The next two cracks hit my ass with a pop and a sizzle, one cheek and then the other. It feels like I’m being spanked by the devil. Master is good at a lot of things, but he excels at the whip, both in placement and intensity.
“How’s that?” Master asks.
“So good,” I tell him with a slight slur. “More, Master. Please?”
Another lash and another. With every bite of his whip, I feel a little better, like every bad feeling that’s been clogging my psyche is finally swirling down the drain. Master didn’t tell me how many lashes he’d be giving me, and I didn’t ask because I don’t really care. He’ll stop when he’s ready, which will probably be far ahead of me.
“Giovanni,” Master says in between panting breaths.
“Green,” I say automatically. I don’t want to exhaust him, but I also don’t want this to end so soon.
The whipping resumes. The pain is a sizzle, then a flame, then a steady rain of fire until my whole body combusts, and I am baptized by it. My demons scream and clamor for more. Theylovethis treatment, this freedom to wail and gnash their teeth. I sound like I’m being tortured, and I am, but the demons are finally at peace. They respect very little when it comes to me, but they bow down to this sort of crushing authority, always have.
Master continues to whip me, and I hardly feel the impact anymore except for the change in pressure like a shift in the breeze. My demons take flight and soar into ecstasy, leaving me at last to my own devices. I sob and wail as a new kind of grief takes hold at the realization that Master will leave me, but only because he can’t help it. He’s cheated death his entire life, but death comes for us all. One good year left, god willing. I will make every day a perfect one. I will do this for my beloved Master who has saved my body and my soul and shown me love and appreciation like no other.
When at last the sobs fade and I am just a watery, hiccuping mess, a whipped boy on his knees, a hand reaches out to me, my Master’s hand. I worship every single digit, counting my blessings that I still have him, here and now. This slave does not contemplate a future without their Master but lives in the present, focusing only on their most sacred act of service.
Master cups my cheek in his palm, allowing me to gaze up at him. He is fierce and beautiful and more of a man than I will ever be.
“You are mine, Giovanni, my pride and joy and my precioustesoro. What do you have to say to that,schiavo?”
His grip on my jaw tightens until it is painful and bruising. I inhale a shaky breath because these are the words I needed to hear, delivered in exactly this way.
“Yes, Master.”
21
There are a lot of improvements that must be made around the villa. The cobblestone needs to be repaired wherever there are cracks and dips. The ledges in the bathroom showers must be eliminated and any other uneven surfaces leveled. There will be a fence installed around the pool area in case Master trips while crossing the courtyard, so that he doesn’t accidentally fall in and drown himself, and all our entryways must have ramps, including the one to the beach. I have some experience with these sorts of accommodations, having watched similar work done to my grandfather’s manor, though I try not to compare the two. This slave is living only in the present.
I order a cane for when Master goes on walks throughout town and even at home if he feels he needs it. And I demand that Anthony, who was once my keeper, now become his. I also insist on going with Master to see his specialist in Rome so that I may be better equipped to care for him. On the matter of Master’s health and well-being, I am the ultimate authority. These are my terms, and Master agrees.
And there will be no more secrets between us.
Having workers constantly coming in and out of the estate is bothersome, but Anthony is good at ensuring we have enough privacy to keep to our daily routines. We’re in Master’s study one afternoon, going over some final details on the renovations when Sir comes in with the grand idea of having a party. Not just any party but a three-day BDSM bacchanalian event to be held here at our home.
“My kinky friends, your kinky friends,” Sir says with a winning smile. “Princess here deserves to have a holiday. And the weather is warm enough now for the subs to be nude.”
Sir is always so practical.
“Giovanni?” Master asks.
“As long as you don’t overdo it,” I tell him, and I damn well mean it.
Master says he doesn’t want me involved in the planning, that I have enough on my plate already, and he wants me to be able to enjoy myself throughout the long weekend fully immersed in slave-mode and in the mindset to serve, rather than worry about playing host. Sir says he’ll take care of everything.
The renovations are completedin the spring and a few weeks later, we welcome our communities into our home—Master’s Dominant friends and their subs from NYC, Rome, and Milan and Sir’sshibarimaster Sir Santino as well as the new friends he’s made in his own BDSM circles. Master and Sir curated our guest list to ensure there were enough subs and Doms to go around and that everyone invited was well within our circle of trust. Sir greets everyone as they arrive by car or by foot from the ferry, and Master invites them to settle in their rooms, have a drink, and make use of the pool. I kneel on my pillow at Master’s side for the duration of this casual reception. The steam room is reserved for the Doms to converse and become acquainted, with subs and slaves being invited inside solely for the purposes of service. Master is somewhat strict in his protocol and since it’s his home, he sets the tone for proper decorum.
When Sir Keller greets Master, he asks me to rise so that he may get a better look at me. “You are as lovely as ever, Giovanni,” Sir Keller says.
“Thank you, Sir Keller.” I respond to the compliment with a polite dip of my head. I’m always a little bashful around him because he was one of the witnesses to my collaring ceremony and has seen me in some of my most vulnerable moments. He then asks Master’s permission to hug me. Master subtly glances my way to check my reaction and I nod, so Master grants it. After, Sir Keller holds me at arm’s length to look me over again.
“The weather is beautiful here,” he goes on. “I can see how the climate suits you both.” His eyes linger on my nakedness, and I am flattered by his sincere admiration. One of the advantages to being nude all the time is no tan lines.
“Giovanni has certainly blossomed,” Master says gliding one hand over my ass in a proprietary way. Like a painting or a nice piece of jewelry, Master appreciates it when his friends praise my appearance, and I strive to represent his aesthetic well.
“And who’s this?” my own Sir interrupts, swaggering up to our small party and making his presence known.
“This is Keller,” Master says. “He’s the one who put me in touch with Santino.”
