Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > First of the Gang to Die
James Romano, I hate every inch of you...
L.N.I.
First of the Gang to Die
Sessantuno
Rape Me
1932
Two and a half years earlier
“Please, James,” the young boy pleaded, eyes glistening as tears ran down his cheeks. “Please don’t do this.”
The older glared down at the twenty one year old with a terrifying, tyrant smile. It was sickening. It made your stomach roll and your bile rise. It could make the manliest and most brutal of men shudder and wretch. Frank could barely glance at it as he sat, in his boxers, on the bed he shared with his fiancé. He was shivering, freeing cold, as one cheek was stained red from where he had been slapped just moments ago. The smoking gun of his current situation, the matter of which he was now regretting, his lip piercing, stood prominent, leering at the on-looker.
Twenty other men were gathered in the bedroom of James Romano, watching the boy shake on the bed, lower lip trembling from the strain of not to cry. Their leader had gathered them together to apparently observe the beating Frank was now going to receive for involving himself in getting his mouth pierced without Romano’s expressed permission. To be perfectly honest, they were all terrified out of their wits. The twenty one year old had been dragged to the bedroom by his hair and thrown onto the bed, then his wrists bound behind his back with such force that blood was trickling from the soft skin underneath the leather. He was crying weakly, hot tears running down his nose from the humiliation and oncoming pain. He was going to be brutalized, beaten and raped in front of these men.
James threw his jacket to the floor and sat down, lightly caressing Frank’s cheek, descending slowly to his mouth. The boy knew better than to relax; the torture would start off rather smoothly, a little enjoyable-and then the rough shit would start.
Sure enough, tonight was no difference. It was so mortifying, sitting, basically naked in front of his fiancé’s foot-soldiers, while he would be beaten. He tried to avoid their gaze by just staring at his lap, and then the slap came across his face, sharp and shocking. He gasped out of sudden, but unsurprised pain. James acted as if nothing happened and pressed his index finger to the small ball.
Frank dragged his eyes up to meet the grey ones that flicked over his face. James was good looking, yes; he had brown hair and five o’ clock shadow, a typical English demeanour, with sharp cheekbones. He was a full foot taller than Frank and slim, with muscular arms. It was a shame that the pretty face did not match the putrid heart.
“What’s this, Frankie?” He pulled on it, and the boy squealed. “What’s this right here?”
More water dribbled down Iero’s cheeks, slipping down his jaw. The pain was just starting.
“I asked you a question, Frankie,” he muttered, yanking the metal in quick, short jabs, and the younger shrieked in pain. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”
The spoken to could only stay silent as he was interrogated, not looking at the man next to him. The bated breathing of the men around him was the only noises, apart from the accentuated ticking of Romano’s Rolex. He could only just wait for the torture to end.
Another sharp slap, catching him in the eye. James knew this and punched him straight in the muscle again, so that the white became agitated and red, and a yellow, dank bruise swallowed up the bruise.
“You answer me,” James hissed in his ear, “you answer me right now or I’ll make sure you can’t fucking walk when I’m done here.”
Frank nodded and gazed up at the killer, meek and broken.
“I just did it without thinking,” he whispered, tears on the end of his nose, vision swarming with liquid, hot and hazy. “I’m sorry, James, I’m so sorry, I’ll take it out right away.” He snuggled into the chest, rubbing his cheek to Romano’s grey waistcoat, longing to be loved. “Please forgive me, James.”
The gangster took him gently by the chin and guided him up to look into those amber orbs, wet and docile.
“You’re sorry, huh?” His breath washed over the boy. “You’re sorry?” He could see the younger being torn apart, getting more and more upset with every moment, trembling and squeaking like a rabbit about to get shot by a hunter. “What are you sorry for, Frankie?”
That slightly confused the abused. He raised an eyebrow, but played along with the agony.
“For...disobeying you,” he sniffed, chin being tilted so that the murdere could inspect his sincerity. “For doing something you don’t like.”
“And what do you think you look like?” James purred into the drum, loving to hear the pumping muscle inside Frank’s ribs pound and crash with pressure. “What do you look like, Frankie?”
He bit his lip and fidgeted a little as his mind tried to process James’ request.
“Look...like?” He shrugged helplessly, brain whirring, hoping for pity. “What do...what do you mean, Jay?”
“I mean, what do you think you look like?” He was getting angry; the boy flinched and squeaked. “For example...” his hot breath was grazing Iero’s neck as he trembled all over, “I think you look like a little slut who wants attention.” The last syllable left an incriminating air to the hushed room. “That what you wanna be, Frankie? You wanna be some little slut, some whore who wants ta cheat on me with some other men, huh? That what you want?”
“I-no!” He shrieked suddenly, tugging at the other’s shirt, but Romano sneered at him and another slap was thrown to him. “No, Jay, I promise, I’m not a slut, I promise-“
“Then why’d you get it, Frankie?” The lethal whisper made the boy crack and split slowly, and whimper for on the oncoming pain. “You want some fucking action, huh? Wanna be broken in?” He smirked-a thing of such warped evil that several men grimaced in disgust at the facial expression. “Well Imma break you in,” he hissed, “Imma break you in like the little bitch you are.”
“No!” Frank tried to scream, but was smacked on the cheek for the effort. “PLEASE, JAMES-“
“Richard,” Romano spat, standing up suddenly, gesturing to the tall man with greasy blond hair and a nervous outlook. “Get over here and hold him down.” A wicked, utterly demonic flash in the grey lights. “I’ll let you have a little fun afterwards.”
Mancini nodded and rose from the chair he had been observing the scene. He pressed the pliers into James’ palm and sat behind Frank, slipping the boy into his lap, then putting a gleaming blade to Iero’s neck.
“Don’t struggle,” he ordered softly into the pink shell as the one on top of his legs wept and bleated painfully. It was extremely hard to watch. “Or it’ll only hurt worse. You deserve this, Frankie.”
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” he sobbed, heaving and shuddering. “I’m so sorry I did something you didn’t like, I’m so sorry, please don’t do it, please, I hate it so much-“
Richard reached over his shoulders and clamped his palm over Frank’s quivering pout and placed his index and small finger so that the small ball was clear and emphasized, being squeezed by Mancini. Thr boy had not yet seen the weapon.
James Romano sat opposite the squirming kid and smirked again.
“Mmm, poor baby, so helpless, aren’t we?” He traced an invisible circle on the bare, snowy white skin dressing his victim’s inner thighs. “You can be such a rebellious boy, Frankie, and you know that’s gotta stop, right?” He was trying to justify his torture, make it seem like he, James, was being victimized. “I thought you were so obedient up until now. Obviously I was wrong. I gotta make sure that you’re gonna be obey me in the future, y’know? I have to do this.”
“But you don’t have to rape me,” he whispered, fat tears rolling down his ample cheeks. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, but I do, pet,” he murmured, tucking back the dark chocolate tufts behind the boy’s ear. “If you act and dress like a slut, you get treated like one.” He smiled like he was being a kinder lover than Frank would ever deserve. “Make sense?”
“But it hurts,” the rabbit whimpered, “it hurts when all of them-“ he nodded at the surrounding men-“fuck me, it hurts when they beat me. But it hurts the most when you do it,” he snivelled. “It hurts ‘cause I love you and you don’t love me.” He raised the doleful, wet eyes to meet the dry pair. “Why don’t you love me, Jay? I try to make you happy and do everything you say but it never works.” He hiccupped weakly. “You hate me.”
“Oh, Frankie,” he purred,” I love you, I love you so much.” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s why I have to do this, don’t you see? Need you to be in order, need you to be perfect. No more mistakes.”
“No one’s perfect,” the boy tried to petition, but was laughed at by his fiancé for the statement. “Please, James-what are you-“ the eyes grew as the pliers came into view, clicking in James’ strong grasp. “What are y-you d-doing with th-that, James?”
“Hush now, babe,” he breathed, leaning toward him as Frank began to quake and rock in Mancini’s arms. “This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.”
“You’re gonna pull out my piercing with a pliers!” The shorter squeaked in such a high whinge that only dogs could hear it. “How the fuck is that gonna hurt you-“
Iero was slashed across the arm for his cheek.
“Don’t you dare give me sass,” he growled into the boy’s face, “don’t you fucking talk to me like that.” The metal clamped around the plump bottom lip on that. “Looks like you’re gonna have to get a little more than you bargained for, Frankie.”
James positioned the jaw of the pliers to the tiny ball and tugged gently. Frank squeaked again.
“Mmm, not quite,” the Anglo-American hummed, then pulling on it with more force, twisting and turning the metal with all his upper arm strength. “How about that, Frankie?”
“PLEASE!” He screamed between his teeth, trying desperately to thrash around in Richard’s anaconda-like grip. “PLEASE STOP, JAMES, IT HURTS SO MUCH-“
“Oh yeah,” the gangster confirmed, tugging more and more, the mouth being held back by his trusted Richard. “I think that’s the spot, don’t you, Rick?”
“JAMES!” He screeched, wailing for his pain, rocking his chest for the sobs. “JAMES, PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU-“
The final pull came with a sharp rip as Frank’s skin was torn by the metal bulb and blood flew from his inner lip and trickled down his chin, throat and chest. The boy howled and stirred in pain as the agony washed over him.
“Good stuff,” James said in a casual tone, throwing the metal pin over his shoulder ancd then facing his fiancé once again, the lips stretching over his teeth in a mocking smile. “Wasn’t so bad, was it, Frankie?”
Frank lightly touched his mouth and came away with a finger dripping in scarlet, hot, thick blood. It stung the red, raw patch of muscle that James had shredded. It made him wince and flinch and screech simultaneously.
James flicked his little pocket knife across Iero’s stomach and watched as the boy suddenly let out a sheer yelp and grabbed at the inflicting pain. Romano ordered with his eyes to the other, Mancini, to hold him back. James began to scratch the kid everywhere, all over his stomach, his chest, his arms and the tops of his thighs. Each time he did the fragile little thing sucked in deep sobs and jolted suddenly. When over thirty little lines had been etched into the twenty year old’s snowy white skin, the murderer barked at one of his defenders;
“Aceto.”
In his brutalizing pain, Frank had to wonder what the Italian word translated was. Hopefully it would be a suiting ailment to his current situation.
His questioning was calmed by a bottle being handed to his lover after the guard had apparently fetched it from the kitchen.
Thank God, the frightened, tormented boy said with a mental sigh of relief. He’s gonna gimme a drink or something.
Wrong, Frankie boy. Aceto is the Italian for vinegar.
James poured a good lathering of the liquid into his palm and rubbed his two hands together, making sure his skin soaped up the rotten smelling water in its entirety. Frank was in so much pain and suffering that he assumed the scent was wafting from his blood.
Romano then dug two fingers into one open wound, wiggling them around as the boy screamed and hollered, groaning and gasping and writhing in pain as the sharp shoots of unbearable, stinging pain shot up his nerves, swam in his stomach, It felt like he was being stabbed by thousands of tiny knives.
“How about that, Frankie?” He asked huskily, knowing it was killing the younger. Some of his surrounding men were just gaping at the scene as Frank thrashed about in the arms of Richard, squealing and beggin for mercy. James was paying no such heed to the shrill shrieks of his little victim-this was so great for him. It made him feel in control, like Iero would do absolutely fuck-anything as long on James was in control, teasing and torturing him in such vicious, sharp attacks of brutality. He’d never stop-this was his forte. When he’d come home after a hard day of beating that fucking prick Way (or losing to, as the case may stand) he could come home and be in charge of the jumpy, jittery boy he had warped into such a frightened little creature.
He was crazy.
He traced his bloody, vinegar-y fingers all over the chest of the boy, digging into the little scratches over and over again, but the kid said nothing. Screaming, hollering, pleading for the other man to stop-that was the extent of the words exchanged between the boy and the man. After a good twenty minutes of the vinegar and the blood mixing together to create a salty, pink trail on Frank’s chest, James gestured for Richard to move from the bed. Frank was too weak to move from his position.
“You gonna be a good boy after this, Frankie?” James whispered into his ear, the brown fringe sticking to the aforementioned’s forehead. “You’re not gonna be naughty again? Not gonna give me back-talk?”
“I pr-promise,” he croaked, voice cracked from weeping. “I promise I’ll be good.” James noticed with smug, sick satisfaction that a lisp was now worming its way into Iero’ s speech, the product of his crafty handiwork. “I won’t be bad again, I swear. But, puh-please,” he squeaked, weakly clutching at his fiancé’s shirt, “no more hurting, James. I’ve learned my l-lesson.” Romano looked at the blood licking the skin of the boy’s chest, all over, like he had been shot by millions of miniature arrows. “I wuh-won’t do something bad ever ever again, James, but no more. I’m hurting so bad,” his tone gave and broke as he finished, and he tried to hold the other’s hand. “Please help. Make me feel better, Jay.”
“Of course,” he answered in a false tone, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. “I’ll help you in just a minute, Frankie, but first I need you to do something for me. Remember what I said earlier?”
The boy’s huge hazel orbs glistened and grew.
“You said-“ he was crying again-“you said you’d help me.” The deformed lip began to tremble again. “Not the rape, please, James. I-“
“Frankie, Frankie,” he hushed him by pressing a finger to his pout. “We talked about this earlier. Either you do it or I make you do it.” He cocked his head to one side and wore a little smile. “So. What’s it gonna be?”
The boy hung his head in shame and closed his eyes. Moving remotely made his chest twinge and wretch.
“Good boy. Now;” he swerved himself around so that his legs hung over the side of the bed, “on your knees.”
Frank slipped off the bed and sat betwixt the long, grey-clad legs that fell on each side of his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable clicking of the belt and the pushing down of James’ trousers. When the kid saw the bulge in the bastard’s boxers he nearly puked.
“Make it good, Frankie,” was demanded roughly from above. “Just because I was a little hard on you with your mouth doesn’t mean you get off easy.”
Frank’s eyes filled with tears as he gently tugged at the material hugging James’ waist, then gingerly arcing his hands around the bulging erection of the twenty seven year old murderer. He brought his lips to the shaft and then took James in whole, sucking at the engorged flesh invading his mouth. He knew it was sick, and dirty and filthy, that he was being made suck his fiancé off. His depression was becoming more and more heavy as he heard the cat calls and laughing behind him-he was being humiliated as he was doing so, and the tears lipped down his cheeks.
“That’s it, baby,” he purred, “that’s it, suck me whole.” He bucked his hips further and Frank gagged on the organ. “You feel like a little slut yet? You feel like my little whore?”
Iero broke down in tears again just as James came with an almighty grind into Frank’s throat. More whoops and idiotic jeering-the boy could only continue sucking as his vision became blurred and his throat scratched up.
Then his boxers were tugged down to his ankles-his ass was suddenly exposed to all the demons behind him, until he felt something wet at his entrance. The beautiful hazel eyes widened again and he tried to turn around. Just as he did, Richard pounded into him with all his force, and the boy shrieked in pain, James’ throbbing, leaking member still in his mouth.
“You like that, don’cha?” Romano jeered, nearly spitting down at his weakening fiancé. “You like that? Go faster, Rick, I wanna see blood all over his thighs.”
Mancini thrust his hips into Frank once again, grinding and gyrating his erection so far into the boy that he was sure he would keel over and split in two. Richard was grunting and groaning as he raped James Romano’s little fuck-toy, going harder and harder until he hit his prostate.
Iero, on the other hand, could only sob and weep helplessly, being thrust and thrown against the side of the bed, being raped from both angles. He was praying to any God willing to listen to make it stop, make it all go away like the horrible nightmare it was. His chest and his lip both burned furiously with pain, and he could feel hot liquid trickling down his legs. He could barely breathe.
Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, Richard stopped and pulled out, heaving and gasping huskily. The boy simply cried out with one last, short, curt burst of energy and collapsed onto the bed. Silence took over the room once more, excusing the boy’s weak wheezing as he struggled to breathe after his ordeal.
“I adore you, Jay,” he snivelled into his hands, shoulders shaking. “Why do you do this to me?”
L.N.I.
First of the Gang to Die
Sessantuno
Rape Me
1932
Two and a half years earlier
“Please, James,” the young boy pleaded, eyes glistening as tears ran down his cheeks. “Please don’t do this.”
The older glared down at the twenty one year old with a terrifying, tyrant smile. It was sickening. It made your stomach roll and your bile rise. It could make the manliest and most brutal of men shudder and wretch. Frank could barely glance at it as he sat, in his boxers, on the bed he shared with his fiancé. He was shivering, freeing cold, as one cheek was stained red from where he had been slapped just moments ago. The smoking gun of his current situation, the matter of which he was now regretting, his lip piercing, stood prominent, leering at the on-looker.
Twenty other men were gathered in the bedroom of James Romano, watching the boy shake on the bed, lower lip trembling from the strain of not to cry. Their leader had gathered them together to apparently observe the beating Frank was now going to receive for involving himself in getting his mouth pierced without Romano’s expressed permission. To be perfectly honest, they were all terrified out of their wits. The twenty one year old had been dragged to the bedroom by his hair and thrown onto the bed, then his wrists bound behind his back with such force that blood was trickling from the soft skin underneath the leather. He was crying weakly, hot tears running down his nose from the humiliation and oncoming pain. He was going to be brutalized, beaten and raped in front of these men.
James threw his jacket to the floor and sat down, lightly caressing Frank’s cheek, descending slowly to his mouth. The boy knew better than to relax; the torture would start off rather smoothly, a little enjoyable-and then the rough shit would start.
Sure enough, tonight was no difference. It was so mortifying, sitting, basically naked in front of his fiancé’s foot-soldiers, while he would be beaten. He tried to avoid their gaze by just staring at his lap, and then the slap came across his face, sharp and shocking. He gasped out of sudden, but unsurprised pain. James acted as if nothing happened and pressed his index finger to the small ball.
Frank dragged his eyes up to meet the grey ones that flicked over his face. James was good looking, yes; he had brown hair and five o’ clock shadow, a typical English demeanour, with sharp cheekbones. He was a full foot taller than Frank and slim, with muscular arms. It was a shame that the pretty face did not match the putrid heart.
“What’s this, Frankie?” He pulled on it, and the boy squealed. “What’s this right here?”
More water dribbled down Iero’s cheeks, slipping down his jaw. The pain was just starting.
“I asked you a question, Frankie,” he muttered, yanking the metal in quick, short jabs, and the younger shrieked in pain. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”
The spoken to could only stay silent as he was interrogated, not looking at the man next to him. The bated breathing of the men around him was the only noises, apart from the accentuated ticking of Romano’s Rolex. He could only just wait for the torture to end.
Another sharp slap, catching him in the eye. James knew this and punched him straight in the muscle again, so that the white became agitated and red, and a yellow, dank bruise swallowed up the bruise.
“You answer me,” James hissed in his ear, “you answer me right now or I’ll make sure you can’t fucking walk when I’m done here.”
Frank nodded and gazed up at the killer, meek and broken.
“I just did it without thinking,” he whispered, tears on the end of his nose, vision swarming with liquid, hot and hazy. “I’m sorry, James, I’m so sorry, I’ll take it out right away.” He snuggled into the chest, rubbing his cheek to Romano’s grey waistcoat, longing to be loved. “Please forgive me, James.”
The gangster took him gently by the chin and guided him up to look into those amber orbs, wet and docile.
“You’re sorry, huh?” His breath washed over the boy. “You’re sorry?” He could see the younger being torn apart, getting more and more upset with every moment, trembling and squeaking like a rabbit about to get shot by a hunter. “What are you sorry for, Frankie?”
That slightly confused the abused. He raised an eyebrow, but played along with the agony.
“For...disobeying you,” he sniffed, chin being tilted so that the murdere could inspect his sincerity. “For doing something you don’t like.”
“And what do you think you look like?” James purred into the drum, loving to hear the pumping muscle inside Frank’s ribs pound and crash with pressure. “What do you look like, Frankie?”
He bit his lip and fidgeted a little as his mind tried to process James’ request.
“Look...like?” He shrugged helplessly, brain whirring, hoping for pity. “What do...what do you mean, Jay?”
“I mean, what do you think you look like?” He was getting angry; the boy flinched and squeaked. “For example...” his hot breath was grazing Iero’s neck as he trembled all over, “I think you look like a little slut who wants attention.” The last syllable left an incriminating air to the hushed room. “That what you wanna be, Frankie? You wanna be some little slut, some whore who wants ta cheat on me with some other men, huh? That what you want?”
“I-no!” He shrieked suddenly, tugging at the other’s shirt, but Romano sneered at him and another slap was thrown to him. “No, Jay, I promise, I’m not a slut, I promise-“
“Then why’d you get it, Frankie?” The lethal whisper made the boy crack and split slowly, and whimper for on the oncoming pain. “You want some fucking action, huh? Wanna be broken in?” He smirked-a thing of such warped evil that several men grimaced in disgust at the facial expression. “Well Imma break you in,” he hissed, “Imma break you in like the little bitch you are.”
“No!” Frank tried to scream, but was smacked on the cheek for the effort. “PLEASE, JAMES-“
“Richard,” Romano spat, standing up suddenly, gesturing to the tall man with greasy blond hair and a nervous outlook. “Get over here and hold him down.” A wicked, utterly demonic flash in the grey lights. “I’ll let you have a little fun afterwards.”
Mancini nodded and rose from the chair he had been observing the scene. He pressed the pliers into James’ palm and sat behind Frank, slipping the boy into his lap, then putting a gleaming blade to Iero’s neck.
“Don’t struggle,” he ordered softly into the pink shell as the one on top of his legs wept and bleated painfully. It was extremely hard to watch. “Or it’ll only hurt worse. You deserve this, Frankie.”
“I’m so sorry, Jay,” he sobbed, heaving and shuddering. “I’m so sorry I did something you didn’t like, I’m so sorry, please don’t do it, please, I hate it so much-“
Richard reached over his shoulders and clamped his palm over Frank’s quivering pout and placed his index and small finger so that the small ball was clear and emphasized, being squeezed by Mancini. Thr boy had not yet seen the weapon.
James Romano sat opposite the squirming kid and smirked again.
“Mmm, poor baby, so helpless, aren’t we?” He traced an invisible circle on the bare, snowy white skin dressing his victim’s inner thighs. “You can be such a rebellious boy, Frankie, and you know that’s gotta stop, right?” He was trying to justify his torture, make it seem like he, James, was being victimized. “I thought you were so obedient up until now. Obviously I was wrong. I gotta make sure that you’re gonna be obey me in the future, y’know? I have to do this.”
“But you don’t have to rape me,” he whispered, fat tears rolling down his ample cheeks. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Oh, but I do, pet,” he murmured, tucking back the dark chocolate tufts behind the boy’s ear. “If you act and dress like a slut, you get treated like one.” He smiled like he was being a kinder lover than Frank would ever deserve. “Make sense?”
“But it hurts,” the rabbit whimpered, “it hurts when all of them-“ he nodded at the surrounding men-“fuck me, it hurts when they beat me. But it hurts the most when you do it,” he snivelled. “It hurts ‘cause I love you and you don’t love me.” He raised the doleful, wet eyes to meet the dry pair. “Why don’t you love me, Jay? I try to make you happy and do everything you say but it never works.” He hiccupped weakly. “You hate me.”
“Oh, Frankie,” he purred,” I love you, I love you so much.” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s why I have to do this, don’t you see? Need you to be in order, need you to be perfect. No more mistakes.”
“No one’s perfect,” the boy tried to petition, but was laughed at by his fiancé for the statement. “Please, James-what are you-“ the eyes grew as the pliers came into view, clicking in James’ strong grasp. “What are y-you d-doing with th-that, James?”
“Hush now, babe,” he breathed, leaning toward him as Frank began to quake and rock in Mancini’s arms. “This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.”
“You’re gonna pull out my piercing with a pliers!” The shorter squeaked in such a high whinge that only dogs could hear it. “How the fuck is that gonna hurt you-“
Iero was slashed across the arm for his cheek.
“Don’t you dare give me sass,” he growled into the boy’s face, “don’t you fucking talk to me like that.” The metal clamped around the plump bottom lip on that. “Looks like you’re gonna have to get a little more than you bargained for, Frankie.”
James positioned the jaw of the pliers to the tiny ball and tugged gently. Frank squeaked again.
“Mmm, not quite,” the Anglo-American hummed, then pulling on it with more force, twisting and turning the metal with all his upper arm strength. “How about that, Frankie?”
“PLEASE!” He screamed between his teeth, trying desperately to thrash around in Richard’s anaconda-like grip. “PLEASE STOP, JAMES, IT HURTS SO MUCH-“
“Oh yeah,” the gangster confirmed, tugging more and more, the mouth being held back by his trusted Richard. “I think that’s the spot, don’t you, Rick?”
“JAMES!” He screeched, wailing for his pain, rocking his chest for the sobs. “JAMES, PLEASE, I’M BEGGING YOU-“
The final pull came with a sharp rip as Frank’s skin was torn by the metal bulb and blood flew from his inner lip and trickled down his chin, throat and chest. The boy howled and stirred in pain as the agony washed over him.
“Good stuff,” James said in a casual tone, throwing the metal pin over his shoulder ancd then facing his fiancé once again, the lips stretching over his teeth in a mocking smile. “Wasn’t so bad, was it, Frankie?”
Frank lightly touched his mouth and came away with a finger dripping in scarlet, hot, thick blood. It stung the red, raw patch of muscle that James had shredded. It made him wince and flinch and screech simultaneously.
James flicked his little pocket knife across Iero’s stomach and watched as the boy suddenly let out a sheer yelp and grabbed at the inflicting pain. Romano ordered with his eyes to the other, Mancini, to hold him back. James began to scratch the kid everywhere, all over his stomach, his chest, his arms and the tops of his thighs. Each time he did the fragile little thing sucked in deep sobs and jolted suddenly. When over thirty little lines had been etched into the twenty year old’s snowy white skin, the murderer barked at one of his defenders;
“Aceto.”
In his brutalizing pain, Frank had to wonder what the Italian word translated was. Hopefully it would be a suiting ailment to his current situation.
His questioning was calmed by a bottle being handed to his lover after the guard had apparently fetched it from the kitchen.
Thank God, the frightened, tormented boy said with a mental sigh of relief. He’s gonna gimme a drink or something.
Wrong, Frankie boy. Aceto is the Italian for vinegar.
James poured a good lathering of the liquid into his palm and rubbed his two hands together, making sure his skin soaped up the rotten smelling water in its entirety. Frank was in so much pain and suffering that he assumed the scent was wafting from his blood.
Romano then dug two fingers into one open wound, wiggling them around as the boy screamed and hollered, groaning and gasping and writhing in pain as the sharp shoots of unbearable, stinging pain shot up his nerves, swam in his stomach, It felt like he was being stabbed by thousands of tiny knives.
“How about that, Frankie?” He asked huskily, knowing it was killing the younger. Some of his surrounding men were just gaping at the scene as Frank thrashed about in the arms of Richard, squealing and beggin for mercy. James was paying no such heed to the shrill shrieks of his little victim-this was so great for him. It made him feel in control, like Iero would do absolutely fuck-anything as long on James was in control, teasing and torturing him in such vicious, sharp attacks of brutality. He’d never stop-this was his forte. When he’d come home after a hard day of beating that fucking prick Way (or losing to, as the case may stand) he could come home and be in charge of the jumpy, jittery boy he had warped into such a frightened little creature.
He was crazy.
He traced his bloody, vinegar-y fingers all over the chest of the boy, digging into the little scratches over and over again, but the kid said nothing. Screaming, hollering, pleading for the other man to stop-that was the extent of the words exchanged between the boy and the man. After a good twenty minutes of the vinegar and the blood mixing together to create a salty, pink trail on Frank’s chest, James gestured for Richard to move from the bed. Frank was too weak to move from his position.
“You gonna be a good boy after this, Frankie?” James whispered into his ear, the brown fringe sticking to the aforementioned’s forehead. “You’re not gonna be naughty again? Not gonna give me back-talk?”
“I pr-promise,” he croaked, voice cracked from weeping. “I promise I’ll be good.” James noticed with smug, sick satisfaction that a lisp was now worming its way into Iero’ s speech, the product of his crafty handiwork. “I won’t be bad again, I swear. But, puh-please,” he squeaked, weakly clutching at his fiancé’s shirt, “no more hurting, James. I’ve learned my l-lesson.” Romano looked at the blood licking the skin of the boy’s chest, all over, like he had been shot by millions of miniature arrows. “I wuh-won’t do something bad ever ever again, James, but no more. I’m hurting so bad,” his tone gave and broke as he finished, and he tried to hold the other’s hand. “Please help. Make me feel better, Jay.”
“Of course,” he answered in a false tone, leaning down to kiss him on the lips. “I’ll help you in just a minute, Frankie, but first I need you to do something for me. Remember what I said earlier?”
The boy’s huge hazel orbs glistened and grew.
“You said-“ he was crying again-“you said you’d help me.” The deformed lip began to tremble again. “Not the rape, please, James. I-“
“Frankie, Frankie,” he hushed him by pressing a finger to his pout. “We talked about this earlier. Either you do it or I make you do it.” He cocked his head to one side and wore a little smile. “So. What’s it gonna be?”
The boy hung his head in shame and closed his eyes. Moving remotely made his chest twinge and wretch.
“Good boy. Now;” he swerved himself around so that his legs hung over the side of the bed, “on your knees.”
Frank slipped off the bed and sat betwixt the long, grey-clad legs that fell on each side of his shoulders, waiting for the inevitable clicking of the belt and the pushing down of James’ trousers. When the kid saw the bulge in the bastard’s boxers he nearly puked.
“Make it good, Frankie,” was demanded roughly from above. “Just because I was a little hard on you with your mouth doesn’t mean you get off easy.”
Frank’s eyes filled with tears as he gently tugged at the material hugging James’ waist, then gingerly arcing his hands around the bulging erection of the twenty seven year old murderer. He brought his lips to the shaft and then took James in whole, sucking at the engorged flesh invading his mouth. He knew it was sick, and dirty and filthy, that he was being made suck his fiancé off. His depression was becoming more and more heavy as he heard the cat calls and laughing behind him-he was being humiliated as he was doing so, and the tears lipped down his cheeks.
“That’s it, baby,” he purred, “that’s it, suck me whole.” He bucked his hips further and Frank gagged on the organ. “You feel like a little slut yet? You feel like my little whore?”
Iero broke down in tears again just as James came with an almighty grind into Frank’s throat. More whoops and idiotic jeering-the boy could only continue sucking as his vision became blurred and his throat scratched up.
Then his boxers were tugged down to his ankles-his ass was suddenly exposed to all the demons behind him, until he felt something wet at his entrance. The beautiful hazel eyes widened again and he tried to turn around. Just as he did, Richard pounded into him with all his force, and the boy shrieked in pain, James’ throbbing, leaking member still in his mouth.
“You like that, don’cha?” Romano jeered, nearly spitting down at his weakening fiancé. “You like that? Go faster, Rick, I wanna see blood all over his thighs.”
Mancini thrust his hips into Frank once again, grinding and gyrating his erection so far into the boy that he was sure he would keel over and split in two. Richard was grunting and groaning as he raped James Romano’s little fuck-toy, going harder and harder until he hit his prostate.
Iero, on the other hand, could only sob and weep helplessly, being thrust and thrown against the side of the bed, being raped from both angles. He was praying to any God willing to listen to make it stop, make it all go away like the horrible nightmare it was. His chest and his lip both burned furiously with pain, and he could feel hot liquid trickling down his legs. He could barely breathe.
Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, Richard stopped and pulled out, heaving and gasping huskily. The boy simply cried out with one last, short, curt burst of energy and collapsed onto the bed. Silence took over the room once more, excusing the boy’s weak wheezing as he struggled to breathe after his ordeal.
“I adore you, Jay,” he snivelled into his hands, shoulders shaking. “Why do you do this to me?”
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