He tries at first to fight it, holding his breath then gasping for air, clutching the padded vinyl of the examining table until his knuckles pale, curling his toes in the stirrups and squeezing his ass cheeks together, but he can only hold out for so long. Hugo always wins. His cock nudges against the cage, trying to swell, but it’s forced to remain in a shrimplike position. The futility of this effort soothes me.
“It hurts,” he says.
“Does it hurt or is it just really unpleasant?”
He grimaces while his abs tense and his hips jolt upward. He thrashes in the stirrups as his cock dribbles out a spoonful of milky fluid. By the time we’re done here, it will be as dry as the Sahara Desert.
“Do you see what happens when you’re a slave to your desires, Giovanni? When you cannot control your lusts, Hugo takes over.” He growls, and I give him a glass of water to sip. Don’t want my poor boy to get dehydrated. “You have ten minutes to recover, then we’re onto round two.”
It goes like that for a while. I can tell he wants to curse at me and is only refraining because he fears a worse punishment will follow as a result. After three dry orgasms, I invite him to follow me into the living room and press the remote again while he’s still in the threshold of the playroom. He drops to the floor on his hands and knees to brace himself while I continue to torment him. The noises he makes are exquisite—panting, moans, and soft curses aimed loosely at me or perhaps at the foreign object buzzing in his ass and rendering him so helpless. He quivers and shakes, breathing through the rounds of stimulation like a woman giving birth. His poor testicles have nothing left to produce.
I offer him a respite during dinner and Giovanni eats slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. Towards the end of our meal, I activate Hugo intermittently, so that every few minutes a kind of paralysis takes hold of him until the buzzing stops. Sweaty and flush-faced with his hair disheveled and his fingers gripping the table’s edge, he looks terribly distraught.
“Remember,” I soothe, “actions have consequences.”
He groans and tilts his head back in defeat.
Perfetto.
The next dayafter our breakfast routine, I fit him with the cock cage again. In my playroom, we go another few rounds with Hugo because I want to really drive my point home. After I’ve removed the massager and given him a chance to recover, I tell Giovanni, “I’d like you to wear a gag for the remainder of the morning in order to reflect upon your transgression. How would you feel about that?”
“Yes, Sir.” He nods resolutely. His obedience after just one day is remarkable, such a shift in attitude that I feel the need to remind him, “You can safeword if this becomes too much for you.”
“I know, but I don’t want to.”
“Is it your pride?” I need to know his reasons.
“No, it’s because the voices are listening, and they need to respect you. To know you’re the one in charge.”
Oddly enough, I understand. I can only imagine what he and Rebekah discuss during his therapy sessions.
I fit him with a small red ball gag with breath holes that’s suitable for long-term wear. Even still, it causes him to drool almost immediately. I do love a caged, gagged boy looking up at me so pitifully from on his knees. I remind him of his safesign, then ask, “Do I have your consent to take a picture of you like this?” He nods and I retrieve my camera.Baby boy’s first ball gag.I try to capture all our firsts.
A little while later I’m out on the patio, lounging in the late morning sun, when I get a call from Keller.
“Good morning,” I say to him as Giovanni serves me a glass of lemonade, freshly squeezed by his own hand. I nod my thanks, and he returns to the kitchen to clean up.
“You’re sounding chipper,” Keller says.
“It’s a beautiful day for punishing a sub,” I reply.
“What did he do?” Keller asks with amusement.
“He masturbated without my permission. And he lied about it.”
Keller makes a disapproving noise. “That’s a big no-no for you.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Poor baby. I’ll bet he’s sorry now. So, how are things going with you two?”
“Very well. Recent events aside, I’m extremely pleased with his behavior and his submission. He’s highly trainable.” My feelings for Giovanni run far deeper than just that, but I am not the sort to reveal myself in casual conversation.
“Might be time to show him off then. I know someone with a birthday coming up.”
He’s referring to himself. Keller’s turning forty-five, the young whippersnapper.
“We’ll see.”
