In It For Life
32.
"So, Senator, do you believe that your newly found popularity with the younger crowd has contributed substantially to your being re-elected?" The host linked her hands and threw Don a pointed look over the table.
"We have an important duty towards our future. The new generations are in need of guidance, of course, but they also need to be listened to. And this is what I changed about my platform. I started listening to them."
Francesco groaned and tried to wrestle the remote out of Karl's hand. "Seriously, it's all a bunch of bullshit. Why are you even watching this?"
Karl dodged him and held the remote high, but he did turned down the volume. "He got what he wanted. And now, he'll want to celebrate."
"Well, good for him. I hope we don't have to go to the party because I suddenly feel a splitting headache coming."
"He wants you to go to his house. Later," Karl said without looking at him.
"What? Why?" Francesco was starting to feel that headache coming for real.
"Are you kidding me? He wants to fuck you," Karl said, still not looking at him.
"I don't think so. He hasn't called in a while, right?" He kept on hoping that Don no longer wanted his ass. It looked like Karl didn't think it was possible.
"He was busy with his campaign. What better reward for the champion of the homos everywhere?" Karl snorted.
"By reward, you mean my bony ass?"
Karl gave him a slanted look. "Cesco, have you ever looked at your ass? Like in a mirror or something? Because you have a lot of junk inside that trunk."
Francesco rolled his eyes and groaned. "Seriously?" Well, he wasn't exactly skin and bones, but still. Don should have been busy fucking his groupies, which were plenty by how popular his campaign had been with 'the younger crowd'.
"Even on the island, when we ate whatever we could get our hands on, when you were dowright malnourished, you still had the best ass. Come on, turn," Karl ordered.
He couldn't do that without looking at the TV on which Don looked perfect, his grey hair swept back, his designer suit fitting his body like a glove, and the same wolfish grin on his face. Francesco hated the bastard. Because of him, Karl fucked him with the biggest dildos in existence when he got tired or wasn't calling Morgan over to fuck him until he fell asleep from exhaustion. He tried to muster that part of him that wanted the bastard to get fucked and not in the fun way, but between watching that self-assured asshole and Karl playing with his butt, he began to feel something completely different. "Karl," he complained, hoping that his husband could take a hint.
"You'll need to play nice, baby. So look at him and remember what is like to have his huge cock down your throat."
Francesco let out a horrified moan when Karl pushed a dry finger into his hole. "What the hell are you playing at now?" he mumbled.
"He needs to know that he has the upper hand," Karl spoke in a leveled voice. "He needs to know that or else he won't let his guard down."
"You're not letting me on your plans. What's that supposed to mean?" His protests and questions died down when Karl suddenly began to lick his ass, trying hard to get as much tongue inside as possible.
Karl rimmed him for a while, digging his fingers deep into his butt cheeks. "Bend over, sweetheart," he said and laughed, slapping Francesco's ass playfully.
Karl grabbed his butt cheeks through his sweatpants and began kneading them slowly. "My dad wants your ass because it's that good, Cesco. Too bad you cannot fuck yourself. But he should have known better than grabbing what's mine."
