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Giorno had gained a sort of reputation among his classmates. It was nothing too incriminating, he'd figured it was best to keep the dangerous stuff far away from school grounds. Simply, once while passing outside a video store, he got an idea. His incorporeal companion could simply pass through the glass, and turn anything within reach into a bird or a lizard, which would be then promptly led outside, where he could pick it up and bring it back. Untraceable.
To test and perfect his technique, he stuck to movies at first. That was the beginning. He became known for renting out a variety of movies around the school. Nobody could prove he hadn't legitimately bought them, and he could reasonably maintain that he was just borrowing them out to friends. A very safe way to get a small amount of extra cash. At around the time he'd begun wondering how else to expand this little scheme, his eyes happened to fall upon a specific kind of store.
Erotic magazines and movies were contraband, but the gain was well worth the added risk factor, because as it turned out, hormonal teenagers were more than willing to pay for anything to do with sex. Especially when it came from someone their age, who wouldn't judge them. To maintain that impression, Giorno kept up the front that anything to do with sex simply did not interest him. …Though, that was a bit far from the truth. In reality, men interested him just fine, with all that entailed. He wasn't the only one in the school who was that way, but he didn't choose to do anything with that information.
Giorno only provided what he could reasonably and safely grab without any store owner growing suspicious; which in most cases was entirely random. That meant he often had to leaf through the issues, or fast forward through the movies to figure out what exactly he was selling. Usually, that wasn't a problem, but sometimes… Sometimes he realized things about himself.
A certain image stayed stuck in his head. It was from one of those weird leather-torture type films, the appeal of which most often eluded him. There was this one shot, of a small metal rod being pushed inside a man's penis. He didn't know why, but he turned back the film, and paused, and then watched those few seconds over and over. He even dared to unmute it, listening on the lowest volume. Clearly, some part of him found that compelling, because he couldn't get it out of his mind. From then on, every long thin object, every pen, pencil, plastic straw, and mini radio antenna brought it back to his head.
It just wouldn't go away.
Whenever he masturbated, he found himself pressing a finger on his tip, even sometimes having his fingernail leave an indent over that tiny hole. He would stare at his dick, and unintentionally overlay the scene from the film onto it in his mind. Sometimes, he simply wondered what it would feel like. Would it be anything like when he peed? That would make sense, but it didn't really interest him. If it stretched him out, would it ever go back to normal? For whatever reason, that didn't worry him much. Could he still ejaculate like that? That was… a mystery. If he were to jerk off with something inside, how different would it feel? How much better-
Discreetly, Giorno adjusted himself, resisting the urge to bang his head on his desk. It was the middle of a history class, and he had just missed the whole context for the lesson. All his notes were just abstract scribbles of looping circles and shapes with jagged lines. No doubt, his face was a bit red. Hopefully nobody noticed. Had he spaced out while looking at the teacher, or at his notes? Hopefully nobody would think he had a crush on his teacher; the teasing would be very frustrating.
…He needed to deal with this somehow, but that was easier said than done.
Since he couldn't conceivably be allowed into the kind of store he would need to get the proper instruments from, he was confined to whatever was closest to the display. That tended to be simpler things, which he already had in his possession; magazines, films, lubricants, very impractical women's underwear, and the occasional pair of fuzzy handcuffs. Having failed to locate anything suitable among all such stores that he knew of, Giorno thought that maybe if he resigned himself to his fate, it would all eventually go away.
He was wrong.
Worst of all, he'd sold the film that caused this, hoping to rid himself of the obsession that way; but in the movie's absence, things only grew more severe. At least as far as Giorno was concerned, aggressively masturbating to the memory of it was even less dignified than masturbating to the same handful of seconds, again and again. He had no way of locating or buying back the film, and had no luck finding another copy. If before, every thin cylindrical object reminded him of that scene, now he had to fight the compulsion to use any such object in front of him to play out what had undeniably turned into his perverse fantasy.
Eventually, he gave in. It was only a matter of time, since he'd gone on for months feeling like nothing else would be enough to satisfy him. More than any time before, he was desperate. In the end, it was the metal radio antenna that he chose. Haphazardly, he broke it off from the personal little radio he had legitimately purchased with his illegitimately accumulated funds. Pathetically, he struggled to break the collapsible antenna apart, so that the end piece was the only one left; just a straight, smooth rod, with a little rounded ball at the end of it.
Giorno wasn't thinking straight, he knew he wasn't, because he was standing in front of his broken radio with his pants down, holding the broken antenna in his hand, excited by the prospect of shoving it up his dick. And he couldn't even be disgusted with himself. His heart beat so loud that it almost hurt. Despite the… “recklessness” of all this seeming a bit exciting for whatever reason, Giorno figured he should at least clean it. Frustratedly, he rinsed off the dust, wiped it down, and decided that it was good enough because he could not wait a minute longer.
From then on, it was just him, his bed, and his improvised, slightly chilly rod. Holding it tightly in his hands, he tried to remember everything about the scene, bringing the picture back in his mind as he laid on the bed. There had been lubrication, he thought, so he sloppily covered the rod with some of the lube he'd kept for himself. Other than that, the only thing he could point out was that it had been slow, so he guessed he should probably not do it too fast either. Swallowing nothing but dryness, Giorno held his dick, huffing through his teeth; he was so sensitive, even this familiar touch was so intense, it was as if his whole body was catching fire.
A few moments later, he steadied himself, and slowly lowered the rod, excitement tight in his lungs, and hot in his crotch the closer it got. Once the ball finally touched his glans, he sighed shakily, in relief and breathless excitement. It was… more intimidating than he had considered. For a while, he only rubbed the rod around on his tip, very lightly pressing on the hole, unexpectedly hesitant to actually push it in, despite the light touches getting increasingly unbearable.
Almost as if his hand wasn't his own, without a conscious worded thought, he started pushing it inside. It was happening. The tiny ball, so big compared to the hole he was determined to fit it through, began slowly stretching him out. It stung, it felt weird, he couldn't stop. With every fraction of a centimeter the rod progressed, Giorno got more unwilling to back down. The thought that it was happening, was too hot to give up. With every intense shudder the sensation gave him, the rod would get jostled a little, and it would sting with light pain, which managed to be something Giorno liked. More so than anything else he'd tried up to that point.
Hypnotized, he couldn't tear his eyes away, watching his dick throbbing and struggling to accommodate this foreign object, which fought to slowly force itself deeper into a place that nothing was meant to touch. Even when his head rolled back, he couldn't stop watching. The compulsion told him to shove it in already, but rather than stupidly pushing it all the way in at once, he tried pulling it out a bit, then back in. His eyes rolled back a bit, eyelids fluttering, and for a good second he couldn't breathe. The little ball point wasn't even entirely inside, and yet… Biting his lip, Giorno pushed at it so its widest point painfully stretched out the edge of his opening. He just kept it there, watching clear, shiny wetness gather up and flow down his length, collecting along his fingers as he slowly moved the rod, in and out, stopping just before the center of it passed through, wanting to savor it until the teasing got unbearable again.
Holding his breath, he pushed it deeper, watching the ball disappear more and more. Inside him -it went inside his dick. It was already… only a touch more could've made him cum if he let it, but he managed to control himself just barely, letting his breath out as a shaky sigh. His hands were almost trembling, his legs tensely stretched out, and his eyes watery. He could feel it, lightly shifting against a path too narrow, burning and stinging, but finally beginning to alleviate that formidable itch that'd been haunting him for so long. Over the rounded point, the straight, smooth part of the antenna began, still thick enough to deliver that delightful stretch.
So full. With every push, he got goosebumps, thin lightning along his spine, trace tears to the edges of his eyes. For all the fast, heavy breaths he took, Giorno still felt like there was no air left in the room. Every exhale was almost a whine, and he had to resist both his instinct to thrust in and to shy away from the foreign sensation. Warm sweat dripped down his neck. He could feel it, the harsh thick obstacle, ruthlessly intruding, followed only by more hard, insurmountable metal. With every throb, nearly every heartbeat, Giorno could feel it. As it passed by where his fingers were holding his dick steady, he felt it, and a quiet, broken moan spilled from his lips as his whole body trembled, though thankfully he could hold back a premature orgasm.
Chest heaving, body arched, and legs wide open, he kept going. The lower it got, the more substantially he could feel it, the more mindlessly he craved it. The only words in his head, more, deeper, yes, fuck, almost like he was pleading the world itself to witness this perverse intrusion. Throbbing endlessly, he could feel the minute shifts, and it was as if his body was doing it on purpose, to get everything it could out of this. Resisting was impossible, so slowly and carefully, he rubbed his dick from the outside too; simply pressing, lightly moving his fingers in circles, only to feel the rigidity of the unyielding hardness inside and try to estimate how far down it had reached, since the sensations from it alone were too intense to put in order.
Just a few more centimeters… Just a few… Giorno whined, his voice breaking as he pulled the rod up until only the ball was left inside, hips rising off the bed to follow the stinging motion, instinctively trying to minimize the pain, no matter how good it was. Everything it passed through burned and throbbed with rawness, stretched out then suddenly left empty. Lightheaded with desire, Giorno stayed still like that, not daring to move a muscle until he was certain he could control his weak hands. Swallowing harshly, he pushed down again, a bit faster than before, with a little more confidence. Maybe it was his imagination, but it went down easier this time, and felt even better, sending rushes of excitement up to his throat, making his toes curl.
This time, he went lower, and lower, as low as he could go, until he ran out of rod to push in. …Just before he'd reached where he thought was the end. A couple of whines passed through his teeth clenched in frustration. He let go of his dick, and shuddered at the sensation of it falling to his stomach. Suddenly needing to hold onto something to bear the arousal, his hands gripped the sheets. Unable to think of what else to do, he laid there, shuddering with every throb, shifting so he could feel his dick sway softly from side to side, the hard metal within forcing it to stay rigid and straight. It was just… so hot . Giorno was laying on his bed, lightheaded and thoughtless, like… like how the people in the films supposedly were. He was truly perverted, and dirty . …Yet that realization only brought warmth to his chest at the time.
Maybe he was just out of his mind entirely, sitting there watching his stuffed dick leak thin trails onto his stomach, but it was hypnotizing, and profoundly satisfying, as if his body was complete for the first time. When that stopped being enough, he didn't know what to do. He tried to touch his dick, but couldn't; it was so sensitive his body kept flinching away by itself. He needed it so bad though… Turning, and shifting, and trying to rub it with his thighs did nothing. Flipping himself over, he was forced to take a brief pause, gasping at the feeling of his dick hanging in the air, the metal pressing onto him a different way, sending more unbearable heat across his body. It felt hotter than a fever, and as much as he couldn't take it anymore, he needed more of it. Thinking was impossible, Giorno only needed , he needed to… to what?
Pressing his face down on his pillow, he tried to breathe, but none of the sensations subsided. His mouth watery and dry at the same time gave only fluttery sighs. Boiling alive, he needed more, he wanted to reach deeper, to stretch himself more, and then wrap his hand around his dick and make himself cum. …But he couldn't, paralyzed by sensations too intense to bear. He couldn't even grind against the bedsheets, it was too much. Wasn't there anything? Anything at all? Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the shoebox under his desk, the one full of the stolen movies that'd started this all to begin with.
An idea formed in his head, vague as everything else. He slowly turned himself around again, his back to the bed, and called out his weird ghost-companion, thinking it may somehow help. It floated over him, and without a pause, caught his dick with its smooth, metallic hands. Giorno hissed, squirming, but the being did not back away. Instead, it began rubbing his length, up and down; slowly at first, but then faster. Such a desperate, relieved groan ripped from Giorno's throat, that he had to cover his mouth with a shaky hand, just in case the sound could pass through the wall, to the other dorm room. As the golden hand carefully pulled and twisted, the resistance from the inside drove Giorno crazy. It hurt, but, fuck , it was so good he could barely think. If only… If only it was a bit deeper .
Recoiling with a surprised grunt, Giorno's body twisted, as the floaty thing suddenly shoved the last centimeter of the rod inside, leaving nothing for him to pull it out with. Giorno rejoiced and panicked simultaneously. Then, again, he squirmed, as the rod went somehow even deeper. There… There shouldn't be any way to push it that far, and yet it- every time Giorno thought it stopped, it'd keep going. Searing with arousal, he couldn't care anymore; he could only grab the bedsheet and try to breathe through the broken half-moans and whines while his eyes rolled, unfocused.
Finally, finally, the rod reached the end, pressing upon something so good , Giorno nearly couldn't see. And then it rubbed against that point, while the hand still carefully jerked him off and all of a sudden the wave was coming, and he could scarcely prepare himself for when all of his body locked up, and all is heat gathered, and- and- Giorno writhed in odd pleasure-pain, sobbing through his desperate panting. No matter how he tried, how his body tried, he just couldn't finish; and with the rod's every persistent grind against that mouth-watering spot, his body would try again , so Giorno stayed trapped in an endless cycle, trembling and twisting, only able to inwardly beg with tears in his eyes as equal measures of pleasure and pain raked through his everything.
The rod squirmed . It pushed itself, struggling through his narrow opening, stretching and shifting as if it were a living thing. It dragged itself over the deepest spot, leaving Giorno but a mangled, heaving creature, not a thought in his head. Slowly, it started crawling up towards his opening, and then the hand stopped, forcing him to feel with agonizing richness every single burning shift. Somehow that felt better . Next to delirious, Giorno thought he could see its motions through his skin, and watched wide-eyed as the head of some undefinable, darkish creature emerged out of his dick . And out of everything, that was what made his body cease again.
Giorno tried to hold it off, he tried to keep it in because it would just, it would get ruined and hurt again, but his ghost-companion suddenly caught the thing, and dragged it all out in a single motion, setting fire to his everything. It stung so badly, but Giorno couldn't even care. Within a second, he'd lost which way was up, feeling the wave finally rip through him, so intense it might tear his body to pieces, fingers digging into the sides of his mouth as he tried to keep it covered while his head rolled back as far as it could go, full of overpowering swirling lightning. Something grabbed his length, and his hips jerked up again, another searing wave passing through, up to his tightly shut eyes, and down to the tips of his stretched-out toes. His second load set more painful fire all along the inside of his dick, and so did the third and the fourth, then the plain withering throbs with nothing to give; each spawning light shudders and surges of pleasure which prolonged his disoriented dizziness.
As it started getting too painful, the ghost-companion-whatever disappeared, and Giorno's whole body went limp at once, nothing left to keep him up. Every inch of his skin was covered in sweat, feeling too hot and too cold, his muscles all loose. His heart beat as if he'd run a marathon, and he felt about just as tired. Splayed on the bed, with one leg hanging off it, covered in copious amounts of his own cum, he just stared at the ceiling, waiting for his thoughts to return.
"What the fuck…" Giorno murmured to himself, beginning to process what had just happened.
For one… he'd broken his radio. Looking at the piece of antenna made him cringe; maybe he could get it fixed at some point. Whatever had it been turned into before? Probably an eel, or something of the sort; he couldn't really bring himself to care much. When his wobbly limbs allowed him to sit up, he braved the soreness to check himself for blood, or swelling, or anything in general that might confirm that this had been a very stupid thing to do; but no, everything looked fine enough.
Letting himself slump back down, he sighed. Everything was so oddly calm. It felt as if he could see clearly for the first time in months. He picked up his improvised rod, and stared at it. He didn't really feel anything towards it, besides a vague sense of accomplishment, and an odd familiarity. A new context, sure, but it wasn't the way it'd been before. He didn't feel compelled or tempted to do anything. His mind was clear. He was satisfied.
Finally.
"…But how long would that last?" If Giorno could suffocate that thought, he would. Soon, he realized that he didn't need to. Since he'd done it once, he could just do it again, if he started wanting to. Maybe next time it would be a bit less chaotic, or even more pleasurable. Next time, he could have his companion help from the beginning; and maybe he could even manage to find a proper rod. Yeah, he decided that that sounded nice. Sometime in the future, he would do that.