Master’s Schiavo by Laura Lascarso

20

Master and Sir have worked out an arrangement. During the week, I will live at the manor and serve Master; on the weekends, I will live at the boathouse and serve Sir. When we do scenes, I will submit to both men, and they’ll alternate in planning and executing the details of the scene. To that end, I don’t need to know whose idea it was, only that in Master’s house, I obey Master, and in Sir’s house, I obey Sir. Sir’s only rule so far is that I must learn some of his beloved mother’s recipes and cook dinner for him like a housewife, which includes wearing a ridiculous-looking apron. When Sir interrupts my cooking to bend me over the counter and spank me with a wooden spoon, then fuck me with the lubrication of his very own brand of olive oil, I think Sir might have some kind of domestic servitude kink.

And even though I don’t know who’s the architect behind our scenes, I do have my suspicions. Sir is slowly working me into bondage, first by simply draping ropes over my body while Master uses whatever implements they've decided on, and later, by tying my legs in ways that spread me for he and Master’s convenience. The only parts of my body Sir avoids altogether are my wrists, which is my hard limit.

After a rope scene, Sir is excellent with aftercare, massaging my muscles and rubbing out my tight joints. I understand how this kink befits him because it combines the control element with the hands-on type of affection he favors.

One day, as I’m being escorted back to Master’s, and after Sir has kissed me goodbye, I find that Master is not at home and neither is Anthony. When I call his phone, he doesn’t answer. He’s usually waiting on my return and if not that, he tells me where he’s going and when he’ll be back. The car is not here either. I wait for an hour, then two, and then I think to check the safe because if Master left the island, he likely took his gun with him.

The gun is there, along with the clip and then I notice, shoved deep into the recess of his safe, is a pill bottle. I pull it out and study it closely. I don’t recognize the medication, and it’s not one of the ones I dole out every week in his pill box. I look up the name on my phone to find that it’s often prescribed for something called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, ALS, which is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord.

ALS, which causes tremors and clumsiness and slurred speech, things I’ve noticed and pointed out to Master, and he’s blown off as low blood sugar or fatigue or having had a little too much to drink. A disease for which there is no cure.

Fatal. Not years into the future, but two to four years, if we’re lucky. When was he diagnosed? How long has he been keeping this from me? How long do we have left?

Master is…

Master is leaving me?

Your precious Master lied to you,the demons whisper excitedly, and Sir lied to you too.

I sit there, dumbstruck at this deception. The demons don’t rage because they don’t need to. They’re smug in their righteousness. They’ve been right all along.

When I come backto myself, I’m in the living room. Master is sitting at the edge of his recliner, watching me intently, waiting for me to return. Sir is holding me in his lap and stroking me somewhat frantically.

I scramble away from them both and retreat to the far end of the couch.

“I was going to tell you,” Master says, which means that it’s true—his disease as well as the fact that he and Sir have been hiding it from me. My Master… I cannot live without my Master—I don’t want to.

“How long have you known?” It’s my own voice but the demons are behind it, tugging on my vocal chords like a puppet’s strings.

“Awhile,” Master says.

“Months or years?” I plead.

“Since New York.”

Since New York when he asked me about the family business, the drawn look on his face, nearly a year ago. He knew way back then, and he said nothing about it to me.

“You lied to me,” I accuse, then turn to Sir. “You lied to me too.”

“I know and I’m sorry,” Master says.

“Man-to-man, Dom-to-Dom,” I say in a sing-song voice. The swaying starts. I can’t help it.

“Do you need to go in your box?” Master asks.

“You need to go in the box, Master,” I hiss but the demons say, don’t let him put you in the box. You’re going to get even.

“What are the voices saying, Giovanni?” Master asks and I want to scream at him not to use that condescending tone with me. I want to roar and wail and claw at him and bite him, but then he will put me in the box for sure, and the demons need me to be smart this time.

“I’m going for a swim.” I stand and start to walk away but Sir grabs my arm.

“Giovanni,” he says, and I turn on him so fast he startles and falls back against the couch.

“You lied to me.” I point an accusing finger in his face. “Traitor.”

In the pool, I try to reach a meditative state, but the demons are chattering too loudly, gleeful in their excitement. He lied. He lied. He lied. He was never going to tell you. And Sir lied for him too. They took advantage of your trust and they lied…

Sir tries again to placate me when I get out of the pool. I look past him until he realizes he’s not getting through. I hate him and I hate Master for what they’ve done. Made me trust them and manipulated me while doing it. Just like my mother.

“I’ll be in my box,” I tell Master who is waiting for me in the bedroom when I get out of the shower. “You can have Anthony bring me dinner there.”

When Anthony comes later, I open the door only long enough to take the tray before shutting it again, cutting him off mid-sentence, something about what Master wants.

“You can tell Valentin to go fuck himself,” I tell Anthony through the glass. Let him prove his manhood and use my exact words.

I pretend to read with the waning evening light and then I lay with my hands behind my back and stare up at the glass ceiling of my box. A boy in a cage, the demons whisper. Always waiting on his Master to tell him what to wear, what to do, who to talk to, how to act. Are you a boy, Giovanni, or are you a man?

The demons sometimes goad me in this way. I try not to listen, but their points are valid. Meanwhile Master’s refrains haunt me as well—this is a conversation between men, Giovanni. It is not the concern of this slave to question, only serve… He trained me to be incurious, to blindly trust that he knew what was best. Curiosity is not the virtue of a slave, and boys are not privy to the conversations of men. I don’t feel humble, I feel humiliated and so, so furious.

Master comes in the nighttime to invite me to bed, but I have only two words for him.

“You lied.”

When Master is finally asleep,after a long span of tossing and turning, I slip out of my box and shut the door silently behind me. I collect my car keys from the kitchen and take the convertible into town. Ischia isn’t a bustling city in the wee hours of the night, but I know where I can go. People have offered to get me high before, because I’m young or attractive or because I have an artist’s soul or because they saw the scars on my arms and thought me a kindred spirit. Like attracts like.

Why didn’t I tell Master? I liked knowing there was a connection in the event I ever needed the release. Addicts are liars in case you didn’t know. It’s what we do.

I go to one of the restaurants that also has a bar and ask after Paolo, a cook who works in the back. He gets off in an hour or so, so I decide to order a drink, a shot of tequila to show the demons that I am indeed my own man. In for a penny, in for a pound. The demons lap it up thirstily and beg for more. I started drinking to deal with my social anxiety and even now, I appreciate the mellow mood that descends, allowing me to care just a little bit less about everything else, including my Master’s betrayal.

Paolo comes out a while later and I tell him what I’m looking for. He says he’s got some real good stuff back at his apartment in Naples, but I tell him I need it now, just one hit. He has a little he’s been saving that he wouldn’t mind sharing and the manager’s left for the night, so we can use his office. Paolo suggests I have another drink while the rest of the staff leaves, and he finishes up in the back. I ask for tequila over ice so that I might pace myself because I don’t want to be wasted, even if it is what the demons want.

Paolo returns a little while later to collect me from the bar and I follow him back to the manager’s office where he invites me to relax in the boss’s own chair. Paolo has offered to blow me before, and he looks like he wants to right now. Maybe he’ll wait until after I’m high to make a move. I try to muster up some feeling about it, but there isn’t any. I tell him I’ll pay him later and he waves me off. He isn’t a dealer, per se, but my experience has been that most will give you the first dose for free anyway, knowing it’s a small investment on a much longer return.

He tosses me a length of elastic rubber and I deftly wrap it around my arm, using my teeth to hold one end as I tie it off easily around my bicep, remarkable how one’s muscle memory lasts. He clears a spot on the desk and lays out his kit. I watch with a kind of detachment as he goes through the process. The demons are giddy with excitement because they are about to get what they’ve been begging for these past few years, but my mind has tuned them out and is singularly saying, fuck you, Master. Sometimes our goals align.

Paolo presents the prepared needle for my inspection and I pump my fist, offering my vein. Seeming to have second thoughts, he says, “Giovanni, you seem like a nice kid, and you’ve got a good thing going with your uncle over there in your palace by the sea. You sure you want to fuck that up?”

“He’s not my uncle,” I tell him.

“Yeah, no shit, but still.”

“I want this,” we say, the demons and I both. “Give it to me, please.”

Paolo agrees but there is another voice who says no.

“Jesus fucking Christ,”I grumble when Sir barges into the room. “How the fuck did you find me?”

“Anthony. And your car is not so discreet.”

Fucking Anthony picks today of all days to do his goddamned job? Sir’s furious gaze sweeps the room and lands on Paolo, who hops up and attempts to hide the needle as if it isn’t obvious what we’re about to do. Sir holds out his hand and Paolo places it carefully in his palm. Sir depresses the plunger so that my fix goes into the trash, then tosses the needle in after.

“May I have a word in private with Giovanni?” Sir growls in a tone that conveys he is not fucking around.

“Yeah, sure,” Paolo says while scrambling to collect his shit.

On his way out the door, Sir says, “If you ever speak or even look at him again, I will drown you and make it look like an accident.”

Paolo nods and doesn’t glance back at us on his way out. I unknot the tube and toss that into the trash as well.

“Giovanni,” Sir says with a mixture of disappointment and remorse.

“Fuck off.” I lean back in the chair with my arms crossed and stare up at him coldly. He’s right there in front of me, and I feel nothing but anger and spite.

“How would your Master feel to know that as soon as he tells you the news, you go running back to your old ways?”

“He didn’t tell me. And I imagine he’d feel as shitty as I do right now.” After all, that’s the point.

“You would hurt yourself just to hurt him?”

“Yes.”

“This is not a virtue of a slave.”

“Well, now who sounds brainwashed, Silvio?” I spit his name like a curse, too angry to use his honorific.

“Giovanni, I was ignorant. I’ve apologized for this already. Do not punish your Master in this way. Talk to him. Let him explain his reasons.”

He almost gets me there, but I’m siding with the demons on this one. “You are just as guilty. Keeping his secrets, playing his games. Were you two going to tell me his blood sugar was low when he could no longer walk or speak? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

“We know you’re not stupid.”

“Well, that’s how I feel. You took advantage of my trust and you betrayed me, and I hate you both for it.”

And Master is leaving me.

Sir squats between my knees and lays his head in my lap. His arms wrap around my waist in his clumsy attempt to hug me, dragging me closer to him. “I’m sorry, Giovanni. It was wrong of us to do, but your Master did have a plan to tell you. And soon.”

“When?”

“When he felt like I could properly take care of you.”

“By tying me up?”

“By giving you what you need.”

I shake my head. Fucking Master, who I’ve let orchestrate my entire life these past few years, thought he could control this too. “When did he tell you?”

“That day you were wearing the gag and I got upset. He said I must be patient and that he had a plan.”

Master’s plan is at once so simple and so insulting. He knew he was sick. He knew that a weak don was a dead don, so he brought me here to his brother to be babysat while he handed off the family business. No wonder he pushed for the two of us to bond. Because he knew his time was running out.

“He wanted you to be cared for,” Silvio says.

“I know,” I say with misery and self-loathing because if I were stronger—more mentally stable—he wouldn’t have felt the need to lie.

“I didn’t know his intentions at the beginning. I didn’t mean to love you, Giovanni, but I do. Please don’t punish us in this way.”

These are not the words I want to hear from him right now, not when I’m still so angry and volatile.

“I can’t do this with you right now.”

“Let me take you home, princess,” Sir implores. “Please?”

I allow it, but only because there is nowhere else for me to go.

I wakeup in the box where I went to bed last night after Sir escorted me home. My mouth is bitter with regret and the taste of sour tequila. If Sir said anything to Master about my slip, no one lets on. I make breakfast for the three of us and eat mine in the kitchen while they’re still asleep. I don’t bother to wake them but instead head directly to the pool to swim laps. When I come out, Master is standing at the edge of the pool, giving me his soul-deep stare.

“Do you need something?” I ask snottily. “I have a gig in an hour, and I need to go get ready.”

Master steps aside and holds out his hand as an invitation for me to pass. I don’t know what I want from him, but I know it’s not this. No one accompanies me to the gig, but I see Sir in the crowd, keeping an eye on me like a goddamned watchdog. I return home straight after and grab some food from the kitchen then take it to my box. Master, who’d been reading in his study, comes to my door, knocks once, then opens it.

“Are we going to talk about this?” he asks, a question not a demand.

“What’s there to talk about?”

“Do you have any questions?”

“How long have you known?”

“Two years.”

I nearly burst into tears. Two years already.

“What do the doctors say?” I suspect this is what his trips to Rome were all about. Another lie.

“I have, God willing, one more good year left.”

I want to sob and be held, but I sit there unmoving and stare at the floor. Master won’t come inside my box unless invited, and my pride won’t allow it. Eventually he leaves, and I continue to operate in a kind of fugue state.

“Giovanni, come to bed,” Master implores much later. Hours must have passed because it’s dark now. I glance up at him and he says, “Come to bed, tesoro, I sleep better with you there.”

Unfortunately, I do too.

Things are notright between Master and me. I’m so angry and so bitter that I can barely look at him. I stick to his rules and some of our routines, but I don’t offer my services and he doesn’t demand them. I don’t allow him to touch me either, though I sometimes wish he would. Similarly, Sir treads lightly and shoots me woeful looks, which I also ignore. On my way out the door to another gig in town, Master catches me by my elbow and says, “Have you so little respect for your Master that you cannot even offer me the courtesy of telling me where you’re going?”

I glare at him and spit with venom, “What Master?” then shake him off and continue on my way.

Well,thank God for Rebekah, the only person I can trust in a houseful of traitors and liars. Even Anthony, Master’s chauffeur and right-hand man, was keeping secrets. Apparently, he only snitches when it comes to me. I guess that’s the benefit of signing his paycheck. I spend a good portion of our session simply catching Rebekah up on everything that’s happened in the past week.

“That’s a lot to digest,” she says, for her and me both. “How are you feeling about it?”

“Bitter, angry, lost…” I miss my routines and the sense of accomplishment they bring me, but I cannot serve Master with the way I’m feeling.

“Your Master betrayed your trust.”

“And Sir too.” He’s not innocent.

“This is a lot for you to process, this breach in trust. Have you thought about leaving your arrangement altogether?”

That is the equivalent to having my heart ripped out of my chest and stomped on, even just to consider it. Despite this recent betrayal, my loyalty to Master remains steadfast. “I love my Master and I don’t want to leave him, but I don’t know how to not be mad at him either.”

“Have you spoken to him about it?”

“Not really,” I admit. “I’ve been too angry. I know Master is hurting, but it feels good to hurt him. I want to cause him pain. I’m not proud of it, but this is how I feel.”

“Your feelings are valid, Giovanni,” Rebekah says. “Your Master wounded you and betrayed your trust. You feel manipulated and taken advantage of. It is very much within your rights to want some sort of retribution. Tell me, what do you want?”

“I want to go back to the way things were before I knew.”

“You wish you didn’t know?”

“Sort of. That’s stupid though, isn’t it?”

“It’s not stupid to not want to face bad and distressing news.”

“I feel like in saying that, I’m proving Master right, that he shouldn’t have told me. Because he knew I couldn’t handle it.”

“Lying to you was wrong,” Rebekah repeats. “Regardless of his reasons, he should have been honest. He cannot know how you might have reacted to the news and he should have given you the opportunity to digest it in your own way. Do you think it would help you to know his reasons?”

“Probably.”

“Are you ready to ask him?”

“Yes, I think I am. I want to forgive him, but I don’t know how.”

“Talk to your Master about it. Maybe he has some ideas.”

Master isin his study later that day when I tap lightly on the open door.

“Come in, Giovanni,” he says, setting aside some paperwork and removing his reading glasses. He motions to one of the armchairs by the window and I select my favorite one bathed in sunlight. He moves to sit in the one across from me.

“I spoke to Rebekah today,” I begin, and he nods for me to continue. “She suggested that you might have some reasons for why you didn’t tell me.”

Master clears his throat and sits up straighter. “I want you to know that no one in New York knows, no one in the family or outside of it. You and Silvio are the only ones.”

“And Anthony,” I correct.

Master nods. “And Anthony. When I got the news, I knew that I needed to settle things with the business, either begin to hand it over to you or figure out a way to retire with as little bloodshed as possible.”

A weak don is a dead don. This doesn’t surprise me.

“I wouldn’t have told anyone,” I say.

“I know you wouldn’t have, but once that business with Salvatore Tagliarini happened, I needed to get you out of New York, to somewhere secure. I asked Silvio to provide you with a safe place. I knew you wouldn’t do well without structure, so I tried to convey to him what you needed, but I did a poor job of it.”

Master shakes his head and I want to offer him some reassurance, but I hold my tongue. “You’ve been back for almost six months,” I remind him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was selfish. I wanted to keep things as they were for as long as possible. I didn’t want you to lose your faith in me, or your respect.”

“Master…” I don’t know whether to be offended or sympathetic.

“There will come a time when I am no longer able to provide for you in the way that you need. It is inevitable at this point. And I was afraid that if I told you, you might leave me.”

Master was suffering from the same fear as me, which seems so absurd because if he only knew the depth of my devotion… “Why do you continue to doubt me?” I ask him with a different kind of hurt.

“Because you are young and beautiful and intelligent and so very thoughtful. Because you could have any man you wanted, if you cared to try. And I wonder sometimes if it is our history that binds you to me.”

None of it is complimentary when framed in this way. “What does any of that matter? You’ve said yourself that what we have is special. Our souls see each other exactly as we are and accept it. You saved my life and I’ve saved yours and I need you. I fucking love you for Christ’s sake.”

“I love you too, but I don’t ever want you to feel trapped or obligated to me.”

“Why the hell not? I want to be obligated to you. I want to be tethered and bound to you forever. You are denying my agency to choose,” I tell him so that he might understand it in a different way. “I have chosen you as I continue to choose you.” I go down to my knees in front of him and grab his hand. “I will never leave you.”

Master is quiet, electing not to argue. He strokes my head as we slip into a weighty silence. “I was also afraid that you might be distraught and go back to using,” he says without any judgment or condescension.

“I tried,” I admit. “That first night. Sir found me and brought me back here. Anthony snitched.”

I peer up at him to gauge his reaction, but he only smiles softly. He knows already. Of course he does. “I’m glad Anthony and your Sir are looking out for you. I brought you here because I thought this might be a restorative place for you. I wanted you to make friends so you might have a support system besides Silvio and myself, so that when I told you, you’d have people you could talk to.”

“I have Rebekah,” I remind him.

“And I’m grateful for her wisdom. You’ve grown a lot here, Giovanni, and I’m proud of all the risks you’ve taken. The fact that I didn’t tell you reflects poorly on me, not you. And you have every right to be angry and feel betrayed. I am truly very sorry. I’d like to try to earn back your trust if you’ll let me and if you’re ready.”

“I’d like that too. I don’t like being mad at you.”

“No, me neither.” He chuckles and says, “Quite frankly, it’s terrifying.”

I marvel at how alike we are.

The next dayMaster dotes on me hand and foot with breakfast in bed and a morning blowjob and leisurely, cum-flavored kisses. I want to feel pampered after all the bad feelings that have been circulating between us, and this is one of the ways in which Master shows he appreciates me. It also gives me the opportunity to ask more questions about his diagnosis and what we can expect.

“It’s not going to be good,” Master says. “I’m taking medication to slow the neural dystrophy, but I’ve already begun feeling some of the effects.” He goes over them with me, all the things I’ve noticed too—clumsiness, slurred speech, lapses in memory, and tremors. “Eventually it’ll get so that I can’t talk or walk. Hopefully it won’t be too long after that.”

We’re in the steam room, just two of us when Master says this, then drifts off, contemplating his own mortality. I take his foot in my hands and begin massaging it.

“That feels nice,” he murmurs. “But I’m supposed to be taking care of you today.”

“Let me.” We sit in silence for a while and then I ask, “Are you scared?”

“Yes, but not so much of death itself. More the lead up to it. I don’t want you to see me that way—weak and sick. And I worry for you, tesoro. It’s been you and me for the past four years. We’ve become very close. It’s going to be hard.”

Master keeps saying this to me as a warning, and I tell him again, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Master cups my chin so that I will look at him. “I don’t want you to go anywhere either, but I’d understand if you needed to get away for a little while. Sir can go with you too. You two could take a trip on his boat.”

I set my shoulders and attempt to quell my anger at having to repeat myself. “Please do not suggest that to me again.”

He nods and sighs in acquiescence. “All right. I won’t.”

We’re in bed now,enjoying a lazy afternoon. Master touches me idly as he sometimes does, letting his fingers drift over my skin and tracing the lines of muscle and bone. After a while of this tranquil silence, he says, “There’s something else I should tell you.” I turn my head toward him and wait for him to continue. “Those men who raped you at the party you don’t remember…” I nod, my stomach clenching. “I rounded them up and had one testicle surgically removed from each of them. Dr. Greyson helped.”

I lie there in stunned silence, searching his face to see if he’s fucking with me, but this is not something he’d bring up for fun. “How did you…”

Master gives me a look. “It’s what I do, Giovanni.”

In my mind all of them, even the ones I know, are shapeless blobs with mocking faces. Sometimes I hear them taunting me in sickly sweet tones, but I don’t know if that’s really what happened or if I’m only imagining it. Now, I must consider another scenario, where they are the victims, likely strapped down and terrified, conscious or not. Did Dr. Greyson use anesthesia? Knowing him, it was probably done to the letter, but does their punishment fit the crime? Is this justice or vengeance?

“Why did you do that, Master?” I ask in a way that sounds like a plea.

“Someone needed to teach them a lesson,” he says and strokes along my jaw. “Not to touch what doesn’t belong to them.”

How is it that word never got around to me? Probably because I removed myself from that scene entirely. “How many were there?’

“Ten and one who filmed it. He got the same treatment.”

Ten, a nice round number, and one who recorded it for posterity. I stare up at the ornate crown molding of Master’s bedroom and feel an immense weight on my chest, like a gargoyle is roosting there, digging its talons into my flesh. “There was a video?” I ask shakily.

“Yes.”

“Did you watch it?”

“Only to confirm their identities.”

“Fuck.” I put both hands over my face while Master rubs my chest, easing some of the crushing pressure. We lapse into silence while I process this new information. I’m most upset that Master witnessed it.

“Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?” I ask, even while knowing the answer.

“You know why. Did you know them?”

“Some of them. A couple were my friends.”

“I figured.”

“How so?”

“The way you retreated from society altogether. You didn’t want to call anyone or reach out. You wanted to erase your entire identity.”

I roll onto my stomach and bury my face in the pillow. Master kisses my shoulder and traces the muscles on my back, slowly bringing me back to life just as he did back then. He had to put in so much effort just to persuade me to want to live another day.

“I’m sorry if this knowledge is a burden to you,” he says. “I held onto it for a long time, but I thought you should know that they did pay for it in the end, with a pound of flesh. Well, a few ounces at least.”

He has the decency not to smile at that. Revenge and sex are Master’s specialties, the former of which has served him well in his career. He is at times a murderous bastard, and though I sometimes conveniently forget, I should have known he wouldn’t let it go. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I tell him, but the words are somewhat empty. Try as I might to have compassion for those men, it is a hollow endeavor, like how I felt after I killed Salvatore Tagliarini, a nagging impression that I should feel guiltier.

“I was merciful,” he says. “I wanted to do much worse.”

“We are both going to Hell,” I tell him, and he chuckles. Fucking laughs about it.

“By the time you get there, I’ll have everyone under my command,” he says. “We’ll throw a party the day you arrive.”

Weirdly enough, the thought comforts me. We drift into another contemplative silence where I concentrate on simply breathing and Master says, “You are so beautiful.” I turn to watch his eyes pore over me while his hand traces the curve of my ass and lower. “Do you know that I have never loved anyone the way I love you?”

I am secure in my Master’s love for me because he demonstrates it every day, but he doesn’t wax poetic very often. “What way is that”

“In all ways, Giovanni. I loved you as a boy, softly. I loved you when I found you… as your avenger. I loved you when you were a young man trying to find your way. I’ve loved you as my schiavo...” He quiets then and his eyes are misty with emotion. “I think I am most sad that we don’t have more time, that I might not see you age…”

I grab his hand and squeeze, then bring his fingers to my lips. The thought of having to go on without him is too much to bear.

“You said you’d always come back to me,” I remind him. “So, will you?”

He nods solemnly, promising me something he couldn’t possibly know. “I will.”

It’s enough for now.

“I’d like to be disciplined,”I tell him over breakfast the next day. Sir is here too, but I’m speaking only to my Master. “I need it to restore balance. It has to be you.” My eyes skirt towards Sir and he nods, seeming to understand that for once, this isn’t about him.

“This evening,” Master says. “Does your Sir have permission to watch?”

“Only that,” I say.

I’m humming with anticipation for the rest of the day, and nervousness too. A lot of emotions have passed between Master and I these past couple weeks, and though Master is always controlled in our scenes, I do wonder if some of that passion might bleed out. Master meets me in the dungeon at our appointed time. Sir enters but doesn’t greet me. Instead, he takes a seat at the far side of the room.

I offer my ritual worship and Master inspects me. I’m proud to report that I haven’t cut myself, though the desire to do so has been strong. Master praises me for that too.

“The cross with your back to me,” Master says in a succinct command. I climb onto the short platform and press my cheek against the padded vinyl headrest. Master takes the bullwhip out of a drawer, inspects the handle and the length of braided leather, which sends a shiver of arousal directly to my dick. The bullwhip is not something Master uses often, but when he does…

Master grabs the leather collar and kidney belt as well. He hooks the collar around my neck and the belt around my waist, attaching a leather thong between my legs to protect my cock and balls just in case he misses his mark.

“Color?” Master says.

“Green.”

“Keep your forehead pressed to the cross.”

Master warms me up with the flogger first, a steady rain of heat over my back and buttocks until I’m slick with sweat and just a little bit achy. He asks for my pain level and I tell him dutifully, “Three.”

“I’m changing instruments,” he says, and even though I know what’s coming, I still jump at the first crack of the whip and the resulting burn that blooms across my upper back. I hear Sir somewhere behind us make a noise of alarm, which Master silences immediately.

The next two cracks hit my ass with a pop and a sizzle, one cheek and then the other. It feels like I’m being spanked by the devil. Master is good at a lot of things, but he excels at the whip, both in placement and intensity.

“How’s that?” Master asks.

“So good,” I tell him with a slight slur. “More, Master. Please?”

Another lash and another. With every bite of his whip, I feel a little better, like every bad feeling that’s been clogging my psyche is finally swirling down the drain. Master didn’t tell me how many lashes he’d be giving me, and I didn’t ask because I don’t really care. He’ll stop when he’s ready, which will probably be far ahead of me.

“Giovanni,” Master says in between panting breaths.

“Green,” I say automatically. I don’t want to exhaust him, but I also don’t want this to end so soon.

The whipping resumes. The pain is a sizzle, then a flame, then a steady rain of fire until my whole body combusts, and I am baptized by it. My demons scream and clamor for more. They love this treatment, this freedom to wail and gnash their teeth. I sound like I’m being tortured, and I am, but the demons are finally at peace. They respect very little when it comes to me, but they bow down to this sort of crushing authority, always have.

Master continues to whip me, and I hardly feel the impact anymore except for the change in pressure like a shift in the breeze. My demons take flight and soar into ecstasy, leaving me at last to my own devices. I sob and wail as a new kind of grief takes hold at the realization that Master will leave me, but only because he can’t help it. He’s cheated death his entire life, but death comes for us all. One good year left, god willing. I will make every day a perfect one. I will do this for my beloved Master who has saved my body and my soul and shown me love and appreciation like no other.

When at last the sobs fade and I am just a watery, hiccuping mess, a whipped boy on his knees, a hand reaches out to me, my Master’s hand. I worship every single digit, counting my blessings that I still have him, here and now. This slave does not contemplate a future without their Master but lives in the present, focusing only on their most sacred act of service.

Master cups my cheek in his palm, allowing me to gaze up at him. He is fierce and beautiful and more of a man than I will ever be.

“You are mine, Giovanni, my pride and joy and my precious tesoro. What do you have to say to that, schiavo?”

His grip on my jaw tightens until it is painful and bruising. I inhale a shaky breath because these are the words I needed to hear, delivered in exactly this way.

“Yes, Master.”