“I like all your touches, Sir.”
He’s not saying it to flatter me. He’s telling the truth. I know because even with all the physical attention I give him—which is more than I’ve ever given to any sub or lover—he still wants more.
“I’m going to start lightly to warm you up and gradually increase the force. If at any point you don’t like it, use your safewords. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I want your feet shoulder-length apart. Don’t lock your knees.”
He manages to do so while maintaining his balance. I drag the flogger up the inside of his thigh, and he quivers like a taut bow. With a light flick of my wrist, I apply the first slap to his genitals, striking the underside of his stiff cock and both his tight, tender balls. He flinches and sucks in a breath. The book wobbles and he slowly exhales.
“That was light?” he asks.
“Yes, that was light but on a very sensitive location. Brace yourself.”
I wait while he adjusts. The set of his shoulders tells me he’s settling in for the long haul. I flick my wrist a few more times, dispersing a flaming sting wherever my flogger makes contact. His skin pinkens and then flushes to a deep scarlet hue.Bellissimo.His Adam’s apple jogs, and he lets out a low, guttural growl.
“Sir,” he says.
“Yes, Giovanni?”
“Will you do my nipples, too?”
He wants more.
“No, but I will clamp them.” I am nothing if not accommodating. I retrieve my nipple clamps, which resemble tiny jumper cables, and fit him with one and then the other.
“Ahhh.” His spine lengthens, and he must swiftly correct his positioning to steady the book.
“Guardami,” I command and his eyes flash open to meet mine, dilated pupils bobbing in a sea of green. His lust is so naked and raw, I’d swear I can see straight to his soul. “For the party I’ll connect these clamps to your cock cage,” I muse aloud, “with delicate gold chains. You’ll have to be very careful how you move, so they don’t tug on each other. Or else it might be painful.” To watch him navigate the party with that sort of restriction will be a delight.
“You could pierce them,” he suggests, matching and outpacing me yet again.
“You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”
“Anything you want, Sir. My body is your temple to worship and defile.”
Christ, the things he says, they only feed my insatiable thirst. I finger his sweet little nubs. A dusky rose at rest, they flush to scarlet under pressure. They’ll blanch to a pale cream when I remove the clamps but not yet. It looks painful and my cock likes that, everything about Giovanni’s situation, really. Even without restraining him, he is incapacitated, nonetheless. I flick one of the tender nubs and he hisses, then moans. The entire picture comes together for me—clamps, cage, gag, chains. Mask? Maybe not during our scene. I’d like to see his tears. I will overwhelm him with sensation and break him down with pleasure.
“Hold this between your teeth. You can drop it if you need to safeword.” I fit a strip of leather in his mouth, then turn my attention back to my flogger, tagging his pert ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. Not enough to bruise because I want him unblemished for our demonstration. “Spread your legs wider and present your ass to me,” I instruct, and he does so with the utmost care, careful not to lose the book. I drag my flogger up and down the cleft and strike him there, right on his tight little pucker. His ass cheeks tense, and he lifts onto his toes, uttering a lovely sound of sheer misery. I wait for him to unclench before striking him again. And again.
When I circle back around his eyebrows make the prettiest shape of indignation, lips taut around the leather, cock red and raging as ever. He tries to say something, but the gag prevents it.
“What’s that?” I ask.
He says it louder, still unintelligible. I remove the strip of leather.
“Are you going to let me come, Sir?”
I drag the falls across his blushing cockhead, collecting the slick with my leather. “No. Not today, Giovanni. Not tomorrow either, but maybe at my party in front of our guests. When you’ve shown me your naked desire and your soft inner core, then I might let you come. Not for your satisfaction but for my own.”
His lower lip trembles. He’s devastated, I know. His prick is certainly weeping with despair. If I push a little harder, I could make him cry right now, but I’ll bank his tears for later.
“I believe this is what it means to be tantalized, don’t you?” I ask. He is the very picture of a sad and frustrated boy.
He nods miserably. The book slips and falls on the floor with a thud.
I should have beena stage director for all the attention I pay to blocking. Picture this: Gio with a gold ribbon tied around his neck, marking him as owned for the night, naked save for his glittering accoutrement. He’s seated on a blue, velvet cushion at the piano while my security team pat down our guests for weapons as they arrive. There is a full bar with a beefy leather boy mixing up drinks and an assortment of men (and a few women) attired in everything from jeweled G-strings to tuxedos. With the exception of my master bedroom suite, I’ve made every corner of my home available to whatever hedonistic pursuits my guests may envision, and I’ve provided a few hired subs whom I’ve played with in the past to serve as sexual slaves for the evening, always with their consent.
