Master’s Schiavo by Laura Lascarso
10
Master takes me aside later that night to discuss the possibility of a scene with Silvio. He acts like he doesn’t know I was listening. I act as if this is the first I’m hearing of it.
“I’m not opposed,” I tell him.
“You are not opposed to him observing or to him fucking you?” Master asks because he wants my explicit consent.
“I’m not opposed to either,” I tell him.
I expect Master to question me further, but he only nods with a calculating look. I can’t tell if he’s pleased by my response or disappointed. As to the details, he’ll get into the nitty gritty of it all later. For now, this is enough for him to proceed.
True to my prediction, the three of us sit down the next day to negotiate our desires and limits. Master, being a strict adherer to protocol, has a checklist already prepared that he goes through with Silvio who answers affirmatively to nearly all of them. It’s shocking, really, his sense of entitlement to make use of my body in all the ways in which my Master has without putting in any of the work. Unfortunately for me, I like this type of arrogance in men.
When it’s my turn, I find that I have trouble answering, not because I don’t know my desires but because every yes feels like a small betrayal. Finally, I halt Master’s inquiry and say, “Master knows this slave’s hard limits already and would like him to proceed accordingly.” This isn’t me handing over my consent, merely transferring it to Master as a sign of trust. Besides, everything Master mentioned to Silvio is within my boundaries already. Still, Master offers me the list to review when it’s complete and I nod, signaling my approval.
Whenever I slip into referring to myself in third person, Silvio gives me a curious look, as if it’s some sort of mistake in my Italian. Master or I could try to explain it to him, but I imagine he’ll catch on eventually.
“Colors,” Master says, not to me but to Silvio.
“Green, yellow, red,” he responds dutifully.
Master dismisses me to make my preparations, and in my absence, I assume goes over with Silvio how the scene will go. I never know what Master has planned for me, and unless it’s something completely new, I prefer to be surprised.
Once I’ve cleaned myself thoroughly and inserted my plug, I find my pillow and bring it with me into the playroom. Like all the rooms here, Master’s dungeon is much bigger than the one in New York, and it has far more equipment and toys. The high ceilings and stone walls give it almost a cathedral effect, but the windows have thick, dark drapery so that Master can block out the natural light and set the ambiance according to his wishes.
I’m sitting on my pillow and in position when Master and Silvio stroll in a little while later. Master pointedly ignores me and instead offers Silvio a tour of the room, giving him a rundown of the various equipment and implements.
“You are a gynecologist now?” Silvio asks regarding the exam table and metal tray laid out with Master’s gleaming instruments.
“Playing doctor,” Master says, and though I can’t see his face, I can imagine his sly grin.
“And this one?” Silvio asks about the spanking bench.
“For paddling Giovanni when he misbehaves.”
“Ah,” Silvio remarks, sounding interested. Master darts a look my way, but my eyes are focused on my upturned hands like an obedient little slave.
“I like this,” Silvio remarks. From the corner of my eye, I see him run his hands over a length of rope and glance over at me with some interest. I burn with the desire to raise my head and observe his exploration, but I dutifully keep my gaze cast downward. Still, my hands tremble where they are laid open on my lap.
“It suits you,” Master says.
It feels like hours before Master finally approaches and permits me to kiss his knuckles. “This is how a slave greets his Master,” Master explains for Silvio’s benefit. “This is Giovanni demonstrating his subservience and showing me that he consents to our scene. He is placing his body and his trust in my hands for the next few hours to do whatever I want. I could spank him until he’s black and blue, whip him against the cross until he sobs, or I could deprive him of all sensation except a light touch against his cock until he screams in frustration.
Master has done all those things to me before. This talk feels like he’s showing me the buffet after I’ve been starved of food, and I must remind myself it’s not up to the slave to determine what he needs. Master knows already.
“Very good, Giovanni,” Master says and cups my cheek so that I might gaze up at him. There I see my own tenderness and devotion reflected in his eyes. This is the place I return to whenever I’m seeking peace of mind, Master cupping my cheek in his hand, gazing down on me with love and appreciation.
“Silvio will touch your head as a greeting,” Master says, then gestures for him to do so. Silvio lays his palm atop my head and I find it comforting in a different way. “Remember, I am still in charge of this scene,” Master says to us both. “The orders come from me, alone.” Silvio nods in agreement. “Now stand, Giovanni.”
I rise at last for Master’s inspection, which is largely performative now, since I’ve been almost exclusively nude the past week. He makes a production of inspecting my arms though, to show Silvio how it’s done. No comments are made by either man, which is likely for my benefit.
“The mask today,” Master says, which is exactly what I need. I can hardly bear the scrutiny of my Master, much less Silvio’s questing gaze. I feel infinitely better when the mask is in place. I can’t see the way they look at me and even their voices are muted. Meanwhile, their hands touch, caress, squeeze, and grope. At first, I try to determine who they belong to, but then I give up and decide it doesn’t really matter because I’ve given my body over to them already. My flesh is an instrument of pleasure for the two men in this room to use according to my Master’s will and desires.
Master cuffs the back of my neck with his hand and steers me across the room, tells me to turn around, and places my hands against the nylon ropes. The swing. He assists me into it, with my back braced securely against the leather seat and my calves supported by holsters that serve to both spread and expose me. There’s another strap to support my neck, so that I might drop my head all the way back and take a cock in my mouth. I recall Master’s desire to fill me in two places, and I suspect a spit-roast is what he and Silvio have planned.
This slave is not opposed.
But for now, I feel the slow drag of the flogger’s leather tresses over my exposed privates. I think it’s Master’s doing, but then maybe not because my nipples are being primed for what I assume are the clamps. Master pinches and twists and tugs until they throb from his savage treatment. The ribbed teeth of the clamps press down on my swollen, tender nubs behind my piercings, a stinging bite that incites by some strange alchemy, the blood to rush to my cock. Even so, I hiss from the intensity and arch my lower back.
“Looks painful,” Silvio comments.
“Yes,” Master says with a quiet satisfaction. Master is a sadist who gets off on having complete authority over me, his masochist. Master likes being in control, and I like handing it over. In the beginning, we did scenes only occasionally, but we soon discovered we both wanted more. I thrive on the structure and discipline the dynamic provides, and Master enjoys assuming ownership over my body and putting me through the whole gamut of sensual and psychological torture. We decided a complete immersion in the lifestyle would better suit us and allow Master the free reign to train me as his ideal submissive. In all his years as a Dominant and occasional Master, he says he’s never invested so heavily in slave training as he has with me.
The prideful part of me glories in this knowledge while the insecure part wonders if it’s because I’m so badly behaved. Master’s instruction is ongoing because there are always ways in which this slave can improve.
For now, Master pulls on the wire that connects the clamps, which makes my dick bob enthusiastically and dribble precum messily. I whine, not only from the pain but with the desire for him to do it again. I’m confident he will. Master wants to hurt me.
“How’s that?” he asks, tugging again.
“Good,” I respond with a full-body shudder.
I hear him moving to my lower half. The men switch positions, or so I assume because the sensation of the flogger on my ass, cock, and balls now feels familiar. Sharp, stinging slaps on my buttocks and slightly softer ones on my genitals. I imagine my groin red and swollen from Master’s merciless treatment, burning hot to the touch. The first time he did this to me was in front of his Dominant friends—I cried because it felt so good—and I thought something must be wrong with me to like it so much. Master paused the scene to talk me through it, assuring me that if I was wrong, then he was wrong too, as were the men watching and enjoying my torment. This made me feel much better about it.
While Master tortures my lower half, Silvio’s hands skate along my abdomen and chest, providing a soothing contrast to the stinging pain on my privates. It goes like this for a while, interspersed with breaks so that I can catch my breath and Master might discuss his technique more fully.
“Giovanni must be disciplined regularly,” Master says in a soothing rumble, “so that he feels seen and appreciated and to reinforce our dynamic. This is not something I expect you to do for him, Silvio. Not without time and training. But I do want you to hold Giovanni to his routines as much as possible and report back to me daily on his behavior.”
Just knowing that Master will hold me accountable, even by proxy, makes me feel much more reassured about his upcoming departure.
On the next break from torturing my cock and balls, Master removes my plug, and I assume his intent is to fuck me but no, it’s another toy, a much larger one that makes me squirm and pant in the swing, trying to edge away from the burn of my sphincter being stretched so wide. It’s better that I can’t see what Master is attempting to shove inside of me or I might swoon from fear. Not terror, mind you, but a kind of invigorating fear borne of my trust in Master and his extensive experience in disciplining his subs and me in particular. Master knows how much I can take. The harness makes it so that any effort at relief is in vain, so I whimper pitifully instead.
“Settle,” Master says to me sternly, and then to Silvio, “Pull his hair.” Silvio grabs a fistful of my hair at the nape of my neck and yanks. I arch upward and Master pushes the toy the rest of the way in. The pressure against my prostate is almost unbearable, as is the stretch of my rectum, so full that my guts cramp around the foreign intrusion and try to expel it. My skin is slick with sweat against the leather, and just when I’ve caught my breath, Master says, “Use his mouth now. If you can manage to fuck it without coming, you can have his ass too. If he snaps his fingers, stop immediately. That’s his safesign.” A pause and then, “Say the words, Silvio, so Giovanni can hear you.”
“I understand,” Silvio says.
I drop my head and open my mouth obediently. Silvio’s hand is still in my hair when his thick cockhead pushes past my lips and lodges itself deep in my throat. I’m thankful for Master’s instruction that has prepared me for gagging and choking on dick. Master continues with the flogger while Silvio places a hand on my sternum and uses the momentum of the swing to fuck my mouth.
“Feels so good,” Silvio murmurs, finding a rhythm to his thrusting that I adopt as well. “Sei fantastico, cazzo.” Fuck, you’re amazing.
There’s so much sensation assaulting me from all sides that I stop trying to resist. My muscles relax as my body finally accepts the violation on all fronts, and I imagine myself floating in the ocean, being rocked back and forth by the current, the water gushing into every orifice and filling me to the point of saturation, until the water and I are no longer separate but a single living organism.
Distantly, I feel the tug of my rectum as Master removes the toy and fills me with his warm, rigid cock. The men fuck me between them, their sweat dripping onto my skin, their grunts a kind of percussion to the other sounds of slapping and saliva and suction. I drift in and out. Master tugs on the clamps to reign me back, and I return long enough to feel his warm release flood me and the absence of Silvio in my throat. Master repositions my head in the strap while Silvio grips my thighs in his meaty hands and takes his turn mounting me. I realize now why Master stretched me so extensively, because even with the lube and Master’s semen coating my rim, even with my hole already fucked open and gaping, Silvio is thick, and his added girth burns when he enters me, causing me to shudder and seize in the swing.
“Color?” Master says in the voice that tells me he means business.
“Green, Master.”
I try to welcome the invasion of Silvio’s unrelenting conquest, pushing out to invite him in. My pain receptors are blinking chaotically; my nerves don’t know which sensations to transmit. When Silvio’s fully seated at last, there is a collective pause and reorientation. During that time, I realize that I’ve come once already, and my cock is now thickening up again.
“Very good, princess,” Silvio murmurs and strokes my thigh, then my dick, his callused hand rough against my skin. “You are so warm and tight, very pretty on my cock. Let me show you what a young man can do.”
Master snorts at the jab and then Silvio moves his hips so that he surges inside of me. I groan like an animal and beg for more. Master tugs on the wire of my clamps, enticing me to drift again while Silvio fucks me with the stamina and enthusiasm of a young stud who’s been allowed to look but not touch for days and now demands to have his lust sated. My spirit soars, hearing only distantly the primal noises I make. It’s as if I’m giving birth, or how I would imagine it to feel, only it’s a man’s massive cock pounding into me over and over again. My channel clamps and spasms around him, my legs still spread for his convenience. Silvio makes the most of gravity and the pendulous motion of the swing as he fucks me to a climactic finish.
When Master finally removes my clamps, I practically levitate out of the leather harness and orgasm again. Silvio catches me in both arms and holds me to him while his dick attempts to reach in and tear out a piece of my soul with the force of his orgasm.
“Yes, baby, yes,” he whispers, his lips right against the leather mask so that the sound reverberates all around my skull. “You are so good for me, Giovanni. Made my cock feel so much at home. I love the feeling you give me, so pure and so wonderful.”
I come back in pieces, first to the sensation of being covered in cum with more of it dripping out of my throbbing, swollen asshole. Next, is the sound of Silvio slithering out of me with a wet slurp. Then it’s his hand on my thigh, massaging. Master gives me a few moments to recover then warns me that he’s going to take off the mask. Still a little disoriented by my surroundings and the dimly lit room, my first glimpse is of Silvio gazing down on me with a smug smile and my name a sated purr on his lips.
“What do you say to Silvio, Giovanni?” Master urges, petting my hair to show me he is pleased with my submission. The fourth virtue of this slave and the proper conclusion to our scenes is always an expression of gratitude.
“Grazie, Signore.”
Silvio kisses his thumb and places it against my swollen, bruised lips. “Prego, principessa.”
Master cleansme off and sends me to the bedroom with Silvio to recover. Silvio supports my weight with his beefy arms because the combination of being suspended in the swing and getting enthusiastically railed by two well-endowed men has made it difficult to walk.
Between the cool sheets of Master’s bed, I doze a little while Silvio strokes my hip and murmurs his appreciation like dulcet lullabies. Master is excellent at aftercare, but he’s seldom so openly affectionate. In this way, it feels like Silvio needs the closeness as much as me.
Master brings us both cool drinks and rubs lotion on my ass and genitals, including a medicated cream for my anus to help with the soreness and swelling and to act as a disinfectant in case there was any tearing. He checks my nipples and my piercings to make sure there are no lacerations, and only when my glass of water is drained does he tell me I can rest. Silvio pulls me again into his arms where he’s propped himself against the headboard, and I doze against his broad chest. While I drift in and out of slumber, I hear them discussing my trauma in hushed tones. Silvio must have had questions about the scarring around my anus. It’s unfortunate, in some ways, that I’ll always have these reminders, but the physical evidence is far more manageable than the rest.
Silvio makes sympathetic noises and squeezes me tighter to him with each horror Master reveals, nothing too detailed but enough to paint a picture.
“And this is why he likes the pain?” Silvio asks.
“They may or may not be related,” Master says. Even though our lifestyle is therapeutic for me, he’s unwilling to consider it a treatment, which is part of why he insisted I start talking to Rebekah. “The important things for Giovanni to have are structure, stability, and rules. This is what I need you to provide for him in my absence, Silvio.”
“Yes, of course,” Silvio says as if it will be easy, as if the demons and I won’t test him.
Silvio leaves after dinner, which is light and casual and served in bed on trays. Master gives me a stool softener to help with my bowel movement tomorrow morning. I sense he’s eager to have some alone time with me. He leaves the day after tomorrow and each hour that slips away makes the next one even more precious.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. Other than taking a piss, I haven’t left his bed, nor do I intend to.
“I feel good,” and before he can ask, “I enjoyed our scene with Silvio.”
“You’re not in too much pain?”
“I’ll heal.”
Master always asks me this after a scene. He worries that he sometimes goes too far. I don’t have the experience to know what’s too far or not far enough, but I do know that there’s a good kind of pain and a needs-medical-attention kind of pain. Master is always careful that it’s the former, not the latter. He strokes my hair, and we drift into the kind of silence that’s the result of knowing each other so intimately and for so long.
“I’ll write to you while I’m away,” Master says, sounding wistful. “I hope you’ll write to me too?”
“Of course, I will.” Master has decided that letters and care packages are how we’ll keep in touch. I have my burner phone too, so that I can call Master in cases of emergency and he might contact me as well. Silvio will send pictures to Master as evidence of me demonstrating my virtues and update him regularly on my behavior. I don’t really know how it’s going to go without Master here. This slave can only concentrate on what’s immediately in front of him.
“I’m going to be very lonely without you, Giovanni,” Master says, and for the first time, he sounds torn about his decision.
“You could stay.” That’s what I want, and he knows it.
“I wish that I could, tesoro, but I must honor your grandfather and see that all of the sacrifices he made were not in vain.”
There is a kind of arrested development trauma victims experience due to their lives being violently interrupted. I think that I suffer from it, not only because of my tantrums and regressions, but because in this moment, I can think only of myself and my own selfish desires. My instinct has always been to satisfy my most immediate needs and to hell with everything else. Similarly, I want Master to abandon the family business and the men who have come to rely on his leadership and authority. To hell with their livelihoods and their safety and the empire my grandfather has painstakingly built, the same one Master has devoted his life to serving. I want him to choose only me, here and now.
This is how I know I’m still only a boy in the service of men.