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Vinegar had caused irreversible liver damage...again. It really wasn't his fault. He just woke up from another blackout and was suddenly jonesing. This time, however, when he opened the sock drawer he couldn’t find the bag of meth crystals that was usually there, so he decided to head to the shed. There he began to create a beautiful cocktail of assorted cleaning products, with a splash of gasoline to top it off. This proved to be a better solution for talking to Diavolo than waiting for a call these days. The sheer amount of noxious gas coming from the substance was enough to knock out a full-grown gorilla. He wasn’t even sure his liver could take it this time, but it was worth it to see his precious Bossu. He shrugged and downed the whole glass before his actual common sense could tell him otherwise.
The rainbows this time were quite a spectacle. Doppio aimed to remember this recipe again. As he admired his scrumptious cheeks in his funhouse circus mirror (for he certainly was a clown), he noticed a long linguini man in the background behind him. Why did that make him horny? Probably because he shoved a breadstick up his ass at the Olive Garden the previous night.
He got hard just in time, too. The Linguini Man turned out to be… his Bossu?? So that’s why he instinctively wanted to shove his phone up his urethra.
“Bossu!” Doppio cried gleefully.
Diavolo made an inhuman grunting sound at the sight of his precious consigliere. “Ohhh… my precious… my kawaii Doppio… it’s really you…” He expressed his desire for the saucy boy with a guttural moan.
Doppio felt his monumental mutton machete gloss over with a thin layer of mucus. Every time he stepped closer to the Boss, he heard a slick noise emit from his chafing thighs.
Diavolo leaned in closely to the boy’s ear, groaning a single sentence that nearly made Doppio cum on the spot. “I have a completely flaccid cock right now.”
Doppio’s knees buckled and he let out an ear-piercing bleat of rapture. His porous cock began to erupt with the magnitude of a 7.8 earthquake.
“Prendermi da dietro! Fammelo sentire dentro!” cried the Boss. Doppio’s corpulent boypussy started to twitch involuntarily. After all, this was Bossu we’re talking about. Doppio’s personal little cum guzzling gutter slug. “Yeah, you want ol’ Vinnie’s man chowder, is that it? You little cumdumpster?” The Boss nodded eagerly. Vinegar put his hand on Diavolo’s waistband and yanked his pants down with one fell swoop. His cock was, as promised, completely flaccid. There was even a nice pool of piss in his pants. (He was late to work and forgot his Depends.)
Vinegar placed his hand against Diavolo’s bony, sinewy hip and pushed him forcefully against the funhouse mirror. The glass shattered under the force of his love cushions. Diavolo cried in agony and pleasure as he felt the glass cut through the back of his scalp and clack against his skull. His rickety teeth rattled with glee. “Yeah, you’re my little fucking xylophone, is that it?” Doppio whined. Diavolo tinged happily. Doppio slapped Diavolo’s ass so hard that he turned 180 degrees in both angle and temperature. Now in the prime position, Vinegar shoved his dainty twink fingers forcefully into Diavolo’s rusty prostate.
“I...I’m so sorry Bossu, I didn’t mean..” —
“HARDER!” Diavolo screeched aggressively.
Doppio slowly removed his hand from his cock cave, replacing it with his ulcer-coated meat sock. Diavolo wheezed hoarsely with delight.
“My Doppio... I might just cough my yogurt if you don’t cease this…”
“I’m sorry Bossu, but by now it’s muscle memory, I’ve gone 100% horny.”
“B..but the last time you went into maximum overdrive I had to have the gynecologist pull the entire spice rack out!”
Doppio chortled at the joyous memory, his movements slowing for a moment. Without thinking, he pulled out his moist beef whistle. Diavolo’s pleasure didn’t stop there, however. He felt a strange slimy texture begin to snake around his limp cock, flopping it around like a Jell-O dessert during a hurricane. The suction cups on the tentacle adhered tightly to his cock, ripping the pubic hairs out by the roots. Doppio had kept octopus tentacles in his anus in order to give Diavolo a sensational surprise. Diavolo wrapped his rank, rotund fingers around Doppio’s slender wrists, almost cutting off his circulation. Three more feelers shoot from his bratwurst garage and out into Diavolo’s with a crunch. He let slip out a thunderous squawk.
“Do you think it’ll fit?” whimpered Doppio.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Diavolo replied. Vinegar slipped his sweaty tentacles into Bossu.
The appendages battered his walls as if they were tenderizing a hunk of salacious meat. Diavolo’s intestinal lining had already started to decompose. His ass was a charcuterie, filled with sloppy meat and a variety of odors.
“P...please” whimpered Diavolo.
As if by nature, Diavolo’s asshole widened before he could even react.
“Bossu!” Doppio exclaimed, pulling out quickly in surprise.
Diavolo’s gaping sphincter had widened so far that his colon began slipping out. Luckily, before this could happen, Doppio wobbled over to a drawer in the corner of the room and pulled out a rusty spatula and spoon-fed the organs back into his damp cavern. Vinegar looked fondly upon his dick duckling.
It appeared Diavolo had nearly passed out.
“P..put it...back” Diavolo breathed. “Pour in that love lava,” He softly murmured, barely hanging on to consciousness.
In one final thrust, Vinegar’s rock-solid purple helmeted love warrior spewed its sweet seed throughout the confines of Bossu’s rigid colon. Diavolo babbled something unintelligible into his ear and faded into comatose. Vinegar suddenly found himself lying on the cold kitchen floor. He checked the timer on the oven, it was about 11:47 at night and 350 degrees convection bake. The walls of the room were speckled in semen, blood, and bile. Doppio smiled warmly and stared at the shot glass of poisonous smog in his hand. Where it all began... He felt himself slip away again, this time for good.