“But my arms and hands will be free.”
“Even so, I want you to try everything on first to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“Will I be crawling around like a dog?” he asks, holding the leash now. He’s seen pictures of Rupert in costume and probably thinks it serves a similar function.
“The leash is so I can keep you close at all times. I can hold it in my hand or hook it to my belt loop, and everyone will know to stay the hell away.”
“I’ve heard a collar does that too,” he says slyly.
“A collar signifies a lot more than just ownership. It’s a commitment of fidelity and permanence, one we’re not ready to make just yet.”
He pouts a little, but he needs the reminder. He’s plunged headfirst into the lifestyle while I’m trying to keep him at the shallow end of the pool.
“Try on the pants. I want to fit you with the harness too.”
He undresses effortlessly, as if he’s been naked in front of me his whole life. The pants fit remarkably well, and the side zippers allow me to fold them down and fuck him if I so desire. The harness loops over his shoulders and crosses his sternum, framing his torso nicely. I adjust the straps so they’re snug, and smooth my hands over his body, checking his muscle tone. I’m pleased to see his upper body has gained more definition due to his swimming and strength-training regimen. He was so terribly thin when he first arrived here. Now, I have more confidence that I can hurt him without inflicting any long-term damage.
“A perfect fit.” I clip the leash to the ring on his back. “And now the mask.”
He pulls back his hair while I arrange the mask over his head. There is something altogether erotic in depersonalizing him to a faceless figure and various orifices to plunder. A toy. A thing. I direct him toward the mirror. His two glowing eyes assess the getup from head to foot.
“Are you going to cage me?” he asks. “For the party, I mean?”
“Yes. Your new gold one. You’ll be wearing a plug too. That’s how I keep my boys chaste and in the mindset to serve.Capito?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“This isn’t a regular social function, either. There will be no witty repertoire or high-brow conversation from you.” I drag my fingers across his plump lips. “This mouth will be little more than a warm receptacle for my cock and this…” I slide my hand under the back of his pants, part his cheeks, and circle his hole before pushing inside with one dry finger. “What’s this for, Gio?”
“For you to fuck, Sir.”
“That’s right. Anything you need—bathroom, drink, fresh air—you’ll direct those requests to me. If your lip is zipped, touch my elbow to get my attention. Unless there’s an emergency, you do not interrupt my conversations with other Doms. And if you’re addressed directly by another Dominant, what is your response?”
“Yes, sir. No, sir. Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am.”
“That’s right. Any other questions I will answer on your behalf. Some Doms expect their subs to bow or kneel to other Dominants, but I don’t believe they are worthy of your submission as I am, so you will only dip your head in acknowledgment. Show me.”
Giovanni does so with the appropriate amount of humility.
“If you feel threatened or overwhelmed or need to leave immediately?”
“I’ll safeword, Sir.”
“Or you can use your safesign. Now I want you over the spanking bench, so I can test out these pants.”
I unzip the leather. Giovanni bends over and offers his splendid ass to be debauched in whatever way I desire. After a thorough twenty minutes of cardio, I determine the fetish attire is of the highest quality, as is the sub who wears it.
We are escortedto Keller’s warehouse in Bushwick by Rico and Joseph, who is head of my security and often accompanies me to high-risk functions. Since being installed in my penthouse, Rico rarely gets out while on the job. I figure this party will give him something to ponder for days. Even though I intend to keep Giovanni at my side the entire night, I feel better knowing there are multiple sets of eyes on him. I take his safety more seriously than I do my own.
One half of Keller’s warehouse functions as an industrial kitchen and the other half as a BDSM dungeon he uses himself or rents out for private parties. Bake and Spank, he calls it, but the actual name is Keller’s Cookies and Cakes.
My security interfaces with Keller’s security for a few minutes before we’re ushered inside. Keller typically requires guests to surrender their mobile devices at the door, but I am the exception. My work requires that my underbosses can reach me at any time, day or night. Simeon teases me that brokers and mob bosses have that in common.
Giovanni is wearing his new leather attire while I’m dressed in business casual clothing. I appreciate leather on others, especially my subs, but I don’t particularly care to wear it myself. In my right hand is the handle to Giovanni’s leash, which I’ve wrapped around my wrist a few times to shorten the length and offer him some added comfort. His getup attracts a lot of attention, though I suspect if they saw his face, he’d garner even more interest. Regardless, I’m glad for the mask to dull some of his awareness. The music is loud, even for my old ears, and the dance floor is lit with strobes. A deejay plays something similar to what they play at my club in Chelsea. I don’t keep up with current music trends; I have people who take care of that sort of thing for me.
Keller greets us soon after we’ve arrived. He’s wearing tight leather pants and a matching vest with big, leather boots that I’m certain will be worshipped by more than one submissive before the end of the night. His chest hair is ample as is his smile as he takes in Giovanni from head-to-foot.
“I love the outfit. Did I inspire this look?” he asks, appraising my work.
