“Your imagination has really run away with you. Do you think I murder for pleasure?”
He shrugs. The answer, between you and me, is that I don’t. I find pleasure in inflicting pain, but I’d rather it be consensual and enjoyed by the person receiving it, preferably so much so that they want me to fuck them afterward.
“Would you like to see what’s in that room, Giovanni?”
“Yes, sir.”
Such a good boy, I think errantly and quickly course correct myself. I nod at his meal. “Finish your food and I’ll give you a tour.”
That’s one way to get him to eat.
“Wow,”Giovanni says a little while later, eyes round as pizza pies as he enters the playroom, my dungeon. The space is as familiar to me as my own bedroom, but I try to see it from his perspective. “So much leather,” he remarks.
“Mostly vinyl. Better for wiping off fluids.”
“Fluids,” he repeats, his mouth shaping the word in a lovely way. “Like cum?”
He is an interesting contrast of innocent and extremely forward. I believe he does it in an attempt to shock me, but I have truly seen it all. Regardless, I appreciate his candor, as I demand honesty in all my personal dealings.
“Cum, sweat, and blood,” I tell him, matching his nonchalance. “Urine and feces too, if a playmate is into that.”
“I’ve dealt with enough urine and feces to last a lifetime,” he says bitterly.A potential hard limit,I think, then admonish myself for even entertaining the thought.
“How does this work?” he asks while attempting to sit down in the swing that is meant for reclining. The only way I’m going get through this “tour” is to pretend it’s an academic discussion.
“Would you like me to show you?”
“Yes.” He’s already gripping the nylon ropes in both hands. I gently guide him backwards with one palm pressed against his sternum until he’s lying on his back with his head supported by the leather holster.
“What are those?” He nods toward the other slings.
“Stirrups. For your legs.”
He awkwardly tries to position himself, so I guide his calves into the proper placement. His feet and legs are bare, and I do not to let my hands linger. He wiggles his ass, settling into the swing before swaying gently back and forth. “Feels nice,” he says, looking both relaxed and delectable. I wish he were nude so that I could simply admire him. “You fuck men like this?” he asks with the not-so-innocent face of his.
“Yes. Or I fuck them with a dildo, or I make them suck me off.”
Giovanni arches his neck so that his head drops all the way back, then opens his mouth wide as if to test it. Is this another attempt at seduction or is he just experimenting with the equipment? For my own sanity, I assume the latter.
“Sounds like fun,” he says at last.
“It can be very fun.”
Do not think about fucking his mouth.
“And satisfying?” he asks with a wise-ass smirk.
“Extremely.”
He sits up and extricates himself from the swing. I don’t assist him this time, too focused on trying to conceal my erection.
“What’s this for?” he asks, now onto the spanking bench.
“Spanking and paddling.”
“Spanking?” he asks, more astonished by that than the swing.
“Some people need it.” Now I notice his own erection pushing against the clingy polyester fabric of his track shorts. He’s doing nothing to hide it. If anything, he’s jutting his hips forward to make it more obvious.
