"My mouth… always trouble," I slurred, trying desperately to string words together in some semblance of my usual snark. "Brand… personality defect. Comes with… omega package. Along with… terrible judgment and… inconvenient arousal… at worst possible times."
"And what a delicious defect it is," Stefano murmured, kneeling between my spread legs, his large hands settling on my thighs just above Marco's. The double point of contact—both alphas touching me simultaneously—sent a shiver racing up my spine. "I wonder what other trouble we can get that pretty mouth into."
Before I could process that somewhat ominous statement, Matteo's fingers found my nipples, pinching both simultaneously with careful precision. The sudden, sharp sensation made me gasp, my back arching further off the pillows.
"Ahh!" The sound that escaped me was nothing like words—just a desperate, broken noise as the sensitivity I thought couldn't possibly increase somehow ratcheted higher. It was like my nipples had developed their own direct hotline to my groin, bypassing all normal neurological pathways in favor of an express delivery system for pleasure.
"Fascinating response," Matteo said, repeating the action with slightly more pressure. "His sensitivity is increasing rather than decreasing with repeated stimulation."
"Right… here," I reminded him through gritted teeth as another pinch sent jolts of electricity straight to my cock. "Not… science project. Person. Person with… feelings. And nipples. Very angry… nipples. Filing complaints… with management. Forming… nipple union. Demanding… better working conditions."
"But you are fascinating," Matteo replied, his thumbs now circling my hardened nipples with featherlight touches thatsomehow felt more torturous than the pinching. He leaned down suddenly, his mouth closing over my right nipple just as his fingers pinched the left. The contrast between wet heat and sharp pressure short-circuited my brain, reducing whatever clever retort I'd been attempting to incoherent whimpers. My vocabulary had apparently decided to take an early retirement, leaving me with a lexicon consisting primarily of gasps, moans, and half-formed expletives.
"Look at that," Marco murmured, his own mouth descending to claim my left nipple as Matteo released it. "Stereo stimulation. His back arches so beautifully when we do this."
They were working in tandem now, both mouths on my chest, alternating between gentle suction and sharp bites that had me writhing between them. The position—hips elevated on pillows, head tilted back, legs spread wide—left me completely at their mercy, unable to escape the overwhelming sensations. I was the omega centerpiece in their alpha banquet, and they were determined to consume every inch.
"Stop," I gasped, though my body contradicted me by arching further into their mouths. "Too much… can't… My central nervous system is… staging walkout. Brain cells… committing mass suicide. Death by… alpha overstimulation."
Stefano's hands slid higher on my thighs, thumbs now just inches from where slick was gathering despite my recent release. "Much better," he approved, eyes dark with hunger as he watched me fall apart under Marco’s and Matteo’s attention. "I prefer these sounds to your sarcasm, little prince. Though both have their charms."
I wanted to tell him exactly where he could shove his preferences, but Matteo chose that moment to graze his teeth against my nipple, and whatever cutting remark I'd been formulating dissolved into a pathetic whimper. My wit hadabandoned me, leaving behind an empty shell capable only of desperate noises and incoherent pleas.
"Look at him," Marco murmured against my chest, his breath hot against sensitized skin. "Already falling apart again. His nipples are so responsive—I could probably make him come just from this."
"An experiment for another time," Stefano said, his thumbs now tracing maddening circles in the creases where thigh met groin, so close to where I was already aching again. "Tonight we have other plans."
His fingers finally, finally slid between my legs, tracing the slick-dampened skin with teasing lightness. When one digit circled my entrance without quite breaching me, I nearly sobbed with frustrated need. My hole was apparently developing separation anxiety from alpha fingers, clenching desperately around nothing like an abandoned puppy.
"Please," I gasped, the word escaping before I could stop it, pride completely abandoned in the face of overwhelming desire. "Inside… need… please. The emptiness is… psychological torture. Cruel… unusual punishment."
"What was that, little prince?" Stefano asked, his finger continuing those maddening circles, gathering slick but not pushing in. "I couldn't quite hear you."
"Need… inside," I managed, face burning with humiliation as my hole clenched around nothing. "Fingers… please. Don't make me… beg more. Already… destroyed dignity… irreparably."
"Whose fingers?" he pressed, still teasing, still not giving me what we both knew I desperately needed. "Who do you need inside you, Leo?"
I knew what he wanted—the specific word that would simultaneously satisfy his ego and deepen my submission. The word that had already slipped out during my most desperate moments, the one I'd sworn I wouldn't use again. The linguisticequivalent of waving a white flag of surrender while also gifting them the deed to my soul.
"Y-yours," I tried, hoping it would be enough. "Need… your fingers. Yours… specifically. Not… just any fingers. Yours. Exclusively. Very… specifically… yours."
His hand stilled completely, and I could practically feel the disapproval radiating from all three alphas. "Try again," Stefano said, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that made something in my stomach clench with both fear and anticipation. "Who do you need, little prince?"
Marco's mouth hovered just above my cock, his breath teasing the sensitive skin. "Say it properly, or you get nothing."
The silence stretched as my pride waged its final, futile battle against my body's desperate need. I closed my eyes, unable to watch their smug expressions as I finally, completely surrendered. This was rock bottom with a basement level, a sub-basement, and possibly several additional floors descending straight to the center of the earth.
"D-daddy," I whispered, the word burning my throat like acid. "Please, Daddy. Need… fingers. Inside. If this… ever leaves this tent… I'll deny it… to my dying breath. Will claim… drugged… or hypnotized… or possessed by… kinky demon."
"Good boy," Stefano praised, the approval in his voice sending an unwelcome wave of warmth through my chest.
His finger pushed inside without further preamble, the intrusion both relief and torture as my body eagerly accepted him. The single digit felt impossibly large, stretching me in ways that should have been uncomfortable but instead had me pressing back against his hand, silently begging for more. My hole welcomed him like it was auditioning for Most Eager Omega Orifice, making a mockery of whatever resistance I still pretended to have.
Marco's mouth descended on mine again, swallowing the desperate sounds I couldn't contain as Stefano's finger worked deeper. His tongue explored every corner with methodical thoroughness, claiming me from the inside out while Matteo continued tormenting my nipples with alternating attention.
I was being assaulted from three directions—Stefano's finger pumping steadily inside me, Marco's tongue claiming my mouth, Matteo's teeth and fingers working my chest. The synchronized attack left no possibility of defense, no capacity for anything but surrender. If they ever decided to quit the mafia business, they could make a fortune as a coordinated omega pleasure assault team. The Navy SEALs of orgasm extraction.
When Marco finally released my mouth, I was gasping for air, my chest heaving with desperate breaths. "More," I begged, all pretense of resistance abandoned. "Please… more. Deeper. Need… more. Like… drowning man… needs oxygen. Or addict… needs fix. Desperately."
