Sir has no such reservations, and I am thankful to my Master for this gift too, to have worked so diligently with me that I am now able to enjoy Sir’s easy affection. I snuggle under him while he slowly wakes. He immediately asks if I’m hungry, most likely because he is. Then he brings us a platter of cheeses, breads, and fruit with Nutella. He dips strawberries in the chocolate spread and feeds me by hand.
“Sir, you spoil me too much,” I say but I eat it all the same.
“Let me spoil you, princess. You deserve it.”
Sir tells me about his ropes Master, ashibariexpert man named Sir Santino, who Master found through Sir Keller in NYC. Sir asks me if I’d like to get acquainted with his implement, assuring me that there won’t be any restraining today, and I agree to test it out.
He brings a length of black rope to bed and uses one end of it to make slow, mesmerizing shapes over my skin. The rope is ticklish, especially when he drags it over my stomach and privates.
“It’s so soft,” I remark.
“It’s made of silk,” Sir says in his low, seductive voice. “Very expensive. Only the best for my pretty princess, no?”
“Is this the rope you used to tie up your subs?”
“No, this one’s special for you. It took me a long time to select the perfect one. I think it would look beautiful wrapped around your body, like art.”
Sir has always had a knack for making this slave want to roll over and show their belly. “You want to ensnare me in your net,” I say, thinking of the cast net Sir tosses from the end of his dock to catch bait fish.
“And devour you,” Sir says as he drags the rope over my lips. I open my mouth, and he tucks the end of it inside. I make love to Sir’s rope as I would if it were his cock. Sir’s arousal blooms in front of my very eyes.
“Can I lay this on you and fuck your mouth?” he asks, his breath a throaty rasp.
“Yes, Sir, absolutely.” He doesn’t need to ask, not really, but it has been a while since Sir has made use of me, so it may take him some time to remember.
Sir drapes the length of rope over me, back and forth, avoiding my wrists, which are laid softly against the pillow. When I’m decorated in Sir’s rope like it’s a string of black pearls, he asks to take a picture and I consent to that too.
Then Sir climbs up to my chest, supporting his weight with his knees braced on either side of my head. I’m sandwiched between Sir’s sturdy thighs with his drowsy cock gently kissing one cheek, then the other. Sir teases me with it, dragging his cockhead across my lips but not satisfying me until I say with a begging voice, “Sir, please?”
“Have you missed this beautiful cock, Giovanni?” he asks.
“I’ve missed everything about you. Even your terrible jokes.”
“Terrible?” Sir says, lifting his dick away from me as a punishment. “I cannot feed you this magnificent cock until you admit I am the funniest man you know.”
“You’re the funniest looking man I know,” I tell him.
He shakes his head and acts as if he won’t give it to me, so I tilt my chin up and open my mouth wide. Soon enough, Sir is taking up space as always. With one hand on the headboard and the other twining my hair, he fucks my throat nice and deep, rolling his hips and grunting and telling me to “take it all, princess.”
Yes, Sir.
But Sir, insatiable Sir, wants more than just my mouth, and it isn’t long after that he tells me to lift my legs and hold myself open for him. He drapes the rope around my thighs and ankles looping them loosely so that it acts like a kind of harness. Sir’s tongue is as clever as always, and he has me twisting and moaning in no time with the attention he’s giving to my hole. The rope has plenty of give, but I can imagine it cinching tight and holding me tight while Sir does wicked things to me. I’ve always loved the feel of Sir’s body on top of me, so weighty and familiar, like the boy who used to hold me down until I begged to be released.
“Please, Sir,” I plead.
“Please what, Giovanni?” Sir asks. Master gives me what I need, but Sir gives me what I want. Even still, I have to ask for it, or beg.
“Please fuck me with your monster cock,” I tell him.
“In my boathouse?” he purrs.
“Yes, in your boathouse, in your bed, tangled in your net.”
“You are singing my favorite song, princess.”
By the time Sir finishes with me, I’m knotted in his arms as well as his rope, which seems a natural extension of himself. I worry that I’ve stained his beautiful silk with my sweat and cum, but Sir assures me that he can wash it and besides, that’s what it’s for.
Sir takesme sailing the next day to Vivara, an uninhabited island and a satellite to Procida. It’s the crescent-shaped remnant ridge of an ancient volcanic crater that is part of the Phlegraean Fields. Ischia itself is a volcanic island, which is why it’s pitted with so many thermal springs. We hike during the day and at night, we lie on the deck of Sir’s boat and trade stories about what we’ve been doing in each other’s absence. When I tell Sir that I’m now the island troubadour, he promises to come to some of my performances. I also relay to him the story that he and Master are my uncles. Sir laughs and says he hopes none of the islanders see us dancing together in Naples or the jig is up.
