“There must be something else,” Sir says. “Your music or your studies. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you, Sir. I enjoy music but I practice so that I might please my Master and most of my academic pursuits relate back to becoming a more virtuous slave.”
“Isn’t there anything that’s just… for you?”
You are just for me,I think, but I don’t say it because it feels too big for me to manage on my own.
“Everything that I do is for my betterment in service to my Master.”
“Enough with the Master,” Sir snaps in a derisive tone. I’m bewildered by this sudden turn in our conversation. Sir is often mercurial but right now, he seems mad… at me?
“What’s wrong?” I ask tentatively and Sir explodes with a sudden passion.
“He is not here right now, I am, so right now you should be thinking of me. Only me.” His hands mimic the ire of his outburst, and I freeze as though I’ve been slapped. I’m silent after that, trying to hold back tears. Sir is broody as well. He goes back to watching the game while I hum with anxiety, trying to understand the exchange that just took place. Sir is not being fair. He met me as my Master’sschiavo, he took ownership of metemporarily. And he has certainly benefited from my virtues without complaint. I thought he accepted me just as I am, but now it seems he wants something else from me altogether. He’s making this slave feel unworthy and unappreciated.
Soon enough the tears come because I simply cannot help it. Sir shuts off the television, draws me onto his lap, and kisses my hair and my tear-stained cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Giovanni,” he whispers, his breath hot on my flushed face. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just jealous of the bond that you share with your Master. I’m used to having things all to myself.”
I do not have the words to adequately express myself. For as articulate as I strive to be, sharing my feelings is never easy. Master knows this and understands my submission is one of the ways I demonstrate my love for him. I’ve attempted to do the same with Sir, but he is not my true Dominant. Still, I try my best to mollify him.
“Why are you jealous of Master?” I ask. “You’re important to me too. You’re my Sir.”
He shakes his head and says with a bitter disappointment, “Ah, Giovanni.”
I’mcautious around Sir for the next few days, trying to interpret his moods. He wants his dick serviced as enthusiastically as ever. He wants his fingers inside of me, and his tongue, he wants a tight, warm sleeve for his cock. He wants all of me, all the time, and even at mealtimes, he won’t let me go very far.
“Sir, this slave can’t help but notice your appetite over these past few days is rather insatiable.”
“Does that bother you, princess?” he asks with a look of concern.
“No, but I do wonder why you wish to exhaust me so.”
Sir stares at me with something like regret. “He didn’t tell you in his letter?” I shake my head. “I have some news for you, Giovanni. Your Master is coming home.”
I float through the rest of the day, giddy and uncertain. Could it be true? Master is coming home? Master calls me later that night to tell me the news, that he’ll be here in just three days. He apologizes for being gone for so long but that everything in New York is wrapped up, and he won’t need to leave me again for a very long time.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you,schiavo,” he says, a name he hasn’t called me since he left because he didn’t want to make the demands of a Master while I was serving Sir. “I’ve missed you terribly.”
“I’ve missed you too, Master,” I say with a tremulous joy that feels too precarious because I want… I want…
“We have a lot of catching up to do,” he says into the silence.
“Yes, we do. I’ll be ready for you when you get home.”
“Grazie, tesoro. I’ll see you soon.”
For years it has been only me and my Master. What will we do about Sir?
15
I’m not given much time to prepare. I’ve become a little lax without a regular esthetician, so I ask Anthony to get me a couple of waxing kits from the drugstore and spend the next day removing my body hair until I’m pink and shiny as a newborn. Sir watches me sullenly and tells me a real man wouldn’t be threatened by another man’s body hair.
I gently remind him, “Sir, I’m not a man, but a boy.”
He scoffs at that and makes a forget-about-it gesture.
I clean the sheets and air out the house and make sure all of Master’s favorite foods are stocked in the refrigerator and pantry. I tidy up too since I’ve gotten a little bit lazy with Sir always sprawled over the furniture and leaving his things about. Luckily, there’s a paid housecleaner who comes in every two weeks to help with that.
