“Yes, Sir, I like that,” he says with tenderness. “Thank you for allowing me to stay here with you and for taking care of me. I couldn’t do this without you. I wouldn’t want to.”
“We’re doing this together. Healing from our loss and creating something new.”
“Something that is just ours,” he says with a cautious smile.
“Esattamente.” Exactly.
9
Iam taking my pretty baby to Milano for a holiday. Santino has been asking for a visit, and it’s time for my boy to meet my friends and mingle with people outside our immediate family. Perhaps he will make a friend of his own? I also convinced Leandro to join us for the long weekend, and we meet him at the train station in Napoli, each of us with a small travel suitcase, though mine is mostly filled with my rope.
Now, Giovanni and Leandro are engaged in an animated conversation about the nature of pain while I sit across from them, admiring my young lover.
“Plato advocated that pain and pleasure went hand-in-hand and were emotional in nature,” Giovanni says, placing both hands against his chest. “He believed pain emanated from the heart. In fact, none of the early philosophers connected sensation to the brain at all. That discovery didn’t happen until…”
I try to pay attention, but the warmth of the sunshine streaming in through the window has made me listless. And I am distracted by Giovanni’s collar bone and the flutter of his throat as he speaks. I like to press my fingers against the pulse point on his neck and feel his heart beating—his temple, his groin, everywhere on his body where the skin seems like such a thin barrier to the life throbbing within. Is itarroganteto believe that his heart beats for me?
My thoughts drift to later this evening when we will dine as a group at Santino’s. I’ve brought a special rope to weave a decorative tunic for Gio. Made of gold silk, this will hopefully be a delightful surprise, a demonstration of my love as well as an obvious claim to all those present. The rope I’ve selected is smooth as butter, meant to glide sensually across his skin. And later, after the party is over, I will lay him down on my bedsheets and make love to him like the treasure he is.
“What do you think, Sir?” Gio asks, bright-eyed and expectant. He is generous to try to draw me into their scholarly discussion.
I moisten my lips and touch two fingers to my mouth, tasting the salt on my skin. “I’m afraid I wasn’t listening, princess. My thoughts were of a more carnal nature.”
He blinks, then swallows. I note the jog in his throat. He turns briefly to the scenery outside our window, gathering himself, then back to Leandro, not missing a beat in their conversation. I smile wickedly and continue to stare at his neck. Tonight, he will wear my rope as a collar.
Santino’s buildingis in the Navigli district of Milano, overlooking a wide canal spotted here and there with people taking gondola tours of the city. The bustling waterfront is lined with several cafés, shops, and nightclubs, and there’s a market every Saturday with vendors selling everything from fresh fruits and vegetables to antiques and second-hand bikes—I bought one myself during my stay with Santino a little more than a year ago. There are also some quaint bookshops I plan to explore with Gio while we’re here.
Behind the walled entrance to Santino’s property is a large outdoor courtyard where he sometimes hosts parties and gatherings. At the courtyard’s center is a large, working fountain, and it’s here that Santino welcomes us into his home with warm greetings.
Gazing up at the statue of three women who appear to be conspiring, Giovanni says, “The three muses?”
“That’s right,” Santino says. “My family had it commissioned by a sculptor many, many years ago to pay homage to the arts.”
“Some scholars claim there are actually nine muses,” Gio says.
“That would have been a much more costly fountain,” Santino teases.
Gio smiles and Santino goes on to tell us the history of the building, largely for Gio’s benefit. “Thenavigliare a system of interconnected canals in and around Milano, dating back to the Middle Ages that have been used for everything from irrigation to commerce to defense. When my family arrived here, most of the canals had fallen into disuse and were paved over, but not this one. They saw the potential of having a waterfront property and bought the building as a salon for artists, taking great pains to restore it. For many years, it was an art gallery with several studios. Now, I use it as a sort of academy for rigging and bondage.”
It’s a rite of passage for riggers to study under Santino, and he often hosts experts in other areas of kink who give lessons and demonstrations as well.
“Do you own the entire building?” Gio asks.
“Yes, and I rent out rooms to friends in the lifestyle who wish to stay for a while or have a private space to conduct scenes.”
“I guess being the owner means you don’t have to deal with so many noise complaints from all the screaming subs,” Gio says with a smirk.
“That is certainly one of the benefits,” Santino says, eyes twinkling with amusement. He nods to Leandro. “Leandro here can certainly get them to wail and moan.”
Leandro only inclines his head, smiling modestly.
The apartment’s exterior is painted a bright, buttery yellow, but the inside is more subdued with white stucco walls, wood flooring, and exposed beams running along the ceiling—ideal for mounting equipment. Santino shows us a few of the communal studio spaces as well as a library, which has one of the most comprehensive collections of bondage instruction and erotica I’ve ever seen. Santino ends the tour in the lounge, where there are several cozy couches and coffee tables, as well as a polished piano, which draws Gio’s attention immediately.
“I seem to recall that you play,” Santino says to Gio.
“I’ve never played a Fazioli before,” he replies, and I assume he means the type of piano.
“I grant you permission to play whenever your heart desires. I’m sure you’ll want to investigate the library more thoroughly as well. I’d like to discuss some weekend logistics with Leandro. Silvio, I assume you’ll be taking the same rooms as before?”
