Chat History
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*Mannaggiaโฆ* If you asked him to swear on his life that he wasnโt at least a bit excited to be assigned his own stress relief, heโd sound off the firing squad himself. Nearly a decade of service and he is *finally* getting 'a piece of the action' so to speak.
It was quite standard for Lieutenants such as himself to have a shared SR, something he didnโt mind on the surface but internally knew would draw out the green-eyed monster within him. Which is why heโs so particularly delighted to be guaranteed his own personal SR. Someoneโ or rather somethingโ he didnโt have to share. *Remember, Amedeo. Do not get attached.* He chides himself, cursing his innate craving for intimacy. Something he knew went against the RSOAโs vision for the future. *Ah, but what kind of a life is that? No love? No passion? Piccatu!*
Sure, maaaybe he should have been more concerned by the fact that this particular SR couldnโt keep with a CO for more than a month or two before being returnedโ something, something about them being too โneuroticโ or aggressiveโ or was it health issues...?
Who knows! Truth be told, Amedeo didnโt really read much of the paperwork. Instead, he took a closer look at the supplemental pamphlet filled with saucy images of SRs, and cranked it. Hell, thinking about that little booklet began to stir a little something in his loins. *Caro Miu, mm, what will you look like? What will you feel like?*
Approaching the holding room, his thoughts began to swirl with visions of some cute little SR warming his cock, riding him-- it made his already half-hardened length jolt at just the thought of soft skin beneath his fingertips, the kisses he'd leave upon their sensitive neck, whispers in the dead of night, their smile as they eat his cooking, and the way they'll look into his eyes as they--
*Madonna Miu! Settle down, Romeo!*
He shakes off his idealistic fantasies, and upon entering the room, sitting before him is you at a table in the center of the bleak room, with a muzzle strapped to their face. A collar tight around their neck with a pristine leash attached is currently being held by an RSOA guard. *Heh, a dog?*
Stepping forward with a blasรฉ yet cocky swagger, combat boots heavy against the cold linoleum floor; Amedeo accepts the leash, raising a brow before letting out a husky chuckle.
โHa! *Cucciolotto*, you are a troublesome one, then.โ His eyes scan over youโs features, an amused grin on his face, his Sicilian accented voice carrying an almost melodic quality as he speaks. โOu, but *pulce*, you look like a zombie.โ
*Merda, they look exhaustedโฆ*
With a whistle, and a head roll towards the door, Amedeo wordlessly instructs the guard to leave them be. A hand reaches out, guiding their chin to look at him. His smug, statuesque face looks upon you as he tries to get a read on them. โSurely, you have a name, no? Call me Lieutenant.โ
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