“Master,” Giovanni chides. “Why are you up? I’m supposed to wake you.”
Giovanni now submits to me every morning by sucking me off or riding my dick or sometimes nursing my erection until my arousal passes. I determine the service according to my mood.
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
“I ordered it online so I could sort your pills. I didn’t want you to forget anything, and this way you’ll know ahead of time when you need a prescription filled.”
It’s thoughtful. I should be flattered by his concern. But I’m not. I tug my robe tighter around me while a sobering vision assaults me. Me in my advanced age, weak and frail, while Giovanni, still young and beautiful, fusses over me. I am certain he would do it too because he did the same for his grandfather in his final years, hardly left his bedside, as if chained to the man. He ministered to his every need, even those more suited for the medical staff. It was touching to see Giovanni’s level of commitment to his grandfather’s care, and it nearly broke my heart. I’d never do that to him.
“Master?” Giovanni asks, still staring at me. “Are you feeling well?”
“I need a breath of fresh air. Please bring breakfast to the terrace when it’s ready.”
“Yes, Master,” he says with a dutiful nod.
I make my way out to the patio. It’s early fall and the weather is cool enough that Giovanni will need his robe. I grab it for him since he won’t dress himself without my permission. His birthday is less than a month from now and mine just a few days after. He’ll be a tender twenty years old, not even legal to drink, and I’ll be… ancient.
It hits me all at once, what I’ve done. Taken a boy who was in a highly vulnerable state, invited him into my home, offered him stability and security in exchange for sexual favors, imposed my own cravings and lifestyle upon him andgroomedhim to be my ideal sexual slave. I didn’t intend for it to happen this way, and I’ve given him every opportunity to back out, but like seeing his bruises and cuts in the light of day, it feels… wrong.
Giovanni enters the terrace with a tray in hand. He sets our domed dishes at either side of the small patio table and arranges our napkins and silverware as if it were a fine dining experience. His fastidious nature to this sort of thing is admirable. He even places a fresh cut flower in a vase at the center, and when all of that’s complete, he comes to kneel at my side with his head slightly bowed in the posture of submission I’ve taught him.
“Master may still wish to make use of his slave,” he says, not like he wants it, but like heneedsit. In order to feel worthy and cherished by me, which he is, with or without his service. Even knowing this, my cock rises, trained in a similar way to respond to his invitations. His eyes alight on the parting folds of my robe, and he licks his lips hungrily. But what will happen when my libido runs out? What if I’m shot dead in the street tomorrow? Who will take care of him then? I’m not being fatalistic. This is my reality.
If I’m going to collar him—make this thing between us permanent, he must know what’s in store for him, that even with my best intentions, my care is fallible.
“Let us go to the table, Giovanni. I’d like us to talk as men.”
His head quirks at that, always on the lookout for potential triggers. I help him to rise, fasten his robe around him, then pull out his chair and invite him to sit before taking my own. “Mangia,” I say, and we proceed with our meal, though I’ve lost my appetite. Even still, I put food in my mouth, chew, and swallow. He won’t eat if I don’t, which isn’t a rule I’ve instituted but his own habit of deferring to me. I wait until he’s finished, then wipe my mouth with my cloth napkin and set it aside.
“I know this is a difficult subject for you, but I’d like us to talk about your future.”
“My future?” he asks, looking both bewildered and panicked. The concept is clearly too large and ambiguous for him to grasp, so I will break it down into smaller pieces.
“Do you like living here?”
“I love it, Master.”
“When we are talking as men, you may address me as Valentin or sir,” I gently remind. “Remember, these conversations are outside our dynamic where our usual protocol need not apply.” This rattles him further. It was not my intention, but because he is eloquent and composed so much of the time, I sometimes forget how little it takes to upset him. “Do you enjoy our rituals and routines?”
“Yes, Mas—” He catches himself. “You provide me with everything I could possibly need or desire.”
“What about your life goals?”
His expression flattens and he says laconically, “What about my life goals?”
“You have so many talents, Giovanni. Your music and your studies.” Even if he continues to eschew the family business, there are many other avenues he could pursue.
“Why are you bringing this up now?” he asks with some resentment. “Did I do something to displease you?”
I take his hand to offer him some reassurance. “Not at all, sweetheart. Your service continues to amaze and impress me. I simply want to know your future plans if you have any. It would reassure me to know I’m not limiting your potential by keeping you as myschiavo.”
“My future plans,” he muses, still eying me steadily, hackles raised like a cobra ready to strike. “After breakfast, I’m going to load the dishwasher. Since it’s your day off, we’ll go for a swim. In the sauna, when we’re both naked and wearing only our towels, I’m going to go down on my knees and offer my mouth to you again in hopes that you’ll fuck my throat until it’s aching and sore and then soothe the rawness with your cum. If we don’t go out to lunch, I’ll prepare it for us here. This afternoon in your study while you work, I’ll read the original Greek and Latin accounts of the now-underwater city of Baiae where Roman emperors went to conduct illicit affairs with other men and boys, and while doing so, I’ll contemplate my own submission to you, whom I regard as a modern-day emperor if not a god. Then dinner, which is your domain. If you instruct me to do so, I’ll clean myself thoroughly and prepare my hole for penetration. Hopefully, you’ll discipline me later in your dungeon, but if not, I have my fantasies to sustain me until you do. And during my nightly rituals, when I’m rubbing moisturizer onto my skin and preparing for bed, I’ll remember your hands on me, and how my highest and best use is to serve my Master.”
We are silent, daring one another to make the next move. He has countered my opening gambit with a stunner, as usual, and I’m not sure where to go from here.
“I want more for you,” I tell him. It’s for his own good. I cannot be the whole of his existence. Surely, he must know that. “I want you to want more.”
“What about what I want?” he asks, his tone clipped and guarded.
