Chapter Text
Dio stood before the mirror, the sound of water running in the background as he started disrobing himself from the waist down, His shirt having already been removed. Slowly, his deft fingers began unlacing the threads on his trousers, letting the fabric cascade and pool at his feet as he stepped free from them. Underwear joining them a moment later. He can’t resist the urge to flex his muscles as he stares at himself for the umpteenth time today, admiring every inch of his beauty that his mother so graciously passed onto him before she died.
He turns his his attention back to the running water, testing the temperate with a finger before submerging himself fully in the bath. Positioning so that his feet were facing towards the door to Henry’s boudoir. Face and body so purposely on display for any “accidental” wandering eyes he most certainly planned for this evening. The natural-borne exhibitionist that he was, eager to divulge the assets of his God-given physique to any passer-by’s who happened upon him. It was truly a blessing for anyone to witness him in the throws of passion, whether that be in solo activity or with the presence of a female partner.
Dio presses his back up against the bath, spreading his legs even further apart, closing his eyes to begin picturing a memory in complete clarity that would serve to get him off.
Nothing served to arouse him more than others adoring his body with their words, eyes or touch. Jonathan himself had even fallen prey to Dio’s sexually braggart ways. Not with a man like the lie he had told Henry, but with a woman. More specifically their maid. Seducing her easily with his honeyed words, his curated compliments that he knows she craved desperately from a man of a higher status to her own. Oh how she blushed and whined like the embarrassed virgin she was, before he made the efforts to deflower her and own her virginity as a badge of honour like so many before. He had his fun with her, fucked her numerous times, fingered her while she attempted to go about her business, lifted the back of her dress to observe and fondle her behind while she cleaned and tidied. She was always so flustered around him, even when in the company of the Joestars, unable to keep herself from shaking and making mistakes.
One such time was when Dio had successful succeeded in his attempts to rile the poor girl up until she fumbled and dropped one of their expensive crockery. His hand had sneakily travelled up the back of her dress, Internally pleased when she had heeded his orders to forgo any of her underwear, dipping a finger between her already wet folds teasingly. Apparently it was too much for her to handle, given that the ceramic teapot slipped from her hand, spilling over Dio’s lap and shattering into a thousand pieces onto the carpet. Squealing and apologising profusely with tears in her eyes, bowing and scrambling to her knees by Dio’s feet. Dio stared down at her with a grim expression, disgusted at her unprofessional conduct. It took all of his might not to tug himself free and force his cock down her throat right there and then when she stared up at him with wide, wet eyes. He wanted desperately in that moment to deface her, coat her face with his own release in front of everyone before yanking her by the hair and splaying her out on the table before claiming her.
George Joestar, the fool he was, saw no crime in her clumsiness, sympathetic as always, dismissing her with a gentle smile. Jonathan’s dazzling, oafish smile following in immediate pursuit, a kind word uttered in attempts to settle her nerves. But Dio was silently raging at his now spoiled trousers and of course such a mistake couldn’t go unpunished, he wouldn’t allow that. Soon after, he excused himself to find her, locating her in one of the empty storerooms where she was obviously hiding away.
He had lied to her, convincingly as expected with his charms, that George was on the cusp of firing her for her blunder and that Dio had gone out of his way to stop him. She was grateful, an immediate flurry of thanks spilling from her lips as he stood before her watching the pitiful display. But with a cruel smile and a gentle touch of her cheek he said that it wasn’t without a cost, that he promised his father that he would see to her punishment personally. Assuring her that he would be much more generous in his choice of punishment than that of his father.
But as she lay across his lap, dress hiked up and bunched around the stomach, legs dangling like an unruly, misbehaving child waiting to be dealt with, bare bottom exposed and raised up facing towards his strong right hand, Dio had never been so lost in the joy of dealing punishment. With each strong spank against her rear came a pained whimper, each slap a strangled whine until the abused skin beneath his hand was red and hot to the touch. Not an inch left untouched by his hand, the entire surface of her arse down to the sit spots of her thighs had been mercilessly punished to the point that her hiccuped sobs sounded like music to his ears. All of it, her humiliation, her pain, being below him both physically and mentally was arousing to no end. He forced her to face the wall afterwards, holding her dress up as she sobbed and cried from the pain and embarrassment of it all. Dio stood behind, staring at his handiwork, one hand leaning against the wall above her head whilst the other scrambled to stroke his now exposed arousal. Muttering words of contempt and disapproval at her actions before finally spilling onto the freshly spanked flesh of her arse. Hand rubbing his own semen into the skin, another way of claiming and leaving his mark on her.
She couldn’t sit right for quite some time after that. Each time she winced in pain his trousers tightened, his cock throbbed and he had to resist the urge to groan and palm himself for any momentarily relief.
This continued for quite some time, the ownership of her body and the usage of it for his own gratuitous well-being. It was exhilarating for a time, the power dynamic of sleeping with the help was delicious. It was wrong to abuse his power and yet here he was addicted to it every time. The arousal at ruining someone’s life, manipulating them into his very own sex puppet, was divinity incarnate.
Until he eventually grew bored, discarding her without a second glance as she pathetically tried seeking his attention again and again to disastrous results. He moved on, finding more prey to satisfy his insatiable urges. Poor girl was distraught, but frankly, Dio couldn’t care less. She was forced to carry out her jobs like they had never even made more than a passing glance towards the other. Her attempts to seek him back were pathetically desperate and her insistence to please Dio eventually led to George noticing her declining efforts in her housekeeping. Until she was dismissed one morning and replaced with another young lady that Dio set his sights on to ravish, continuing the cycle of improper power balance.
What he could care for however, was the startings of an erection between his thighs at the memories of his naughty misconducts with the help. The hardness between his legs standing stiff, begging for attention that only his hand could provide. An exhale passed through his teeth when his hand came to palm the underside of his length, taking his time revelling in the sensation of his own hand. The head weeping free at his insistent teasings, palm rubbing against it that cause an exhaled gasp to slip free from his throat. Mouth salivating unintentionally when his jaw slackened from the pleasure beginning to grow deep down in his stomach. His mind begins eagerly searching for another stimulating memory to aid the friction of his hand.
He remembers being on his hands and knees upon the filthy floor of the Ogre Street brothel, on all fours like a disgusting dog snivelling for scraps. Naked as the day he was born, the chill in the air cold enough to make his hairs stand on edge. The repulsive odour of cheap beer thick in the air, the type of swill so repugnant that he’d much rather drink piss instead of it, and the lingering scent of cigar smoke asphyxiating and invading his sinuses.
Ordinarily he would have scorned himself for the sensation of grime beneath his hands, that is if it weren’t for the rather distracting thrusting deep inside his rear. Defiled like that of a common harlot, a whore for a man’s singular pleasure. Brow furrowed, mouth agape and panting, high-pitched whines that sound more feminine than his masculine figure would have you believe floating in the air with the stench of sex and sweat that his body sheened with. He’s carried away by the joys and delicious nature of it all, the carnality of pure, unashamed, rough sex and penetration. Stretched full to the brim and wanting, legs shaking and whimpering like a pet begging to be let outside. Only just about managing to avoid calling out for more, for harder thrusts that ventured into the territory of painful drilling. Impaling him with a shockingly large appendage that had him all but gritting his teeth at and moaning wantonly at the same time. Back and forth his body rocked with the well-timed rhythmic thrusting of the man’s hips, the slap of skin and guttural grunts echoing around the run-down room.
A finger underneath his chin guides it upwards so that he’s straining his neck to look up at another man in the room. His lips already brushing against his leaking erection that seeks entry into his mouth that he grants it. Opening wide and obediently in efforts to silence and fill his other hole. His jaw opening uncomfortably wide to accommodate the large, considerable girth now filling his mouth, gliding further and further down his throat. Truthfully, his gag reflex has improved vastly in these countless sessions he’s had since the very first time, where he spluttered and choked as it was fed deeper. The man he had been seeing taught him how best to service another man, which in turn helped him figure out how to order about his own submissives to better please him. He looks up at him as he best pleases him, his most seductive glance paired delightfully with a hum in his throat while his tongue circles up and down his shaft.
It should be degrading, humiliating, but it doesn’t, it feels liberating. And he takes it, he takes it because that’s what he’s given by them. Dio embraces the role of a submissive slut he knows all too well, the very same that he has devoured time and time again. He wants to be that girl, helplessly ruined until no one will touch her again with that debauched reputation she’s forced to live with in exchange for a couple seconds of bliss. Those girls he uses himself. For a few minutes of his life he can live out that fantasy in a seedy environment hidden away from the upper-class prestigious life he was thrust into at 12 years of age.
He craves the feeling of hot seed filling inside him, dripping down his thighs and staining the surface of his skin. Clenching his hole in fruitless efforts to keep it all inside him before it runs free down his legs. He wants to taste that release, swirl it around on his tongue like a vintage glass of wine he’s so privy to almost daily. Swallowing it obediently like he’s told to before he’s even allowed to pleasure himself with his own hands while they watch. Scrutinising every movement of his hand against his cock, semen still drying around his lips that he purposely left there. Eyes hooded and mouth agape while carefully curated words of praise between the degrading names are absorbed by his ears. Waiting for the verbal permission to orgasm otherwise the outcome would be left like he has been before, aching, desperate and un-allowed to climax until he complied.
But these men were fools if they ever for a split second believed that they held real power. Dio may be on the floor taking what he’s being given like a debauched maiden, but it was of his own accord that he was even there in that position. It was exactly what he wanted. Paying them rather generously with the Joestar family’s own fortune that he was partly entitled to, the coin buying sex as well as discretion.
Unwavering confidence oozed from his every move, every action, every moan as each orifice was abused delightfully. He held the real power, he grasped the reins of control with a true iron grip. He could command his own legion while being thoroughly fucked from behind and all would still bow to his every whim. No one could control Dio Brando. He wanted this, he paid them to enact his fantasies in private away from anyone’s eyes. Participated in the most depraved, vile of requests that the nobility he was apart of would treat with contempt. To disdain because they wouldn’t understand, because they were all too archaic in their beliefs to entertain such ideals.
No, visiting a brothel and letting lower men fuck him was true freedom. Sexual liberation that quenched his insatiable sexual appetites if for but a day. When he left with a sore anus, hoarse throat and carpet burns on his hands and knees it was almost like a brand of debauchery. His dirty little scandalous life he indulged in and he adored every second of. As much as he loathes to admit it, this, Ogre Street, the slums of London and its squalor incarnate, poverty-stricken inhabitants, it all feels familiar.
And that disgusts him to no end. But after he’s been throughly fucked by these vile men the outcome always remains the same. He got dressed back into his finery, his expensive clothing and suddenly the dynamic was switched completely. Were they to speak out of turn, insult or make any derogatory comment towards him, he could ruin their lives with a snap of his fingers. Dio knew these streets better than any, he knew of the most depraved of people that could get a job done if he so desired. Outside of the role-play-esque sex they engaged in, he knew he terrified those men just as much as he did everyone else.
His keen senses just about hear the not-so-subtle creak of the door to Henry’s room open, nothing is ever truly quiet in such an old mansion after all. Dio is cautious not to look over straight away as to give away that he knows he’s there watching. Instead he ups his efforts, exaggerating his hand movements along his shaft, his sounds only becoming more performative with each breath. It’s impeccable, it’s exhilarating and it’s exciting. The added thrill of getting watched only aids his hand.
The plan is going ahead nicely. There’s no way that Henry isn’t falling apart watching Dio in the throws of pleasure. As the brothel fantasy continues to spiral in his mind, his mind is consumed by lust, he eagerly continues his show.
His other hand begins growing tiresome from where it clutched onto the side of the bathtub. Itching and uncertain where it wishes to explore while his other continues its singular goal to stimulate up and down his cock. For a moment he decides to begin toying with his hole, excited by the prospect of brushing a finger or two up against his prostate. Drinking in the delights of ecstasy that came with that, that more often than not pushed his climax out of him embarrassingly fast. But he stops himself when he remembers where exactly he’s indulging this act. Having previously acquired the knowledge from this very same act in this very same locale that water doesn’t act as a sufficient enough source of lubricant for such… invasive explorations. Not without a little discomfort, anyway, and not something he finds himself longing for right now. In other circumstances, a little pain was absolutely worth it, sought after even, but not right now. Instead that hand begins toying with his nipple, throwing his head back with a groan at the heightened sensitivity. Arousal twitching in his grip as he begins quickening his hand.
His movements threaten to grow sloppy as the continued fantasy details somewhat, unable to discern what was truth, a memory, and the what was his lust-clouded, confused brain falsely tries to depict as what he really wants. Inside his minds eye, he’s on his back, flexible legs practically folded in on himself as his ankles rest on the prostitutes shoulders. Hole repeatedly fed cock, pushed into a mating press position and getting bred like a bitch in heat. Cheeks flaring up with each thrust inside him, sweat dampening his hair, beading in his hairline and threatening to start streaming down his face.
But then a familiar voice echoes in his ear that causes him to moan. Cooing against the shell of his ear as the onslaught inside his ass continues, pushing further against and inviting them to fuck him harder, rougher. Yet he can’t discern who exactly it is.
“Dio.”
His name is called again by that voice, gentle and soothing like a lullaby that contrasts heavily to the rough thrusting inside him. Eyelids are too heavy to lift to see the man above him that’s delightfully abusing his hole.
He forcibly pulls himself out of his fantasy and into the room he’s fervently pleasuring himself into oblivion when another creak from the door alerts him. No doubt from Henry accidentally leaning too much against the crack of the door to get a better view. Reminding him that this plan of his was still under-way.
His body begins to tense and a huge whine is pulled from him as he senses his release rapidly approaching. Now for the catalyst, the final cherry on top to have that boy writhing in agony.
“Ah Henry…” He moans loudly enough for that boys ears to perk up at, between laboured breaths. He’s almost certain he can hear his heavy breathing from behind the cracked open door. Repeating the name with a heavy exhale.
“Henry…”
Finally, he opens his eyes in the fantasy expecting to see Henry’s features looking down upon him. But the face he sees isn’t Henry’s…it’s Jonathan’s. His aggravatingly adorable, handsome features smiling down at him with no ounce of contempt. Like he knows this is what Dio truly desires when it surely can’t be.
But then… why is it him that his brain has pictured so close to his climax?
“Dio love, would you like more?” He asks lovingly, a hand coming to settle against his flushed cheeks that Dio unconsciously finds himself pushing into. He can’t control himself now, all bravado annihilated in the face of JoJo’s caring actions even during this fictional sex. He hates it… he should hate it… and yet he doesn’t.
Dio’s sure he nods, completely out of his mind as he mindlessly continues to chant that name with the remnant of a prayer. His arms wrap around as Jonathan changes their position so now Dio is sat atop his lap. A surge of desire to please him, to show how good he can be for him takes over every fibre of his being as he begins rocking his hips expertly, riding him best he can. His cock is so big, stretching him so wide to the brim that it should hurt, yet the sensitive part nestled deep inside him screams out in opposition. But this position allows for him to truly eye up what he wants. Dio stares at the muscles of his body, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, his legs, his arms and it’s the perfect body. He’s obsessed with every part of it, he wants to commit it to memory, to touch it daily with his own caresses, to own it. He wants to wear this body like it was his own, it makes him jealous, a magnificently crafted piece of artwork like his body should be used carnally like how Dio uses his own.
Dio doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream at this entire mental torment. So close to his bliss that he can almost grasp it, can almost taste it along his tongue.
And it’s when Jonathan whispers in his ear and kisses the delicate part of his ear lobe, branded with three small dots, when he feels his torso press against his own that he falls apart in reality. Spilling in his hand, hot seed spurting out and dripping into the water, clouding it a milky white. His hand still pumping him through it until the overstimulation becomes too much to handle. A moan choked on his throat, a gasp half strangled as he struggles to cope with the ecstasy coursing through his veins in his rapture. It feels so good that he’s lost in it all, forgetting momentarily in his stupor that this was by his own hand and not by JoJo.
When he returns back empty handed and craving it all over again does the reality sink in of what he just did. No longer caring for the plan of seducing Henry, not even giving him a glance in the peeping-Toms direction from.
He had masturbated and orgasmed to the thought of Jonathan.
That thought should be alarming to him really, but he began to logically dissect every reasoning behind it. It wasn’t Jonathan he craved… but his body. His breath-taking physique was everything. Strong, powerful, assertive, everything a man with Dio’s calibre deserved to be born with. It’s wasted upon Jonathan. Dio deserves it. It should belong to him.
With a deep breath he finally tilts his gaze towards Henry’s door, only to be met with a fully closed door with no evidence of any kind of voyeur in sight. It makes him chuckle, knowing without a doubt that the poor lad must be desperately chasing his own high by his hand, hoping in the back of his mind that Dio will sweep in and ease that burden. It’s a delicious thought, one that has Dio’s now softened penis to twitch painfully at, and he has to take a moment to collect himself.
Not yet, Dio tells himself as he stands up from his now cum-dirtied bath water, the seed has been planted, the desire curated. There was no need to rush it yet. He turns his head towards the door once more with a chuckle freeing from his throat, at how painfully easy was to seduce another man with his charms.
But that brought up yet another interesting question… could Jonathan fall as easy as his friend? When alone, shunned, devastated, left with no one in his corner but seemingly Dio, would he fall prey to tactics? Would JoJo need consolation in his darkest moments, an opportunity he could manipulate into getting what he wanted? His body. Could he possibly claim that body by territorial right?
Only time would tell.