“Is that why you still haven’t collared him?” Keller asks.
I rub my eyes. Why haven’t I collared him? He wants it, clearly, and I want to give it to him, and yet…
“I’m giving him an out,” I tell them. “I don’t want him to feel trapped. This structure I’ve created to keep him safe, it’s like a golden cage for a wounded bird, and he’s getting stronger every day. I want him to know the door is open for him to come and go as he pleases, and he can fly away whenever he’s ready. I don’t want the bars to be all he knows.”
They are silent at that, weighing my words, and then Keller says, “I don’t think he sees the bars. Or even knows they exist. Only you do.”
Giovanni is blindfoldedand perched on my exam table, reclined so that he’s sitting at a 60-degree angle with his knees bent and his heels in the stirrups. I’m sitting on a stool in front of him. Dr. Greyson is here as well, as my spotter. Giovanni’s hands grip the top of the table above his head and his cock and balls are bridled in black leather. I have four fingers inside him already, sheathed by a medical-grade fisting glove that’s so tight, it’s like a second skin. Giovanni is already gone, has been for a while with only his primal grunts and groans to guide me. His whole groin area, including his entire rectal cavity, is coated in a thick, viscous lube that resembles a mucous membrane. I am hypnotized by the stretch and tug of his body, the resistance of his muscle which has steadily subsided, the ease with which my hand now plunges upward, and the warmth of his inner sanctum. I imagine treasure hidden there, but to reach it, I must fit my whole fist inside.
“Giovanni,” I murmur, not wanting to interrupt his trance. His body has already accepted this violation. I don’t want to scare his mind.
“Mmmm,” he responds.
“Are you ready for more?”
“Mmmm.”
“Use your words.”
“Yesss… Sssir.” His chest heaves as if it took his entire lung capacity to utter it.
I glance to my side and Dr. Greyson nods. I’ve not always requested his presence when fisting a sub, but Giovanni has a lot of scarring. The last thing I want is to give him anal fissures or cause a prolapse. I remove my fingers, and his hole yawns like an open mouth, tissues stretched taut to accommodate this unholy intrusion. My hand clenches, a black bludgeon, and I slowly attempt to ease back inside. From the time I was young, my fists have been used for violence, so I find this practice tremendously cathartic. To use that which is so often a weapon as a way to elicit pleasure, and if not pleasure, then immense gratification.
“Here we go,” I tell him when his sphincter is stretched to its widest point. His cavity throbs and pulses like a womb. “Relax now, sweetheart. Welcome my fist inside you.”
He snorts and moans, a long guttural groan that reverberates through his core right down to my fist. “I can feel your heart beating,” I tell him as I clench my fist tighter and push those last few millimeters. He sucks me inside at last and clamps down around my wrist. Now our pulses throb against each other like galloping hooves. I move my arm slowly up and down, matching the rhythm of my fist to the languid strokes on his cock. Slowly, but with purpose. He contracts, his whole body drawn up tight as a bud, and then everything blooms at once. His interior organ masticates my fist while my other hand commands his throbbing cock. I am more than his Dominant, I am his god.
“Owww,” he cries, “owwwww.” But I don’t believe it’s pain as much as he is overwhelmed by the sensation.
“You’re okay. You’re safe. You can come whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”
He shudders and quails on my fist. I pray he doesn’t safeword. An abrupt stop during fisting would be too dangerous. Only a slow extraction would suffice, which I am prepared to do should he need it. For now, I watch him closely, trying to read his nonverbal cues and follow his movements so as not to cause any unnecessary trauma. I continue to thrust into him with as much force as his body will allow while my other hand works his cock steadily. Any moment now.
“There you are,” I soothe when his cock fires off like a rocket, hosing himself and me in the process. A droplet lands on my mouth and I savor it. Hard fought, this one. When the last stutter of his orgasm fades, I slowly remove my fist, unfurling my fingers on the way out and taking care not to cause any damage. My other hand doesn’t leave his cock, as I intend to torture him just a little longer. I stroke him firmly, up and down, up and down, gripping his dick as tightly as possible. He draws his knees together and convulses from the overstimulation while his pleading noises beg for an end. Dr. Greyson shines a light on his rectum for a quick examination. He nods while Giovanni continues to writhe on the table.
“Sir,” Giovanni implores, having endured more than enough already. “Sir,please.”
I finally relent, then release his soft cock and balls from their harness and remove my glove, tossing it into the nearby trash before leading him to recover in the master bedroom. There, I wrap him in a soft blanket and nurse him with a sports bottle as if he were a baby.
Dr. Greyson sees himself to the door, shutting off the lights on his way out. When it’s dark and he’s comfortable, I warn Giovanni that I’m taking off the blindfold. I kiss his puffy eyelids and taste the crusted salt of his tears. My fingers massage the outside of his tender hole, still distended from the strain. Later I’ll get him an ice pack and some numbing cream, as well as stool softener and high-fiber foods until he’s fully healed.
“You won’t lift a finger for the next two days,” I tell him, more as a warning than anything else.
“Okay,” he murmurs.
“Any sharp, stabbing pains?”
“No, Sir.”
“We can talk more about it in the morning. Let us rest now.”
“It was perfect,” he says, still with his eyes closed, a blissful smile on his face. I kiss his temple.
“Yes, it was.”
14
Then it’s the weekend, a tranquil couple of days where we simply lounge around the apartment. Rarely am I this self-indulgent with my time, but my boy needs the pampering, and I need to give it to him. I prepare our meals with lots of fruits and vegetables for easy digestion, Giovanni reads me passages fromThe Last of the Wine,one of his favorite novels. I reward him with a leisurely blowjob, then massage him from the bottoms of his feet to the top of his scalp.
