As I wait, I feel as if I’m balancing over a great chasm, and it is up to my Master whether I continue to perch at the ledge of it or dive into the depths below. I grip the metal ring above me so that I might rise to the balls of my feet, and I know from the first hit, this is truly a reward. Master is using his leather strop, the same one I use to sharpen his shaving razor. Eighteen inches long and two inches wide with a stiff, leather end, this is one of my favorite implements.
I whine needily after the first blow. It’s a delicious sensation, a stinging lash with a burn that lingers. At the end where the leather is thicker feels like a hard slap against my skin. Master knows how to wield it with precision. He strikes my back, my buttocks, and my upper thighs, then moves around to my front, avoiding my groin and lower rib cage but striking my pecs and quads. Because of the mask, I don’t know exactly where he’ll hit me next, which amplifies the rush of adrenaline and subsequent release. I will be black and blue tomorrow, my entire body aching and sore, but for now, I amsinging.
“Thank you, Master,” I shout, my throat burning from crying out in pain and ecstasy. Master doesn’t mind my enthusiasm, encourages it even, in these exorcisms and in our everyday fucking. He knows how my abusers silenced me, and though he sometimes restricts my speech, he never tells me to be quiet. Master says nothing back, but I can hear his grunts of exertion. I imagine his chest hair glistening with sweat and his dick getting hard inside his loose trousers, leaving a wet spot on the linen that I will smell tomorrow and perhaps lick before washing. I like to watch the effect I have on him, but I like to fly more.
“You accept your suffering with such grace,schiavo,” Master says, circling my body like a hungry dog while tearing me apart with his biting leather. “Your submission pleases your Master greatly.”
The influx of adrenaline and endorphins takes over and my spirit leaves my body. I no longer feel the pain or the impact of the strop, only the high. I am light and joyful, dizzy with sensation. Master is here with me, but only as a glowing orb of warmth that embraces me, an omniscient observer to my ecstasy, watching over my body while my soul ascends. I am safe; I am loved. This euphoric feeling is the nearest I can get to the rush of heroin.
I drift through the rest of our scene as if suspended on clouds and when I start to drop back down, we’re on Master’s dungeon bed. The mask is gone and Master’s fingers are knotted in my long hair pressing my face against the cool vinyl, the other hand steering my hip. His strong cock is stroking inside of me like a well-oiled piston with a concentrated focus that tells me he’s been using me for a while already. I moan my desire and he slows his thrusts, wanting me to be fully present as he drives deeper, harder, the physical invasion so similar to its psychological counterpart. And I want this man,onlythis man, to violate me. I enjoy being fucked in a way that borders on violence. To have my agency stripped of me, to be forced to come, this is my Master’s gift to me.
When Master touches me at last, my orgasm hits me like a wall of sensation, and I ejaculate all over his fingers and the pad underneath me. Master continues to ride me, and his grip remains firm despite the bruises he’s given me already. He’ll be gentle later but not now in the throes of passion. My prostate is over-sensitive, but Master won’t release me until he’s had his fill. In the past, I’ve orgasmed again from this prolonged stimulation, but tonight my body is already spent.
Master finishes at last, gripping me to him with both hands, and I imagine his posture, back arched, chin tilted upward as he roars like an apex predator. He winds my hair around his fist and yanks me backward so that he can get a fraction deeper, thrusts a few more times to remind me of his dominance. Or perhaps it is some primal breeding instinct to secure his seed inside me. Sometimes I wish I was a woman so that I could grow a child for him, but I’d probably resent having to share his attention. And besides, Master likes dominating and fucking men, so I’ll be content with the gifts I’ve been given.
“Gio,” he says, collapsing on top of me. He slips out of me and then his fingers are there pushing his cum back inside. My hole clenches at his digits greedily. He knows that I sometimes mourn the loss of him and tries to help ease these feelings of abandonment. When I need settling or if I’m feeling especially insecure, Master makes me sit on his cock and read to him. For now, Master retrieves the plug where it’s lying on the mattress and replaces it, stuffing me full of his cum.
“How do you feel,tesoro?”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Master.”
“Clean up. I need a moment.”
I lick Master’s fingers first, whatever is left of my spend, and then I dutifully collect my spilled cum from the vinyl because boys are not permitted to leave messes behind. When Master is satisfied that I’ve gotten it all, he invites me to lay with him in his post-coital daze; his strong arms wrap around me in a possessive embrace. My muscles start to stiffen, the residual burn and ache from his blows settling in. I cannot wait to see the bruises in the morning, how they’ll bloom across my skin like a field of poppies. Master will take pictures as a keepsake and perhaps also to show his Dominant friends. Rico will try to avoid looking at them because he’s polite and discreet, as always.
When my sweat has dried and my pleasure has faded to a pleasant hum, Master removes the plug and cleans my crack with a washcloth. He lays a cool damp towel on my back and buttocks to soothe the worst of the sting, then he applies arnica on my welts to make them heal faster, a bittersweet prospect.
After tidying up his implements and reordering his dungeon, Master brings me to the bedroom and props me up with pillows like his pampered prince so that I can eat my dinner in bed. He asks for my consent to leave because the separation, especially after a scene, is hard for me, and I grant it. As he’s turning to leave, he plucks something off the floor and says to me, “What’s this?”
Did I leave a book by the bed? Did he find a clean sock that I missed while folding laundry? I glance over with curiosity and Master opens his hand.
It’s a single diamond earring, glittering and perfect. Classy, sophisticated. “Is that for me?” I ask demurely, knowing that it is.
“For you,tesoro.”
I tilt my head so that Master can affix it to my one pierced ear. It’ll go nicely with my nipple rings and my gold collar and cock cage I wear when we have company. Master has bought me a lot of jewelry in our time together. He’d probably buy me more if I was better behaved. He likes to dress me in expensive clothing when we go out, and he likes to see me naked in his penthouse wearing nothing but the glittering baubles and trinkets he’s given me.
“Do you like it?” he asks, stroking my sensitive lobe with his fingertip.
“I love it. I love you, Master.”
“I love you, Giovanni, and I always have. You make me so happy. You are my entire world.”
I bask in the halo of his praise. And in the tumult of my mind, with my demons now sated, I know for certain that with Master as the god who rules me, my life is worth living and the pain of existing worth enduring.
2
Iwake with the dawn’s light without an alarm and check on Master to find him still slumbering in bed next to me. After relieving myself in the toilet, I unroll my yoga mat to do my Sun Salutations, positioning myself in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the bedroom as the first rays of light begin to paint the high rises of Manhattan in a rich golden hue. Master says it’s important that I show my gratitude for every day I am given, and this ritual is my way of doing so.
After my stretches, I inspect my bruises in Master’s mirrors. They’ve faded since our scene three nights ago, no longer indigo and violet but more of a mottled yellow and brown. They’re not attractive at this stage and the pain is too distant for me to enjoy, but I remind myself that only when I’m fully healed will Master use me as his canvas again.
In the kitchen, I prepare our breakfast. Today is Master’s day off, so we’ll eat together on the terrace since the weather is nice. On workdays our morning routine is abbreviated, but today we have the luxury of drawing it out. I poach three eggs, two for myself and one for Master. When the nutritionist laid out my eating plan, I asked that she create one for Master as well, a heart-healthy diet that I might implement to reduce his cholesterol and lower his blood pressure. Though he assures me he follows it when he’s away, I have more control over the foods I prepare for him. He’s cut back on his drinking and quit smoking too, only indulging in the occasional cigar. If I have my way, Master will live forever.
Once the eggs are poached, the melon is cut, and the toast is sprayed with a light butter substitute, I cover the plates under two aluminum domes and carry them outside where I’ve already set the table with Master’s espresso, orange juice, and pills. My medications are there too. Master makes me take them in front of him, so I don’t forget.
Now is one of my favorite rituals. I crawl under the covers where Master is slowly beginning to rouse and gently tug down his sleeping pants with my teeth. Sometimes he sleeps naked, sometimes not. Unless it’s cold in the house, I’m always nude when Master is at home. At the beginning of my slave training, it helped him make sure I wasn’t hiding anything that I might use to hurt myself. Since then I’ve become accustomed to the nudity, especially in the warmer weather, and I want Master to feel that he can make use of me whenever he desires without the obstacle of clothing.
I lay my palms atop Master’s sinewy thighs where I’ve exposed him. I begin at the base of his scrotum, inhaling his rich earthy scent and using my tongue to lap at his big hairy balls. My master is well-endowed, something I like to gloat about, if only to myself. I draw each of them into my mouth, savoring his salty, musky flavor. I suckle them gently, paying homage to the organs that sustain my Master’s manhood and provide this slave with so much nutritious seed.
