“You’re doing so well.” I stroke his shaft with a firm grip, owning him in this way too. My hand is slick from oil and sweat and it slides up and over his cock head, smearing his own fluids to mix with the rest before returning to the base. I’m rough with his dick, treating it more like a tool than a sex organ. “Very well,” I murmur and squeeze his balls, my trimmed nails digging into his scrotum. He whimpers and tries to pull away, but he cannot go very far. “All of this is mine,” I tell him as my finger glides along his smooth taint until it reaches his plug. I shift it so that it rubs against his prostate, and he makes a different kind of noise. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
His nod is somewhat desperate. I administer several more lashes with the flogger, as many as he’s endured already, until his testicles are swollen and red as ripe fruit. The veins in his cock look like they might rip right through the silicone ring at any moment. If being touched by others wasn’t a hard limit for him, I might order another sub to suck him off, but then, there is tremendous satisfaction in knowing I’m the only one permitted to touch him, to make him come. My sweet, baby boy.
I move onto his ass, tagging it in a similar fashion, along with the tops of his thighs and his ass crack. I move upward to the span of his back and the tops of his shoulders. His body relaxes into the rhythm as he starts to drift. My lashes ebb and flow until there is no patch of skin my flogger hasn’t kissed. I circle around to his front and ask, “You still with me, beautiful boy?”
He nods, staring at me with a blissful contentment. And trust. How I love these moments of quiet supplication. It’s as if the entire world fades away—our spectators, my stress, the things that haunt me. There is only the jade green of his eyes and the molten desire in his pupils, begging me to hurt him.
“Let’s see if we can make you come.”
I set my flogger aside and crowd right behind him, kissing his neck and shoulder, manipulating the plug while jacking him slowly, thrusting my hips so he knows how aroused I am, how I could be fucking him right now, but I’m not. Not tonight. It’s a good thing he has the bar to help hold him up because his legs tremble, weak as a newborn kitten.
“Mmmnnhh,” he begs because I’m not stroking fast or hard enough.
“What was that?” I ask and he begs again, louder, lifting his face as if pleading with the gods above.
“You should be praying to me, Giovanni,” I tell him, and he murmurs noises of capitulation. “Cry for me,tesoro. Let me see your tears.”
His steely resistance starts to crumble, his body which has been balanced on the brink finally tipping. I bite down on his shoulder, hard, and that small amount of cruelty nudges him over. He sobs behind the gag, choking himself a little, before the tears come gushing out. “That’s it, let me have a taste.”
He turns toward me, and I lick his wet cheeks. His tears taste like sacrifice and devotion, my reward for these disciplines I bestow. His pleasure comes soon after, wave upon wave that has him falling back against me as his cock fires off its release. Magnificent.
I circle round to remove his gag and kiss him deeply, openly, wishing to taste his torment as well as his surrender. He shudders and leans against me, arms folding around my neck while I hold him securely in my arms. His mouth is as sweet as a fresh bloom and his skin softer than flower petals. Even when we part, I simply cannot let him go.
“Sir,” he whispers into my neck, “is there something wrong with me?”
I pull back a little to assess him. He’s perfect in all the ways that matter to me. “Wrong with you? Absolutely not. Why would you say that, sweetheart?”
“Because I like this so much. Do you think I might be twisted up inside?”
I pet his head, my sweet, sensitive boy. “Yes, you are twisted. That’s the most literal definition of kink, but so am I in a complementary way.”
“Do you think it’s because of… my past?”
“Maybe, maybe not. That is something you can discuss with Rebekah, but look at this…” I turn him a little so he can see our guests’ faces, many of whom are still in their own throes of passion. “If there’s something wrong with you, then there’s something wrong with me too, as well as all these people enjoying your torment. Look at them and tell me, what do their expressions convey?”
“Lust?”
“Yes, and?”
“Pleasure.”
“And gratitude. Because we’ve shared this very intimate moment with them. We’ve given them a glimpse of the deep connection we have, the trust we’ve established through our daily routines and sexual explorations. Is any of that something to be ashamed of?”
“No, Sir.”
“Absolutely not. Remember, Giovanni, you carry my pride within you, and if your Dom feels no shame, then you shouldn’t either.” He nods, my assurances encouraging him to stand a little taller as I lead him to a couch to recover. I have him drink some water before he lays down with his head in my lap and a blanket thrown over him.
“You are perfect,” I murmur as I stroke his hair.
My boy, my treasure, my weakness.
13
Things escalate after that night. Giovanni wants more and I want to give it to him. I flog him again a week later, and it’s not enough—for him or for me either—so I bring out my leather strop and spank him on the bench until my arm is sore. He’s in sub space and I’m in a similar altered state of mind when I realize I’ve stopped counting. I become hyper-focused on the rhythm and sensations, the slap of impact and Giovanni’s soft moans and whimpers, the fiery blaze of his skin, and only when the leather cuts into his tender skin is my flow interrupted. The thin seam of blood across his plump ass cheek reawakens me and I say the word “red” aloud.
Giovanni glances back at me, looking drugged and confused.
“Why’d you stop?” he asks as I’m helping him to stand with one arm wrapped around his waist to support him.
