“This robe,” Sir says, “and a pair of socks so your feet don’t get cold.”
Patience has always beena struggle for Sir, so it’s not long after that we’ve tumbled into his bed at what the men refer to as “the boathouse” because it’s much smaller than Master’s manor with only two bedrooms. It has a clean, nautical feel with wood paneling and has been decorated by Sir with artifacts from the sea. I like to think of Sir as a kind of Triton, who are fish-tailed demigods in the service of Poseidon and considered to be the satyrs of the oceans. Lusty, sea-loving Sir whose normal habitat is in the water with tail and scale but adopts the shape of a man on land. We’re similar in our love of the ocean, though I believe Sir seeks to conquer it while I only wish to be held in its comforting embrace.
“I missed you, princess,” Sir says as his hands become reacquainted with my skin. “How was your birthday?” I tell Sir about our visit to Naples and the convertible Master got me. Sir frowns at the mention of my new car. “He spoils you too much. How can I compete?”
“There is no competing with Master,” I remind him. “This slave has the capacity to serve you both. Please don’t try to best your brother on this humble slave’s account.”
“Ah, Giovanni,” he says, shaking his head. “You are too pure for words.”
We wrestle in the bed and Sir kisses me in a feverish way, not only my mouth but bruising my neck and torso with his love bites and hickeys. He spreads my legs to mark my inner thighs as well. He’ll want Master to see them when I return, so that he’ll know I’ve been thoroughly reclaimed by Sir. Try as I might to assure Sir of his importance, I feel powerless in this regard, so I must remind myself that the competition between men is not this slave’s concern. Sir rubs one spit-slick finger against my hole and asks, “Have you been doing your exercises.”
“Yes, Sir, every day, and I thought about you fucking me every time, just like you asked.” It was one of Sir’s rules for me when he left, as a way for me to keep him front and center in my mind, as if I needed any reminders.
“Very good, princess. I can’t wait to be inside you,” he rumbles in my ear, but he makes no attempts to do so because Sir is sometimes a terrible tease. “There is nothing else like it.”
I’m sure there aresomethings like it. I ask Sir during a break in his attentions, “Did you dominate a lot of subs in your training?”
Sir grins lasciviously. “Are you asking if I fucked other men, princess?”
“Yes.”
“Only as many as it took to bring me back here to you.”
I smirk and shake my head. I imagine Sir with his lusting, arrogant cock being serviced by so many hungry subs. Of course, I’m a little jealous, but my place is here with Master, and I cannot expect a young, virile man with an appetite like Sir’s to be so chaste while he’s away.
“I was safe,” Sir assures me, “And I got tested before leaving Milan. Valentin demanded it.”
“Master takes no chances.”
“How about you?” Sir asks with a dark look. “Have you played with anyone else?”
I shake my head solemnly. “Master doesn’t share me.”
“I know, but I thought that might have changed now that you’ve experimented with me a little.”
“This slave doesn’t like strangers touching him. Only his Master and his Sir.”
Sir’s lips brush across my jaw and he says, very softly, “Can we talk about that, princess?”
I squirm a little in his arms. “Talk about what?”
“Who hurt you.” The playfulness leaves me almost immediately, and I sort of sink down into the bed, reminiscent of that time. Phantoms of being violated in the worst ways pass through my body, cold and stabbing echoes of my trauma.
“I only ask because,” Sir continues as though gentling a horse, “I’d like to play with you, but I don’t want to scare you or hurt you.”
I understand his reasons. Sir wants to restrain me or at least show me some of his ropework. I’ve admired the art ofshibarifrom afar, and I’ve tried a little light bondage with Master, but I couldn’t get past my block. I’d like to make another attempt with Sir, not only for his benefit but because as someone who likes ceding control of my body, it’s something I think I’d enjoy.
So, I tell Sir about the time I was kidnapped, the room where I was kept, which was filthy and reeked of cum, piss, and shit. How I wasn’t really given enough food or water or allowed to go to the bathroom all that much, so that I often wet the bed or defecated on myself. When I speak about this time, I go into a kind of altered state where my tone is flat and unemotional, and I recite the abuse with the detachment necessary to revisit those events. I tell myself, as I often have, that those things happened to Matthew, not me. Matthew is dead, (poor, poor Matthew) and Giovanni is here and safe with Master.
“And when my grandfather refused to pay them the money,” I tell Sir, “my mother’s boyfriend decided that I needed to earn my keep.” It was so they could get money to buy more drugs, that was how he sold it to my mother, at least. She didn’t need much convincing. “So, he handcuffed me to the bed and rented me out, and that’s why I don’t like to be restrained, especially my wrists.” I rub the scars on my wrists, not only from the damage done at the time but because I have cut myself there too, avoiding the vein but getting very, very close. It’s what the demons want, to be released. They are listening now, quietly.
“I had to do physical therapy for a while,” I tell him. “I’m lucky that I can still play the piano and cello and there wasn’t any lasting nerve damage.”
Lucky isn’t the right word exactly, as there is plenty of lasting damage, but one must count their blessings where they can. I used to want to die, and I don’t anymore. So, progress.
Silvio makes a clucking noise in sympathy and draws his thumb along one of my longest scars, the time my demons meant to do away with me for good. By the time I finish, Sir’s sympathetic murmurs have become a kind of lullaby and I fall asleep, which is what my body does when it needs to shut down.
I wakeup with Sir’s meaty arm lying over my chest in a possessive embrace, and I think how far I’ve come in the past few years to welcome this sort of physical touch rather than recoil from it. Master was so cautious in the beginning, slowly earning my trust through habituation. I wonder if that might be why he is at times hesitant to touch me outside of a scene, for fear that I might lash out unexpectedly or curl into a protective ball.
