“Yes, Sir.” I whimper without meaning to.
“You want to be bathed in the cum of a strong, Italian stud.”
I smile to myself and turn my head to face him. “Yes, Sir.”
“You only have to ask, Giovanni. You only have to ask Sir for what you want.”
I roll all the way onto my back and reach my hands around his neck to draw him nearer so that I might whisper in his ear, “Sir, will you fuck me now? Please?”
“On my boat?”
Here, there, anywhere. “Yes, on your boat.”
“On the magnificentEvelina?”
“Yes, on the boat you named after your mother, you horny bastard. Will you fuck me up the ass so deep and so hard that you make me cry cummy tears?”
Things move swiftly after that, perhaps too swiftly considering my legs are lifted as high as they will possibly go, and Sir’s cock is slowly rearranging my anatomy. But the pain is a good one, a cleansing one, like death and renewal. Sir is remaking me as his own. All my tendons are tight and muscles straining as I cling to him and beg him to keep going.
“You are too tight, little princess,” he murmurs, but he’s not going to stop unless I tell him. Once Sir’s lust is activated, he’s like a bull charging ahead. “My cock is too big for this baby boy. Am I hurting you?”
“Yes.”
“Good hurt or bad hurt?”
“Good hurt, Sir. Please keep going. Green, green, green.”
His mouth finds mine and quells my whimpers with his tongue, and I tell myself to give up control and let him take over. And when I do at last, it is good, so good. I cannot fly this way, but I can revel in the mass of flesh that ripples and grinds atop me, drilling in deeper, deeper, as far as it will go.
Sir grips my hair and turns my head so that he can suck on my neck, using his mouth to anchor me beneath him, while his cock finds that sweet spot inside me. We grapple and roll until I’m on top, bobbing up and down furiously, fucking myself on his obscene dick. “Yes, Giovanni,” Sir cheers. “Ride me like a pony.”
I ignore his corny usage of idioms and do, in fact, ride him likehe’sa pony until we are both a wet, sticky mess and tangled up in each other’s arms.
“You did well for your first time fucking on a boat,” Sir says a little while later, and I laugh at his stupidity. “Do you feel good, princess?”
“Yes, Sir, you know your cock has magical powers.”
“I still like to hear it. Gratitude, no?”
“Thank you, Sir, for letting me ride your monster dick and for fucking me on your boat.”
“Monster dick.” Sir chuckles. “I like that.”
Sir is quiet after that, his breathing so even that I think he’s fallen asleep until he pulls me closer and murmurs in my hair, “I like you, Giovanni. I think I would like to keep you.”
My heart melts a little, and I feel a twinge of guilt because I’m growing fond of him too, but this thing between us is only temporary. Master will come back for me. He promised.
14
We’re in the living room, lying end to end on the couch. Sir is playing footsie with me, trying to distract me from my reading while he watches the Napoli vs. Torino soccer game on television. They must be on a half-time break because his foot is becoming more insistent.
“Sir?” I ask, bookmarking my page because I sense that he may require some attention.
“You don’t like soccer, princess?” Sir phrases his questions like this because he wants me to argue with him. Italiansloveto argue. It’s practically a national sport.
“I like their bodies. And I like it when they fall on the ground like they’re in the worst possible pain, then jump right back up when the whistle’s blown.”
“You like the theater?” Sir asks.
