Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The round after Chance had figured out that they were quite possibly a were-plushie, they worked extra hard to protect their team. He took extra risky shots at the killer, (who happened to be Mafioso, one of Chance’s worst enemies) from around corners, worked to distract from vulnerable teammates, and even helped Elliot with first aid for a bit. He didn’t miss a single shot. Lady Luck was on his side tonight. It pleased him greatly to see the anguish and rage on Mafioso’s face as soon as the round ended and everyone was teleported back to camp.

Chance didn’t waste any time hopping into bed after a nightcap and quickly saying goodnight to his teammates. They were ready for the praise and snuggles he would get tonight after a good performance. God, did they yearn to be cozied up to Twotime, pet gently and kissed sweetly.

But as sleep took him slowly, a sense of unease washed over him. He did not feel safe in that moment.

Jolting awake, Chance found himself atop a tall shelf. A shelf that was not in the survivor’s common area. The view that the plush gambler was met with was nothing short of chilling. An office furnished with mahogany and elegant velvet chairs, glass double-doors leading out to a courtyard, and Tuscan style doors supposedly leading out to the hallway. It was gloomy and dark; brooding, one might call it. Far too refined to be part of the log cabins in the survivors camp. There was only one person in the world that he could connect to such an office, and the thought of that person coming in to see him like this terrified poor Chance.

As if on cue, Chance heard heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway, hard, expensive soles clicking against the hardwood floors. Muttered Italian got louder and angrier as the footsteps grew closer. Chance felt himself tense up out of habit, then forced himself to fall limp and keep his breath steady. The large mahogany doors leading to the office were slammed open, the tails of a black trenchcoat flapped and billowed like a flag as a towering figure stormed into the room, snarling like a wolf. The doors were promptly slammed shut with excessive force, echoing like a gunshot around the empty office. The figure stood with their palms against the doors, breathing heavily and suppressing the urge to damage any more of their own personal property.

Their gaze was cast upon the shelf that Chance sat on, and a chill of pure terror ran through Chance as he saw the figure’s face. Don Michael Sonnelino, mafioso and head of the Sonnelino family, a man Chance owed a heap of debt to, and a killer trapped within The Realm of the Forsaken, purely focused upon making Chance’s existence here a living hell.

Chance felt like running, reaching into his coat for his flintlock and shooting at the don in a desperate attempt to thwart him, but right now? He was either going to have to sit there and take whatever punishment was coming his way or risk getting torn apart like a leaf in a hurricane. They sat still as a statue, swallowing a lump in their throat as the mafioso paced up to him.

A leather glove was wrapped around Chance’s throat, squeezing tightly as he was brought to Sonnelino’s chest. His cologne was overpowering, tainted with sweat and cigar smoke, faintly metallic scented with the blood of Chance’s recently slaughtered teammates. A toy squeak emitted from Chance as his neck was crushed, a proper whimper threatening to escape his lips. Shutting his eyes tightly, Chance trembled as the mobster traced his clawed fingers over the plushie’s head.

“There’s only so long you can run from me, Chance,” Don Sonnelino spat, gripping Chance’s stuffing filled head. “I hope you feel every bit of pain I’m ‘bout to inflict on this thing.”

Chance felt all the wind get knocked from his lungs as he was thrust to the floor with the force and speed of a baseball. A heel swiftly met with the back of his head, grinding his face into the ground and causing the gambler to bite back screams at the anticipation of breaking bones. Nothing broke, of course, as plushies don’t have any bones, but the pain was comparable. No human was built to feel the pressure of their head being squished until the inside of the front half and the back half touched. No human was meant to feel their thoughts turn to senseless sludge as their brain was mashed.

“You fucking like that, you little freak? You like getting stomped out like a goddamn cigarette? Fucking fag?” Mafioso growled, lifting Chance’s head but keeping the rest of his body pinned to the floor with his foot. The gambler could feel the stitches on his neck straining to keep his head attached. He wasn’t sure if he was going to make it out alive or in one piece that night.

Chance had certainly felt limbs being ripped off before dying and respawning in the common area of the survivor camp, and he had certainly experienced decapitation on a few occasions, but this was certainly a different can of worms entirely. He would be alive for every agonizing second that he was torn apart, and there was no hope of a reprieve in the form of a brief death.

The gambler whined, squeezing his eyes shut. They couldn’t help but make noise when his whole body was being squeezed of all its breath. It was a mistake, really! Chance hadn’t meant to let any sounds of pain slip! Don Sonnelino stopped dead in his torture of the plush toy, hesitantly lifting his foot and nudging it lightly. Chance dared not make a sound or movement.

After a minute or two, the mafioso chuckled to himself and knelt down to pick up the toy version of his debtor, gripping Chance firmly around his arms and torso. Chance was held to Sonnelino’s face, catching the glint of his eyes just under the shadow of his wide brimmed fedora. He seemed amused at what he had thought he had heard.

“Not so tough now are ya’, Chancey boy?” The mob boss rumbled, squeezing Chance like a stress ball, stuffing threatening to burst the marksman’s seams. “If only I could catch you at this size, I’d have you squealing like the rat you are. Squeeze your eyes right out of your goddamn skull.~”

Don Sonnelino seemed to delight in the images he conjured, grinning sadistically and showing off his unnaturally sharp teeth. Chance was on the verge of pissing themselves, if they had a bladder. They feared no other killer as much as they feared Mafioso. He was brutal, as ruthless and sadistic and dangerous as a medieval warlord. Chance had seen what could happen to anyone who crossed him and dared hesitate before being caught. That’s why Chance could never afford a moment to be caught. Sonnelino was right; Chance couldn’t run forever, especially not now when the Don was frustrated and aching to let his anger out on a seemingly inanimate object.

As soon as Don Sonnelino grabbed Chance’s face and began to squeeze, blocking all air from entering the poor plushie’s lungs and causing agonizing pressure to build until Chance swore they could feel their brains oozing out of their ears and blood vessels bursting in their eyes, the plush was helpless against his own instincts to survive.

The plush toy thrashed in Mafioso’s hands, lifting digitless paws to ‘claw’ at the large man’s callous fingers, letting out a muffled scream into the Don’s palm, kicking with all his might. It was a helpless, bloodcurdling, stomach churning scream of a man that felt he was on the brink of death. Not a sound anyone would expect to come from a toy.

Don Sonnelino promptly chucked the toy at a wall, cussing loudly in Italian. Chance cried out pathetically as the wind was knocked from his lungs once again, pain radiating through his entire body as he bounced off the wall. He hit the floor with a heavy thud, and he curled into a ball, groaning in pain. He may not have bones to break, nor organs to rupture, nor blood to lose, but that made all the pain just that much worse.

The plush shielded their face as they were quickly grabbed by the collar of their coat and lifted like a cat. He felt the world sway as he was rushed across the room, and he nearly vomited on the spot as he was dangled precariously over the open fireplace, flames licking at the bottoms of his feet and heat roaring in his ears.

“Tell me what the fuck you are or I’ll drop you in the fire,” The Don snarled, holding Chance as far away from himself as possible.

Chance had never seen Sonnelino this obviously afraid. Of course, his anger at his fear was all the more reason to answer quickly, as it was quite obvious that the Don wasn’t bluffing. He never was one to bluff.

“Mickey, c’mon!! We can talk this out! Just put me down! N-Not in the fire! Please please please please!! I’ll shut up, I’ll be a good toy, I don’t wanna’ die! I can’t getcha’ your money if I die here, please!”

Chance clung to the mafioso’s hand, lifting his feet to his body as Don Sonnelino’s grip faltered for a moment. Sonnelino didn’t say a single word as the gears turned in his head, his rabbit-like nose twitching in mild agitation. His long, black ears laid flat against his head as he stared at Chance clinging to his arm like a frightened animal.

As the plush version of Chance looked up to Don Sonnelino, embroidered grimace trembling much in the way the real Chance’s lips would quiver whenever he was caught during a round. The mafioso slowly backed away from the fireplace, still holding the sentient plushie at an arm’s length. Chance was carefully lifted to eye level and studied inscrutably, ice gray eyes searching over his felt sunglasses.

“Answer my fucking question. If I don’t like yer’ answer, you’re gonna’ be incinerated,” Sonnelino threatened, his voice steady. What truly gave away his fear was his pinprick pupils, darting frantically over the toy in his hand, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not this was real.

Chance gulped, swinging in the mafioso’s hand.

“I-It’s me. Chance? I-I-I really don’t know how I got here, I don’t want to be here. Please, Don, you’ve gotta’ believe me. Just lemme’ go, I’ll be outta’ your hair, I won’t come back ever again! Last you’ll hear from me! Hey, I’ll even stay out of your way during rounds when you’re the killer! Just don’t put me in the fire, Mr. Sonnelino.”

The don considered Chance’s words for a moment before relaxing his broad shoulders, a wicked grin creeping across his lips.

Chance did not like this reaction. It foretold a bad fate for him.

“Oh Chance,” Sonnelino crooned, pulling Chance closer to his face and tilting his head in condescension. “It’s just my luck that you ended up in my hands this evening, powerless to defend yourself or escape. Do you really think I’d let you go that easy? When a golden opportunity has fallen right into my lap?”

Chance grinned sheepishly and shrugged, lifting his paws.

“Maybe? If I were real nice about it?” Chance squeaked.

Don Sonnelino let out a humorless chuckle, tossing Chance in the air slightly before wrapping his hand tightly around their middle, pinning their little plush arms to their body. The mob boss had been reminded of his inherent power over Chance, which was just reinforced by the situation he had been dropped into. It was one hell of a coincidence, but it was a welcome surprise.

“You really are as stupid as you look,” Sonnelino remarked, heading for the door leading into the hallway. “I’m gonna’ make sure that every minute you spend here is a living hell. Even if you’re here to spy on us in your disarming little disguise, I’m sure my boys wouldn’t let your cuddly lil’ face get in the way of driving a certain point home.”

The plushie swallowed hard. ‘My boys’, referring to the Sonnelino Mafia’s strongest soldiers, sent ice into Chance’s very soul. Four of Don Sonnelino’s most ruthless, brutal, loyal, persistent men, all of which were dedicated to making sure Chance wouldn’t get away from their boss during rounds. Four men that Chance had been face to face with far too many times and four men that he knew would take great delight in torturing him that night.

“A-And what point would that be?” Chance dared to ask, shrinking into himself as the mafioso strode down the dark, imposing halls of his mansion, heading for his soldier’s parlor. The gambler was quite lucky that the whole Sonnelino mafia was not forsaken with the don, and only 4 in a chain of command were admitted.

A pair of double doors were wide open to the hallway, smoke and laughter and jazz music emanating from the room. As the mob boss entered the room, two gentlemen sitting on the couch, one by the pool table and another at the bar looked up to greet their boss, but all merriment stopped as they locked eyes with the thing their boss was holding.

“Uhhh, boss?” A man on the couch, wearing a chauffeur's cap and vest asked. “Is that a uhh… doll?”

Don Sonnelino grinned, gripping Chance harder before tossing him onto the coffee table. Everyone gathered around to look at the strange creature that was thrown to them like a piece of steak to a pack of hungry wolves. Chance scooted back as far as he could from the towering onlookers, gripping his blazer like a safety blanket.

“Shit,” One of the mafia men breathed. This was the caporegime, captain of the team. “Is it alive?”

Vincent poked Chance hesitantly with his billiards cue, as if trying to discern if a piece of roadkill was still breathing, and if he should put it out of its misery. Chance pushed the cue away and slid backwards, gazing frightfully up at the caporegime.

“As far as you four are concerned, it’s Chance,” Sonnelino growled, lighting a cigar for himself as he circled the table. “I want it taken care of. I want him to remember tonight, but leave him alive. Am I clear, gentlemen?”

A murmur of understanding passed around the room before the mafioso turned to leave the room, coat tails billowing. Before the doors shut, Don Sonnelino turned his head, exhaling a ring of smoke, and smiled at his men.

“I expect a thorough job done. Do as you see fit. G’night, boys.”

A collective “Night, boss” was exchanged, and the doors to the parlor were shut. The room was silent for a moment as the mafia men assessed the sentient plush toy that had been flung their way.

Chance was surrounded by the group of men, blocking out most light from the ornate lamps decorating the room. He scooted as close to the middle as he could get, and curled up on himself, peeking between his arms at the mafia men grinned down at him.

“Well well well,~” a snide, gaunt man in white said. “Looks like we’ve got a special little guest visiting us tonight.~”

This man was Don Sonnelino’s consigliere, only a rank under him. His name was Beaux Neige. Chance recognized Neige immediately, his tall white top hat and nasal voice had become an omen for the gambler. Any time he saw the consigliere coldly brandishing his sword in the distance, whispering with his boss and cackling high and nasally, like a crow, Chance knew he only had a few minutes to get the hell out of there. Beaux never allowed himself to be seen by targets until he had nailed down their location and was about to strike. Chance hated how arrogant he looked, all fancy-schmancy and nonchalant before unleashing a previously unseen fury and unhinged madness upon Chance as he darted around alleyways.
Beaux extended a silk gloved hand and tilted Chance’s chin upwards with one finger, sneering a grin in amusement at the toy in front of him.

“Did somebody lose their dolly?” the consigliere taunted, pouting his lip slightly and tilting his head in mock sympathy. He laughed, the other goons joining in his jeers as Chance shivered. Not just from fear, but something else. Something that he could not let these men see from him.

“Awh, poor thing,” the man in the leather vest and chauffeur’s cap cooed, getting right in Chance’s face, pinching his cheek. He reeked of whiskey and black coffee, and his teeth were yellowing. “He can’t even fight back, he’s so itty-bitty! Look at his sweet little hat and coat, all fancied up for a tea party.~”

This man was the lowest ranking man in the Sonnelino mafia, merely an associate, a contract killer that would help the mafia in exchange for pay and security. Anthony Esposito, though low ranking, was as ruthless as the made-men, taking great joy in getting to kill as messily as he could manage, then making it look like an accident. He wasn’t as clean as the others, but that’s what differentiated him from the men that had spent almost their entire lives and careers in the mafia. Chance was lucky to escape him the first few times before he had been Forsaken, but now that he was in an endless loop of life and death, Chance might have become Tony’s newest favorite target.

“Don’t take it so harshly, shortstack,” A Russian accent rumbled from behind Chance, snatching his fedora off his plush head. Chance grabbed his head too late, whirling around to look up at who was messing with him now. “‘Itty-bitty’ is good when it comes to toys. Means they’re easier to break.~”

The Russian henchman was the largest and strongest of the group, bulging biceps exposed by his rolled up sleeves, littered in scars and thick hair, and a fur ushkana sitting on his head. It was hard to see the white rabbit ears poking out the top of it, but they twitched and swiveled, trying to pick up any noises of discomfort from his new toy. This was Aleksandr ‘Sasha’ Volkov. He was one of Don Sonnelino’s favorite pet soldiers. Not just admired for his brute strength, but his obedience and dedication to the job. Too many times now had Chance gotten his teeth knocked out by Sasha. Too many times now had Chance flinched at the merest suggestion of a Russian accent.

“Oh, don’t break it, Sasha,” a fat, bald man in sunglasses chided. “I want a turn with him before we gotta’ send him home.~”

This was the caporegime of one of Don Sonnelino’s teams, leading soldiers on missions, Vincent Sfumato. From what Chance remembered about the guy, he was a cop that was corrupted by the Sonnelino mafia. After retiring early, he used his skills from his previous job to train and recruit soldiers. He had a hot temper and an even hotter left-hook. He took any and every opportunity to be on the field, taking out targets and subduing them with his useful ‘crowd control’ tactics, ie; his baton and his fists. Chance had thought he could outrun the old man when they first met. They severely underestimated Vincent. They came out of the experience clinging to life by a thread, bloody and battered and bruised. 6 broken ribs, internal hemorrhaging in his intestines and lungs, a concussion, and broken blood vessels in the eyes. Chance was sure there was more damage, but he couldn’t quite remember the long list of ailments the nurse had read to him on his hospital bed. Too high from the morphine.

Consigliere Beaux, Caporegime Vincent, Soldier Sasha, and Contractee Tony. Four of the men Chance had been ruthlessly harangued and beaten by these last few months in limbo. And now they had more than an hour to catch him and torture him, no time limits, no constraints, and no boss to tell them to back down. And Chance wasn’t full sized, so he couldn’t run or fight back or shoot at them. The mafia had the clear advantage here, besides being on home turf. They really could do anything they wanted to him, and the thought frankly aroused him.

“What are we gonna’ do to ‘im, Cap? We got any protocols for what to do with fluffy little teddy bears?” Tony asked, looking hopefully to Vincent, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

Vincent chuckled darkly and lifted Chance into his arms, cradling him like a baby doll. Chance kicked and squirmed, trying to scoot as far away from Vincent’s face as possible, but the caporegime held tight, his rough, massive hands keeping Chance pinned in the crook of his arm against his chest. God, his hands were about just as big as Chance’s whole body, massive and warm and heavy. Chance was gently bounced and made kissy noises at, a humiliated burn coming across their cheeks.

“I’ll tell ya’ what we’re gonna’ do with our new toy,” Vince cooed, baby talking down at Chance. “We’re gonna’ play with him.~”

“Ah,” Sasha sighed, a grin splitting his chapped lips. “I’ve been working far too long to remember what it is to play. I’ve been needing a break.~”

Sasha reached out for Chance’s face before scratching him gently behind where his ears aught to be, underneath his fabric headphones. It was too soft, too gentle and sweet of an action for it to be coming from a mobster. Chance’s breath picked up as warm waves washed over their body, warming his loins and instinctively making his thighs squeeze together. They unconsciously leaned into Sasha’s hand before jolting back and grimacing at what he had just felt. Everyone had certainly noticed his reaction.

“Awwwh, cute lil’ fella likes being pet!”

“You like that, boy? You like being a good puppy for us?”

“You want a belly-rub, Fido? Huh? Does the puppy wanna’ belly rub?”

“Dawww, c’mon boy, speak!”

Chance covered his mouth with a paw and whimpered, tilting his head back as Beaux began to gently scratch his chin. Their knees trembled slightly as the consigliere began wrapping his slender hand around his throat and squeezing lightly.

“I said ‘speak,’ mutt,” Beaux growled, squeezing tighter and lifting Chance from Vincent’s arms, holding him above his head and sneering up at him.

Chance swallowed hard, holding Beaux’s hand and trying to pry his fingers off of him to no avail. Beaux’s hand wrapped fully around Chance’s neck, choking the gambler and not allowing any more air into his lungs. A strangled dog-toy sound came from his throat as he kicked and coughed and gasped for air.

“C’mon, Chancey boy, play along,” Beaux said through gritted teeth, grinning like a madman. “What does the doggy say?”

Chance’s loins throbbed as he was choked out and compared to a dog, biting his lower lip as his vision swam and darkened at the edges. All he could manage to form with his struggling throat and trembling lips was one choked word;

“W-w-Woof….”

Chance’s was dropped to the floor with a dull thud. His lungs suddenly flooded with fresh oxygen, and his squeaker released the squeak it had been holding onto. He coughed and rubbed his neck with his paws, gasping for air as he kneeled on his hands and knees in the middle of the mafia parlor. Chance momentarily slipped a paw between their legs and tried to soothe their aching phantom cock, they didn’t care if they embarrassed themselves.

A leather boot was quickly scooped underneath Chance’s body, forcing him to flip onto his back. The sole of said boot pinned him in place
by the pelvis, a giant leering down at him as he squirmed.

“Oh fellas?” Tony, the owner of the leather boots, sang, pressing his sole gently into Chance’s crotch. “I think we all saw that, didn’t we?”

Chance’s breath caught in his throat as he was forced to make eye contact with the contractee, heart beating a million miles a minute, cock throbbing and begging for more contact and more humiliation.

“That dirty fucking mutt,” Vince grinned, crossing his arms disapprovingly at the plushie pinned to the floor. “He’s gettin’ off on being played with, isn’t he?”

Beaux knelt down beside Chance and rested his chin on his fist, eyes roving over his soft plush body, causing his face to burn at the scrutiny.

“This isn’t unlike you, is it, Chance?” Beaux sang, more stating a fact than asking a question. “You get off on your own humiliation, dontcha’?”

The room was silent as they waited for a response. Chance had been caught. Of course he got off on humiliation. He got off on being manhandled, treated like a toy, called names, and humiliated. This whole situation sat as inherently sexual in the gambler’s mind, and there was no getting out of the inevitable. He was either going to get a different type of punishment or the mafia was going to keep playing with him until he came. The gambler’s stuffing clouded mind found itself wishing more for the latter. They swore their lust would be the death of them.

“I do,” Chance admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I get off on being humiliated….”

The room erupted in uproarious laughter around Chance. Teary eyed, slapping knees, holding each other as they tripped over their own feet, the goons seemed genuinely amused by this news. Far more amused than Chance had ever seen them before. As the laughter slowly died down, Beaux grabbed Chance by the chin and hummed.

“You wanna’ get fucked by us, pretty boy?~” Beaux whispered, breath whistling between his bleach white teeth.

Chance nodded, bucking his hips slightly against Tony’s boot, breathing heavily and struggling to keep eye contact with the mafia’s consigliere. They needed it. They needed it from these men specifically.

“Please keep humiliating me, fellas. Please.~”

Tony stepped hard onto Chance’s crotch, grinning sadistically as Chance’s head hit the floor and his back arched. A low, shaky moan was raked from his lips as his cock was crushed by the giant boot between his legs.

“Safe-word is ‘Gubby’, sweetheart~,” Tony purred as he ground his filthy, heavy boot into Chance, staining his fabric with a big, black bootprint. “Repeat it back t’me.”

“S-Safe-word is ‘Gubby’, got it,” Chance repeated back, committing the word to memory. It would be easy to remember, as the Sonnelino mafia was famous for being made up entirely of Gubby hybrids, recognizable for their rabbit ears and cottontails.

Chance was placed back on the coffee table and surrounded by the goons, poked and prodded and teased by them as he whined and eagerly leaned into their touches. Sasha petted his hair, tugging on it occasionally to get a reaction, only at the base of his ponytail, close to his scalp. Vincent groped under Chance’s little custom made blazer, feeling up the soft fluffy fabric of his ‘skin’, tracing his callous thumbs over where his nipples would have been. Chance was happy to see that they still had sensation there, despite not having any nipples sewn on. Beaux traced his fingers over the seams of Chance’s crotch and ass, dancing tantalizingly just out of reach of where they wanted to be touched. And Tony massaged and pinched Chance’s plastic bead filled ass and paws, tickling his toe-beans with the tips of his fingers. It was all almost too much for the gambler to take, so many sensations happening at once.

“What a fuckin’ pervert,” Vincent chided, squeezing Chance’s chest between his thumb and index finger. “Betcha’ you were wishing we could do this to your non-pint-sized body, eh? You wanna’ be felt up by a bunch of men, all stronger and smarter than you?”

Chance arched their back and whimpered, squeezing their thighs together as heat quickly pooled between them. They liked being handled like this, with so many men paying attention to him, degrading him for enjoying the treatment.

“He’s a pretty little faggot, no?” Sasha joined in, yanking Chance’s hair so that he was looking up at all of them. “It’s like he was made just for our pleasure.~”

“Call me that again,” Chance purred, looking up to Sasha, mouth slightly hanging open. “Please.”

The soldier grinned and slid his thumb up to Chance’s mouth, a little surprised as the plush took it into his mouth, lapping at it and sucking on it obediently.

“Pretty little faggot.~ Licking my fingers like you’re sucking cock.~ I’ll bet that’s really what you want in your mouth, eh doggy?”

Chance nodded, sucking with a little more fervor. His velvet tongue swirled around Sasha’s finger, his stuffed cheeks hollowing around the intrusion. They nearly choked as it was shoved further, touching the back of their tongue and tickling their throat. They gagged slightly, but didn’t pull away, sighing through their nose to keep their breaths even.

“Good boy~,” Beaux praised, running a hand down Chance’s neck. Sasha pressed his thumb further into Chance’s eager mouth, causing the poor plushie’s neck to bulge slightly at the intrusion. It was so goddamn big, but that’s just how Chance liked it. Fuck it really was like sucking cock. Cock that stroked his tongue and wiggled deeper inside of him, exploring his throat.

“Oh, honey~,” Beaux chuckled, squeezing Chance’s neck slightly. “I can feel Aleks’ finger bulging through your throat.~ You’ve definitely sucked cock before, haven’tcha’?”

Chance let out a muffled moan in affirmation. He had sucked cock before, and he was a fucking champ at it. It was one of his most favorite things to do in the world; swallowing around a salty, throbbing organ probing into his esophagus, blocking breaths until he was seeing stars and turning blue, drunk on the taste of sperm and ball sweat. But Aleksandr’s fingers didn’t taste like that at all. They were soft, clean, and tasted of maple syrup and butter. It was just as intoxicating though. Along with that cruel grin that the soldier kept giving him. It likely wasn’t intended to be cruel, as that was just how his face was shaped, but either way, it sent a thrill down Chance’s spine and into their loins.

Sasha slowly removed his thumb, leaving Chance chasing the digit with his tongue, groaning and panting heavily. The soldier just chuckled and ran his finger down Chance’s tongue as a parting gesture.

Tony growled, grabbing a cigar off the table and lighting it with a match. He inhaled deeply, holding his breath for a moment, eyes closed in bliss, before exhaling the rich smoke through his nose, sighing in gratification. He took another puff from the cigar and exhaled it directly in Chance’s face as he made eye contact with the plush, smoke curling around the plush laying on the coffee table. Chance coughed, fanning the smoke away from himself and squinting up at the contractor.

“Better thank me for the secondhand smoke, pal,” Tony told the doll, leaning against the table and holding the cigar in his teeth. “I should be charging you for every gram of Cuban tobacco I’m burning here. $50 a cigar, that’s more than you get paid in a week. C’mon, breathe it in, it’s not every day a tramp like you gets to be around goods this refined.”

He held the cigar between two fingers before getting eye level with Chance and blowing smoke directly into their face, laughing as the gambler scrunched his face and coughed, hacking like he had phlegm stuck in his throat. But after a moment, he breathed the air, suppressing the urge to cough. It did smell and taste nice, and had a rich, smooth texture as it entered his lungs. It wasn’t as fancy as the cigars that Don Sonnelino frequently smoked, with the chocolatey smell that seemed to be infused into them, and the fancy gold labels. It was sort of nice to get the ‘scraps’ of a nice smoke tossed in his direction without having to pay for such a treat.

“Atta’ boy~,” Tony praised, cupping Chance’s cheek and taking another drag from his cigar. He leaned in and pressed an open mouthed kiss to Chance’s embroidered lips, smoke cascading into his own mouth.

Chance pressed his face closer, breathing the rich smoke deeply and greedily, a few ribbons escaping from the corners of their lips. Tony waited until Chance had gotten a nice deep breath before pulling him closer by the waist, deepening their kiss and shoving his entire massive tongue into Chance’s eager mouth. He tasted bitter, like coffee aftertaste and tobacco smoke, but it was a kind of disgusting bitterness that aroused Chance, the kind that seeped into his mouth as an acquired taste, turning his very soul black as tar as he yearned for more of the mafia man’s saliva spreading over his tongue. Chance hardly had a moment to initiate a dance with the muscle filling his mouth and stretching his jaw before Tony pulled back, lips wet and glossy. Chance had saliva dripping down his chin, soaking into his fur, smelling of smoke and black coffee. He panted, knees nearly buckling as Tony sat back up, drawing his hands away from Chance’s back and cheek. They hadn’t even realized that Tony was holding them up when they had kissed.

The contract killer licked his teeth and lips, grinning down at Chance like the cat who got the cream, abnormally sharp teeth glistening in the ambers of his lit cigar.

“Yer a bad kisser, y’know that?” Tony remarked. “Y’Didn’t even suck on my tongue or nothin’.”

Chance couldn’t even argue. He had been told he was bad at kissing on a few occasions, but this shouldn’t have been one of those times! He was just shocked at the sudden intrusion.

“Cat gotcher’ tongue, cupcake?~” Tony teased, passing his cigar to Vincent, nodding at him to silently give permission for him to enjoy it as well. “Well, at least we’ve got a solution when we can’t getcha’ to shut the fuck up. Better watch your mouth next round.~”

Vince pulled a drag from the cigar and coolly exhaled smoke from the side of his mouth, causing a grey cloud to settle over the coffee table, making the room slightly fuzzier around the edges and surrounding Chance in a slightly eerie fog.

“What the hell are we supposed to do if we want him talking?” Vincent asked, gazing down at the plush sitting on the table, still slightly trembling and swooning from the kiss. The caporegime offered the cigar to the man directly to his right, Beaux.

“Easy,” Beaux replied, taking the cigar from Vincent’s hands and flicking ash over Chance’s fedora like snow. “We do this;”

Chance’s arm was grabbed swiftly and pinned to the table before the ember of the tip was pressed into his wrist. Burning, nerve singing pain shot up the gambler’s arm, dragging a yelp of pain from their mouth. The synthetic fabric melted and blackened underneath the lit cigar, sizzling and popping like grease. Oddly enough, the smell of burnt plastic remained undetectable, instead, the air filled with the unmistakable scent of burning flesh and human hair.

“Fuck!! Jesus, alright! Take it off! Take it off! Fuuuck!!” Chance shouted, trying to yank his arm from the consigliere’s grip, but only getting the cigar pressed further into his delicate fabric. Consigliere grinned sadistically at the agony he was inflicting.

Hot, throbbing pain continued to course through Chance’s arm even as the cigar was withdrawn. Beaux smoothed his thumb over the circular burn mark and admired his work, biting his lower lip in satisfaction. Chance bit back a whimper as the sensitive ‘flesh’ was touched, heat sparking at the ends of his nerves like the fire that had burned him was now living in his veins.

“Violà, gentlemen,” Beaux boasted, showing off Chance’s scarred plush arm to the other men. “Gets him t’ talk, and it’ll serve as a reminder to the lil’ punk who exactly is in charge.”

Chance collapsed to his knees, running a paw over his new burn scar, trembling as heat surged through his veins and directly to his loins. They hissed in pain, but the pain was pleasurable. It quickly gave way to the fuzzy, floaty feeling they would frequently get when sexually aroused. It was nice to feel such strong sensations that all other noise was drowned out, and the gambler was in their own paradise.

“What do we say to Mr. Neige when he gives you a gift, gambler?” Vince growled down at the plush, crossing his arms and lowering his sunglasses slightly.

“Th-Thank you, Mr. Neige,” Chance breathed, turning his gaze to the consigliere and offering a shaky smile. He was on the verge of tears from the sensations coursing through his body right then. It felt sooooo good, it was a genuine ‘thanks’ to the man that had bestowed such pleasure upon him. Fuck, if it hadn’t been for Beaux, he wouldn’t have even gotten the good type of torture. These men knew how to induce pain without killing someone, and that was one step away from BDSM.

“I’ll be taking notes for the next time we run into him,” Sasha said, peering down at Chance with a wistful expression. “May I? Just as practice for the real thing.”

Beaux nodded and passed the half-burnt cigar to Sasha, leaning against the couch and observing what the younger man was preparing to do. Sasha didn’t waste any time laying Chance down on the table and yanking his blazer and shirt to the side to expose his chest. The gambler grinned and leaned his head to the side, allowing Sasha room to work.

The soldier slowly lowered the cigar to where Chance’s collarbone would have been. As soon as the ember made contact with his fabric, Chance let out a moan, long and breathless and high. He tried not to squirm or thrash, biting his lip and clenching his eyes shut. It sent wave after wave of white hot pain through Chance’s body, leaving periods of dizzying pleasure in between each wave. Sasha ground the cigar into Chance’s fur, twirling it between his fingers and singeing a new blackened spot into the gray fabric.

“Ay, don’t snub it out. We’re gonna smoke the resta’ that later,” Vince warned the soldier. He got up from his spot on the couch and gently shooed Sasha out of the way, holding out an ashtray for him to place the half finished cigar in.

Sasha obeyed, pulling the cigar away from Chance’s neck and gently placing it in the ash tray, making sure that the tip was still glowing. Sasha’s grip on Chance was released, and Chance finally had room to breathe. The gambler trembled and whimpered, a dopey smile stitched across his plush face. The mafia men snickered down at him through the heavy smoke, teeth and eyes gleaming in the low light as Chance stroked his neck, breathing heavily as he tried to force his swimming vision to focus.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better I’d say he looks ready for the main event,” Beaux crooned, unbuckling his belt, white rabbit ears twitching and flicking in anticipation.

The other mobsters seemed to agree, chuckling and growling as they slipped off their dress shoes. Chance immediately sat up as the circle of men closed around the coffee table. Their stomach was doing somersaults, their heart was in their throat, they wanted to be passed around like a blunt, used like the toy they were, cum on and inside of like a cheap whore. But they lacked something crucial.

Beaux slammed a gloved hand on the coffee table, the silver flash of a pocket knife catching Chance’s eyes. Seems that the consigliere also noticed that Chance was lacking something.

“But first,” He whispered, looming over Chance, a crazed, manic grin stretched across his weathered face. “A little surgery is necessary.~”

Chance felt cold metal prod at his crotch, causing them to flinch slightly. A switchblade, which Chance recognized as Beaux’s custom made knife, with an ivory handle and silver details, a curly ‘S’ etched into the end of the handle, was poking Chance’s crotch, digging into the stitches holding it together. Chance realized immediately what the consigliere’s plans were; he was going to cut a hole into him to fuck.

“Grab his arms and legs, boys,” Beaux ordered, voice taking on a mafioso-esque quality. “Make sure he can’t get away.~”

Tony grabbed Chance by the wrists while Sasha held one of his legs and Vince held the other. Chance was spread eagle on the coffee table, exposed and ready to be dissected like a specimen. Beaux laughed breathily as he brandished his knife in one hand, looking over the soft, plush body of a man he had hunted for endless years, pupils dilating like a shark’s as his prey trembled under his gaze. It was obvious that Beaux was going to enjoy this as much as Chance was.

Slowly, the consigliere lowered the tip of his switchblade to Chance’s crotch once again, and he traced shapes into the plushie’s thighs, plucking at his taut stitches like guitar strings. Every pluck and gentle scratch sent shivers up Chance’s body, making his eyes roll and his thighs instinctively clench. Then men holding him down didn’t relent though, keeping their grips firm on all of his limbs.

Beaux was focused, his hands steady and his eyes narrowed as he very carefully pressed down on an exposed thread. All tension in Chance’s nethers snapped as the first stitch was cut. The gambler sighed in relief, feeling as if a pair of tight trousers had suddenly ripped, releasing his arousal and baring him to the 4 men toying with him. Of course, Chance had nothing down there, only stuffing, so no cock sprang forth from their stitches, their pants (which were part of their body) staying intact. Beaux carefully worked to untangle the thread from the holes through the fabric, slowly working the plush open and exposing the soft, fluffy stuffing inside of him. And when the final stitch was removed, the open rip stretching all the way down Chance’s ass, the consigliere tied a knot with the thread at the base of his new hole, ensuring he wouldn’t unravel all the way. Beaux then sank the blade of his knife into Chance’s hole and swirled it around, stirring his insides gently, the tip of the blade poking at his tummy from the inside. Chance whimpered and arched his back, gazing down at the sharp bulge in his abdomen, moaning as it scratched down the fabric as it was pulled out agonizingly slowly.

“It’s a shame you can’t bleed, Chancey boy,” Vincent purred, leaning down close to Chance’s ear and whispering sensually into it. He curled two large fingers into Chance’s stuffing filled hole and scissored them, stretching the gambler wider for him. “We coulda’ used it as lube while we passed you around. I’m sure we would have enjoyed that very much.~”

Chance squirmed and moaned as fingers filled him up from the inside, touching some place sensitive close to his stomach. He didn’t even realize he could have a prostate as a plushie, but then again, most human sensations managed to stay after his plush transformation.

“V-Vinnie—” Chance choked, looking down at the man finger fucking him, little felt glasses furrowing like eyebrows. “I’m gonna’ cum, s-slow down.”

The caporegime pulled his fingers out and chuckled, squeezing Chance’s waist with one large, calloused hand, his gold ring digging into Chance’s hip.

“Savin’ your energy for the boys, aren’tcha’? Atta’ girl, you know who you belong to.~”

Chance whimpered loudly at that comment, swearing he could feel slick sliding down his thighs.

The goons finally released their grips on Chance and slowly backed up. To the marksman’s surprise, Beaux had worked his trousers off and was now jerking his erect cock in one hand, sneering down at the plushie laid out on the table for him. It was slender and nearly 5 inches in length. It reminded Chance of Two-Time’s cock, except for the thick yellow fur around Beaux’s balls, leading up his tummy in a trail. It leaned to the left, ever so slightly, but that didn’t make it any less appealing. The tip blushed pink, every twitch eliciting a bubble of precum, which drooled down the side of his shaft before quickly being spread over it by Beaux’s hand.

“We’re going by rank, gentlemen,” Beaux panted, focusing on hardening his cock to be standing perfectly on its own. Judging by his looks, he may have been struggling to keep an erection for a prolonged time. “I get to stake my claim on this bitch first, then you can do what you like. But right now, he’s fucking mine, got it?”

“Whaaat? That means I gotta’ go last when you fellas have got your spunk all over ‘im?” Tony whined, tossing his hands up in exasperation. “C’mon, buddy, sharing is caring!”

Beaux did not take this humorously, and snarled at Tony, actually fucking snarled, like a wolf, curling his lip and ears laying flat agaisnt his head.

“Don’t you dare make a fucking complaint. I cut him open, I’ve gots first dibs. You can duke it out amongst yourselves while I relieve myself,” the consigliere growled, eyes watering as he squeezed his erection. Tony didn’t seem too phased, playfully muttering something about being ‘pent up,’ and just rolled his eyes before offering rock-paper-scissors with Sasha. “Now, if you’d excuse me.”

Beaux snatched Chance off of the table and immediately placed the tip of his weeping cock at his entrance, warm stuffing tickling against his skin and inviting him to come deeper. Chance hardly had a second to react before Beaux thrust his whole shaft deep inside of him, making his stomach bulge. The gambler screamed in pleasure and pain, never having been stretched that far before. The girth of Beaux’s cock was nearly enough to fill his whole pelvis, and the head of his cock throbbed just below Chance’s neck. It was deeper than anything had ever been in their body, and it was going to take some adjusting.

But he wasn’t given a moment to adjust before Beaux gripped Chance’s body and dragged his cock out all the way to the tip, then slammed the entire length back in all the way to the hilt. Chance felt like screaming again, but the nauseous sensation of overwhelming arousal caused his voice to fall flat halfway through, trailing off into a whimper.

“Be gentle, Beaux,” Sasha soothed, his accent softly flowing through the words. “He’s only a little doll. He’s screaming, zaichonok.”

Chance didn’t recognize the Russian word Sasha punctuated his sentence with, but whatever it meant, it caused Beaux’s grip to relax a little, and his sexually frustrated shaking to lessen. A word Chance had never heard from the consigliere escaped his trembling lips;

“S-Sorry.”

Whether it was directed at him or at Sasha, Chance didn’t care. He just bucked his hips and groaned, spreading his legs wide for the man desecrating his insides.

“Just keep fucking me, dammit,” Chance breathed. “You’ve been teasing me all night, I just need a little relief. Please, Beaux…”

“I don’t take orders from sluts,” Beaux hissed, holding his knife to Chance’s neck. 

The consigliere thrust his hips upward into the fleshlight sized man in his hands, biting back groans as his cock leaked obscene amounts of sticky precum into Chance’s stuffing. His balls met with Chance’s ass, slapping slightly as he shallowly and in a very restrained manner fucked Chance’s hole. Chance just stayed in place, allowing whatever to happen, fearing that Beaux would cut his head off if he dared move. He was crazy enough to.

Beaux slowly sped up, grunting loudly, and gasping, now bunny-humping Chance, hunching over him. Chance just let his limbs hang limp as he was pounded into, mouth hanging open as he felt the warm oozing tip of Beaux’s cock prod into his head, rearranging the stuffing and making his vision spin. The blade of the knife dug into his neck ever so slightly as he leaned forward. It felt so damn good, he was on the precipice of an orgasm, teetering just on the edge.

But as Beaux thrust deeper and harder, crying out at every thrust, Chance realized he may not get the opportunity to cum if Beaux came first. But as soon as the final thrust was planted, and hot white spurts of cum shot forth into Chance’s hole, filling him up like a cream donut, warm cum leaking out around the massive intrusion inside of him, all thoughts in the gambler’s mind came to a screeching halt. Chance sighed in bliss as Beaux gripped his middle, choking on a desperate moan.

The consigliere stood with Chance around his cock, panting like he had run a hundred miles, and shaking like he hardly had the energy to hold himself up. Chance just chuckled, gazing up at Beaux’s reddened face and sleepy eyes, before the older man used his top hat to block his face from Chance’s view, mumbling in shame before pulling out and sheathing his blade. Cum leaked from Chance’s plush hole, spilling down his legs in creamy globs before he was offered to Vincent, the caporegime.

“Hey, Beaux, take a load off, babes,” Vincent urged, patting the spot beside him on the couch. “Easy, easy. Just breathe. Ain’t nothin’ gonna’ stop you from takin’ a breather.”

Beaux just grumbled and flopped onto the couch, still hiding his face with his hat, cock softening between his legs. Chance didn’t see what else was going on as he turned his head to prepare to be fucked again, but be felt Vincent and Beaux lean into each other momentarily before parting. The capo then carefully slipped off his pants and boxers, exposing his cock to the cool air, groaning in relief.

It was a little shorter than Beaux’s at 5 inches, but it was girthier, his dick was uncut, and his fur was dark and thick and curly. His entire stomach was covered in dark hair, and as Vince unbuttoned his vest and shirt, it was revealed that his chest was also a carpet of beautiful, thick hair. Chance would have never imagined that such treasures awaited him under that specific mafia man’s uniform.

“You’re staring, puppy-dog,” Vincent purred, stroking his cock and peeling back his foreskin, revealing his swollen glans. “You like whatcha’ see?”

“I— I think I do,” Chance answered slowly, the realization dawning on him that he found all of Don Sonnelino’s men sexually attractive. “Fuck, man. I think I really like what I see.”

Vince picked Chance up, both hands wrapped around his waist and aligned him with his twitching cock. He lowered his sunglasses and looked Chance in the eye before continuing, deep black eyes glimmering soulfully.

“Does the puppy want his treat?~” Vince teased, reaching a hand under Chance’s shirt and caressing him.

“Yes! I want my treat!! Please!”

“Then beg for it, you dirty fucking mutt.”

Chance didn’t even wait to process what was said to him as he bucked his hips and whined, throwing his head back in frustration.

“Put it in, you bastard! I’m not gonna’ fuckin’ beg!”

“Guess you don’t need that bad then,” Vince shrugged, pulling his cock away from the toy’s entrance. “Poor pup. I was lookin’ forward to breeding you.”

Chance wrapped his legs around Vincent’s cock, whining in desperation as he tried to coax the man back into position. He turned his gaze up to the capo’s eyes, placing his paws together in prayer to the god currently playing with his fate for the night.

“Fine! Geez! Please fuck me, Vinnie? Pretty please?”

“You’re gonna’ have to do better than that, princess,” Vincent growled, squeezing Chance’s middle, his neglected, aching cock twitching in equal desperation. Vincent clearly had a lot of restraint, and would not be giving in to his lust until he got exactly what he wanted.

“Almighty Builderman!! Fuck me, Sfumato! Fill me with your cum! I need it sooo bad! C’mon, please, can’tcha’ see I’m desperate for a good dicking? Fuck, I’ll do anything for you, just put your cock inside of my plush hole and use me.”

Chance was coming undone, arching his back and kicking his bead filled legs against the cock as tall as he was, breathing heavily and gritting his teeth. This sight thoroughly moved the caporegime, and he stroked Chance’s cheek with the back of his hand, before gently pressing his tip into the doll’s stuffing.

“There’s a good girl,” He whispered, tip sliding into Chance’s cum soaked hole. “Here’s your treat, puppy-dog, just like daddy promised.~”

Chance groaned in appreciation, voice shaking as their stomach bulged from the intrusion pushing plush stuffing against his internal walls. They nearly cried as Vincent slid further, the thickest part of his cock stretching the hole where Chance was cut open so perfectly. The tied off stitches strained and creaked slightly, but soon slackened slightly as the caporegime bottomed out. Chance sighed in relief, eyes fluttering shut. His entire torso was filled with cock, stitches straining around the stuffing, entire body throbbing in time with the massive cock inside of him.

Chance was so perfectly full, trembling and breathing heavily as their body grew accustomed to the penetration. The sensations were almost too much, their mind was growing empty, a white vignette forming at the recesses of their vision… Fuck, they were going to cum. Seems like the careful treatment was enough to finish off Chance’s previously building orgasm.

Clenching his thighs, Chance squeezed around the cock inside of him, nearly choking on his own tongue as he felt it slide deeper, sliding against his prostate and milking an orgasm from his unseen and nonexistent cock. Chance gripped his fedora with his paws and moaned like his very soul was being torn from his body, stiffening like a board and shaking like a leaf, breath momentarily paused as waves of white hot pleasure surged through his entire plush form.

“Heh. I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re cumming,” Vincent chuckled, his belly shaking Chance and intensifying his orgasm slightly. “You’re gonna’ get spoiled tonight, pup.~”

Before Chance could even recover from his earth-shattering orgasm, his waist was grabbed and he was fucked at a brutal pace, used like nothing more than a fleshlight. The gambler yelped in surprise, but didn’t resist, as the waves of pleasure crashing over them blurred together and burned hotter than ever before. The fire fizzled out just as fast as it had begun, now leaving a painful ache where the sensations once were. Much like the cigar burns he was given, Chance delighted in the dull pain where a bright, hot, sizzling sensation overwhelmed his system, now enjoying a different type of painful pleasure.

“Vinnie….~” Chance sobbed tearlessly, stomach lurching as he was dragged up and down the veiny shaft occupying his wet, fluffy hole. Precum from Vincent’s cock was regurgitated through the plushie’s mouth, making Chance cough and sputter, drooling the sticky liquid off his cum soaked, velvet tongue.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the capo cursed, balls slapping against his captive’s plush ass. “You’re spittin’ up my jizz. Fuck, how does it taste, puppy? You like tastin’ my cock all the way through you?”

Chance couldn’t even speak, mind completely empty other than singing praises to the man currently rocking his entire world. He just moaned an ‘uh-huh’ in response before licking his lips of the precum dribbling from his lips. Vince tasted slightly salty with a distinctive umami that only cock had. The musk of sex began to fill his head, suffocating all other thoughts of anything else out of the gambler’s mind.

Vincent’s movement became sloppier, his balls clenching and jumping against Chance’s ass, a telltale sign of his rapidly approaching orgasm. The caporegime growled and gripped Chance’s body tightly in his large hands, rings digging into the fabric roughly.

“C-Cumming—,” Vince snarled through gritted teeth, warning Chance of what was to come. He huffed and gripped Chance’s arms, pulling him down onto his cock as deep as he could manage.

The plushie just threw his head back and chanted “Yes!! Yeeeesss!! Yessssss…” as hot, thick ropes of cum were pumped into his hole, filling every fiber of his stuffing, some of the substance splurting from his mouth. Fuck, he could feel his mouth and throat being filled with so much cum he was nearly drowning in it. Chance swallowed as much as he could before he couldn’t take it any more, coughing a bit up and sputtering. Soon, the flow of cum came to a stop, and the caporegime slid his softening cock out of Chance’s hole, glazed in Beaux’s and his own semen, a few pieces of stuffing stuck to Vincent’s cock as he pulled out. Chance whimpered at the sudden loss of fullness, but was quickly caught off guard as thick fingers began to press sticky, cum soaked stuffing back into his gaping hole.

“Hey Sasha,” Vince called over his shoulder to the man waiting patiently on the other end of the couch. “You and Tony finally hash out who’s going next?”

Sasha grinned ear to ear, his ears twitching playfully.

“I won 5 of 6 rounds of rock-paper-scissors,” Sasha beamed, already excitedly pulling off his boxers. “I won the first round, and he insisted on a rematch. I won that one too.”

Tony grumbled and rolled his eyes from his chair, crossing his legs impatiently.

“You fellas are makin’ it hard to contain myself. Your fucking noises are just—- Guuhh… And Chance is just so—- s’not fair that I gotta’ be last,” Anthony complained, face growing red as he watched Sasha gently pick up Chance as he recuperated from his orgasm.

Sasha’s cock was the very best one of all, thick and long, exactly 7 inches, with balls brimming with cum, tight and round, clean shaven and very soft looking. Chance didn’t believe it would fit inside of him, and if it could, it would go all the way through him.

“You’re such a big fuckin’ baby,” Beaux snarked, finally uncovering his face with his hat after recuperating from his tremendous climax. “If it’s that big of an issue, you can jack-off.”

Chance was barely paying attention as Sasha traced his fingertips over his embroidered lips, cock throbbing right in front of the gambler’s face. Sasha was whispering sweet nothings, too low to properly hear over the bickering in the background. Sasha made no moves, observing Chance carefully as he eyed up his cock like a skyscraper.

“Is it too much for you, little doll?” Sasha teased, reclining on the couch so that Chance could get a proper view of him, feet resting across Vincent’s lap and feet resting on Beaux’s. His shirt was unbuttoned, showing off his impressive pecs and abs, and slight winter pooch he had acquired. He raised an eyebrow and smirked down at the plush gambler currently straddling his thigh.

“It’s not ‘too much’!” Chance exclaimed, scooting closer and positioning himself so that straddled Sasha’s cock, back facing the soldier. “P-Probably would rip me in half if I tried to suck on it but uhhh—- my ass has been stretched enough, I think…”

Chance gasped softly and was picked up and set on Sasha’s tip. Fuck, it was way thicker than Vincent’s or Beaux’s. Nearly as thick as a Bloxxy Cola can. It was intimidating. But Chance would never back down from a challenge. Especially not when he had come so far, and was still desperately horny.

“You are sure you want this, gambler?” Sasha asked, genuine concern lacing his voice. “I can use my fingers or my tongue, there’s no shame if you can’t take it.”

Though the concern touched Chance’s heart, despite how many times he had gotten his jaw and teeth broken by this guy, Chance shook his head and bounced his hips slightly, trying to get the cock to penetrate him fully.

“I’ll be damned if I don’t get you to cum in me too, big guy,” Chance growled. “If you break me then what-the-fuck-ever, I just can’t pass up a cock this perfect.”

The other mafia men whistled and guffawed at Chance’s response, chuckling as Sasha blushed and laid his ears back.

“Awh, ya’ hear that, Sash? He thinks your cock is perfect.~”

“Sweet Telamon, did we break him? He’s never begged for us before, besides for his life.”

“Break him, Sasha! Bring him down a notch! I wanna see cum spewing out of his nose and mouth with how deep you fuck ‘em!”

Chance felt his heart skip a beat as Sasha thrust into his hole, squelching lewdly. It left a massive bulge in his chest, churning his stomach and pressing hard against his prostate. He wasn’t even all the way in and Chance was on the verge of vomiting from how damn erotic this was.

Sasha grunted and pressed deeper, the tip of his cock making it’s way up Chance’s neck, much further than Beaux’s cock had reached. Chance cried out as he felt his vision double and head spin, full body tingles rushing from the base of his scalp outwards. Even then, Sasha pressed deeper, the tip of his cock now reaching into the stuffing where his brain should have been. Chance could hardly control his body as he went limp in Sasha’s hand, twitching and letting out dizzy, wavering moans. They felt like their whole world was spinning, and momentarily, the gambler forgot where he was and which body he was in. They were stretched so wide, full to bursting, and penetrated so deeply that their brains were getting scrambled.

As Sasha pulled out Chance hiccuped slightly, vision swimming and head spinning. He couldn’t fucking think. He didn’t know what the fuck to focus on, but visual stimulus was far too much to even process. The soldier thrust his cock back into Chance and groaned, inhaling sharply as he was squeezed by soft plush stuffing, drenched in the cum of his coworkers. The thought of being covered in the semen of his superiors only drove the soldier to fuck the plush toy deeper and harder. Perhaps to the point that much later, Chance realized that maybe the 4 men were more than just coworkers.

Chance was dazed and morning like an over-exaggerated manner, tongue hanging from his mouth as he felt Sasha’s dick travel up his throat and block his breathing momentarily. Cum mixed with Sasha’s precum dribbled down his lips onto the couch. The flavors of the three of them combined to make a testosterone laden cocktail that drove Chance wild, having his body crave the sweet cream of his captors like it was nicotine.

The constant pressure on his prostate, the smell of humid sex and cigar smoke all around him, the grip of Sasha’s muscular hand around his middle, and the taste of cum rising up his throat and dripping off his fabric tongue all tugged Chance up to his third climax of the night, sending the man into a hypnotic state as the world around him faded away, only pleasure taking up his mind and vessel, no room for anything else. As Chance was blinded by his own ecstasy, he screamed as he came, fireworks bursting behind his felt sunglasses.

Sasha gripped him hard, thrusting as deep as he possibly could reach. Chance heaved, choking on something large prodding up the back of his throat. He tried to close his mouth as the cum burst from the soldiers blushing tip like a dam, but there was just too much to swallow. Instead, cum started to spurt from where his nose would have been, and in surprise, Chance opened his mouth to let the rest flow out. They were sick to the stomach from pure arousal, allowing the last few surges of thick, gooey cum to spill from his lips, falling almost completely limp as they realized that they had been holding their body stiff nearly the whole time.

Sasha pulled out of Chance’s body, followed immediately by the doll coughing and gasping for air, letting out shaky sobs and gripping the hand around him. It was nearly too much. Chance was exhausted, full of and covered in cum, shaking like he was never going to be able to walk again. But through it all, Chance laughed. Between laughs and sobs, Chance laughed in glee, hugging onto the hand wrapped around him.

“Oh, blyat,” Sasha cursed, stroking Chance’s back soothingly. “That was too much for you, I think. I’ve got you, little gambler, please don’t cry.”

Chance chuckled softly and nuzzled into Sasha’s hand, still trying to catch his breath.

“That was the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had,” Chance beamed, closing his eyes as the rest of the mafia hummed in amusement at his state.

“Holy fuck,” Beaux said in alarm, leaning over Sasha’s shoulder to look down at the soaked plushie in his hands. “Boys, look at his hole. The slut’s gaping.”

Chance opened his eyes blearily as the other men came to inspect him, and immediately felt his face grow hot as a slim finger gently pulled aside his ‘lips’ to get a good look inside of his gaping plush-cunt. Chance could feel his walls sticking together from the multiple loads that had been pumped inside of him, spilling out of him and onto Sasha’s lap.

Chance made eye contact with Anthony, catching a bewildered and very aroused smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. His eyes roved over Chance’s body nervously, wetting his lips and gulping as he felt his mouth go dry. Maybe, after all, Tony didn’t mind going last when his coworkers had gotten their spunk all over the plush. Chance grinned up at the contractor and lifted his legs.

“I’ve got room for one more, y’know,~” The gambler offered.

But Tony shook his head, grinning darkly at the doll offering themselves to him.

“I think you’re far too eager to be filled with cock, cumrag,” Tony purred, unbuckling his belt, kicking off his boots carelessly, then peeling off his tight leather pants. “I’ve got a better idea on how to handle ya’.~”

Chance was set down on the coffee table to watch as Tony stripped, and as soon as his boxers came off, Chance felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight in front of him. The biggest clit he had ever seen, 2 perfect inches, sat surrounded in a thick bush of black hair, reaching up Anthony’s stomach and thighs. Chance wanted nothing more than to suck on Tony’s cock, (finally a cock he could swallow,) to taste this man and make his collection of mafia orgasms complete. Tony sat down on the carpet and spread his legs for the company, a snarled grin plastered on his face as he tipped his hat to the man whose eyes refused to leave his. The gambler was mesmerized.

“Now, you can just lay there and take it like a bitch from the others,” the contractor growled, eyes narrowing at Chance. “But for me? You’re gonna’ get in my cunt and I’m going to make you work for my cum. Got it, Chancey boy?”

The other goons whooped and cheered, applauding for their friend as the last act of the night. There was a reason they saved Tony, their most sadistic, bossy dom for last. Even they didn’t know what Tony had planned for Chance. They knew this was going to be a grand finale.

“Did you fucking hear me, faggot?” Tony snapped at the plush frozen in amazement in front of him. “Get off the goddamn table and come fuck me.~”

Anthony licked his teeth and huffed, eyes gleaming like embers as Chance jumped off of the coffee table and stumbled up to Tony’s spread legs, excitement barely contained. He wasted no time at all, shoving his face into Tony’s bush and huffing his musk, pawing gently at his T-cock. Tony growled in satisfaction, scooting Chance closer with his foot.

“C’mon gambler, put your mouth to good use,” He rumbled, just above a whisper. “I wanna see you choking on my cock, baby. I know what a hungry pup you are.~”

Chance hardly had to think. Tony’s voice was so commanding, so persuasive it was hard not to obey any orders given to him. The plush doll carefully wrapped his lips around Tony’s T-cock and lapped at the glans. It filled his mouth, but not too much, and it sat heavy on his tongue, hot and wet and throbbing. Obediently, Chance began to suck, hollowing their cheeks just as they had done with Sasha’s finger earlier. Tony hummed, exhaling from his nose as he reached down to hold the back of Chance’s head.

Chance lapped eagerly at the tip of Tony’s cock, sliding his tongue under his foreskin as he circled over it. Wetting his lips with the leftover cum from the others, Chance pulled his head back, running his lips up Tony’s short shaft. The contract killer groaned loudly to encourage the plush between his legs. Indeed, Chance was encouraged and slurped lewdly around the cock filling his mouth, bobbing his head at a slow and steady pace.

“Fuck, Atta’ boy, Chance,” Tony praised, cock twitching under Chance’s velvet tongue. “Go on, getcher’ paw in there, whore. I’m gonna need internal stimulation if you’re gonna get me to cum.”

Chance had been toying with the idea in his head, but he wasn’t sure if Tony would like penetration. This was the confirmation he needed to slowly slide his whole arm inside of the contractor's warm, wet vagina. He searched instinctively for his G-spot, and he knew he had hit the jackpot when Anthony groaned, posture slackening ever so slightly.

“There we go, puppy! You’re learning,” Tony praised, thighs tensing as his G-spot was massaged by Chance’s skilled, plush paws. “Fuck put the other arm in, it’s like a single finger in there.”

Chance obediently slipped his other arm inside of the slickened lips of Tony’s pussy, still bobbing his head around the T-cock in his mouth. Tony hummed, his voice wavering slightly as he gripped Chance’s messy hair, his other hand digging into the carpet. His large rabbit ears laid back against his head, and his fluffy rabbit tail wagged quickly underneath him, dusting against Chance’s legs. Chance spread his arms slightly, testing the elasticity of the hole he was penetrating. Fuck, it was so soft and wet and warm. It felt so nice to run his arms through.

That’s when Chance got a wicked idea. An idea that simply couldn’t be ignored.

Chance carefully balanced on one leg as he slipped his foot into Tony’s hole along with his arms, taking his mouth away from his cock with a lewd, wet ‘pop.’ They slipped their entire leg into the trembling cavity, walls clenching hard around three of his limbs like a hug.

“Fuck, a leg?!” Tony exclaimed, now grabbing his chest where his heart was beating out of his ribs. “S-Slow down now, ya’ don’t haffta’ rush things! Fuuuuuck, he’s gonna’ start fisting me with his body.~”

Tony was cut off as Chance inserted his other leg, acclimating to the warmth and wetness, groaning and chuckling at the erotic ridiculousness of it all. It was so cozy, so plush, even compared to himself. Chance wasn’t given a moment’s further thought as his head was grabbed and his waist was swallowed up by Tony’s cunt.

“Th-There, you little punk,” Tony growled between panting, his voice wavering. “If you don’t wanna get eaten alive, you’ll get outta there and let me lead this encounter. Capiche?”

Chance realized he had the upper hand now, a shit-eating grin splitting his face as he wiggled his body further inside of Tony, his shoulders getting engulfed in moist, warm flesh, and his feet hitting Tony’s cervix. Chance felt Tony’s hand release his hair and fly to his side, clawing at the carpet as he bit back a helpless moan. Chance was swallowed by Tony’s pussy up to the neck, and he was now facing the audience of mafia men currently jerking their cocks as they watched Tony get penetrated by his body.

“You enjoying the show, gents?” Chance asked cockily, curling an elbow against Tony’s G-spot, earning a squeeze around his body.

“Very much~,” Sasha replied, speeding up his fist’s speed around his cock. “You’ve actually found something Tony enjoys very much.~ I didn’t expect to see him so close to cumming this soon.”

Chance grinned and gyrated his body, getting the softest, high pitched whimper from Tony. If he was going to make Tony cum, he would need to be all the way inside of him. Very slowly and carefully, Chance pulled himself further into Tony’s sopping wet caverns, spreading Tony’s lips wide around his head. The contract killer spread his legs wide and arched his back, slapping a hand over his mouth as Chance slithered deeper inside of him, filling him up enough to give his already big belly a slight bulge.

“Fucking hell!” Tony gasped, bucking his hips in an attempt to thwart the man slipping deeper into him. “He’s— fuck his huge fucking head is slipping in…. Fellas, I-I dunno’ how much longer I’m gonna’ last.”

This earned a few chuckles and ‘woo!’s of approval, mafia men still sitting idly by and masturbating. Chance took one last deep breath of air and with one final tug, his head slipped inside of Tony’s tight cunt, knocking off his fedora in the process. Tony squeezed hard around his body, thighs squeezing shut to assure that Chance had been fully swallowed up.

Tony whimpered and kicked his legs, pursing his lip as he clawed up the carpet in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Reaching down between his legs, he began to jerk his T-cock, clenching and hugging around the plush that had wiggled his way inside of him.

It smelled heavenly inside of Anthony’s cunt. Humid and heavy with testosterone, a distinct bitter twinge of cigarettes practically infused into his juices. Shaking and groaning in pleasure, Chance lapped at precisely the spot he knew Tony’s G-spot was in, pressing his face into it greedily. Outside, Tony melted, a low groan finally being pulled from his reluctant lips.

“H-He’s so fuckin’ deeeeep~,” Tony keened, his pussy squeezing Chance deeper. “Oh, fuck me.~”

The gambler felt Tony tugging on his cock, jostling Chance slightly and squeezing his slick body in a gentle embrace. His feet slid around by Tony’s cervix, the tips of his paws slipping against the knot of flesh. Yet another wicked idea occurred to Chance, one that had only occurred to him in fantasies.

Tony gently rubbed his distended stomach in circles, a dopey smile stretched across his rosy cheeks. His hat was slightly askew and his curly hair was starting to come undone from his ponytail. He was sweating profusely and whimpering as he rubbed his cock in circles as the rest of the mafia got up from their spots on the couch to observe their coworker getting off.

“Does it feel good, baby boy?” Vince asked, lifting Tony’s head into his lap and wiping sweat from his brow.

“So goddamn good, Vinnie,” Tony whined, leaning into Vincent’s hands, closing his eyes in bliss as he jerked himself off faster. “He’s squirmin’ around, playin’ with my cervix…”

“Yeah? Geez, you look close, hon,” Beaux said as he laid down next to Tony on the carpet, placing his hand on Tony’s stomach, pressing down on Chance, who was still inside of him.

Tony just whimpered and nodded fervently, biting his lip as he concentrated on trying to cum.

Sasha laid down between Tony’s legs and nosed the tip of his cock, massaging his friend’s thighs.

“He’s stuck in there, isn’t he?” Sasha asked, tangling his fingers in Tony’s pubes and laying his cheek against one of his thighs.

Tony scrunched up his nose and sneered down at the soldier, undignified that he had even asked such a question.

“He’s not stuck,” Anthony growled, rolling his eyes. “Watch, he’s gonna slide right out.”

The contractor bore down and pushed using his pelvic muscles, but Chance stayed put, actually widening his arms and legs to make himself harder to push out. Anthony grunted and gave up, rubbing his stomach and grimacing before bearing down again, this time straining and whimpering, gritting his teeth hard. But Chance still stayed put, now squirming around to taunt the man he was inside. Tony arched his back and whined loudly before gripping Beaux’s hand.

“F-Fuck, he might actually be stuck,” Tony said, panic rising in his voice. “He might just— S-Sweet Mother of Doombringer, he’s going deeper!~”

Tony threw Beaux and Sasha off of himself as he flipped onto his stomach, ass in the air and face buried in Vincent’s lap, sobbing helplessly as he felt his cervix get penetrated and slowly worked open. His eyes rolled back in his head as the lump in his tummy migrated higher, now sitting exactly where a baby-bump would sit. Fluid squirt from Tony’s urethra, spraying over Sasha and the carpet of the parlor, sprinkling like fresh morning dew. He was legitimately crying, tears rolling down his cheeks and into his beard as he squirted piss all over the Sonnelino leisure room, body shaking and twitching as an orgasm hit him with the speed and might of a freight train.

“H-He-He’s in my f-fucking w-w-womb,” Tony managed to choke out as he wrapped his arms around Vince’s waist, gasping for air as sobs wracked his body.

Meanwhile, Chance curled up into the fetal position and closed his eyes, sighing in bliss. Tony’s womb was so warm, so cozy and moist. He was lucky to fit here perfectly. He swore he’d like to sit here forever, take a nap, maybe squirm his way out of Tony’s pussy whenever he needed a good fuck. But realistically, he couldn’t live inside of a contract killer like a twisted little parasite. As nice as it was to be warm and safe away from killers like Don Sonnelino, he had responsibilities outside of being a horny plushie.

As a final act of self gratification, Chance began to squeeze the leftover cum from the other three men that had used him, and left gooey globs of it inside of Tony’s aching uterus. Of course, there was risk of pregnancy, but the idea simply delighted Chance. Watching Tony waddle around during killer rounds, gravid and swollen with a litter of baby bunnies from his own teammates. The image of that sadistic maniac heavily pregnant and unable to chase after him was delicious. Rubbing his crotch with a paw, Chance squeezed out as much cum as he could manage, whimpering as an orgasm slowly built up.

On the outside world, Tony was trying his best to collect himself and breathe as his belly jostled, full of a certain plushie. Sasha rubbed his back and shoulders, before gently cupping Tony’s belly, pressing against the gambler currently masturbating inside of him.

“I-I can feel ‘im squirmin’ around in there,” Tony whimpered, arching his back and burying his face into Vincent’s lap. “Please, fuck, help me get him out. Little fucker is enjoying himself too much.”

“Just breathe, Tony,” Beaux reassured, reaching under his friend’s body and milking his cock from base to tip. “This’ll be easier than gettin’ a lost toy outta’ ya’, because Chance can work with us to wiggle his way out. He just needs some encouragement.”

Tony melted into Vincent’s lap and spread his thighs, Vince’s nails gently scratching at his scalp under his leather hat. His cock was getting milked with precision and skill, and his womb was filled to the brim with a soggy, smug little gambler, currently gambling with his life. If he was going to get Chance back out, he was going to have to induce a faux labor, forcing his uterus to contract and squeeze the little bastard out of him.

Chance, of course, could sense that this was the plan. So shrugging his shoulders, he pressed a paw outside of Tony’s cervix and began to slither his way out of the man’s birth canal.

Tony collapsed onto the floor as soon as he felt his cervix stretching out again, and he pressed his belly hard to try and speed along the process of Chance’s emergence. As his G-spot was squeezed against by the plushie’s round head, Tony gave a mighty push, and felt a plush arm breach his pussy.

“Fuckfuckfuck, grab his arms, pull the little freak out before he changes his mind!” Tony bawled, arching his back and jerking his cock as Sasha grabbed onto the soaking wet plushie and began to gently pull him out.

As Chance’s head popped out of the contractor’s entrance and gasped for breath, Tony came for a second time, clawing at the carpet and shaking uncontrollably, slick dripping down his hairy thighs. Sasha pulled Chance out the rest of the way, Anthony’s pussy making lewd squelching noises as the plushie once inside of it was removed. Tony’s cunt was gaping and impossibly wet, clenching around the air, cum spilling from the yawning cave and dribbling down his bush and the tip of his cock.

Chance had the biggest, most shit-eating grin stretched across his face as he admired his work, positively soaked in Tony’s slick, slimy and wet and stinking of sex. Sasha didn’t seem to mind, swiping a finger up one of Chance’s cheeks and licking it clean of Tony’s juices, savoring it as it slid over his tongue and down his throat.

“Lucky little bastard tastes just like you, Tony,” Sasha purred, hugging Chance close to his bare chest, sticking to his light chest hair.

“P-Please shut the fuck up,” Tony grumbled, still ass up on the carpet, breathing heavily.

That’s when clapping echoed through the room, slow and slightly muted by leather gloves. A figure previously sitting at the furthest corner of the bar stood up, clapping slowly and grinning at the group of men. Chance felt his heart stop at the sight of the figure.

Don Sonnelino himself. He had never left the room.

“Did we give ya’ a good show, boss?” Beaux asked earnestly, picking up his slacks off the couch and slipping back into them. Seems this wasn’t a surprise to the mafia men in the slightest. Being taller and more observant than Chance, they had obviously known that the don had been there the whole time.

“Best show I’ve seen from you boys~,” the mafioso crooned, striding up to Sasha and making eye contact with the sopping wet rat that was plushie Chance, ripped open, filled with cum, covered in slick, and decorated with burns.

Chance scooted back in the soldier’s arms, breath picking up as he looked where he thought Sonnelino’s eyes ought to be under the shadow of his wide brimmed hat. He couldn’t read his expression beyond ‘cruel’ and that frightened him. That normally meant that the mafioso was thinking long and hard, planning something.

“Clean him up,” Sonnelino simply ordered, not bothering to address the plush. “Get yourselves together, then sew him back up. After that, draw our guest a bath.”

“Permission for a recess to care for subordinates, err, boss?” Beaux asked nervously, ears laying back bashfully as he looked over at his sweaty caporegime, slick covered soldier, and quivering contractor all still recovering from the night.

“Granted,” Don Sonnelino said, bowing his head slightly. “You hand me Chance and I’ll handle his aftercare. I’ll leave you four to your privacy for the rest of the evening. Report to me first thing in the morning, Neige, understand?”

Beaux bowed his head back in gratitude, holding his arms behind his back. “Yessir. Thank you, sir.”

Sonnelino held a hand out for Chance to be handed to him, but Chance shook his head vehemently up at Sasha, leaning back as far as he possibly could.

“Nope! Not doing it! Much rather stay with you guys!” Chance exclaimed, trying his best to grin winsomely at the soldier cradling him against his breast. “C’mon, Sasha! Would you really leave me with a psycho like him? After all the fun we had together?”

Sasha rolled his eyes and handed Chance over to Don Sonnelino, with much struggle, as the gambler clung to Sasha’s arm and whined.

“Boss’ orders, little gambler,” Sasha rumbled light-heartedly, smiling reassuringly at Chance and licking his fingers clean. “He will take care of you, no problem. If he wanted to hurt you, he would have done so already. No?”

Chance trembled in the mafioso’s leather gloved hands, avoiding his claws. He had no energy to run, no will in him to fight as fiercely as he normally did when in Don Sonnelino’s hands, but Sasha was right. If Sonnelino had wanted to hurt or kill him, he would have done so by now.

Before turning to leave, the don leaned close to Chance’s ear and growled;

“What the fuck do you say to the men who treated you tonight?”

Chance immediately straightened his posture and called out to the affectionately nicknamed ‘mafialings,’ eyebrows furrowed in nervous tension.

“Thank you fellas for the gangbang,” Chance said, tensing as Don Sonnelino squeezed his shoulder. “It was— uhh… fuck, it was perfect, guys. You four really didn’t need to go out of your way to indulge me like that.”

The four of the mafia men looked between each other, a little shocked, but eventually smiled warmly at the soft plush version of their worst enemy, a debtor that they had been dedicated to taking out for the longest time, a man they had sneered down at a little over an hour ago. They were genuine, fond, warm smiles. Expressions that Chance had never seen on them before. It was unsettling, but in a heartfelt kind of way.

“Y’know, we’ve been wanting to do that to ya’ for a long time,” Vincent admitted, hoisting himself up off the floor and buttoning his shirt. “Just as a fantasy, we wouldn’t have ever acted on it. But… boy did we think about it sometimes.”

“Shit,” Tony exclaimed, rolling himself over and leaning on his elbows. “Thank the boss for the idea of it all, if you’re thanking folks now. He’s the one who gave us the go ahead to ask you as soon as you started getting randy. I think he knows your kinks better than you do.”

Chance glanced up at the mafioso, but Don Sonnelino didn’t react.

“You were really good for us, Chancey,” Beaux said, helping hoist Tony off the ground and guide him to the couch. “I think I speak for everyone when I say that we really enjoyed tonight. I— I was seriously worried that you wouldn’t feel the same for us as you feel for the boss, and that things would get out of hand. I’m glad I was wrong.”

What the fuck did that mean?

Chance slowly turned to look up at Don Sonnelino once again, mouth agape at what the consigliere had just implied. Again, Michael Sonnelino didn’t react.

“We’d like to do it again, if you’d like,” Sasha offered, pulling his own slacks on and looking between his comrades as they all nodded with him. “But when you are human? If that’s at all possible?”

“I like the idea of that,” Chance admitted, smirking to himself. “We’ll stay in touch, yeah? Plan a little?”

The mafia gave sounds of agreement, nodding in approval at the suggestion. Seems everything was set.

“Well,” Chance awkwardly concluded. “G’night fellas!”

There was a chorus of ‘G’night Chance’ and ‘G’night boss’ before Don Sonnelino turned to leave with a plush replica of Chance in his arms, coat billowing behind him. As soon as the doors to the parlor closed, Chance was silent, their mind buzzing with questions for the man carrying him to his quarters. But he stayed silent, afraid of pissing Sonnelino off just as he had narrowly escaped torture, and was now back in the hands of his arch-enemy.

“You don’t have to stay quiet, Chance,” the don rumbled, turning down a hall leading to a grand staircase. “You’re always runnin’ your mouth. There’s no need to pretend like tonight wasn’t a lot for you.”

Chance sighed, letting out a breath he had been holding. Some sort of prey instinct. “Why are you acting like this, Don? You’re being damn creepy. And not the normal creepy.”

Don Sonnelino stayed quiet as he held onto the handrail of the stairs and slowly made his way up, grunting with effort occasionally.

“There’s something I’ve been wantin’ to tell you, gambler, but I’ve been too proud to do it,” Sonnelino alluded cryptically. He didn’t dare look down at Chance.

“And that is?” Chance pressed.

“I’m gettin’ there, you impatient little shit. Let me talk,” Sonnelino growled, shutting Chance up immediately. He paused at the top of the stairs and breathed deeply before continuing, making his way down another hallway.

“I fucking hate your guts, Chance. Don’t even think I couldn’t hate you, not for a second. But every time I see you, every time I snap your neck, every time you shoot me and slip away into the night, my heart ignites, a passion I have long lacked courses through my body. You drive me insane. There is chemistry between us.”

Chance couldn’t deny it. He was terrified of the mafioso, but the risk of getting killed was worth the reward of taunting his tormentor. They liked gambling with their life like that, especially when both outcomes were considered a reward to them. Whenever they were caught by Don Sonnelino during a round, the physical reaction was instant. Several times Chance popped a boner just as the don slammed him against a wall and snarled threats at him, a wolfish triumph gleaming in his eyes.

“Yeah,” the mafioso continued, chuckling and shaking his head, his black rabbit ears shaking. “I’ve noticed you get excited when I finally get my paws around your filthy little neck. I’ve yearned to put you in your place for so long. So I’d like to propose a deal with you, Chancey boy.”

“Go on, I’m all ears,” Chance urged as the pair arrived at the mafioso’s bedroom.

Don Sonnelino waited until they were inside and the door was closed before he lifted Chance to be eyelevel with him. For once, a shadow wasn’t covering his eyes. They were severe and gray, almost glowing in the moonlight.

“I know that you are the real Chance, and I know you will abide by the terms of this agreement,” Sonnelino began. “In exchange for debt forgiveness of the Sonnelino family, I would like to continue our little dance for as long as possible, with sex at any time to relieve our tensions, instead of running around like goddamn animals. You get the attention you crave, and I receive the sexual stimulation I’ve been long deprived of. We can settle our disputes diplomatically.”

Chance was flabbergasted, jaw dropping for a second time that night. He shook his head to clear his mind, before cocking an eyebrow at the mafioso.

“And my debt is just forgiven? No strings attached?”

Michael Sonnelino grinned cruelly and laughed, standing back to his full, impressive height.

“Oh no, there will be strings attached, don’t you worry. You’re not perfectly safe from my blade nor my men. I can kill you at any time I please. Every round you escape alive, I forgive $100 of debt. And every load of cum you milk from me doubles the forgiveness of that round. Say you make me cum once, and survive until the timer’s up; I forgive $200 of your debt. Make me cum twice? $400. Three times? $800. It’s up to you on how much you’d like to risk your life to get in my pants.”

“And what’s the catch? This sounds too easy.”

“Ah, clever boy.~ You always know there’s a catch. My boys will be out lookin’ for ya’ every round, and if they catch you, they get their way with you and send you on your way withoutcha’ cummin’, and I add $500 to your debt.”

Chance thought for a moment, tapping a paw on his chin.

“You got an estimate of how much I owe?”

“$500,000 dollars, down to the cent.”

Chance thought again, bouncing a leg as he bit his tongue in deep contemplation.

“There’s no time limit if I accept this deal?”

“Nope. But of course, we could continue as we always have, and you pay off your debt through every death suffered at my hands. Though, I’m sure that idea isn’t as tantalizing to you.”

Chance still thought, humming and furrowing his brows deeper, bouncing his leg faster.

“C’mon, gambling man, the risk is worth the reward. You can’t resist the riches promised to you by this deal, I can see it in your eyes. It’s just down to one question now; Are ya’ feelin’ lucky?~”

Chance couldn’t take it any longer. They extended a paw and grinned up at Mafioso, a final decision finally making itself clear.

“I haven’t felt luckier, Don Sonnelino,” Chance replied confidently. “And it looks like the odds are in my favor. You’ve got yourself a deal.~”

Don Sonnelino took Chance’s paw into his large hand and shook it, grinning large and sinister, the brim of his hat shading his eyes. The handshake was firm, and shook Chance’s entire plush body. Something in the air changed as if the fabric of reality had been rewoven.

This was something Chance felt he could win and enjoy. He’d show the don who exactly he had just bet with, once again. They never cheated, but they always won in the end.

This was going to be fun.