Master’s Schiavo by Laura Lascarso
21
There are a lot of improvements that must be made around the villa. The cobblestone needs to be repaired wherever there are cracks and dips. The ledges in the bathroom showers must be eliminated and any other uneven surfaces leveled. There will be a fence installed around the pool area in case Master trips while crossing the courtyard, so that he doesn’t accidentally fall in and drown himself, and all our entryways must have ramps, including the one to the beach. I have some experience with these sorts of accommodations, having watched similar work done to my grandfather’s manor, though I try not to compare the two. This slave is living only in the present.
I order a cane for when Master goes on walks throughout town and even at home if he feels he needs it. And I demand that Anthony, who was once my keeper, now become his. I also insist on going with Master to see his specialist in Rome so that I may be better equipped to care for him. On the matter of Master’s health and well-being, I am the ultimate authority. These are my terms, and Master agrees.
And there will be no more secrets between us.
Having workers constantly coming in and out of the estate is bothersome, but Anthony is good at ensuring we have enough privacy to keep to our daily routines. We’re in Master’s study one afternoon, going over some final details on the renovations when Sir comes in with the grand idea of having a party. Not just any party but a three-day BDSM bacchanalian event to be held here at our home.
“My kinky friends, your kinky friends,” Sir says with a winning smile. “Princess here deserves to have a holiday. And the weather is warm enough now for the subs to be nude.”
Sir is always so practical.
“Giovanni?” Master asks.
“As long as you don’t overdo it,” I tell him, and I damn well mean it.
Master says he doesn’t want me involved in the planning, that I have enough on my plate already, and he wants me to be able to enjoy myself throughout the long weekend fully immersed in slave-mode and in the mindset to serve, rather than worry about playing host. Sir says he’ll take care of everything.
The renovations are completedin the spring and a few weeks later, we welcome our communities into our home—Master’s Dominant friends and their subs from NYC, Rome, and Milan and Sir’s shibari master Sir Santino as well as the new friends he’s made in his own BDSM circles. Master and Sir curated our guest list to ensure there were enough subs and Doms to go around and that everyone invited was well within our circle of trust. Sir greets everyone as they arrive by car or by foot from the ferry, and Master invites them to settle in their rooms, have a drink, and make use of the pool. I kneel on my pillow at Master’s side for the duration of this casual reception. The steam room is reserved for the Doms to converse and become acquainted, with subs and slaves being invited inside solely for the purposes of service. Master is somewhat strict in his protocol and since it’s his home, he sets the tone for proper decorum.
When Sir Keller greets Master, he asks me to rise so that he may get a better look at me. “You are as lovely as ever, Giovanni,” Sir Keller says.
“Thank you, Sir Keller.” I respond to the compliment with a polite dip of my head. I’m always a little bashful around him because he was one of the witnesses to my collaring ceremony and has seen me in some of my most vulnerable moments. He then asks Master’s permission to hug me. Master subtly glances my way to check my reaction and I nod, so Master grants it. After, Sir Keller holds me at arm’s length to look me over again.
“The weather is beautiful here,” he goes on. “I can see how the climate suits you both.” His eyes linger on my nakedness, and I am flattered by his sincere admiration. One of the advantages to being nude all the time is no tan lines.
“Giovanni has certainly blossomed,” Master says gliding one hand over my ass in a proprietary way. Like a painting or a nice piece of jewelry, Master appreciates it when his friends praise my appearance, and I strive to represent his aesthetic well.
“And who’s this?” my own Sir interrupts, swaggering up to our small party and making his presence known.
“This is Keller,” Master says. “He’s the one who put me in touch with Santino.”
Sir is polite with Keller and in his limited English, says he’d like to learn more about his rope techniques later. When Sir Keller moves on, Sir says to Master. “Why was he touching Giovanni?”
Master glances from him to me as if to make sure that my virtue is still intact. “It was a hug, Silvio. Keller is a longtime friend of ours.”
“Rules are rules,” Sir snaps, looking at Master severely. “No one touches Giovanni.”
Master doesn’t argue, which tells me he’s giving in. I’m a little surprised at Sir’s reaction, but this is the first time we’ve been together in the mixed company of other Dominants, many of whom Sir doesn’t know, not to mention the language barrier, so maybe he is feeling at a disadvantage. When Sir leaves to greet the next arrival of guests, I resume my kneeling position next to Master and ask, “Why didn’t you assert your dominance with Sir?”
Master lays a hand atop my bare shoulder and says, “Master’s dominance is waning, Giovanni, and Sir’s is rising. This is the natural way of things. Like lions in the jungle. I’d rather not battle my brother but be as gracious as possible during this time of transition.”
I sit with that for a while, watching Sir welcome our guests into Master’s home, acting as man of the house, directing people to their rooms and mentioning the places where they might get refreshments and food. The party was Sir’s idea, and Sir has taken ownership over much of its design, including my own role throughout.
“You’ll give this villa to Sir,” I say to Master, referring with some reluctance to a time in the hopefully distant future when Master will have to leave us. He nods solemnly. “And what about me, Master?”
“That’s up to you, Giovanni. All I’ve asked is that your Sir provide you with a home for as long as you want it. You will always be welcome here.” He looks at me sternly. “Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
This is why Master and Sir have been questioning me about my future and interrogating me about my dreams, not to be rid of me but to make a plan for when Master is no longer here to care for me. My throat gets thick, and my eyes burn with unshed tears. I feel bad for the way I’ve treated Master, always assuming the worst of him and giving into my own insecurities.
“What’s wrong, tesoro?” Master says with his hand cupped gently around the back of my neck where my collar proudly rests.
“This slave is just feeling a little overwhelmed with gratitude right now for all the ways Master has cared for me, past, present, and future.”
“What do I always tell you, Gio?” Master says softly and with such tenderness that a few tears do spill over.
“That you will always take care of me.”
“That’s right. Now, I’m planning something special for you tomorrow morning if you’re interested.”
“What’s that, Master?”
“It’s something you’ve been asking about for a while, but I was reluctant to provide.”
I know exactly what Master is referring to. “And what’s changed?”
“I’m surrounded by people I know and trust, and I’d like to experience it with you.”
He doesn’t say ‘before I go,’ but I feel the sentiment, nonetheless.
“I would like that very much,” I tell him.
Master nods and, sensing my melancholy mood, suggests, “Why don’t you go play with the other subs now? Master wants you to mingle and make friends when not serving. Remember, schiavo, we are living in the present and this is a time to celebrate.”
I go over to the pool and converse with the other subs. Alessia is among them and seems happy to see me. She shows me her twin nipple piercings and tells me that I’m the one who inspired them, that her Dom loves to suck and tug and stretch her nipples like a cow’s udders, and they do look a little more pronounced than before. She asks, in her typically forward way, if my Master ever lets me out of my cage. I’m wearing that and my plug for today’s events because Master wants me chaste and in the mindset to serve. I tell her yes, Master rewards good behavior quite generously, and then Alessia asks if I know anything about the strapping young Dom named Silvio and is he looking for a playmate?
“Sir Silvio is mine,” I tell her with an almost rabid ferocity.
Alessia’s sculpted eyebrows raise rather high on her forehead. “Aren’t you a greedy little boy?” she says.
“Yes, and I have a nasty sting.”
She cackles at that, but I’m not kidding. I’m relieved to hear Sir’s kissing noise originating from somewhere behind me. When I turn, he’s nodding toward the steam room and motioning for me to join him.
“Have fun, baby boy,” Alessia teases. “Remember to come back and tell me all about it.”
The steam room is thick with mist and the deep, echoing voices of men. Sir leads me to the benches where he and the other rope Dominants have been chatting. Sir Keller smiles at me and Sir Santino nods as I kneel between Sir’s legs. Sir guides me with one firm hand on the back of my head, and they continue to discuss the tensile strength of various fibers and which are the best materials for suspension bondage while I tend to my Sir’s lusting manhood.
If I may digress for a moment on the pleasure of servicing my Sir while in the company of men. It is an erotic thrill for this slave to be at once largely ignored while at the same time, the giver of such pleasure to the bull of a man sprawled like an arrogant god before me. That I may punctuate Sir’s speech with a gasp or a moan or an encouragement to press onward, the tension in his thighs and abdomen as I minister to his most hearty member. The feel of my Sir’s fingers slipping through my hair, then tightening at the roots, pressing me tighter against his warm, fragrant groin so that I may service him more thoroughly. The other men breathe a little heavier and remark on my dedication, their own arousal reaching out to me and coating my skin as thickly as the musk of man. The noises my mouth makes are at once obscene but also very intimate in the hushed cave. Alternating between deep, gag-inducing strokes with shallower teases, I bait my Sir, but he will only stand for so much torment before he takes over and uses me for his pleasure, assuming ownership over this slave entirely in those last brutal thrusts. He floods my throat with his briny sea, and I swallow as if I’ve been starved of his cum for too long.
When Sir is finished, he pulls away to smile at me crookedly and wipe my messy mouth with his thumb. “Grazie, Giovanni, you may go back to the party now.”
I bow my head in deference and leave the men to their conversation.
When I return to Alessia, she shakes her head and smirks. “You are one lucky little slut.”
With the taste of my Sir still on my lips, I smile smugly and tell her, “Yes, I am.”
Dinner isa feast on the veranda. With caterers brought in from Naples to handle the food prep and service, I’m content to sit between my Master and Sir on my velvet pillow and be fed by their hands. Other subs either dine at the table or on the floor, according to their own rules and protocol, but most of the conversation is limited between Dominants. In Master’s company, even the brats behave.
After dinner, the Doms depart to take a tour of Master’s dungeon while the subs help clear the table and set the veranda to rights. I enjoy the communal aspect of our gathering and the way we have both our individual roles and shared responsibilities. Growing up in an isolated countryside manor without formal schooling, this sort of cooperation is somewhat foreign to me, but I enjoy having the camaraderie of so many others in the lifestyle.
Once that’s complete, the Doms return to claim their subs. Some take them to the dungeon to practice for tomorrow’s all-day demonstration. Some retire to their rooms to rest after the long journey. A few go down to the beach to stargaze. Master will retire early tonight, after drinks with Sir Simeon, one of his oldest and dearest friends, so I’m left in the care of Sir. We walk down to the beach with a few others and lounge around a bonfire with blankets. I lay my head in Sir’s lap and he strokes my hair.
“I have a surprise for you, princess,” Sir says a little while later and opens his hand to show me the key to my cage.
“Where did you get that?” I ask, astonished.
“Where do you think?”
“Master gave it to you?”
“When Master is away, Sir will play.”
Sir uncages me and rolls with me on the blanket, touching and groping and turning me into a hungry little cum slut begging for his attentions. He torments my prostate with the plug, then removes it altogether, filling my thirsty hole with his thick, questing tongue. There are other couples and throuples on blankets of their own doing very much the same.
“Sir teases this slave too much,” I whine when I feel as though my flesh might tear through my skin to get to him.
“What do you want, princess?” Sir whispers with two slick fingers already thrusting inside me.
“I want you, Signore, always.”
When Sir enters me at last and we are moving in time with the crashing of the waves, I imagine I’m a big fish being speared by his trident, and even the roar of the ocean cannot drown out my rapturous wails.
Sir wakesme early the next morning where we’ve fallen asleep on the beach and tells me my service is required by Master in the steam room. “Come along, little princess,” Sir says with a sly smile when I am slow to rise. He reattaches my cage and brushes most of the sand off my body. I’m still a little drowsy when I enter the steam room with Sir leading me by hand to find Master waiting for me along with a handful of his closest friends. Ah, yes, my something special.
“Good morning, schiavo,” Master says and invites me to join him within his small knot of friends.
“Good morning, Master.”
“Did you sleep well?” he asks as I kneel before him.
“Yes, Master, very well.”
Master rises to stand before me, his robe falling away to expose his ripe manhood. The other men follow suit, arranging themselves in a tight circle around me. “Color, Giovanni?” he asks.
“Green, Master.”
“Proceed.”
I nurse Master’s cock with eager devotion while the other men begin stroking their own. So many ripe fruits with bulbous dripping heads, unique in their shapes and sizes but all so similar in their functions and their pleasures—wanting to be sucked and fondled, to be nested in tight places and brought off with sweet friction, wanting to be worshipped, adored, and praised as lesser gods. A man will forgive a lot if you are generous in pleasing his cock; they are wonderfully simple in this way.
At first, I try to identify their owners, but then I think, what does it matter, really? With my attentions focused solely on my Master, I close my eyes and start to drift with the noises of skin and panting and arousal. I’m still trying to coax the seed from my Master’s organ when the first warm shower splashes against my cheek. Master pulls me off by my hair so that he may join his fellows in decorating my face. Their hot ejaculate marks my forehead, my eyelashes, and my chin in an erotic frenzy.
“Apri la bocca, principessa,” Sir murmurs, and I open my mouth and stretch my tongue to make myself a better receptacle for his bounty. Sir shoots his impressive load directly into it, getting only a little on my lips and chin. “Goditelo,” he commands with a rough lust that I have come to know well. Savor it.
When the last of their seed has bathed my skin, Master asks Sir to take a picture for us, then uses his thumbs to wipe the globules of cum from my eyelids. I stare up at my Master with complete adoration and appreciation for this gift.
“Giovanni?” Master prompts.
“Thank you, Sirs, for blessing this slave with the seed of your loins.”
The men murmur their own words of gratitude and slowly file out until it’s just the three of us again. Sir shakes his head like he still can’t believe what just happened.
“How do I look?” I ask Master.
“Stunning, Giovanni. My most beautiful boy.”
The dungeon is decoratedlike the pleasure court of a Roman emperor with large, plush armchairs for the Doms to watch the demonstrations and pillows and cushions littered about for their subs and slaves to lounge in comfort. There are three main event areas—one for whippings, one for other impact play like spankings and torture, and the last one for a shibari demonstration by our three rope Dominants with Sir among them.
Sir is binding a lovely young sub with dark hair and caramel colored skin—one of the female subs he worked with in Milan—in such an exquisite lacework of knots that this slave freely admits he is a tad-bit jealous. Sir will be busy for a couple of hours, for even while his sub is suspended, he must pay close attention to her needs, and then there is the aftercare he will provide to make sure her muscles and joints are properly massaged, and her blood is circulated. Sir won’t be fucking her, though, something he made sure I was aware of. I was relieved to hear it. If it were even a possibility, I might have to go into my box.
I admire Sir’s slow and steady hand as I refresh our guests’ drinks, including the participants who may need hydration after a scene. This allows me to mingle without the pressure of making prolonged conversation, which is what I prefer. When not serving, I perch on my pillow at Master’s side to observe the demonstrations. At the moment, a male sub is getting whipped by his female Dominant with such enthusiasm that my own back stings a little from the phantom thrill of it.
“Would you like me to find someone who will whip you?” Master asks, noticing the focus of my attention. His muscle control has diminished a bit in the past few months and while he trusts himself on some of the smaller implements, the bullwhip is a bit more exacting.
“No, Master, this slave is content to observe from afar.”
“Just so you know, I’ve asked Sir to make a variety of acquaintances this weekend so that you may have whatever you need to feel satisfied.”
Master is alluding to my most masochistic desires that will have to be sated by another when he no longer can. Sir likes spanking, but he doesn’t enjoy the kind of impact play I favor, so Master has set Sir on a mission to find someone who will dominate me as needed.
“This slave appreciates the care and attention his Master gives to him.”
“You deserve only the best. Does it bother you to see Sir tying up someone else?”
I glance again at the intricate knots webbing the sub’s torso and framing her breasts. Her arms are bound behind her back as well in a tight corset of rope. Sir’s work is admirable, but I’m not ready for that type of restraint just yet.
“Sir’s abilities surpass my limits,” I say to Master. “He says we will practice extensively in private to make sure I’m comfortable before demonstrating in public.”
“Sir has a plan,” Master says. “And he’s respecting your limits. And you, Giovanni, are learning patience.”
“Yes, Master. You have taught us well.”
The longer I sit with Master and gaze out at the beauty and talent that surrounds us, the more I start to reflect on our lives together. Epictetus’s teachings are forever present in my mind, especially when I need help in coping with the knowledge that my time with Master is limited. I think about the many ways in which Master has welcomed me into his home and into his life, sharing with me his closest desires and dedicating so much time to not only making me a better schiavo, but a better person. For giving me stability and safety when I so desperately needed it, for saving my life. And if that wasn’t enough, Master even gave me his beloved brother to act as my Sir in his absence, then took the time to train us both on how we might manage as a family together and eventually, without him. What a selfless act on my Master’s part, to share me when he probably would have preferred to keep me to myself. To give me permission and encouragement to pursue a relationship with Sir even while it pained him to watch us grow closer, to glimpse a future that he might not be part of.
I am overcome with gratitude for all my Master has done for me over the years, even when I was a child seeking his validation and respect. Master traces my wet cheeks with a shaky finger and says, “What is it, Giovanni?”
“All of this,” I wave my hand at our surroundings, which includes far more than the party or the villa or even my magnificent Sir who is my passion and my joy. “You did all of this for me, Master.”
Master gazes down at me with a soft smile, my ferocious god who is also at times unbearably tender. “I told you, tesoro, you are my whole world. Everything I do is for you.”
At last, I believe him.
The final eventfor our guests is a brunch the next morning that will act as a send-off. Master asks me to play cello and I’ve been practicing a few of my best pieces for this occasion. Several of our friends, who now feel more like family, compliment my playing, and I thank them graciously with a bow of my head. When I’m fully warmed up and feeling my most masochistic, I play “Adagio in G minor,” thinking of my Master, always my Master, feeling both bitter that we were born so many years apart and grateful that he loves me despite our differences. And even with my immaturity and impulsiveness and mental health troubles, he found a way to make me his. In disciplining me, he taught me self-discipline and in controlling me, he taught me self-control, in loving me, he taught me self-love, and even our virtues, which Master believes in wholeheartedly, were more for me to realize my own worth and value.
My playing surely reflects this appreciation for all Master has given me, and soon everyone has paused their conversations to watch this slave crying over his instrument and his Master standing at his side, giving him the courage and confidence to endure.
The service I have given to my Master was self-serving all along, but this too is okay. For as long as I have my Master, I’ll make sure he knows the magnitude of my devotion, and every day until his last, he will know that he is cherished, appreciated, and loved.
That is this slave’s humble promise to his beloved Master.