Yes, I have my vices—don’t we all? But I’ve never considered themaddictions. I pride myself on my self-control. Drinking I can limit when I must. Smoking… well, I quit that too. Fried foods are now a distant memory. Sex, okay that one might be a little tougher, but I have had my fair share of dry spells…
But nowadays, with Giovanni, I may have met my match.
He’s my favorite bad habit. A compulsion, an obsession. I catch myself daydreaming during work hours about what I might do to him later, whether to indulge his passions or deny him. Should I edge him until he’s so strung out with arousal that the slightest prod will shatter him? Should I make him cry? Christ, how I love his tears. He detests it too, showing me his vulnerability. Hates breaking down in front of me, especially when others are present to bear witness, which is why I’m hosting a party this weekend—trusted friends only. I’m going to open my dungeon to our guests and let them observe while I thoroughly ruin my young man.
But first, I must train him on how to properly present.
“Spine straight, shoulders back, hands clasped behind your back,” I say to him. We’re in my dungeon now. Giovanni is nude and learning the posture ofattend. My particular brand of submissive is one who is as graceful as he is beautiful, whether moving across the room or simply standing still. “Head lifted, eyes straight ahead,” I instruct. Once he’s arranged himself just so, I carefully place a book atop his head for him to balance. Giovanni has presence, and rather than fade into the background like a piece of decorative furniture, I want all eyes to be drawn to him. I want others to covet what they don’t have—what they canneverhave—because he belongs to me.
“Like this, Sir?” he asks, modeling the posture perfectly.
“Sei bellissimo,Giovanni. And remember the pride with which you carry yourself belongs to me, your Dominant.”
I step back to admire him, and he says, “Do you know the origin of the wordtantalize?”
“Is it Greek?”
“It’s from the myth of Tantalus, a mortal son of Zeus who was welcomed into Olympus because of his royal bloodline, but he was also arrogant and showed no appreciation for these special privileges. He stole nectar and ambrosia from the gods, and because of his sins of pride and gluttony, Zeus banished him to the underworld, where he had to stand in a pool of water, thirsty and starving for all of eternity.”
“Sounds terrible.” Perhaps he’s feeling similarly fraught by my training.
“But that’s not all,” Giovanni continues. “Every time he reached for one of the fruits on the trees above them, they moved just out of reach. And every time he tried to drink from the pool below, the water drained away. He was forever tantalized by what he could not reach.”
“Sounds like a perfect metaphor for how you tempt me.” I draw one finger down the center of his sternum, causing both his nipples to harden into tight little buds, testing my resolve. So much naked skin to savor and devour.
“More like how I feel at the moment, surrounded by all your tools of torture and not being allowed to sample any of them.”
“This sounds like a challenge. Are you goading me to hurt you, Giovanni?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I shouldn’t give into his provocations, but we discussed the possibility of me flogging him in front of our guests this weekend, so this will give me the opportunity to get him used to it now or find out if it doesn’t suit him.
“Okay, Gio, I’ll make you a deal. So long as you can balance that book on your head without dropping it, I will demonstrate my flogger on your tenderest of places. But if you lose the book, we stop. How does that sound?”
“Green, Sir.”
I move him backwards and guide his arms slowly upward to where there is a bar suspended from the ceiling for him to use as a grip. I draw my hands down the bare skin of his raised arms, past his ticklish armpits and onto his smooth torso until they come to rest on his hips. It’s almost as if we’re dancing very slowly.
“What are you feeling?” I ask, close enough to taste his sweet breath.
“Anticipation.”
“Are you nervous?”
“A little bit.”
“Good. But you’re safe with me.”
“Yes, Sir, I know that.”
I retrieve the flogger from my cabinet, black leather with several falls that are deceptively soft to the touch. I spend a few minutes simply caressing him with it, his pectorals and his nipples, his lips, the side of his cheek, circling his throat like a scarf and along his ticklish sides, across his rock-hard cock, standing tall and proud. He swallows and tries very hard to stay still, wanting to chase the sensation but knowing that to do so would mean the end of our game.
“How does that feel?”
“Soft. Sensual.”
“Do you like gentle touches?”
