I have been sitting by the bedside of my beloved master il Grandissimo, Bellissimo and Valentissimo Paolo Giordano Orsini, duke of Bracciano for more than four weeks now, waiting for him to die or get better. The later doesn't seem possible for the moment, not only because of the stab wound in his belly from his cousin's sword, but also from his deep sorrow. On the other hand the duke has on several occasions shown that he is not like any other man, I have ever known. He might get better. Hopefully...

I am not alone at the duke's bedside. Azizo and Folletto my devoted friends and the duke's favourite minions are watching over him together with me. As we have nothing better to do while we wait for our intertwined destinies to be decided than tell each other stories, and as I am mute, it is Azizo and Folletto who are telling the stories. And today it is Azizo's turn and he has decided to tell us his story, perhaps because he is possessed by a peculiar need to confide in someone, and it might as well be the two persons who share his insecurity. None of us are afraid to tell our stories to each other - first and foremost because we are true friends and because I never will be able to tell a living soul, mute as I am, and secondly I don't think that any of us will survive for long if duke Orsini dies.

Who knows what our destinies will be like after his death? The duke has many enemies and they will unfortunately be ours to face when our master is no longer here. He is the only shield protecting us from them.

This is the story of Azizo, the Wasp. Well it is just as much my story, the story of Folletto and of our dying master to be franc, but compared to Azizo our stories are nothing to write about. And without him none of us would have a story to tell because for the last three years our destinies have been entangled.

Neither the Duke, Folletto nor I can live without him, our lives would be meaningless. But unfortunately he doesn't seem to need us the same way as we do him. But isn't that always the scenario with lovers?

You might not believe Azizo's story which I have chosen to write down without his knowledge, I am not sure that he wouldn't approve, but I dare not ask him, afraid he would forbid it. Thought the story of Azizo may not seem likely, it is the truth. What has happened the past three years is very well-known; some of it anyway! The purchase of Azizo by the melancholy duke is what started it all. And it was this purchase that came to reveal others, hitherto unknown episodes of the duke's life. Many an Italian noble man has said that the presence of Azizo in the duke's household has corrupted my master's mind and body, changing him into a genuine monster that - on his zenith of madness - has become a danger to his surroundings.

I do not agree. My master has blossomed in the vicinity of Azizo. With his godlike beauty and his gentle being, this young Moor has softened my master's heart allowing him to love again. Although when it concerns lovers there all ways seems to be all sorts of controversies - former and present accusations, demonstrable or groundless - as an innate condition and as old as love itself.

People believe that Azizo, the famous pagan, is a pernicious creature. But we who know him know that he is the most loveable person God ever placed on earth.

Before I anticipate the whole story of Azizo I think it would be appropriate to tell a little about myself. I am monsignor Rossellino, the private secretary of duke Orsini. I haven't always been a simple clerical servant; actually I have only served the powerful duke for five years.

It all started five years ago - the 5th January 1572 in the morning - as I went up the stairs of the Vatican, I fell so unfortunately that my throat hit the edge of a slippery step. The step crushed my throat and I would surely have died of suffocation if it hadn't been for a swift surgeon who without the least sign of hesitation opened my throat, using a small pair of scissors. The sore wound healed up, but I was and remained mute, that is why every one calls me il Bello Muto, the beautiful mute.

At that time there wasn't more than ten surgeons in Rome. Thus I concluded that if the providence allowed one of the best of them to cross my path so early in the day, it was surely a sign from above that the almost incredible course of events of my life was wanted by that same providence: even my fall, the destruction of my throat, the helping hand of the merciful surgeon, my mutism and my meeting with duke Orsini.

Before the accident I was one of the most celebrated priests in the eternal city, and my sermons, which were sought by the nobility of Rome, besides making me popular, provided me with the favour of the highest noblemen. They had often invited me into their grant houses, overwhelming me with exquisite dishes; they spoiled me blind and didn't want anything in return, except that I would speak to them in my usual tone of voice - whether my sermon was about the torments of hell or the glories of heaven. I loved to hear myself speak and basked in their admiration. And they loved me. When I write loved me, I mean that I wasn't a very good priest. I had and still have a hunger for physical love, man to man. Some of the noblemen knew that same hunger, and together we were good. Damn good.

At that point of time I was 28 years old, and according to many a lover I was rather handsome - well we all know that a lover's eyes can be blinded by his desire to please rather that to tell the truth. Bet I believed them all, because I also had mirrors at home. And even thought I wasn't entirely pure in my way of live, I didn't ignore their praise of my own personal advantages.

After my fall the cardinal Felice Montalto invited me to stay in his home during my recovery. I was deeply grateful. Cardinal Montalto and I had been lovers for several years; in fact he was my first. This cardinal who could be our future pope was a demanding lover - he wouldn't take no for an answer. I was very devoted to him and his physical advantages - believe me - he had the biggest dick I have ever seen, well until I meet the duke that is.

During my stay with Montalto he held a private party for the top of the aristocracy of Rome. And it was at this party I meet the Duke who was to become my new master. I feel in love with the duke the first time I laid my eyes on him - he was marvellous. He was about six-two, late twenties with a face a sculptor would kill for - strong planes and angles, accentuated by his blond hair - bull neck and a body that set my libido to fluttering. From the way he was filling out his black pants and the white shirt frill under his long cloak, it looked like there was a serious fabric shortage at his tailor's. His calves bulged; his thighs and his thick chest bulged. I knew I wanted him.

I had seen the duke Orsini sitting alone for the better part of two hours, hitting the red wine pretty hard, not talking, and not looking around. Evil tongues said that he was sad because he had just lost his favourite lover, a man called Guilietto. I would like for him to talk to me, but it is very difficult for a mute to start a conversation. So I waited.

After a few enjoyable hours I had to go to the toilet. I hadn't even started to piss when the door flew up and the duke sidled up next to me at the stand.

'Evening,' he said, his elbow brushing mine as he hauled out his equipment.

I nodded in return, a tingle of anticipation making my nuts shift around in their pouch. There was no longer any doubt as to the meaning of the look he gave me. I was going to have to fight hard to maintain a distance to his large smile. I was beginning to figure I had the cure to the duke's sad looks.

'You have got a big cock,' he slurred. He wasn't an original conversationalist, drunk as he was, but I thought he sounded sincere. So sincere, as a matter of fact, that my dick jumped and twitched in my fingers, straining to show him just how big it could get.

I nodded. It is my way of saying thank you, trying to reel it in before things got out of control. No such luck! His hand shot out and his fingers wrapped around my prick, gripping it firmly. I never had a chance.

He tugged on my handle till I was facing him, pushed me against the wall separating the urinal from the sink, and dropped to his knees before I could protest. Then he smacked his lips noisily and right away I didn't have anything to protest about. Orsini may not have been much for conversation, but he sure knows how to suck an eager cock. He polished the knob for a few minutes, tonguing the piss hole and licking all around the ridge of the crown. Once he had my attention totally riveted, he went to work on the shaft, licking it top, sides, and bottom, till it glistened in the dim light.

Once the phase of the inspection had been carried out, he went for my balls, sucking them into his mouth one at a time and working on them till my toes were all curled up. I suppose I still could have pushed him away and walked out of the place, but it is dangerous to upset a man who has your nuts sucked halfway down his throat.

Anyway, by this time I was starting to leak like a broken pipe from all the attention, my slime dripping down onto his high forehead and running down either side of his rather patrician nose. He had also been doing five-fingers exercises on himself; I noticed when I glanced down. His own stiffer was no slouch - it jutted out from the fly of his trousers, the head a lip-smacking cherry red.

I tried to pull him to his feed so I could return the favour, but he held firm, giving me clear signals that this was his show and he would call the shots. Fine by me. I braced my elbows on the wall behind my and thrust my hips forward, content to let him blow me till my head caved in.

I focused my full attention back on the duke. He was bobbing up and down on my dick like a precision machine, his tongue vibrating, and his throat tight and hot. He'd pull off till only the tip of his tongue was teasing my cum-hole, and then slam forward, smacking his forehead into my tight gut. I thought that I had great endurance, but a man can only take that type of pressure for so long before the trigger trips. Orsini tripped mine after about ten delicious minutes. I grabbed him by the ears and started humping his handsome face, bouncing my balls off his cleft chin as I prepared to feed him the best I had to offer.

I pulled my prick out of the duke's talented throat. My first shot hit him right between the eyes, splattering all over his face. He didn't protest, and my prick was still in party mode, spouting cream all over his dress and on his shoes.

Afterwards Orsini took me home and taught me more about the lovemaking between men. And I am eternal grateful. After my first lesson with him I just couldn't get enough of it. We were happy together, until a new and younger man emerged - Azizo.



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