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Giacomo’s swollen cock pressed hard against the tight leather of his pants. The woman who had summoned him lay sprawled in the recliner, eyes closed and arms splayed limply where they’d fallen, her legs spread to reveal her wet and glistening pussy. The scent of sex filled the room.
She had admitted she wanted his mastery. She had given him permission to master her. Now all he had to do was bring her to transcendent pleasure as she served him and his curse would be broken. He could resume his life.
A brief sliver of guilt stabbed his conscience but he ruthlessly pushed it away with the ease of long practice. If he, who had killed in the name of revenge, had been offered an option to continue his life simply because he had died before his time, no doubt Jeffrey’s blameless wife and son had been granted similar clemency. If they had even died. It was possible that he’d managed to save them from the blast. Master Dante had refused to tell him their fate and Giacomo had quickly learned obedience at the end of his lash.
The first few times Master Dante had come for him, Giacomo had asked questions—what had happened to Jeffrey’s family, what had happened to his family’s holdings, how long would he be there? Master Dante would answer only that the world of the living was no longer his concern then strike unerringly with his whip for maximum pain and damage. The session would only end when Giacomo was dead, allowing him a brief moment of respite before his body was once again recreated as it had been the morning of his first death, with the addition of a black tattoo on his hand that marked him as an initiate of the Monastery of Mastery.
Locked naked in his dark stone cell, Giacomo could do nothing but remember the tortures he had already endured and dread the tortures yet to come until Master Dante came for him again. Because of the way Jeffrey had been killed, Giacomo had his skin flayed off then the underlying flesh burnt with hot irons, or sometimes his skin was burned before being flayed away. Occasionally, his bloodied body would be dunked into a tank of brine or a rag would be stuffed down his throat to keep it open and saltwater poured in until he drowned. Beyond the physical pain of those tortures, he feared they indicated he was also paying for the deaths of Jeffrey’s wife and son.
When the heavy iron door of his cell swung open, silhouetting Master Dante in the light of the hallway, Giacomo couldn’t help himself. He began to tremble, tears filling his eyes as he cringed into the farthest corner of his cell. If he still ate and drank, no doubt he’d have soiled himself in terror.
The black figure of justice asked the same question each time. “Do you willingly accept the penance for your sin?”
Giacomo had only to refuse and his torment would end. But it would be replaced by an eternal torment, with no hope of ever ending. So each time, he answered, “I do.” First speaking then whispering, then finally mouthing the words when his terrified throat permitted no sound to escape.
When Master Dante said instead, “Your penance is completed. Now you begin your training,” Giacomo had gaped at him in incomprehension. He’d thought at first it was a particularly cruel form of torture, but Master Dante did not change his mind and return him to the torture chamber. Instead, after fastening the silver bracelet inscribed with the terms of his sentence around Giacomo’s wrist, he led Giacomo to the main area of the monastery where he met the other initiates learning to become Masters.
The rules of the monastery dictated that they could not speak of what they’d done to end up there or what price they had paid for their sins, but it was permissible to relate the date of their death and news of the world. The other men had surrounded Giacomo, eager for a source of new information, in return teaching him what he needed to survive Master Dante’s more advanced lessons.
Noticing that he was absentmindedly fingering the leather tails of his flogger, he snatched his hand away, clasping his wrists behind his back. Feet spread, he lifted his head and puffed out his chest in Dominance Position #4.
“As I said, I am Master Giacomo. Now you will give me your name.”
The woman blinked sex-sated brown eyes and blushed. “Oh God, you never even knew my name. It’s Sam. Samantha, I mean. Samantha Taylor.”
He nodded. “Sam. You are—”
A high-pitched, piercing melody echoed through the room, the short pattern of notes repeating twice as he glanced about, trying to find where the noise was coming from. Sam dove for her purse and fished out a glowing blue plastic device little larger than a matchbook. She flipped it open, silencing the annoying chirping. Her eyes widened.
“Shit! Look at the time. I’ve got to get dinner started.”
She threw the device into her purse then quickly gathered her clothing. Shaking each piece free of dust with a loud snap, she dressed rapidly. Giacomo was adrift in confusion but knew he had to recover control of the situation quickly.
“Stop,” he ordered.
Sam paused, her fingers clenched in the hem of her T-shirt she was tugging down. The scent of her arousal increased, her nipples poking against the thin cotton covering them. After just one session her body was already primed to associate obeying him with sexual ecstasy.
“I did not give you permission to dress.”
“You don’t understand. That was my cell phone alarm. If I don’t start dinner soon, my mom might come looking for me.”
He raised an eyebrow. Sam was a fully adult woman, the signs of aging clear in her naked body. Her breasts were not the sagging, loose breasts of an older woman but neither could they be mistaken for the newly budded breasts of a girl. He’d expected that she lived on her own in this small studio apartment. He hated being wrong. Being wrong meant the lash, meant pain and suffering, meant barely endurable agony.
“You live with your parents?” He tried to make his voice nonjudgmental but by her stiffening spine and raised chin, had not succeeded.
“My father is dead. I’m staying with my mother to care for her. She can’t look after herself. You have a problem with that?”
Her words kindled an eager excitement within him. She was already acting as a slave. He only needed to transfer her devotion from her mother to himself and Sam would be his completely.
Reaching out, he grasped her jaw in his hand.
“You will speak to me with proper respect and call me Master.”
Her eyes dilated and she licked her lips. He felt her jaw flex as she swallowed.
“Yes, Master,” she whispered.
“In the future, you will ask me for permission to clothe yourself or to leave my presence.”
