“Thank you, Master. There is one more pose I’d like to offer if it would please you.”
This isn’t something we discussed ahead of time, but then, he’s had a long time on his pedestal to plot and scheme. “Show me.”
He tilts his chin upward and opens his mouth wide as if to let out a long mating call, but it is, in fact, an invitation to fill it. He then closes his eyes as the ultimate sign of trust. His offering is almost too intimate for others to witness.
I set my empty bottle aside and open my pants. “Succhiami,” I command. Using only his mouth, Giovanni makes love to my cock. His lusty grunts and obscene slurping noises only heighten my arousal. How could I not feel like a king with a boy like this at my command?
“Cazzo,” I mutter, thrusting in deeper, gripping the back of his head in one hand. “This fucking mouth.” His worshipful, irreverent mouth. He will swallow my cum one moment and challenge my authority in the next. A sneer towards a stranger is a smile for me, and that wickedly smart sense of humor… “I fucking love this mouth,” I tell him as I flood his throat with my release. “Take it all,schiavo, swallow every last drop.”
It takes me a minute to recover, both my breath and my sanity. Giovanni continues to nurse me, his sexual appetite not yet sated. “Have you gotten used to that taste by now?” I ask as I pull him off me. My dick is too sensitive for his prolonged attentions.
“I crave it, Master. I want your cum to be the first thing that graces my mouth every morning and the last flavor on my tongue before bed.”
I shake my head, but I believe him. He’s an incubus. “Come here and let me fix your face.”
He lifts his chin so that I may tidy his lips with a drink napkin. Once I’ve smoothed out his hair and inspected him all over, I tell him, “Now get back to work.” As gracefully as he dismounted, Giovanni returns to his pedestal and assumes the position of Michelangelo’sDavid, right down to the iconic positioning of his hands. With some satisfaction, I notice his lips, knees, and shins are no longer golden but a blushing pink, fitting for a slave.
At my side, Keller winks at Giovanni, and says to me, “told you so.”
“You impressed me tonight,”I tell Giovanni hours later after we’ve showered and I’m drying him in front of the mirror, his skin now shiny and pink all over. I washed him thoroughly with warm water and a soft sponge to remove the gold powder, though I surely missed some spots. If there are traces of gold on my carpet or in my bedsheets, I won’t mind.
“Thank you, Master. I enjoy performing for you.”
“I give a lot of attention to your appearance, but I am equally as enchanted with your mind.”
He smiles bashfully and dips his head. “Master flatters this slave so. I would gladly be mindless if it meant being less of a hassle to you.”
“None of what I do for you is a hassle,” I gently chide. “I enjoy a challenge, and a headstrong sub is only more rewarding to bring to heel. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, Giovanni. Though I might make myself a younger man.”
His expression in the mirror is appalled. “This slave benefits from your wisdom. And I have certainly gained a lot of perspective from your experience. I suspect there are many more tricks Master has yet to teach me.”
“Are you tempting me, Giovanni?”
His eyes go wide and innocent. “I am merely showing my gratitude, Master, as is the virtue of aschiavo, but if you wish to make use of your slave’s body, I wouldn’t be opposed.”
“You wouldn’t be opposed, huh?” Clever boy.
“Whatever fantasies Master may conjure, this slave wishes to fulfill.”
I’d gone into our shower believing we were done for the night, that I had exhausted him both physically and mentally, but this is the temptation of Giovanni, the way he provokes my more fiendish desires. “Do you wish to fulfill them tonight,schiavo?” I ask as my hand snakes around to his neck.
He swallows and I feel the delicate bob of his prominence against the palm of my hand like the flutter of a bird’s wing.
“This slave’s body is to be used whenever and however Master desires. I am merely the field for you to grind out your passions and a receptacle for your cum.”
I draw my hand slowly along his soft throat, stroking it in a worshipful way as I whisper in his ear, “I’m going to choke you while I fuck you, and tomorrow you’re going to wear my bruises like a necklace.”
“Or a collar,” he says, eying me with intent.
“Or a collar.”
16
Giovanni once said he could tell me something in ten different languages and I still wouldn’t listen, which isn’t because I am hard-of-hearing, but because I believe I know what’s best for him. If the Aponte men are guilty of pride, then the Fortuna men have a surfeit of arrogance. The glaring disadvantage to this sort of hubris is that it takes so very little to bring about one’s own downfall.
When it happens, Giovanni is at the kitchen counter, sorting my medications into one of those plastic pill organizers I’ve always associated with the extremely elderly, perhaps because my own father used one for the last decade of his life when his health was in decline.
“What’s this?” I motion to the pill box. It’s new and not something I would ever purchase for myself.
