After that conversation, I read more about the love a parent has for a child and how when another child comes along, their love for the first one isn’t diminished, it simply grows. Being an only child, I’m not sure that I trust it. I also didn’t have the best example in mothers. But my father, what I remember of him, loved me, as did my grandfather. Still, the question remains: is Master’s love for me reduced by sharing me with Sir? Is what we have less special if I’m giving myself to another man?
In between my mooning, following Master’s rules, and sticking to our routines, Master suggests that I might like to get a job.
“Is Master no longer satisfied with what this slave contributes to the household?” I ask, getting my dander up.
“Giovanni,” Master says with a frown. “Why do you assume the worst of me? I only suggested it as a way for you to meet people and make friends.”
“Anthony is my friend.” I glance over to find he looks as surprised as me. “Have you been talking to Rebekah?” I know we have client confidentiality and Rebekah would never share the things I tell her with Master, but the timing is just uncanny.
“Rebekah suggested it too?” he asks. “Then you know it must be a good idea.”
Master doesn’t pressure me any more than that, merely suggests that while on our regular strolls around town, I might want to peruse my options and see if anything interests me.
It seems I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to leave the nest, as Anthony—diversified as his roles have become—will now be staying on indefinitely. His tasks range from driving Master and me places to managing the household and the people Master brings in to clean and care for the property. I think Anthony has fallen in love with the island and perhaps one of its inhabitants, a pretty Italian woman with big eyes and a bright smile that I once saw him canoodling with in town.
It’s going on three weeks when Sir finally returns. We’re at the beach even though it’s starting to get colder when Sir approaches from his own property farther down the shore. He’s like a sexy mirage slowly coming into focus with his thick hair blowing in the wind and his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. I wade out of the water where I’ve been swimming and kneel at Master’s side like a dutiful slave. I don’t know the proper protocol now for greeting Sir, so I’ll wait to take Master’s lead.
The brothers embrace and Master tells him he looks well, which he does, tanned and rested and without the brooding, angry disposition that he had three weeks ago. “Giovanni,” Master says. “How do you greet your Sir?”
I’m shy now, in the days and weeks we’ve been apart, but when Sir opens his arms, I stand up and sort of, fall into them. He smells like saltwater and sweat and faintly of the diesel fumes from his boat and the grease that sometimes stains his fingers from working on the engine. He nests his nose deep in my hair, and says, “Hello, princess, I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too, Sir.” I am shaky as a foal in his arms, but Sir holds me steady.
It’sover dinner that Master says to me, “Silvio and I have been talking about a lot of things lately, most of which are not the concern of this slave. But one of the ways in which we thought we might be able to mend fences is for Sir to demonstrate his willingness to understand our dynamic by participating in another scene.”
Master’s retraining has been grueling, and most of the time we’ve spent in the playroom has been focused on reminding me of my virtues. The possibility of flying with both Master and Sir is as exciting as it is nerve-wracking. But Sir was not very charitable toward this slave the last time I saw him.
“Has Sir’s opinion on this slave’s worth suddenly changed?” I ask tartly, and I catch Master smirking.
“I’d like to learn,” Sir says, looking at me intently. “If you’ll let me, princess.”
“This slave resents being referred to as a ‘brainwashed fuck doll,’” I say, wishing to address it directly. For better or worse, I tend to remember every slight against me.
“I don’t think that, Giovanni. I let my jealousy get the better of me,” Sir says in a rare demonstration of vulnerability. “I’m sorry for my behavior and that I hurt your feelings.”
Master watches me react to Sir’s words. I’d like to play coy, but my desire is simply too transparent. “Giovanni?” Master asks.
“This slave only wishes to serve,” I tell them with a demure dip of my head and to make it crystal-clear, “to serve both my Masterandmy Sir.”
“Same rules and limits apply?” Master asks and we both agree. I’m dismissed shortly thereafter to prepare myself, and it takes extra concentration for me to focus, because I’m vibrating with anticipation and my cock simply will not behave. I pointedly avoid touching or even looking at it. Master better not cage me.
Once I’m properly positioned on my pillow in the dungeon, the men enter and, much like before, peruse Master’s offerings in muffled tones. It seems they are discussing what to do with me, and if ever there was a time that I wished I had supersonic hearing, this is it.
Master offers me his hand first and then Sir strokes my head. The significance is so much more this time because it feels like an olive branch being extended. Sir knows, as he should have always known, that Iama person, not just a body to be fucked and discarded, and knowing this, he wishes to make use of me all the same.
Master tells me we’ll be using the cross tonight and asks me to get in position. This could be for the purpose of teasing me or it could be to whip me. The cross is reclined slightly so that I don’t really have to hold on—but it’s nice to have something to grip when the impact becomes nearly unbearable. Master starts in the usual way by groping and massaging me, and while he does it, he explains his method to Sir.
“This is how I become familiar with my sub’s body. I see where he’s holding tension, whether he’s nervous, afraid, or…” he flicks the head of my cock, “excited. This warms the slave or submissive up as well. Through touch, you tell them that their Dominant is taking over. With a very new sub or in a new D/s relationship, this might be all that you do.”
Patience is Master’s virtue, but it is not always mine, especially not tonight.
Master demonstrates the flogger next, tenderizing my flesh with a steady rain of lashes on my back, thighs, and buttocks until I can feel my pulse throbbing just under my skin. I encourage him with my moans and whimpers of gratitude.
“Not all subs like pain,” Master says, “but for those who do, they tend toreallylike it. We call this type of masochist a pain slut, which Giovanni is, though I seldom call him that because he finds it demeaning.”
This is true. I would let Master call me whatever he wanted, but he avoids degrading language as a courtesy.
“What do pain sluts like, Giovanni?” Master asks. I have no idea what others like, but I know what I like.
