Master’s Schiavo by Laura Lascarso
13
I’m servicing Sir on my knees at the breakfast table one morning when he interrupts me to ask, “Giovanni, what color is your hair?”
“Blond?” I respond and wonder if he means my natural color.
“Blond?” He drags a finger along the part where my roots must be showing. “Valentin made you dye it?” he asks, incredulous.
“No, it was…” I pause, not wanting to go into all that. “It was necessary at the time.”
“But not anymore?”
I shrug. “Not really.”
He nods. “We will go to Naples tomorrow on my boat, and you will see my guy. I would like to fuck a blonde, I think.” He’s constantly teasing me about this mythical fucking that has yet to transpire.
“What about Anthony?”
Sir glances over to where Anthony is pointedly looking away. “Anthony, you want vacation?” he asks in English because Anthony is still learning the language. Anthony nods and Sir says to me, “This is the word, no?”
“A holiday.”
“A holiday, yes. We will take a holiday and leave your Master’s guard dog behind.”
Anthony is not Master’s guard dog. More like mine, it would seem. I don’t know if, like Sir, he’s reporting back to Master on my condition. I’ve received two letters so far from Master and spoken to him on the phone three times, mostly just to check in. He says that he misses me, that the apartment is too empty without me there, and that he hopes I’m being appreciative of his brother’s hospitality. Considering all the Fortuna cum I’ve ingested over the past couple of weeks, I’d say so.
“Well, princess?”
“Yes, Sir, I would like a holiday.”
“And the other thing?” he asks.
“I would like you to fuck me on your boat.”
He grins, playful and taunting. “We shall see.”
The weather is beautiful,a light wind out of the southwest, which Sir says is perfect for sailing. I’m lounging on the sun-splashed deck in my bathing suit when Sir asks, “Do you do anything other than look good on a boat, princess?”
“Does Sir require something of his boy?” I ask demurely.
“Yes, I need you to trim that sail.”
Sir stands behind me while I crank the winch, his large arms overlapping mine, his broad chest firm at my back. “Yes, a little tighter now,” he urges and thrusts his hips slightly. “And now, a little looser.”
I stop what I’m doing to glance back at him, realizing that this is purely for his entertainment. “You are impossible,” I tell him, laughing.
“I am very possible,” he says, and catches my lips with his mouth. I sort of… melt into his arms as Sir steers me around so that my back is against the cabin and his arms are caging me on either side. His tongue, like his cock, is large and eager as it roots around inside my mouth, demanding to be worshiped and adored. I’ve never been kissed like this before, in such a teasing, exploratory way and without a deeper meaning of submission. When Master kisses me, it is to remind me that my mouth is his to plunder; when Sir kisses me, it is simply a quest for pleasure, both his and mine.
“See, I am a good kisser,” he says when he finally pulls away.
“Yes.” I nod in a daze and stare at him, unblinking.
There is still no fucking to be done, however, as Sir goes back to sitting in his captain’s chair behind the wheel. He orders me about, adjusting sails or fetching him a cold drink from the refrigerator below deck. He makes me call him Captain and pulls me onto his lap so that I can steer the boat as well. Then his big, firm fingers are groping inside my bathing suit, tugging out my cock and balls and jacking me off so expertly that my knees tremble and I must brace myself against him. He catches my ejaculate in the valley of his palm and feeds it to me, cupping his large hand over my mouth in a possessive way.
“You are not a bad first mate,” he says while I’m still catching my breath from the spontaneous orgasm. “Do you like sailing, little boy?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“I knew you would.”
The wind iswith us and the trip only takes a few hours. Sir docks at his own private slip in the marina and we walk the rest of the way to his stylist, who is more like a barber with his own shop on one of Naples’ many narrow alleyways. Lorenzo sits me down in his chair and eyes my hair from all angles. At last he says, “You could dye it or you could cut it.”
“Princess?” Sir says.
I stare at myself in the mirror and don’t know which one I’d prefer. There’s no need to maintain my anonymity here, and I do miss my blond hair, but I don’t really want to dye it back. If I cut it, would Master be upset?
“I don’t know, Sir. Will you consult my Master on this one?”
Sir nods and makes a call to discuss it with Master. When he returns, he tells me that Master says it’s okay to cut it and let my natural color grow out. I am relieved to have Master’s input. To Lorenzo he says, “Leave as much as possible on the top, enough for a handful,” then winks at me in the mirror. Lorenzo takes over, shearing away my long, black hair and then using clippers to shave the sides. When it’s dried and styled, I look at myself in the mirror to find a ghost staring back at me. Matthew. I haven’t seen his face in so long. I almost want to ask him what he’s doing here.
Have you followed me here from New York, Matthew? What do you want now?
“You don’t like it?” Sir says.
“It’s different.” But in a way, it’s not different at all. It’s exactly how Matthew wore his hair. I didn’t realize this might be a trigger for me—I never know when one is going to pop up. “It reminds me of the way I used to look.”
“Does that bother you?” Sir asks with concern.
“A little bit, but it will be much easier to wash like this.”
Sir nods, but he’s still watching me closely. “Come, we go get dessert now.”
After dessert, which we eat before dinner, and after Sir buys me something from a store that looks like it specializes in slutty clubwear, Sir says I need to get dressed in my new clothes because we’re going dancing.
“Dancing?” I ask, intrigued by the prospect.
“Yes, I am taking my pretty baby on a date. You like dancing, no?”
“I love dancing,” I tell him, but then I think about all the temptations. “You’ll have to keep your eye on me, though. Don’t let me have anything alcoholic to drink and don’t let me out of your sight.” Perhaps I am stronger now, but I don’t wish to test it.
“No problem, princess. I will be to you like a cheeseburger to fries.”
That’s not an Italian expression; he made that one up.
I seeMatthew’s ghost again when I dawn the sheer black shirt that Sir bought me and the leather pants he told me to bring with me from Master’s villa. Other than my gold piercings, which are new, I could be Matthew getting ready for a night out with drugs in my pocket or a connection in my sights. It’s discomfiting to know that even with all of Master’s careful instruction and all of his rules, I could so easily slip back into Matthew’s reckless life.
“You look very nice, princess,” Sir says. He’s wearing his usual clothing, jeans and a clingy t-shirt, only they’re both black this time, giving him a slightly dangerous air. He doesn’t need any extra adornment. He’s sexy no matter what he wears, and he knows it.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“You ready to go?” he asks, probably sensing my nervousness.
“Yes, I’m ready now.”
The club is obviously not one that I’ve been to before, and the patrons are mostly Italian, which further removes me from flashbacks to NYC’s club scene. Some of the songs are American ones, and everyone sings along during the chorus, whether they know the English words or not. I like the communal vibe of this Italian nightclub; it’s almost like a sporting event with regard to its enthusiastic crowd participation. Sir orders himself a whiskey sour and a club soda for me. We sip our drinks on the balcony and stare at the mass of undulating bodies below.
“Does my brother take you dancing?” Sir asks, perhaps noticing my gaze.
“He’s brought me to his club in Chelsea, but not for dancing.”
“For fucking?” Sir asks and I nod.
“He is elderly so maybe his hips don’t move so good anymore.”
I frown at him. He knows this sort of talk bothers me.
“I’m kidding, Giovanni. Your Master is spry, I know. I’ve seen him fuck you enough times to realize this. Now, would you dance with me, pretty baby?” He holds out his hand like a gallant prince and I take it.
Once on the dance floor, sandwiched between a hundred other sweating, gyrating bodies, Sir presses close to me while I move my hips with the rhythm. Like relearning a primal song, the movements return to me, and I find myself reaching that meditative state I often get when I swim, only this one is shared with a living, breathing, throbbing man who now has my explicit permission to touch me whenever and however he likes. I relish the slide of sweat-slick skin and the possessive hands that yank me backward so that he might grind his thick dick against me. My arms lift to find his neck and his hair, which I run my fingers through in a hypnotic rhythm.
“Pompino, Giovanni,” he purrs in my ear, “Fammi un pompino,si?” Then he makes the kissing noise that makes me want to drop to my knees.
“Yes, Sir,” I murmur, wondering if he wants it right here. He grabs my hand and drags me away from the dance floor, through a back corridor and into a room that looks like it’s used for storage. With one hand braced against the door to keep anyone from entering, he tells me to take off my shirt. Once that’s done, he kisses me passionately—my mouth, my neck, my shoulders. He grabs my ass, yanking me toward him to mash our cocks together, then his hands are pushing me down to the floor. It’s so easy to do now, like second nature. I consume his cock, intent on bringing him to climax in the fastest, filthiest way possible, but after a minute or two, Sir yanks me up again. “Turn around,” he growls, then fumbles with my button and pulls down my pants, exposing my ass to him. I’m not wearing a plug and I haven’t been stretched in a while. Even though it’d hurt like hell, I’d probably let Sir fuck me here like this.
“No penetration,” he says. “Squeeze your legs together so I can fuck your thighs.” I clench my ass cheeks, making sure to offer him a snug channel for his cock as he spills a packet of lube onto his dick before shoving it between my legs. With his hands braced on either side of me and his hot breath on my neck, this feels a lot like fucking, not the way Master does it—as a testament to his domination—but a spontaneous animalistic fuck in a broom closet.
“Touch yourself.” Sir guides my hand to my own dick. We work like that, fast, clumsy, furiously trying to get off, me fucking into my hand while Sir strokes between my thighs. When he pulls back, I think maybe he’s already finished, but then he releases hot streams of cum across my back, almost like the lashes of a whip. I come soon after, painting the grimy wooden door with my spend.
“Stay right there,” Sir says, “but look at me.”
I turn my head slightly to find that Sir has his phone aimed at my debauched body, still with my ass hanging out and his cum streaked all over my back. I blink and the camera flash goes off. Sir shows me the picture, and it is every bit as slutty as I imagined.
“I’m sending this one to Valentin,” Sir says with a smug grin, and I don’t know whether to be pleased by it or upset. Will Master be aroused by his slave being used by his brother in a grimy nightclub closet or will he be disgusted? Is this Sir’s way of sharing my virtue of my humility, or is this his attempt to best his brother?
Before my mind starts to spiral with anxiety, I remind myself that it is not this slave’s job to worry about the motivations or maneuvers between men.
The next morning,Sir anchors off the coast of Procida, a smaller island to the east of Ischia. We swim in the crystalline water and eat lunch on the boat’s deck. Sir has the youthful ease of a man with a boat, and he is every bit the rich Italian playboy with a full head of hair and a surplus of cock.
“What are you thinking about, princess?” Sir asks without glancing my way. The afternoon heat has immobilized us, and I fear we will both melt in the sun and fuse with the magnificent Evelina.
I’d like to tell him I’m thinking about Master, but in this moment, I am thinking only about the colossus that snakes along Sir’s thigh and bunches in his tight bathing suit.
“You said you’d fuck me on your boat,” I say to him.
He chuckles, long and low. “I did not say that, Giovanni. I asked if you’d ever been fucked on a boat, but I did not make any promises.” He pauses there, waiting to see if I’ll bite. When I don’t, he teases, “but if you want…”
I roll over to my other side so that I’m no longer facing him and pretend to want to sleep. I don’t do well with even the merest hint of rejection, and Sir has been cock teasing me for a while. He sidles up behind me and draws his fingers up and down my arm. “You only have to ask, pretty baby.”
“No,” I say stubbornly. This slave boy will not beg.
“No?” Sir asks, a word he so seldom hears from me that he doesn’t know what to make of it. “But I thought you were having sweet dreams about Sir’s cock inside of you. You remember last time, don’t you?
“How could I forget?” I say snottily. “I couldn’t walk for a week.”
Sir dips his head close to my ear and purrs, “Then it’s a good thing you like being on your knees.”
Points have been made. One of Sir’s hands is working its way lower now, dipping under my bathing suit so that his fingers skate along my crack, tickling and teasing me. “Is this hole as hungry as your cock-loving mouth?”
“Yes, Sir.” I whimper without meaning to.
“You want to be bathed in the cum of a strong, Italian stud.”
I smile to myself and turn my head to face him. “Yes, Sir.”
“You only have to ask, Giovanni. You only have to ask Sir for what you want.”
I roll all the way onto my back and reach my hands around his neck to draw him nearer so that I might whisper in his ear, “Sir, will you fuck me now? Please?”
“On my boat?”
Here, there, anywhere. “Yes, on your boat.”
“On the magnificent Evelina?”
“Yes, on the boat you named after your mother, you horny bastard. Will you fuck me up the ass so deep and so hard that you make me cry cummy tears?”
Things move swiftly after that, perhaps too swiftly considering my legs are lifted as high as they will possibly go, and Sir’s cock is slowly rearranging my anatomy. But the pain is a good one, a cleansing one, like death and renewal. Sir is remaking me as his own. All my tendons are tight and muscles straining as I cling to him and beg him to keep going.
“You are too tight, little princess,” he murmurs, but he’s not going to stop unless I tell him. Once Sir’s lust is activated, he’s like a bull charging ahead. “My cock is too big for this baby boy. Am I hurting you?”
“Yes.”
“Good hurt or bad hurt?”
“Good hurt, Sir. Please keep going. Green, green, green.”
His mouth finds mine and quells my whimpers with his tongue, and I tell myself to give up control and let him take over. And when I do at last, it is good, so good. I cannot fly this way, but I can revel in the mass of flesh that ripples and grinds atop me, drilling in deeper, deeper, as far as it will go.
Sir grips my hair and turns my head so that he can suck on my neck, using his mouth to anchor me beneath him, while his cock finds that sweet spot inside me. We grapple and roll until I’m on top, bobbing up and down furiously, fucking myself on his obscene dick. “Yes, Giovanni,” Sir cheers. “Ride me like a pony.”
I ignore his corny usage of idioms and do, in fact, ride him like he’s a pony until we are both a wet, sticky mess and tangled up in each other’s arms.
“You did well for your first time fucking on a boat,” Sir says a little while later, and I laugh at his stupidity. “Do you feel good, princess?”
“Yes, Sir, you know your cock has magical powers.”
“I still like to hear it. Gratitude, no?”
“Thank you, Sir, for letting me ride your monster dick and for fucking me on your boat.”
“Monster dick.” Sir chuckles. “I like that.”
Sir is quiet after that, his breathing so even that I think he’s fallen asleep until he pulls me closer and murmurs in my hair, “I like you, Giovanni. I think I would like to keep you.”
My heart melts a little, and I feel a twinge of guilt because I’m growing fond of him too, but this thing between us is only temporary. Master will come back for me. He promised.