“That’s right, and expertise on how to implement the tool. This is the role of a good Dominant. It isn’t only telling a sub what to do but it’s being proficient and experienced in everything you attempt. If you’re not willing to do it to yourself…”
Master holds my flaccid penis in his hand and rubs his gloved thumb over the slit where there is already a gob of lube. He pinches my cockhead so that the slit gapes open and very slowly feeds the sound into my tiny hole.
“Breathe, Giovanni,” Master reminds me as the metal travels the length of my shaft, expanding my narrow, sensitive canal so that it feels fully blown open, similar to the way Sir is holding me. I cannot move, nor can I retreat from this invasion—Master has found a way to restrain me using Sir’s own body.
He continues the insertion until I feel it tickling my prostate. There’s nothing else like it, a heady mixture of feeling as though I have to pee while also having to cum, confusing and arousing, especially when I see the excitement on Master’s face—the slight uptick of his mouth and the narrow focus in his concentration. Master wishes to probe me in the most personal of ways, and I wonder if he might have missed his calling as a surgeon. I harden almost immediately, putting more pressure on the sound and my urethra. The tube shifts and Master readjusts it so that it’s all the way in.
“How does that feel?” Master asks.
“Perfect, Master.”
“This is why you must have mastery over your sub’s body. If I go too fast, I could tear his urethra. If I go too far, I could puncture his bladder. In a scene your focus must be entirely on your sub, especially when they go into subspace and it becomes more difficult for them to actively consent, which is also why you negotiate limits ahead of time. At that point, it’s up to the Dominant to say when they’ve had enough.” Master moves the tube methodically up and down, and I thrust upward, trying to get him to go deeper. “Careful,” Master warns.
“Sorry,” I say with a huff and a whine. “It just feels…”
“I know. Remember the first time we did this?” he asks, sounding sentimental.
“I nearly passed out just watching you stick it in.”
“But you liked it.”
“I did,” I say, feeling bashful.
To Sir, he says, “We’ve also used a lovely instrument with pellet-shaped spheres that Giovanni found particularly arousing.”
“I don’t know how you fit that thing inside me.”
“You were scared,” Master says, and I can see the delight in his eyes. Iwasscared, but I also knew that I was safe, so it felt thrilling instead of terrifying.
“Master loves to torment me.”
“Yes, I do.”
Sir’s stiff cock nudges the small of my back as Master slowly manipulates the sound up and down, such a foreign but exquisite sensation. Like striking a bow across the strings to make them quiver and sing, I am my Master’s own instrument. He plays me as a maestro conducts music, and every time I approach my crescendo, he interrupts his movements so I’m unable to climax. I whimper in misery whenever this happens. He does this again and again because he wants more from me, he wantseverything.
“Please, Master,” I beg. “Please let this humble slave come.”
“Not yet,schiavo. I want more than just your pain. I want your surrender.”
It’s not hard to give in to him at this point when he already has me so helpless and exposed. My cries are muffled and soft as the sensation builds, ebbing and flowing like a moving piece of music until at last, I reach that final searing note. Even with both men helping to orchestrate my pleasure, my orgasms are intensely personal in a way. My body feels suspended in midair as the bliss flows out of me like blood from a cut. My ejaculate fills the hollow center of the sound and collects in the bulging lip of the instrument. Master carefully removes it from my softening cock and instructs me to suck my cum from the end of it, which feels like the natural conclusion to such a performance, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
We break there for a few minutes. Master instructs me to urinate to flush the lube and any remaining semen from my urethra and uses a pan to collect it so that he can look for blood. Raise him up higher now, Silvio,” Master instructs when that’s done. “I’m not finished with you yet,schiavo.”
I whimper my assent and Sir makes some noise of encouragement while Master lubes up his next instrument, an amply sized dildo. Master wants me to ache all over tonight. He massages my anus with the blunt tip of it first, warming my sphincter to the penetration.
“You think you can take all of this, Giovanni?” Master asks.
“I hope so.”
“I think you can. I think you want to, for your Masterandfor your Sir.”
Master’s pep talks are like nothing else. He teases and tests my muscle while my anus puckers and gasps like a fish. It dilates and constricts around the probe, as confused as I am about what is happening. Sir pulls my knees farther back so he can get a better view.
“Giovanni does exercises every day to strengthen his sphincter,” Master says. “Do you know why?” He’s asking Sir this question. I know the answer already.
“Because you like stuffing your little boy with man-sized toys?” Sir says.
“Because it’s good for his bowel control, and I like my little boy tight as a fist when I fuck him. But I also like to see how much he can take up his splendid little asshole.”
