“Better, Master. Thank you for your care.”
After the enema, Master brings out Hugo, the damnable prostate massager that never fails to reduce me to tears. He cages my cock and milks me until fluid dribbles out of the cage in a steady stream, but he keeps the vibrator going for much longer, until my abs are tight from clenching and tears drip from the corners of my eyes. Between the exam, the enema, and now this, everything down there feels so raw and exposed. Master adjusts the massager so that he may add one lubed finger to sweep around the inside rim to penetrate me further.
“Look at me, Giovanni,” he says because I’m wincing in my attempts to bear it. My eyes fly open to find his steady gaze probing me, testing my commitment, aroused by my discomfort and the vulnerability of my situation.
“Do you have anything you’d like to say to me?” he asks, testing to see if I’ll safeword out of it.
“No, Master.”
“Very well.”
He continues his merciless treatment without pause, forcing me to orgasm again and again until my balls are shriveled prunes and my gland throbs like an open wound. “Please, Master, this slave cannot handle any more right now.”
“Who has the authority over when you orgasm?”
“You do, Master. Always. This slave has learned their lesson.Please.”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten how to beg,” Master says with approval. He removes his finger and the prostate massager and wipes away my tears with the pad of his thumb.
“Thank you,” I murmur, relieved that part is over.
“Don’t thank me yet,” Master says darkly. He returns with a plug that’s long with a narrow base and a large, circular handle that is not at all discreet. It’s my least favorite because it offers no pleasure to my prostate and it’s hard to walk normally with it in, but Master says I won’t be doing much walking today, that I will demonstrate my virtues on my knees. He buckles a leather harness around my torso and attaches a leash to the back of it to act as a lead. I will crawl behind Master whenever possible. Master also fits me with a ring gag, which will allow him to make use of my mouth while preventing me from speaking. I have a safesign if I need it, but the gag is freeing in its own way—less responsibility and no pressure to interact with others. This is how Master ensures I’m in the correct headspace for retraining.
I begin drooling almost immediately. Master notices and smiles with a perverse satisfaction. Well, he is a sadist.
“You look lovely like that, Giovanni,” Master says when I’m on my hands and knees in front of him. The plug makes it impossible to sit down, so I must hover in an awkward position to alleviate the pressure on my knees. “Like a slave who is very, very sorry.”
I nod because all the implements Master has chosen are to remind me of the sacrifices I must make to get back into his good graces. Satisfied at last by my subjugation, Master takes me down to the beach to our usual spot. Now that Master is home, Anthony is something of an armed house helper or butler, and he brings the tent and cooler since Sir is meeting Master for drinks. Master is making use of my mouth when Sir arrives, and I know right away from Sir’s tone of voice that there will be a problem.
“Am I interrupting something?” Sir growls.
“Not yet,” Master says without breaking his stride in his bruising thrusts. I wish that I could properly explain to Sir the importance of a slave’s retraining. I got lazy in Master’s absence and I indulged. Now, I’m being corrected and put in my proper place.
“I can come back after you’re done,” Sir spits with venom. Despite all my attempts to educate him, and Master’s too, Sir cannot fathom it.
“Have a seat, Silvio,” Master says, and I hear Sir fall messily into the chair behind me. In this moment, he is very much the petulant younger brother. He’s not acting like a man, but I try to forgive him for it. Master finishes with my mouth, and I swallow as much of his ejaculate as I can, but the gag prevents me from getting all of it, so some of his cum dribbles down my chin. Master doesn’t wipe it off, and I’m not allowed to either. This is to remind me of my humility, that I am indeed his property, and my responsibility is to serve him above all else. And besides that, he likes it, in the same way Sir liked seeing me cum-splattered in a dingy broom closet. Men love to mark their territory, to stab their flags into virgin soil, to name countries, cities, and monuments after themselves. Men are all different in some ways, but they are also very much alike.
When I turn, I see the disgust in Sir’s eyes. He finds me repulsive like this—gagged, caged, and harnessed. He despises my servitude, and it hurts me in a way I’ve never been hurt by him before. More than just humility, I feel ashamed, but I must remember that Master has enough pride for the both of us.
“You are tired of little boys?” Sir snarls. “You have moved onto fucking dogs now?” This is not puppy play, but a reminder of my status, which is beneath my Master.
“I’m retraining my slave, Silvio. I’m reestablishing my dominance because frankly, he’s gotten into some bad habits.” I’m doubly shamed by Master’s disappointment in me. I wish I had my mask on too so that I could hide.
Sir scoffs and says, “You mean he got used to being treated like a person?”
“Giovanni must know his place. The implements you see are to help remind him of his virtues.”
“Virtues, yes,” Sir says with a scowl. “The virtues of being a brainwashed fuck doll.”
I’m shocked at Silvio’s disrespect to Master and me both. He’s denying my own agency in choosing this lifestyle and assuming I don’t know my own mind. Calling me…brainwashed?
“Do not speak this way in front of myschiavo,” Master warns coldly. He calls for Anthony and hands him my leash. “Take Giovanni down to the shore. My brother and I need to talk in private.”
I assume Master intends to correct Sir’s behavior without me present. He’s careful about what my psyche can endure, and name-calling is especially distressing to me.
It’s slow-going crawling through the soft sand on my hands and knees and the plug makes it doubly awkward, but I manage. Kneeling uncomfortably at the water’s edge I watch the men argue. Sir gestures wildly and tugs at his hair, such a passionate man. Master maintains his impeccably cool demeanor, though I can tell he’s displeased too. Their argument goes on for a while, and just when I think they might come to blows, Master says something that seems to take the fight out of Sir entirely. Now Sir seems to be questioning Master and listening more intently. The men glance over at me as if I might be eavesdropping on their conversation, but all I can hear are the waves crashing and the surf murmuring seductively as it tugs at my limbs. Anthony sort of shuffles around and looks at me like he wants to say something but then doesn’t. It would be pointless with the gag anyway. Silver linings, I suppose.
After another twenty minutes or so, Sir stands up to leave, glancing at me once more with a pitying look before stalking off. Master calls for Anthony to return me to his keep. Once back, Master removes the gag and wipes my cum-crusted chin with a damp cloth, which by now has collected particles of sand as well. I’m glad for the relief because my jaw was starting to ache, and my mouth is gritty with sand. The gag isn’t meant for long-term use, which makes me think Master was doing it to prove a point to Sir, more so than me.
