But the demons whisper,we’ll see.
8
In the morning we resume our regular routine. Sun Salutations at dawn, worship of Master’s cock, a heart-healthy breakfast for Master and myself. Master milks me in bed without a cage because he wants me to feel settled when Silvio arrives. On our way to the pool, he gives me a brief tour of the rooms—a ballroom with a Steinway grand piano, a conservatory with my cello and music stand and several other instruments, Master’s study with his mahogany desk, also shipped from New York, and a collection of antique and rare books unlike any I’ve ever seen. Master’s villa houses all the playthings and diversions a kept boy could possibly want. Yesterday, this knowledge would have been a delight. Today, I’m not so sure.
“I expect you to stick to your schedule while I’m away,” Master says.
I don’t want to think about when Master is away. This slave is thinking only about the next five minutes.
“And the pool?” I ask.
“Swimming is part of your daily regimen now. Unless you’re sick or it’s bad weather, I expect you to do laps every day. Anthony or Silvio will supervise.”
Anthony, our ever-present shadow, has become so familiar with our routines that he sometimes feels the need to remind me, as if I don’t already know exactly what Master expects of his slave.
I slip into the pool, which I’m delighted to realize is saltwater instead of chlorine and slightly cooler than the pool at our building in New York, and because it isn’t in a closed arena, the ambient sunshine makes for a pleasant swim. I swiftly lose myself to the motion, cutting through the water like a whetted blade and going to a meditative place where my mind is quiet while my body takes over. It’s a while later when I surface to hear Master’s voice summoning me from my aquatic sanctuary. Silvio has arrived.
I climb out and towel myself off while eying the two brothers lounging together at a table nearby. Silvio is much younger than I expected, at least twenty years Master’s junior, with a full head of thick, wavy hair and a wide, burly frame. Master is broad-shouldered and angular, the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Silvio is shorter but with a thick barrel chest and brawny arms. His biceps stretch the fabric of his tight t-shirt, and where his sunglasses hang on the collar, his chest hair is silky and dark. Their facial features are similar too, but Silvio’s jaw is squarer with fuller cheeks and fewer wrinkles. Looking at Silvio could be like looking at Master twenty or thirty years ago. I scold myself for even thinking it, as if Master could be so easily replaced.
I stroll over to the table, feeling prickly and unsettled despite my hard swim and morning milking. Silvio stands to greet me while Master’s hand snakes between my legs to stroke my inner thigh, a subtle reminder to be polite.
“Lieto di conoscerti, Giovanni,” Silvio says and leans in to kiss one cheek and then the other.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Silvio,” I say in English.
Silvio glances at Master, eyebrows pinched together in a questioning look.
“Parla Italiano,” Master says.Speak Italian.
“Doesn’t he speak English?” I ask petulantly.
“Maybe you can help him improve,” Master says tightly. “But for now.”
My eyes drag away from his stern expression to meet Silvio’s inquiring gaze. “Ciao,” I say shortly.
Silvio sits down, still appraising me while Master continues to caress my inner thigh. His fingers brush against the underside of my balls through my Spandex bathing suit. I widen my stance so that he might have unfettered access to my body. His hand curves around my quad to give a little squeeze, and I think of Bernini’s sculpture and Master’s similar attention to detail. His fingers scale the front of my wet suit to stroke my cock, which responds eagerly to the familiar touch. In presenting me this way, Master is demonstrating his dominion over my body and reminding me of my place.
“Principessa,” Silvio says with one eyebrow raised as he motions to my gold jewelry and diamond earring, as well as a newly acquired anklet with my name on it.Princess.
“Giovanni is accustomed to nice things,” Master says in Italian while his hand dips underneath the elastic of my bathing suit to fondle me, skin-to-skin. Silvio watches and licks his lips, slowly.
“Very tempting,” Silvio says as his eyes rove over me from head to foot, unashamed of his blatant lust that blooms before my very eyes. I prefer Silvio addressing Master instead of me as it’s what I’m used to. As to the fact that he’s eying me with more than a passing interest, I know that I’m safe with Master here. “And very young, no?”
“Twenty-two,” Master says.
Silvio tilts his head and says with a smile, “Not so young for me, but far too young for you, old man.”
Master chuckles at his brother’s ribbing and says to me, “What do you think, Giovanni, am I too old for you?”
“I prefer the company of mature men,” I tell him, andthat’sin Italian.
Silvio, to my surprise, only laughs. “And he has a mouth on him too.”
Master glances up at me and says with a devilish grin, “I make use of his mouth regularly, don’t I, beautiful boy?”
“This slave serves his Master with enthusiasm whenever Master desires it.”
“Schiavo,” Silvio says in a musing way, and I wonder the extent Master has shared with Silvio about our dynamic.
