and even. The red welts from the crop and the slaps from the night before were still visible on his firm buttocks—faint streaks that were already starting to fade.

Aurelio lay motionless for a few minutes, enjoying the heat of Matias’s smooth skin against his own. He didn’t feel his usual impulse to dominate, to take, to humiliate. Just a strange, almost lazy serenity. He slowly traced his fingers down the young man's back, brushing past his spine down to the curve of his still-warm ass.

Matias opened his eyes slowly. For a few seconds, he said nothing. His mind raced back to the night they had just shared, like a movie he couldn't hit pause on.

The terrace at Villa Medici. Everyone's eyes on them. The long, possessive kiss in the car. The glass penthouse with Rome glittering beneath them while Aurelio took him standing up, his wide dick opening him up until his legs shook. Then the crop: the sharp snap of leather on his silky skin, the burning spreading like liquid fire. The heavy slaps, one after another, making the firm flesh of his ass quiver. The four fingers stretching him to his limit, the pain melting into a filthy, total pleasure. Aurelio’s hand clamped tight around his neck while fucking him from behind. And finally, his full mouth, his throat swallowing everything down to the very last drop.

He whipped me. He spanked me like a whore. He stretched me open with four fingers and made me scream… and I surrendered completely, Matias thought, his face still pressed against Aurelio’s chest. I let him use me, mark me, humiliate me. And the scariest part is that I fucking loved it.

Aurelio kissed his hair, his voice low and warm.

“Morning, Argentine. How are you feeling?”

Matias lifted his head and looked at him. Aurelio’s eyes were peaceful, almost gentle. There was no trace of the cruel dominant from the night before.

“My ass is still burning,” Matias replied with a teasing half-smile, tracing his fingers across Aurelio's chest. “Every time I move, I can feel your hands and that crop. But I’m good. Actually… I feel amazing.” He slid a leg between Aurelio’s. “You, on the other hand, seem almost… human this morning. Don't feel like tying me up or telling me what a slut I am?”

Aurelio chuckled softly, a deep, relaxed sound. He pulled him closer and kissed his forehead, then his lips—a slow, tender kiss, entirely unhurried.

“Not today,” he murmured against his mouth. “Today I just want to keep you right here. You’re warm. You smell like sex and like me.” He caressed his back with his large hand, sliding down to the marked buttocks. “What about you? Does it actually hurt, or is it just a memory that turns you on?”

Matias shivered at the touch, but smiled.

“Both. It hurts… and it makes me want to feel you inside me again.” He nipped at Aurelio's lower lip. “You’re dangerous, Aurelio. When you act sweet, you scare me more than when you whip me.”

They stayed like that for nearly half an hour, curled up together, exchanging lazy kisses and light conversation. Matias shared a funny story about a fashion show in Milan where he had almost tripped on the runway; Aurelio told him about the laps he swam every morning in the villa's pool, even in the dead of winter. No humiliation, no domination. Just two bodies that enjoyed each other.

Eventually, they got up. Aurelio personally made breakfast in the kitchen: strong coffee, warm croissants, fruit, and eggs. They ate sitting at the black marble island, naked under their open bathrobes. Matias watched him with a mix of tenderness and desire.

Shortly after eleven, Aurelio’s phone began to vibrate incessantly.

First came Gianluca, his parliamentary assistant.

“Congressman, I have the documents for the convention right here. De Santis leaked another piece of the dossier regarding the private clinic contracts. We need to decide how to respond.”

Then the manager of the private clinics.

“Dr. Mancini, the first-quarter balance sheets are ready. There’s a discrepancy of nearly nine hundred thousand euros over at the Ostia branch. We need to discuss this this afternoon.”

Finally, his political consultant.

“Aurelio, Tuesday’s meeting is confirmed. But De Santis is already preparing his attack. We need solid numbers.”

Aurelio answered all three, his voice shifting back to professional, cold, and authoritative. Within seconds, he transformed from the man who had cuddled Matias under the sheets into the MP and businessman who decided lives and public contracts. Matias observed him in silence, sipping his coffee, turned on despite himself by the sudden change.

When he hung up the final call, Aurelio sighed and rubbed his face.

“I have to deal with the clinic balance sheets this afternoon. It’s a total pain in the ass that I can’t put off.”

Matias nodded, hiding a slight pang of disappointment.

“I understand. Duty calls.”

Aurelio stood up, walked over, and kissed him on the mouth—a long, deep kiss.

“Are you free Tuesday night?”

Matias smiled against his lips.

“For you? Always.”

“Good. I’ll text you the details. I want to take you somewhere quiet. Just the two of us.”

They said goodbye at the front door of the villa. Aurelio held him tight for a moment longer than necessary, kissing the back of his neck and gently squeezing his still-sensitive ass.

“Keep an eye on those marks,” he murmured. “And think of me.”

Matias got into the taxi Enzo had called for him. As the black Mercedes drove away along the Appian Way, he leaned back against the seat and looked out the window. Rome rolled past slowly under the May sun.

He hadn't received any money. Not a single euro. For the first time since he had met Aurelio, he hadn't been paid.

And yet, as he ran a hand over his still-aching ass, a smile curved his lips.

I gained much more, he thought. I gained a night where I felt desired, possessed, cared for, and terrified all at the same time. I gained a man who scares me and turns me on like no one ever has. I gained the certainty that on Tuesday night, I'll go right back to him… without having any idea what's waiting for me.

He closed his eyes, still tasting Aurelio on his lips, the red marks still warm on his skin.

For the first time in his life in Rome, Matias didn't feel like a model for hire.

He felt alive.

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 10 – Matias’s Sunday

The taxi dropped Matias off in front of his building on Via della Lungaretta shortly before eleven-thirty. He paid in cash, climbed the narrow stairs of the ancient building, and, once inside his third-floor one-bedroom apartment, locked the door with two turns of the key. The sudden silence felt deafening.

He took off his Tom Ford suit jacket and tossed it onto the couch. Then, standing in front of the wardrobe mirror, he lowered his trousers and underwear. His buttocks were still heavily marked: thin red welts from the crop, and wider, purplish prints from the slaps. His silky skin, normally perfect for photo shoots, was now telling a completely different story.

Matias ran his fingers over the marks. They still burned a little. He closed his eyes and relived it all: the sharp snap of leather on his skin, Aurelio’s heavy hand, the four fingers stretching him open until he screamed, the wide dick filling him up while a hand clamped tight around his neck. And then that hot load in his throat, swallowed down to the very last drop.

He treated me like a whore, he thought. And I let him do it. Actually… I begged for more.

He changed into a tracksuit, made himself a strong coffee, and called Sofia.

“Sofi, do you have a minute? I need to talk.”

“Matias! Finally. Tell me everything. What’s wrong with your voice? You sound like you just got back from a war.”

He let himself drop onto the couch.

“Last night I went to a party with Aurelio Mancini. At Villa Medici.”

“Wait… Congressman Mancini? The construction and clinic tycoon? Fuck, Matias, tell me it’s not true.”

“It is true. He introduced me as his partner. In front of ministers, actresses, businessmen. He kissed me in the car, touched me all night, brought me to his villa on the Appian Way… and fucked me against a glass wall with all of Rome beneath us.”

Sofia fell silent for a few seconds.

“Holy shit. And how was it?”

“Intense. Way too intense. He whipped me, Sofi. He spanked me until my ass was bright red, shoved four fingers inside me, and then fucked me while holding me by the throat. And I… I just surrendered. I came harder than I ever have in my life.”

“Matias… are you kidding me? Did he hurt you?”

“It hurt, yeah, but… I loved it. He made me feel completely his. Then this morning he was sweet, he cuddled me, asked me how I was doing. We had breakfast naked, talked like two normal people. And now… I don't even know who I am anymore.”

Sofia sighed.

“Babe, you know he’s a dangerous man, right? He has power, money, enemies. You’re beautiful and young, but you’re also a model with a contract. If anyone finds out you’re with him, your agency could drop you in a heartbeat. And another thing… did he pay you?”

“No. Not a single euro. For the first time, he didn’t give me anything.”

“Fuck. That’s worse. If he’s not paying you, it means you’re not just a toy to him. It means he actually likes you. And when a man like Mancini likes someone… he doesn't let go easily.”

Matias ran a hand over his face.

“I know. And the scariest part is that I fucking love it. He makes me feel alive.”

“Matias, listen to me. Enjoy it, but use your head. Don’t fall in love. Men like him destroy people.”

They hung up. Matias sat staring at the wall for ten minutes. Then he changed and headed to the gym.

For an hour and a half, he absolutely destroyed himself: weights, squats, abs, putting pure rage into every rep. Every time his ass throbbed from the exertion, he felt Aurelio’s hands all over again. Every drop of sweat reminded him of the night before. As he lifted the barbell, he thought: I’m a model. I’m twenty-five. I should be going out with guys my own age, not getting whipped by a fifty-three-year-old congressman who could be my father. Yet the memory turned him on all the same.

He got back home around four in the afternoon, exhausted. He took a long shower, looked at the marks in the mirror again, and masturbated thinking about Aurelio. He came with a muffled groan, almost angry at himself.

His phone vibrated around seven-thirty in the evening.

An unknown number.

Unknown: Good evening, Matias. I’m a friend of a friend. Can we meet for a coffee? Just ten minutes. It’s important and confidential. I’ll be waiting for you at Bar del Fico in half an hour.

Matias stared at the message. His heart quickened. He replied simply:

Matias: Who are you?

Unknown: A man who can make you a lot of money. Or make you lose everything. Bar del Fico. 20:00.

Matias hesitated. Then he typed:

Matias: I’m on my way.

Bar del Fico was half empty. Matias walked in with his hoodie pulled up. At a secluded table in the back sat a man in his mid-forties, wearing a dark gray suit, short hair, and thin glasses. He looked like an accountant, but there was a coldness in his eyes.

He stood up and extended his hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Stefano Rossi. I work on behalf of Congressman Vittorio De Santis.”

Matias went rigid. He sat down.

Rossi wasted no time. His voice was low, calm, almost polite, but his eyes were pure ice.

“We know about the party last night. We have the photos. You and Mancini kissing, touching, looking at each other like you’re already a couple. Very clear images. They could end up in the papers tomorrow morning… or not. It’s entirely up to you.”

Matias felt a knot form in his stomach.

“What do you want from me?”

Rossi smiled, a professional, empty grin.

“Information. Not a lot, but precise. We want to know who Aurelio is meeting with these days, which specific public contracts he’s targeting in private healthcare, the names of the senators he’s trying to win over ahead of the June convention, and, above all, any details on the dossier he’s putting together against De Santis. Small things. Nothing impossible for someone sleeping in his bed.”

He paused, then continued in the same calm, menacing tone.

“In exchange, we are offering you fifty thousand euros in cash, in a lump sum, within seventy-two hours of you providing the first useful piece of information. And the absolute guarantee that those photos will never see the light of day. Not in the papers, not on social media, not in your colleagues' group chats.”

Matias remained silent. Rossi looked him dead in the eye.

“You have three days to decide. Thursday night I’ll send you a message from a secure number. If you accept, the money arrives Friday morning. If you refuse… well, the photos are already formatted and ready to be sent to the right people. And we also know you have a contract with a major agency. It would be a real shame if images of you getting whipped and plowed by a congressman started circulating.”

He stood up, left enough cash on the table to cover the coffee, and gave Matias a pat on the shoulder, almost fatherly.

“Think it over carefully, Matias. Aurelio Mancini is a powerful man. But even the powerful fall. And when they do, they drag down whoever is standing too close.”

He walked out of the bar without looking back.

Matias sat there for another five minutes, his gaze fixed on the empty cup. His heart was hammering against his ribs.

Fifty thousand euros… to betray him.

He ran a hand over his face. The marks from the crop still burned beneath his clothes.

He stood up and left the bar. The Roman evening was mild, but he felt freezing cold.

As he walked home, his phone vibrated. It was Aurelio.

Aurelio: Still thinking of me?

Matias stared at the screen for a very long time. Then he wrote just one word:

Matias: Always.

He hit send.

But inside, for the very first time, he felt something dark and slimy twisting in his gut.

 

[daddycool]

Chapter 11 – Monday: The Rejection That Doesn't Exist

Monday morning, 12:40 PM.
Aurelio was seated in the boardroom of the Mancini Holding general headquarters, located on the tenth floor of a modern building in the EUR district. The black glass table reflected the cold overhead lighting. In front of him, four managers and two accountants were presenting the preliminary first-quarter financial reports. Aurelio listened intently, one hand resting on his chin, the other tapping a slow rhythm on the table. Every so moment, he interrupted with sharp, precise questions that left everyone in the room sweating.
The working lunch was served directly in the boardroom: saffron risotto, filet with green peppercorn sauce, and grilled vegetables. Aurelio ate sparingly and drank only water. He spoke of numbers, profit margins, and how to bypass certain audits from the Court of Auditors. No one dared to contradict him.
By 2:20 PM, the meeting wrapped up. Aurelio shook hands, slapped a few shoulders, and headed out. Enzo was waiting with the Mercedes in the underground parking garage.
“The Chamber of Deputies,” Aurelio ordered simply.
During the ride, he checked his phone. A message from Matias from earlier that morning read: “Still thinking of you.” Aurelio smiled to himself but didn't reply. He had other things on his mind.
He arrived at Montecitorio shortly before three o'clock. Gianluca was waiting for him in the anteroom of his private office, along with Martina, his communications consultant.
“Congressman,” Gianluca said, handing him a folder. “The counter-dossier against De Santis is ready. Martina has put together a media strategy to contain any potential leaks regarding the photo from the party.”
Aurelio nodded, stepped into his office, and closed the door. For twenty minutes, he listened to the two of them lay out strategies, media risks, and potential rebuttals. He nodded, asked questions, and gave blunt instructions. Inside, however, he could already feel boredom setting in.
At 3:40 PM, he called for a five-minute break. Leaning back against the leather of his armchair, he picked up his phone and opened Instagram to distract himself. He scrolled through stories. Then, among the suggested content, a reel from Muccassassina popped up. Photos and clips from Friday night. Glittering bodies, dancer platforms, flashing strobe lights. Aurelio swiped slowly.
And then he saw him.
That boy from the Veneto region. Beautiful—incredibly beautiful. Wavy brown hair, the face of a wicked angel, a sculpted body. Aurelio vaguely recalled the gold jockstrap, the way the boy had looked at him in the dressing room. And above all, he remembered the rejection. Dario had proposed the night, and the boy had said no. That excuse about a “stomach ache” had been pathetic.
Aurelio clenched his jaw.
I don't accept rejections, he thought. Especially not from someone like you.
He closed Instagram and immediately called Giorgio.
Giorgio was thirty-five, gay, and unattractive to an almost comical degree—a round face, thinning hair, with effeminate and theatrical manners—but he had been with Aurelio for nearly twelve years. He managed everything that was too private, too dirty, or too risky for Enzo to handle. The trust between them was absolute, almost brotherly.
“Giorgio, hello.”
“Congressman, talk to me.” The voice was high-pitched but thoroughly professional.
“Do you remember the platform dancers from Mucca on Friday? The one from Veneto, twenty-four, wavy hair, angel face. The one who said no.”
“Perfectly.”
“Tonight, after my session at the Chamber, I want him in a hotel room downtown. Pick whichever one you want—discreet but comfortable. I want him naked and waiting for me when I get there.”
Giorgio didn't even blink.
“Consider it done. I’ll send you the address and the time within the hour.”
Aurelio ended the call. He smiled coldly.
Meanwhile, Giorgio had already gone to work.
Within minutes, he discovered the boy’s name was Matteo, a third-year law student at La Sapienza University. He checked the lecture schedule on the faculty website: that afternoon, Matteo had Civil Law until 6:30 PM.
Giorgio arrived at La Sapienza at 6:20 PM. He waited near the exit of the main lecture hall, leaning casually against the wall.
When Matteo walked out, Giorgio recognized him instantly. He was wearing an oversized gray Sapienza university hoodie with the hood down, light-wash, slightly baggy jeans, and a pair of white sneakers scuffed with dust. A black backpack hung from one shoulder, his wavy brown hair was a bit messy from the heat of the lecture hall, and a light two-day stubble gave him the look of a serious, good student. He looked exactly like the kind of kid who takes meticulous notes and never misses a lecture.
Giorgio approached him with an easy, friendly smile.
“Matteo? Sorry to bother you. I’m Giorgio, an associate of Congressman Mancini. Can we talk for two minutes?”
Matteo stopped dead in his tracks. He recognized the name. He went slightly pale.
Giorgio pulled him aside into a quieter corner of the hallway.
“The Congressman remembered you from Friday night. He found you very beautiful. He appreciated your little rejection… but he isn’t used to hearing the word no.”
Matteo swallowed hard.
“Look, I already told him no. I’m not interested.”
Giorgio smiled, understanding but unyielding.
“I know. And he knows. But tonight he wants to see you again. A very discreet hotel room, just the two of you. No pressure, no obligations.” He paused, then added in a lower, weighted tone: “But I assure you, it will be well worth your while.”
Matteo shook his head, his gaze drifting to the floor.
“No, really. I’m not an escort. On Friday night, I saw him in the dressing room… that man repulsed me. The way he looked at me, like I belonged to him already. I don't want to.”
Giorgio nodded, as if he understood completely.
“Matteo, listen to me. If you refuse, you might find yourself never dancing at Mucca again. Dario is a very close friend of the Congressman. One word, and your season is over. And besides… you’re studying law, right? A private meeting with Congressman Mancini can open doors you can’t even begin to imagine: internships at prestigious firms, connections in the political and corporate worlds, recommendations that can change the trajectory of your entire career. Or… it can make your life very complicated. It’s entirely up to you.”
Matteo stood in silence, his breathing accelerating. He remembered the dressing room vividly: Aurelio sizing him up, Lorenzo’s slap on his ass, those cold eyes settling on him with pure possession. It had made him feel dirty.
“How much?” he asked finally, his voice barely a whisper, thick with shame.
Giorgio smiled.
“A thousand euros. Cash. Tonight.”
Matteo closed his eyes for a second.
“Two thousand.”
Giorgio chuckled softly.
“Fifteen hundred. And we are done negotiating.”
Matteo swallowed again, his hands gripping his backpack straps tightly. He hesitated for ten long seconds, his gaze lost. Then he nodded slowly, defeated.
“…Fine.”
Giorgio placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the car parked a short distance away. They got in. Giorgio started the engine and began to speak as he drove, his voice calm and businesslike.
“The hotel is the Regina Baglioni, room 412. You arrive at 9:30 PM sharp. I’ll have them leave the key at the front desk. Go in, take a thorough shower—especially your ass, it needs to be clean and ready. Then get completely naked on the bed, on all fours: knees wide, chest down on the mattress, ass up in the air. Don’t say a word when he walks in. Don’t turn around. The Congressman likes to take control immediately. He likes to dominate; he likes to feel the boy surrender completely. Don’t resist, don’t talk too much. Just let him use you. If he asks you something, just reply ‘yes’ or do what he tells you. Understood?”
Matteo nodded, his eyes fixed out the window. His voice came out raspy.
“Understood.”
Giorgio glanced at him sideways while driving. Poor bastard, he thought cynically. Beautiful as the sun and already with a noose around his neck. Aurelio always picks them like this: the ones who seem untouchable, the ones who say no the first time. Then he breaks them. And I have to play the delivery boy. At least this one is pretty…
The car pulled up in front of the hotel. Giorgio handed him a key card.
“Room 412. 21:30. Don’t be late.”
Matteo got out of the car without saying a single word.

 

[michaelnola]

Excellent story and very intriguing

 

[Drew_Collins]