Jino's voice cuts through the fantasy like a blade.
Cold. Clinical.Demerits.
My hand freezes.
I see Giovanni's face in my mind—that look. The one that says he knows exactly what I'm doing and exactly how disappointed he is. Not angry. Just... measuring. Cataloging my failure like he catalogs everything.
The Bavga Doctrine. Article VII. Hands and Touch. No self-touch. No scratching, fidgeting, or grooming without permission. Absolutely no masturbating without permission.
"Fuck."
I yank my hand out of my pants like I've been burned.
I see Giovanni's face in my mind—that look. The one that says he knows exactly what I'm doing and exactly how disappointed he is.
Two days.
That's my staying power. Two fucking days away from Giovanni's control and I'm already breaking protocol like some undisciplined brat who can't follow basic rules.
The arousal drains away, replaced by something worse.
Sadness.
I miss him.
I miss the basement, the dungeon, the rules. I miss Jino circling me with the riding crop. I miss the demerit notebook and the sick thrill of watching my point total climb, knowing consequences were coming.
I miss Giovanni appearing at the top of the stairs every evening—still in his suit, looking like money and danger—ready to clear my debt with consequences that made me scream.
I want to call him.
Right now.
But I can't.
Because I don't have his phone number.
Don't even have aphone.
The realization hits like a sickness. I never needed either when I was in his dungeon. Jino was there all day, drilling me through positions.
Giovanni appeared every evening after my bath—always right on time, like clockwork, like sunrise. Ready to feed me steak while I sat in throne position between his thighs, feeling his hard cock through the fabric, getting worked up until he finally beckoned me into his lap. Commanded me to ride him. Told me to take whatever I needed.
And then we'd compose poetry while we fucked.
My own words slip out before I can stop them—a whisper, broken:
"But here's the truth beneath my survivor's lies:
I don't want safety. Don't want soft or kind.
I want the man who sees through my disguise."
"I want the king who claimed me, body, mind
Who killed to keep me safe from greater harm
Who makes me feel like I am his to find."
