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Franco lay gingerly on his bed in his large room, a few tattered blankets and torn stuffed animals strewn about along with him. Several milk bottles, other plushies, and random objects such as leather gloves or ammo for his beloved Lupara were scattered about on his short dressers and desk, fit for his size. A purple, embroidered rug lay atop of the sleek, hardwood floor and a couple of lamps emitted a warm, dim light that nearly put Franco right to bed. His eyes gently gazed around his room as he sucked away at his stubby thumb, assuming the position of his yellowing pacifier that sat a few feet away on his desk.
Franco was wearing his purple undershirt, sleeves rolled just under his elbows and exposing his meaty forearms. Aside from his usual shirt, he had stripped down to his boxers, making himself comfortable for the night. Though it was only somewhere around ten in the evening, the exhaustion from an intense day in the Trials was already catching up to him.
Lately, Franco had been feeling as if he was doing just enough to get by–no remarkable kills or elaborate chases. He couldn’t help but feel as if he was disappointing Easterman, who he was so deeply fond of. He wished the Director would reassure him through his doubts; encourage him to keep going. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to hear sweet nothings whispered into his ear by Hendrick, accompanied by a breath so warm and frugal against his ear it almost stung to endure. Easterman had always had a filthy chokehold on the little man, and the worst part was that he knew it, too.
Hendrick was constantly able to bend, twist, and manipulate Franco into doing virtually anything he wanted him to. Things that “normal” people would have been disgusted with themselves for doing were the cornerstone of the two men' s relationship, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.
Just as Franco’s glossy eyes began to gently flutter shut as he rested lightly on his bed that by comparison, seemed quite large, a static crackled throughout the room out of a speaker mounted on the wall just under the camera that roosted meticulously in the corner of Franco’s spacious bedroom. The little man’s eyes opened and he quickly shuffled around on his bed, trying to sit up straight to face the camera on which a small, red light shone dimly in the corner.
The hissing static was followed by the methodical voice of Dr. Easterman, just the man Franco was wanting to hear. Easterman sat in the desk chair in his office, the live feed from the camera broadcasted onto the clunky computer that sat upon his desk, the microphone elevated in a stand that was perched just below his thin mouth. He slowly unraveled his red tie from his shirt and shrugged his black suit coat off as he began talking.
“Franco,” Easterman spoke only the man’s name in a smooth whisper as he rolled his white sleeves up particularly. Franco immediately felt his less-than-remarkable cock twitch under his boxers, an accomplishment only few people could achieve thanks to the man’s impotence. The hum had flowed crisply into the room, leaving Franco entranced, but not too incapable of responding.
“Yes?” he asked simply, wanting Easterman to take control of whatever situation would come of this. He knew Dr. Easterman had an idea in mind–he always did–and Franco would be damned if he said something that might derail that freight train of lust.
“You seem…” Easterman paused, searching for the appropriate word to use. A sensitive man indeed, Franco was easily upset when he felt scrutinized in virtually any way, which Easterman had always attributed to his childish nature. “...preoccupied. Are you?” Hendrick asked through the speaker, the question forcing its way into Franco’s already scattered mind. If it weren’t for the fact that Easterman was trying to have a conversation with him, Franco would have simply preferred to listen to Hendrick’s sultry voice travel into one ear and out the other absentmindedly.
“Well, sorta,” Franco began, deciding after a few moments that he would try to tell the truth about his failing performances as of late. “I dunno. I feel…” Expressing his feelings had never been Franco’s forte, and it was always especially hard when he was confessing them to Easterman. “I feel like I’ve been suckin’ in all of my fuckin’ Trials lately,” he admitted almost shamefully, choking back a sniffle. “Just feels like no matta’ what I do in there, I won’t… I dunno, satisfy you?” Franco said in a tone of voice that felt more like a question, pointing to every sign that the little man was in desperate need of an ego boost. He hung his head low in insecurity.
Easterman kept his gaze fixed on the man through the fuzzy computer screen. He suddenly elicited a quiet groan after hearing the pathetic monologue, insinuating the beginning of intense feelings of arousal. Upon hearing this, Franco raised his head, focusing his eyes on the camera high up on the wall across from his bed. His expression was one of enchantment; his mouth slightly agape and his eyebrows furrowed, already desperate for more.
“That’s good,” Hendrick breathed into the microphone airily once Franco’s eyes met the camera. “Just like that.” Easterman’s praises kept Franco’s eyes practically glued to the device, doing everything in his power to receive more flattery.
In his office, Easterman had slowly moved a hand down to his now-tented suit pants, his erection still growing with every second that the little man looked submissively into the camera. He rubbed his cock through his pants, desperate for some sort of friction to soothe his inevitable ache to be inside of Franco again. Though it had only been a few days since they had last fucked, Easterman’s appetite was insatiable, and he had accepted the fact that not a day would go by that he didn’t want to be physically bonded to the mobster.
Easterman made no attempt to stifle his heavy breaths and quiet moans as they wafted into Franco’s room. Franco began making sounds of his own, immensely turned on by what he was hearing.
“Franco,” Easterman huffed quietly, causing Franco’s ears to perk up. “Touch yourself for your Daddy,” he breathed, still pawing at his own bulging cock through his pants. Franco exhaled a quick, shaky moan and scooted backwards until his back rested against the wall that his bed was positioned along. He put his feet flat on the bed and raised his knees up so that his trivial arousal was on full display and slowly pushed his hand down to the small lump in his tight boxers. A spot of slick precum had tainted them, presenting itself in a wet, jagged circle right by the head of Franco’s cock in his underwear.
As Franco did exactly what he was told, his intense eye contact with the camera remained intact, as did Easterman’s unbroken gaze at the camera footage. Moans that steadily grew louder and more shameless echoed from both men as they pressed veiny hands to the bulges in their pants. Suddenly, Easterman broke the sensual silence.
“You’re perfect, Franco,” he whispered, his warm breath seeming to heat up Franco’s room through the speaker. “I never want you to think you aren’t good enough for me.” The little man’s face became flushed, but his eye contact never faltered. “You never cease to amaze me.” The humiliating praises kept coming, and Franco felt himself becoming flustered. Easterman’s sharp, yet adoring whispers sent arousing testosterone coursing through Franco’s body, causing his cock to twitch yet again.
The little man let out an exasperated moan, unable to keep himself together much longer. He furrowed his eyebrows and reached his hand into the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them down. Easterman watched intently, his glassy eyes boring into the screen, analyzing every movement of his lover. Once Franco tossed his boxers aside, the true form of his small cock was revealed. However, Easterman’s eyebrows raised in surprise at how hard he had managed to make the impotent man–he had seen him this erect only a very small number of times.
Just as Franco moved his hand slowly to his dick, however, Easterman barked an order.
“Stop.” The mobster’s hand stilled, just barely gripping his short shaft. He stayed this way for several moments, waiting for further instructions like a pathetic puppy that had yet to be housebroken.
Easterman seized this opportunity to unfasten his belt and unzip his jet black suit pants, his eyes open wide and never leaving the screen. The hastiness in his actions elicited a few clanks of metal and the hiss of a zipper, causing the ends of Franco’s janky mouth to curl up in excitement as he imagined the sight.
Hendrick tugged his cock out of his pants, his length fully erect and throbbing with desire. He began rubbing his dripping precum over his arousal, wetting it completely. He let out a few whimpers from the touch of his own hand, and Franco smiled again.
“The sight of me really gets ya’ goin’, huh Doc’?” the little man asked playfully, to which Hendrick managed a smile through his whimpers.
“Shut up and stroke yourself,” Hendrick demanded possessively through his smile. Franco immediately got to work, his small hand perfectly cupping his stunted dick. He moaned loudly as he finally felt the much-needed sensation along his short length that was now slick with his own precum. Franco’s head lolled back at the pleasure, his mouth agape and letting out loud whimpers.
Easterman had always loved how vocal Franco was. However, tonight, when they were physically apart, he found a particular appreciation for it. The Director continued moaning, hastening his pace to match that of Franco’s hand to mimic the sensation of the mobster jerking him off, which, if Franco was here with Easterman, is what would have been happening, anyway.
The eye contact that was maintained even through a computer screen and camera was intensely intimate, as if their love for one another was completely unable to be obstructed. Both men felt themselves reaching their climax, cocks twitching and moans reaching their loudest volumes yet.
Without warning, white streaks spilled from Franco’s tip and onto his bare hand, pooling in his palm. His hips bucked as he groaned with pleasure, feeling a wave of hot ecstasy wash over him.
“L-lick that up, B-Baby,” Easterman whined between moans, still stroking himself, dick hardening more at the sight of Franco cumming. Franco followed the Director’s orders again and brought his hand pathetically to his mouth, his tongue grinding against his wet hand and fingers as he continued making sexy eye contact with the camera. This was enough to push Hendrick over the edge, who thrust himself erratically into his hand as he came, warm semen forcefully leaking from his length while huffing intense moans.
“I heard that, Daddy,” Franco teased with a smile as he finished cleaning his hand. “It’s your turn, now.” Even though Franco couldn’t even see Easterman, he still obediently followed his demand without hesitation. Despite Hendrick’s authoritative role in their relationship, he couldn’t help but feel indebted to the pathetic man every so often. His thick tongue ran over his own hand, swallowing every drop of cum and even licking the remains off of the desk that his cock managed to reach.
Once complete, both men had begun making themselves decent again and Franco flipped the lightswitch in his room off before eventually plopping back down in his previous position. The darkness in the room was detected by the camera, which switched to an infrared night vision, allowing Easterman to continue admiring his perfect boy.
“Wow, you sure wore me out, Easty,” Franco said as he yawned, thrusting his little fists into the air as he stretched on his bed again. He shed his button-up shirt and let it fall to the ground before pulling his purple blanket over himself and snuggling into bed.
“The feeling is mutual,” Hendrick said with a smile and a quiet yawn. Once Franco was tucked into bed, he looked back up to the camera and gazed at it for a few moments as if it was Easterman’s face staring back at him. In a way, it was, as the watchful eye of the Director longingly rested upon him. Franco gave a soft, loving smile before his eyes fluttered shut for good, his thumb back in his mouth as he sucked away.
In a twisted, perverted way, Easterman desperately wished that Franco’s thumb was his thick cock, being licked and slurped by the little man. Quickly, however, he snapped himself out of his thoughts, changing his state of mind from one of vice to one of affection as he spoke a final time into the microphone.
“I love you.”