Next time? How can Silvio plan to stay here with a literal crazy person who will claw off his face and go for his nuts at his earliest opportunity?
“Why are you doing this?” It doesn’t make any sense to me. Fucking me is certainly a bonus, but there are far easier ways to get laid.
“As a favor to my brother,” Silvio says, “and as a favor to you.”
I hadn’t thought about it like that before, that Silvio might be doing this for me, not only as it relates to my Master.
“You weren’t at breakfast,” I tell him. I don’t mean to sound so accusatory because it’s obviously not his fault—the demons were bound to take over sooner or later.
“I had to check on my house and my boat. But I can see that it really messed up your morning, eh?”
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry because that’s such a vast understatement.
“Ah,” he says, delighted. “I am funny, no?”
“Yes, you are funny,” I tell him. “You know that you are.”
“Charming too?”
I glance away, not wanting to admit it.
“It’s okay, princess, you can tell me.”
“You are a little bit charming.”
“A little bit?” he scoffs. “I am my mother’s favorite son.”
“You are your mother’s only son,” I argue.
“And favorite.”
He nudges my thigh with his toe, and I give a shaky smile. I’m holding my knees to my chest while Silvio is splayed out like a Greek god. “So,” he says, “I should have been here for you, and I wasn’t. From now on, we stick to the schedule, I promise.” I nod slowly, and I want to mention something else, but I don’t quite know how. This slave doesn’t make demands. This slave is grateful for whatever attentions are given to him.
“What is it, princess?” he prompts, sensing my inner turmoil.
“This slave needs to feel useful,” I tell him. “And… desired. Even when Master isn’t here, the slave must have a purpose. The slave must be… used.” I stare at my knees, blushing. I’m rarely shy or embarrassed when it comes to Master, but Silvio is not Master.
“Ah,” Silvio nods slowly. “Signore, no?” he asks, my name for him when we’re in a scene.
“Yes.Signore.” Relief washes over me just in saying it.
Silvio licks his lips, then tugs on the lower one as a canny expression lights up his face. “How about this, princess? I wash, you suck?”
I glance up at him to make sure he means it and isn’t just fucking with me. I nod slowly, trapped by his pensive gaze while thinking this could… work.
Silvio opens his legs wider, still bent at the knees, and tells me to come closer. When I do, he turns me around and drags a soapy rag over my body, cleaning the cuts I recently gave myself and wiping away the sweat and grime that accumulated during my rage. He massages shampoo into my hair then pours water over my head to rinse it. Conditioner too, to help with the knots and tangles. His hands feel wonderful against my scalp, gently massaging. My shoulders relax and my eyes close, another sign of trust.
“This is good, yes?” he asks as his hands become familiar with my body. His fingers play with one of my nipple rings, flicking and tugging it gently.
“Yes.”
“Verde?” he asks, his voice dropping a register.
“This is green,” I tell him.
“Turn around, princess.”
I swivel to face him while Silvio hoists himself onto the stone ledge of the tub like Poseidon rising from the frothy, churning sea and plants his feet firmly on either side of me. His cock is a massive sea slug, the head of it wet and slippery and dripping with nutritious seed.
