“Schiavo,” he says softly. “None of that. Master appreciates your care. It’s because of you that I’m feeling so much better, not to mention…” He lowers his voice to whisper in my ear, “You saved my life,tesoro.”
“This slave would do anything to ensure his Master’s well-being,” I say as a wash of gratitude overcomes me that we’re together in this moment, that we have cheated death yet again.
I try to let his praise quell the demons the way a blanket smothers flames, but they are very persistent today. Too many people and too many demands. Too many decisions to be made. Master rests one large palm against my throat, stroking along my tendons and down to my collar bone. He calls for Anthony to get him the lube, and Anthony obliges, knowing or maybe guessing where it’s kept. He’s no Rico but he’s the only one Master has allowed into our bedroom and the only one who has witnessed our more intimate exchanges.
With his right hand now lubricated, Master takes hold of my cock. I feel exponentially more secure and even more so when Master says, “Lift your chin.” I raise my head until my throat is fully exposed with the back of my head resting against his clavicle. “When my hand is here,” he grips my throat with his left hand, firmly just underneath my jaw, “you do not have permission to breathe. Understand?”
“Yes, Master.”
We’ve done breath play before, but not quite like this. I have excellent lung capacity from swimming and Master knows this already, so the first round takes a while. When he finally releases my throat, I gasp for breath and my cock plumps to full arousal. The blood flows so hard and so fast to my dick that it prickles from the sensation.
“Very good,” Master murmurs with admiration. He has complimented my obedience many times; he finds my willingness to deprive myself of breath and movement—without any real physical restraint—extremely arousing.
Anthony’s eyes dart over at us and then away, like he can’t decide whether or not to watch.
“You can observe us if you’d like,” Master says. He’s open about our practices amongst those in the lifestyle and has given demonstrations using me as his submissive. Only me. That’s one ofmyrules. I’m terrible at sharing—always have been—and if I found out Master’s hands had been touching someone else, doing for them what he does for me, my wrath would surely be summoned. Regardless, Master says he prefers our exclusivity, that I’m a handful already.
The exhibitionism is more for his ego than my own, but Mastershouldbe proud of his techniques. I’m not an easy sub to manage. Some aspects of my character are well-suited to service, but other parts are not subservient at all. Master never “broke” me, as other Dominants may have been tempted to do. Rather, like channeling water, he narrowed my options until the path I chose was his own, until my will was his will too.
We go a few more rounds, and every time Master’s hand clamps around my neck, I feel such exquisite pleasure that my toes point and I almost regret having to breathe when he releases me again. I’m dizzy but not dangerously so, euphoric but not so gone that I cannot feel his other hand gliding smoothly over my cock or hear the words of possession he whispers into my ear.
“You breathe because I allow it,schiavo,” he rumbles. I moan, unable to respond verbally. “You were put on this path to serve me in every way. Body, mind, and soul. The voices do not control you. You do not control yourself.Iam the only one who controls you.”
Though barely more than a whisper, Master’s voice is louder than the demons, and it reassures me unlike anything else. It might be an hour or three when I finally orgasm, spilling over Master’s capable hand and onto my navel. It’s a good one, despite our circumstance. I know the amount of energy it must have taken for him to give me this gift and for that, I’m grateful.
“Thank you, Master,” I murmur, leaning back against him to recover. My neck muscles are sore from the pressure of his palm and my throat is dry from gasping for air. I hope there will be bruises, but even if not, this will have to do.
“Prego, schiavo.”
Master holds up his hand so that I may lick the cum from his fingers. Anthony watches me with rapt attention. I think about his version of freedom and feel dangerously superior as my tongue dips between my Master’s knuckles to collect the droplets of cream that have collected there.
5
It’s been two weeks now and Dr. Greyson stopped by yesterday to tell us Master is cleared to resume his normal activities with the caution to go easy on his more athletic pursuits. The doctor said that last bit with a subtle nod in my direction, which I took as a compliment. Being part of the BDSM community and a close personal friend, Dr. Greyson knows firsthand how physical Master likes to get with me. People probably wonder how Master maintains his stamina. I am here to tell you about the wonders of Viagra and a heart-healthy diet.
Now, I’m dressing Master for his meeting with the Commission, which is what they call the ambassadors and negotiators of the prominent New York families. They meet to strategize, settle disputes, and prevent turf wars. Or try to. Sometimes the meetings turn violent, and the Commission gets disbanded for a spell. There are, of course, rules of engagement, but you really can’t count on anything when dealing with criminals or politicians. I once suggested to Rico that if they started conducting business via video conference it might prevent a lot of cleanup detail, but he argued one of them would accidentally hit record and get them all sent to Club Fed, which I thought was a good point.
The sit-down is happening at a location unbeknownst to me. The running of the family business is not this slave’s concern, but the presentation of my Master is. I have very good taste, thanks to my grandfather’s influence and the guidance of my stylists over the years. I’ve convinced Master to get a few extravagant suits for occasions such as this, and it’s one of those that I pick out for him today—Armani, black, tailored, sharp. While I manipulate his silk tie into a Hanover knot, Master jokes with Anthony that at least if he’s knocked off, he’ll already be wearing his funeral suit. I scowl at him and he chucks my chin.
“Kidding, Giovanni.”
It does very little to assuage my fears as I use the pomade to slick back his thick hair and neaten his eyebrows. He looks so handsome that all I want is to sit him in his leather recliner with a good cigar and ride him until we both come, but there’s no time for that now. Maybe later.
If he comes back,the demons whisper.
I shake my head and Master, sensing my anxiety, wraps one arm around me, crushing me to his beautiful, pressed suit.
“I’ll be fine,tesoro.”
I nod and put on a brave face, determined not to cry in front of Anthony or Master’s other hired muscle. They depart soon after with only Anthony left behind to watch over me. I get the impression that Master is trying to make Anthony the new Rico, which is an impossibility in itself. Rico is due some vacation time, and rumor has it that he and his family are going on a cruise.Laying low, if you will. While I know the vacation is well-deserved, I donotlike new people in our orbit, especially those who don’t understand the unique dynamic between Master and slave.
“Boss said you need to call Rebekah today,” Anthony says, which irritates the shit out of me because who in the hell does he think he is to remind me of my own damn therapy appointment?
“I don’t need to be told what to do by a grunt,” I snap. It doesn’t even help that he’s a few years older than me. He’s still a boy by my estimation.
He nods respectfully and doesn’t say another word about it.
“May I have my phone please?” I ask a little while later because I do, in fact, need to call Rebekah. Anthony digs into his suit jacket and pulls out a cheap burner phone with only two numbers programmed into it, those belonging to my Master and my therapist, Rebekah.
