“Like the beautiful Ganymede, abducted by the gods to serve as Zeus's cup-bearer in Olympus.”
“We both know you’d be doing much more than pouring my cup, as I’m sure Zeus made good use of his cup-bearer as well.”
Give it to Master to make me squirm and blush in a room full of dicks.
I take a picture of a bronze fountain of a boy kneeling with his thighs spread and chest thrust forward, head tilted back spurting water from his mouth. It reminds me of our trysts in the steam room. I send it to Sir without any explanation, and he replies with,don’t be cruel, princess.
The sexual high is dizzying, and Master and I are not back in our hotel room for even two minutes before he’s fucking my mouth and then my ass with vigor. As I’m bent over the bed, licking my cum from his fingers like a cat, I say to him, “Master, what happened to your virtue of patience?”
Master laughs with the heartiness of a man half his age and spanks me for good measure.
Oh, and I get that red convertible too.
Master’s birthdayis only a few days later. He’s a Scorpio too you see, which accounts for some of our obsessive tendencies toward each other and our mutual pursuit of sexual pleasure, not to mention the circling we do on occasion, pincers at the ready waiting to see if the other will strike. It’s also why Master must be so strict with me because Scorpios can smell weakness a mile away and exploit it to our advantage.
I’ve planned something special for Master. I got the idea a few weeks ago when I was helping clean out the church attic for a charity drive, and I found an antique and extremely ornate frame. I got someone on the island to restore it for me and stain it in gold. I enlisted Anthony to go shopping for the necessary produce and then staged the scene in Master’s dungeon where I was able to manipulate the lighting just so.
When Master enters for his birthday surprise, I’m standing behind the suspended gold frame, draped loosely in white fabric so that my shoulder is bare while holding a basket of ripe, luscious fruits. My lips are painted pink with gloss and parted slightly to emulate the model in Master’s favorite Caravaggio painting,Boy with a Basket of Fruit.
Master is delighted, I can tell. He demands Anthony bring him his camera and after he’s taken several photographs, dismisses him almost immediately. He observes me from a few angles. Only my eyes shift to follow his movement as I try to properly capture the sexual yearning of Caravaggio’s boy.
“This is magnificent, Giovanni,” Master says.
“Would you like to sample my bounty, Master?” I ask, trying to stay in character.
Master plucks a grape from its bundle and chews it slowly. He selects another for me and places it carefully in my mouth. I make sure to lick his fingers as he’s feeding me. The fruit pops, and its sweetness pours down my throat.
“Where are you from, young man?” Master asks.
“I’m a simple country peasant new to the city. A street vendor suggested I might be able to sell my wares to a distinguished older gentleman. A Master who might wish to offer me his patronage in exchange for my services.”
“Patronage,” Master murmurs with a salacious smile.
“I hope he’ll be gentle with me, though. You see, I’m not very learned in the ways of men.”
Master shakes his head slowly, hardly able to contain his delight. He loves this sort of taunting. “You have overwhelmed me, Giovanni. I don’t know what I’d like to do to you first.”
“What did you want to do to the boy in the painting?” I’m sure that a man with Master’s sexual appetite must have fantasized about it before.
“So many things,” Master murmurs.
I expect that he’ll take me there in his dungeon and dominate me using some implement that will make me wail and cry (since it is his birthday), but instead he leads me back to his bedroom and lays me on his pristine bed with the basket of fruit nearby. He slowly unwraps the white drape I’ve used to cover myself until I’m lying naked before him like a bride on her wedding night.
“Who knew country boys could be so beautiful and soft?” Master says as his hand skates lightly along the side of my ribs and drifts over my stomach.
“I wasn’t much for farming,” I admit. “More the lute-playing type.”
Master smiles, enjoying our little game. “And you say you’ve never had a man’s touch before?”
“No, Master. I’ve been waiting for a strong, mature man to show me what my body can do. Someone with a firm hand.”
Master plays with one of my nipple rings, as he often does when he’s contemplating my subjugation. “Well, beautiful boy, I’m not sure you chose the right man as your patron.”
“Why’s that?”
He reaches into the basket and picks up a ripe round nectarine, a blushing pink color. “You see this piece of fruit?” I nod, hypnotized already by his deep Dominant voice. Master crushes it in his fist until the juice runs down his wrist and splashes onto the valley of my stomach. His thumb dips into my navel and collects the liquid, then paints my lips with it. I lap at his fingers greedily, getting every last sticky drop.
“This is what I want to do to your lovely, virginal body,” Master says. When he opens his fist, the nectarine is mangled and bruised, its pink skin torn to reveal the plush golden fruit underneath. “I want to ruin you, young man, inside and out, and I expect it will take me a very long time to get it just right.”
