26 - Command it to me!

We were still sitting on the bench.

No one had spoken for minutes.

But I felt everything.

Evening had softened.

The wind had calmed.

And inside me:

Silence.

But not emptiness.

Giorgio stood up.

“Wait here,” he said.

I nodded.

Of course.

I wouldn’t have wanted anything else.

He went into the house.

I watched him go.

The way he moved –

calm. Steady.

Confident.

I still smelled like him.

And I didn’t want

that to ever stop.

Alone on the bench,

my thoughts wandered back.

Back to a place

I would never have chosen to revisit.

Martino.

After school.

Again and again.

He knew I was different.

That I was soft.

That I was weak.

That I was… gay.

Even though I didn’t yet know the word.

He treated me like trash.

Forced me to my knees.

Spoke filthy things while doing it.

And I…

felt ashamed.

Didn’t resist.

And felt… aroused.

And for that, I hated myself.

Martino was small.

Thin.

His body meaningless.

His dick narrow.

His eyes empty.

He used me.

And I hated it.

But Giorgio…

Giorgio was different.

He was strong.

His gaze was cold –

but never hollow.

His grip was firm –

but never pointless.

He hadn’t forced me.

He had asked.

And I had answered.

Because I wanted it.

Because I needed it.

I wanted to be his little, dirty faggot.

His.

And only he was allowed to call me that.

When he did…

I felt it everywhere.

In my stomach.

In my neck.

Between my legs.

It was degrading.

And that made it even more…

arousing.

I closed my eyes briefly.

I didn’t feel ashamed anymore.

Not with him.

Then he returned.

A plate in his hand.

Filled with apples.

He sat down beside me.

The fruit gleamed in the fading light of the sky.

He handed me one.

I took it with both hands.

Carefully.

Almost reverently.

I bit into it.

He said:

“Tomorrow’s market day.

I’m going to sell the apples.

I need to get rid of everything.”

I chewed slowly.

Felt his eyes on me.

Not on my body.

On my lips.

I knew it.

And I liked it.

“If I don’t make money… I’ve got a problem.”

I said nothing.

But I knew.

I knew exactly

what that problem was.

The men of the morning.

I wanted to say something,

but I stayed silent.

“Will you help me at the market tomorrow?”

He asked.

But I didn’t want to respond to questions.

I had meant what I said.

“Sir,” I said,

“I don’t know what to do with a question.

Command it to me.

I’m your slave.”

He looked at me.

I felt his smile.

His arousal.

His pride.

He looked down at his feet.

I followed his gaze.

He played with his toes.

I could barely think when he did that.

“Alright, boy,” he said,

“you’re coming to the market with me.

And you’ll make sure

I get rich.

So rich

we can leave this damn hole –

maybe for New York,

where you’ve been.

You can show me around.

Or Argentina.

Maybe Switzerland first,

so we can keep all that money safe in a good bank.

Slave – make it happen!”

I felt my heart race.

I didn’t nod.

I thought.

I wanted to help.

I would help.

Giorgio laughed.

He laughed.

At me.

But not mockingly.

I knew:

He laughed

because I was serious.

And he liked that.

He liked me that way.

“Hey, that was a joke!” he added.

I looked at him.

“But I’ll make sure you never have to worry again.”

I swore it to myself.

I would make sure he could afford any wish.

Could leave this place, if he wanted.

With me.

He deserved that.

He deserved me.

A servant.

I looked down proudly at his large feet,

the ones I was allowed to serve.

Did they still smell like cum?

I felt myself getting hard again.