Master dismisses me to make my preparations, and in my absence, I assume goes over with Silvio how the scene will go. I never know what Master has planned for me, and unless it’s something completely new, I prefer to be surprised.
Once I’ve cleaned myself thoroughly and inserted my plug, I find my pillow and bring it with me into the playroom. Like all the rooms here, Master’s dungeon is much bigger than the one in New York, and it has far more equipment and toys. The high ceilings and stone walls give it almost a cathedral effect, but the windows have thick, dark drapery so that Master can block out the natural light and set the ambiance according to his wishes.
I’m sitting on my pillow and in position when Master and Silvio stroll in a little while later. Master pointedly ignores me and instead offers Silvio a tour of the room, giving him a rundown of the various equipment and implements.
“You are a gynecologist now?” Silvio asks regarding the exam table and metal tray laid out with Master’s gleaming instruments.
“Playing doctor,” Master says, and though I can’t see his face, I can imagine his sly grin.
“And this one?” Silvio asks about the spanking bench.
“For paddling Giovanni when he misbehaves.”
“Ah,” Silvio remarks, sounding interested. Master darts a look my way, but my eyes are focused on my upturned hands like an obedient little slave.
“I like this,” Silvio remarks. From the corner of my eye, I see him run his hands over a length of rope and glance over at me with some interest. I burn with the desire to raise my head and observe his exploration, but I dutifully keep my gaze cast downward. Still, my hands tremble where they are laid open on my lap.
“It suits you,” Master says.
It feels like hours before Master finally approaches and permits me to kiss his knuckles. “This is how a slave greets his Master,” Master explains for Silvio’s benefit. “This is Giovanni demonstrating his subservience and showing me that he consents to our scene. He is placing his body and his trust in my hands for the next few hours to do whatever I want. I could spank him until he’s black and blue, whip him against the cross until he sobs, or I could deprive him of all sensation except a light touch against his cock until he screams in frustration.
Master has done all those things to me before. This talk feels like he’s showing me the buffet after I’ve been starved of food, and I must remind myself it’s not up to the slave to determine what he needs. Master knows already.
“Very good, Giovanni,” Master says and cups my cheek so that I might gaze up at him. There I see my own tenderness and devotion reflected in his eyes. This is the place I return to whenever I’m seeking peace of mind, Master cupping my cheek in his hand, gazing down on me with love and appreciation.
“Silvio will touch your head as a greeting,” Master says, then gestures for him to do so. Silvio lays his palm atop my head and I find it comforting in a different way. “Remember, I am still in charge of this scene,” Master says to us both. “The orders come from me, alone.” Silvio nods in agreement. “Now stand, Giovanni.”
I rise at last for Master’s inspection, which is largely performative now, since I’ve been almost exclusively nude the past week. He makes a production of inspecting my arms though, to show Silvio how it’s done. No comments are made by either man, which is likely for my benefit.
“The mask today,” Master says, which is exactly what I need. I can hardly bear the scrutiny of my Master, much less Silvio’s questing gaze. I feel infinitely better when the mask is in place. I can’t see the way they look at me and even their voices are muted. Meanwhile, their hands touch, caress, squeeze, and grope. At first, I try to determine who they belong to, but then I give up and decide it doesn’t really matter because I’ve given my body over to them already. My flesh is an instrument of pleasure for the two men in this room to use according to my Master’s will and desires.
Master cuffs the back of my neck with his hand and steers me across the room, tells me to turn around, and places my hands against the nylon ropes. The swing. He assists me into it, with my back braced securely against the leather seat and my calves supported by holsters that serve to both spread and expose me. There’s another strap to support my neck, so that I might drop my head all the way back and take a cock in my mouth. I recall Master’s desire to fill me in two places, and I suspect a spit-roast is what he and Silvio have planned.
This slave is not opposed.
But for now, I feel the slow drag of the flogger’s leather tresses over my exposed privates. I think it’s Master’s doing, but then maybe not because my nipples are being primed for what I assume are the clamps. Master pinches and twists and tugs until they throb from his savage treatment. The ribbed teeth of the clamps press down on my swollen, tender nubs behind my piercings, a stinging bite that incites by some strange alchemy, the blood to rush to my cock. Even so, I hiss from the intensity and arch my lower back.
“Looks painful,” Silvio comments.
“Yes,” Master says with a quiet satisfaction. Master is a sadist who gets off on having complete authority over me, his masochist. Master likes being in control, and I like handing it over. In the beginning, we did scenes only occasionally, but we soon discovered we both wanted more. I thrive on the structure and discipline the dynamic provides, and Master enjoys assuming ownership over my body and putting me through the whole gamut of sensual and psychological torture. We decided a complete immersion in the lifestyle would better suit us and allow Master the free reign to train me as his ideal submissive. In all his years as a Dominant and occasional Master, he says he’s never invested so heavily in slave training as he has with me.
The prideful part of me glories in this knowledge while the insecure part wonders if it’s because I’m so badly behaved. Master’s instruction is ongoing because there are always ways in which this slave can improve.
For now, Master pulls on the wire that connects the clamps, which makes my dick bob enthusiastically and dribble precum messily. I whine, not only from the pain but with the desire for him to do it again. I’m confident he will. Master wants to hurt me.
“How’s that?” he asks, tugging again.
“Good,” I respond with a full-body shudder.
I hear him moving to my lower half. The men switch positions, or so I assume because the sensation of the flogger on my ass, cock, and balls now feels familiar. Sharp, stinging slaps on my buttocks and slightly softer ones on my genitals. I imagine my groin red and swollen from Master’s merciless treatment, burning hot to the touch. The first time he did this to me was in front of his Dominant friends—I cried because it felt so good—and I thought something must be wrong with me to like it so much. Master paused the scene to talk me through it, assuring me that if I was wrong, then he was wrong too, as were the men watching and enjoying my torment. This made me feel much better about it.
While Master tortures my lower half, Silvio’s hands skate along my abdomen and chest, providing a soothing contrast to the stinging pain on my privates. It goes like this for a while, interspersed with breaks so that I can catch my breath and Master might discuss his technique more fully.
“Giovanni must be disciplined regularly,” Master says in a soothing rumble, “so that he feels seen and appreciated and to reinforce our dynamic. This is not something I expect you to do for him, Silvio. Not without time and training. But I do want you to hold Giovanni to his routines as much as possible and report back to me daily on his behavior.”
Just knowing that Master will hold me accountable, even by proxy, makes me feel much more reassured about his upcoming departure.
On the next break from torturing my cock and balls, Master removes my plug, and I assume his intent is to fuck me but no, it’s another toy, a much larger one that makes me squirm and pant in the swing, trying to edge away from the burn of my sphincter being stretched so wide. It’s better that I can’t see what Master is attempting to shove inside of me or I might swoon from fear. Not terror, mind you, but a kind of invigorating fear borne of my trust in Master and his extensive experience in disciplining his subs and me in particular. Master knows how much I can take. The harness makes it so that any effort at relief is in vain, so I whimper pitifully instead.
