“Cominciamo,” Leandro says.
He begins with the flogger. Leandro uses the impact of its light falls to warm up Giovanni’s skin, his back, buttocks, and upper thighs, all targets for today’s session. Giovanni groans and I feel his prick swelling against my groin. His arousal heightens my own, especially when he begins to subtly grind against me. The room is warm, warmer than I initially thought, as my body flushes with an erotic fever and a little bit of fear. Meanwhile, Giovanni’s utterances are open-throated and musical in their cadence.
“I’m moving onto the whip now,” Leandro says. “There will be thirty lashes in all, and every single one of them will sting. Color, sub?”
“Green, Leandro.”
“Green,” I echo as Giovanni’s arms tighten around my waist.
When the first lash falls, Gio stiffens, tensing from the impact with his mouth taut and head lifted, followed by a guttural groan of relief.
“One,” I say aloud.
The whip’s tail kisses flesh again. Giovanni whimpers and lays himself flatter against me, seeking comfort or perhaps wishing to meld us into one. “Hurts,” he whispers. Because of the way we’re standing, his mouth is just inches from my own, and even though I cannot feel the sting of the whip, I absorb some of the impact as my own.
“You’re being very brave,” I tell him. “Master is watching. Can you sense him?”
“Yes.”
“Me too. What is he saying to you right now?”
“He’s proud.”
“Of course, he is very proud of you.”
“He’s proud of you, Sir.”
My eyes drift to the portrait. His face is the same, stern and uncompromising, though perhaps there is a gentle curve of his mouth, a slight nod of his head, conveying something like approval. I hope that it might be true, that he is pleased with me for seeking answers and providing for hisschiavo, for putting Giovanni’s needs before my own. I have grown into the man and Dominant my brother always knew that I could be. He had faith in my abilities, even when I did not.
Giovanni’s shrieks of pain bring me back to the present, and I realize I’ve been counting all along. He releases a broken, high-pitched sob, and then, a scream. I continue to keep my voice steady as I count, my body strong. I will be Giovanni’s anchor and safe harbor in his times of distress, even in these dire moments when he is shaking, bawling, and barely able to hold himself up.
The last ten are difficult for us both. We reek of sweat and endorphins. He howls with every lash, a deep guttural roar that is at the root of his pain and residual trauma. At thirty, Leandro signals that it’s over. My arms come down to gently encircle him, avoiding the marks from the whip, as he collapses against me, unable to stand and unwilling to move. He sobs for a little while in my arms. I whisper comforting words and kiss his forehead, his wet cheeks, his sweaty temple. “Let it all out, princess.”
Still with the blindfold covering his eyes, he whispers, “Use me, Sir. Please?”
I guide him down from the cross and onto the floor mat. Gently, I lower him to his knees. We are naked already; my dick is hard and wet at the tip. I’m not aroused by his pain, but by the way in which he clings to me, needing me so desperately.
I guide his mouth so that he may savor my cock like a soothing balm. Giovanni is delicate at first. With his throat ragged from screaming, it is an effort for him to take me in deep. Gradually, his passions overwhelm his discomfort, and he sucks me with a frenzied fervor. Leandro stands off to the side, observing our intimacy while stroking himself to a chorus of whimpers and groans.
“Yes, Giovanni, you make your Sir feel so good. An angel with a heavenly mouth, show Leandro what a sweet and grateful boy you are.”
Gripping him by his hair, I pull him off me and steer him around. Blindly, he falls forward on his hands and pushes out his whipped ass for my attentions. Deftly but with care, I remove his golden plug and replace it with my cock, dribbling oil at the juncture where skin meets skin. I avoid looking at his welts and instead focus on the place where my cock penetrates him, striking the match inside his nubile body, again and again. Giovanni sobs and spreads his arms wide, sinking down into his submission until his chest is flush against the mat, a worshipper at the altar.
“Take it,” I murmur, the fever rising in my temple and in my loins, power surging through me like an electrical current. “Is this what you crave, Giovanni? To be used like an object by your Sir?”
“Yessss,” he hisses, mouth open and panting, breath hitching with every hammer of my hips into his tender backside. “Ruin me, Sir. Make me remember who rules me.”
“I rule you,” I answer. I stroke in and out of him in a rhythm that is for my pleasure first. I yank his hair so that his spine curves and ride him harder, obliterating him with pleasure atop the pain. His body shudders and his channel tightens around me, squeezing me like a fist. He arches back, muscles going rigid as if caught in a spasm. I reach down in time to catch the seed spitting from his cock and smear it along his heaving chest. Knowing he’s come hands-free sends me into my own ever-increasing spirals of ecstasy, and I roar my expressions like a savage beast.
When the sexual fog clears, I spot a second pile of pearly white ejaculate on the mat beside us. Leandro has left an offering of his own.
I guide a sightless Giovanni into my arms where he clings to me like a bear cub. I remove his blindfold at last, and he blinks his eyes open like a newborn, glancing from my face to Leandro and back.
“You both did very well,” Leandro says while he cleans himself up and tucks his manhood back into his pants. “I’ll give you both some time to recover and check on you in a little while.”
I ease my whimpering boy onto the bed, lying on his stomach so that I may tend to his wounds. I trace over the lash marks with medicated wipes, checking over his skin and applying salve on some of the deeper cuts. I’ll use a cold compress once the medicine has soaked in and another lotion later for the bruising. The skin will heal, I remind myself, and like death and rebirth, the cycle will continue.
Once the ritual of aftercare is complete and he’s resting comfortably, I resume my favored position as his human mattress. Giovanni purrs contentedly, cheek pressed against my pectoral with his fingers buried in my chest hair. Just when I think he might be falling asleep, he says, “Does it bother you that I invited Master to our scene?”
