He does so immediately, I can’t help but notice. “You are very good at following this instruction at least.” I place a spoonful of panna cotta on his tongue. Giovanni whimpers, so expressive in his pleasure, whether it’s food or fucking. To watch him is an indulgence, though I wish this were truly a reward and not merely a tool of persuasion. I feed him a few more bites to soften him up, then say, “Sir was gone longer than expected. That was asking a lot of you, on top of an already stressful situation. I broke my promise, and I’m sorry.” He says nothing, but he is listening, always. “Now, your Sir is back, and we are going to talk about what happened in my absence.”
He licks his lips, stares up at me with a dulcet expression, and says in a sweetly honeyed voice, “This boy is interested to see how his Sir will enforce this demand.”
12
“My understanding of the situation,” I say to Giovanni as I tie a single overhand knot around his waist, “is that I upset you when I didn’t come back on the day I promised. You lashed out by breaking my rules. Now, you need to be punished for that, and I need to work on regaining your trust. Tell me, Gio, what rules of mine did you break?”
“I drank,” he says with a fat pouty lip.
“Mmmm hmmm, what else?”
“I didn’t answer when you called.”
“Yes, and?”
“I turned off my phone so you wouldn’t be able to track me.”
“That’s right. There’s one more.” He glances away, refusing to answer. “I’ll give you a hint. His name begins with a P.”
“I told you I couldn’t be trusted to make friends.”
“What rule did you break, Giovanni?” I ask, sterner this time, and tug on the rope.
“I hung out with Paolo, who is bad news and I know it.”
“Very good. Are there any more transgressions you need to confess to your Sir?”
“I didn’t follow my schedule. But I don’t see how being tied to you like an umbilical cord is going to help with any of that,” he says, still sulking.
“I want to be close to you, and you want to be close to me too. You will need things, and I will give them to you. You will realize that I can be trusted and that I am a provider. Eventually, you will forgive me.”
“You seem pretty confident about that,” he says, arms crossed.
“Well, if this doesn’t work, I still have my charms.” I smile, dimples and all.
“This is hardly a punishment,” he says, baiting me still.
“You might not think so now but having to ask my permission to do every little thing, even to use the restroom, may become cumbersome.”
“Even if I have to pee?” he asks, crinkling his brow.
“Even if you have to pee. You will tell me, and I will escort you there, pull down your underpants, take out your cock and hold it for you while you go.”
“That is… a lot.”
“I’m going to doeverythingfor you, Giovanni. Dress you, feed you, bathe you, tell you what to do and when to do it. I will correct you when I need to, and I will praise you. This is obviously what you need, for your Sir to take control. To makeallof your decisions for you. And I am optimistic that at some point during the next few days, we can talk about what happened.”
This is what I have discovered about Giovanni. He would rather be whipped, beaten, and caged than talk about his feelings. To make himself emotionally vulnerable is the ultimate punishment. He studies me, likely working out his next move while I finish tying us together. We are joined at the hip with only two meters of slack between us. “Color?” I ask.
“Green,” he says cautiously.
“Excellent.”
“You look exhausted,” he says, probably noticing the prominent bags under my eyes that appear when I’m not well-rested.
“You look beautiful, as always. My first thought upon seeing you in that bar was how lovely you are because I sometimes forget.”
He says nothing, only stares at me as if the compliment, too, is a trick.
