The Choices of Evelyn Ch. 13-15

Days went by between this cozy room and the adjoining quarters that had been given him. They contained a small bedroom and a larger bathroom with a regal sized bath. He felt his strength return. With it grew the urge to know his fate, to see his Mistress. And the need to be with Eva again. But Anna did not even respond to the name of his Mistress. She just smiled and urged him to eat his soup.

It took Anna three more days to restore Sandro to perfect health. Most of his bruises had healed. The blush returned to his skin. His step was as proud and strong as it had been; he even picked up his exercises. His muscles welcomed the wonderful afterglow of exertion.

On the morning of the fourth day, Anna woke him with tea. Then she told him to take a shower and at least two enemas. After that he was to inspect his body; he must remove every hair or stubble he would find. Wondering about the reason for these strict instructions, he took three enemas. Then he lathered his entire body with a layer of hair remover. There wasn't a crease or dimple that he did not inspect. When he was satisfied at last, he rubbed every square inch of his skin with the softest of ointments. The treatment left him hot and excited. Eva imagined his slim body standing at the center of the room, glowing like a wax candle.

Anna returned and ran her wrinkled hand over the young, soft skin, caressing and probing. She smiled her satisfaction. Then she closed a metal collar around the boy's throat, before leading him out of the room on a leather leash, walking the length of a corridor. Sandro's bare feet slapped the ancient stones. After turning three corners, he lost his bearings. But he wasn't surprised when a door at last took him back into his blood red cell with the mirrored ceiling. A sigh of disappointment left his mouth. Anna gave him a warning glance. He turned his gaze down and blushed.

Spread out on the bed lay pieces of an outfit he did not recognize. They were made of lace and a sheer, filmy material. There also was silk, maybe, and satin. Most of had a lovely sky-blue color.

Anna helped him get into the outfit. She molded the material tightly around his body. A thin lace bra, filled with a gelatinous material, cupped his boy's tits; the matching thong had strips of lace and satin. He shivered from the touch. Flimsy material covered his crotch, transparently exposing his stubby penis. Both bra and thong hugged him as if they were part of his body. As he moved, the bouncing of the gelatin sent little waves of heat up his spine.

Before she put on the thong, though, Anna gave him a garter belt in white lace. He also got lovely sheer white stockings. They were to be attached to the belt with long lace garters. Two elegantly heeled sandals completed the outfit. Then Anna started to do his hair. The black curls almost reached his shoulders now. She pinned them up, so his soft throat and collar were in full sight. At last, Anna held up a mirror and watched how Sandro made up his face, practicing all the skills Eva had taught him. She smiled and nodded as she picked up the last item. It was an ankle-length negligé of the sheerest sky-blue organza. She slid it around the boy's bare shoulders. Then she smiled once more and left the room.

Sandro stood in his new heels, looking up into the mirror at the ceiling, feeling flushed. Yes, he looked lovely; he was very beautiful indeed. All the pampering and the excited anticipation had aroused him into a state of wetness, no doubt darkening the delicate lace of his thong. His nipples tightened in their cool gelatin wrapping. So much work, what was it for? All these days he had spent in this room, he had been naked and open to be fucked and used. Why was he now clad in this exquisite lingerie? Was he to be collected? A surge of hopeful excitement made his heart race. Maybe Mistress would come and take him back?

Oh yes, please. Let it be she.

Of course, it was just a new guest. A tall, red- haired man in his forties. He grinned and hardly looked at him. His big, bony hands started to tear off the expensive outfit. Soon he rammed his already hard cock down the boy's throat. Then he spent his sperm inside his bowels after penetrating his unready sphincter in one excruciating thrust.

In the few hours that followed, Sandro got used by at least five men in both his hardly healed orifices. He felt numb, struck down, abandoned. He cried a bit, but only between guests – carefully restoring his face when the tears stopped coming. He must look his best each time the door opened, mustn't he?

Two rude teenage boys fucked his throat and ass in concerted haste, while never stopping their computer game. After coming, they cast him aside. He lost his consciousness, laying stretched on the bed, belly down. Fat sperm seeped from between his cheeks. It also leaked from his crusted lips.

Then there was the voice. It was soft and a bit hoarse, but it filled the whole room. Not as if it came from all around; it sounded right inside his skull, Sandro told Eva. And it woke him.

"Buongiorno, bambino mio," it whispered. "How are you, my little whore?" The last word was extended; its final syllable rose into a giggle. The boy on the bed raised his head, showing his ruined make up, and looked around.

"Mistress," he croaked. His throat was raw. He tried to rise to his knees.

"Stay down, sweet thing," the voice went on. "Rest a while, you have worked so haaaaard." Again, a soft giggle crowned the last word. Sandro now knew his mistress watched him. She wasn't in the room; she must be up there, behind the mirror. At last he knew for sure. His heart raced.

"Mistress," he said again, this time with more force. There was a silence, lasting a minute. Eva imagined how Sandro by now found the strength to sit up and look at the ceiling, trying in vain to see what might lie beyond. The voice he'd heard was real, or was it? He didn't dream, did he? His chest tightened as the silence endured. Then the voice returned in breezy whispers. Sandro let his pent-up breath escape.

"Tell me, mio caro," the voice said. "Are you mad at me? I could understand if you were." Sandro made his tender ass sink onto his heels. He pondered the question; it had taken him by surprise. Would a blind man understand the concept of colors? How could he find the words to even grasp the idea of anger anymore, let alone answer the question? He just looked at his own reflection, swallowing hard.

"I love you, Mistress," he finally said and sobbed. "You save me."

"I know, dolce caro," the voice said. Another silence followed. The voice was even softer when it spoke again. "Anna tells me you have been very good, Sandrito."

The boy stared in silence. He understood. His sweet Mistress had not been here at all to watch over him. All these cruel days and painful nights he had felt the blue gaze upon him. But it had been an illusion, a feverish dream. He had been alone all along.

"Thank you, Mistress," he whispered.

"I then cry a tear," he told Eva, looking away. Eva knew it must have been much more than a tear. She imagined how he pitched forward on the bed and broke down in a torrent of tears. His fragile shoulders must have shaken, a wailing sound rising from his throat. He must have fallen into a bottomless pool of misery, feeling things shift in his mind. Sluices opened for sure, dams broke. A tsunami must have swept away the last remnants of his hope and desperate optimism. She imagined how he lost control over his body. Shaking and trembling, he must have lain on the soaked silk of sheets and pillows, tears ruining his face, squirts of urine running down his thighs and into the mattress.

All his strength had been concentrated in the one presumption that his Mistress saw his struggle these gruesome nights and endless days. That she had watched him and would have been pleased. But he'd been all-alone all the time, hadn't he? M was never there; she abandoned him.

This revelation no doubt tore the last straw from his clenching fist, making him fall into a seething river. He drowned, Eva knew, gasping for air. He thrashed in the water and clawed with desperate hands. But as he looked up, both banks must have slid away from him, disappearing in a curtain of mist. Carried off by the force of his misery, Eva imagined gloved fingers touching his shoulder, and where they touched, sparks of electricity danced down his chest and spine. He lay silent, she guessed, drifting motionlessly, while before his mind's eye a golden shape stepped from the swirling clouds. A tall, pale woman walked on the waters; she was naked but clad in a halo of gold.

Her face was soft and featureless. She was like the clouds, but her eyes were a sparkling metal blue. They seemed to dash out of the mists and sink into the boy's eyes.

"Sandi," a voice lisped. A hand reached out to take his. It pulled him up towards the holy creature.

"Sandi," the voice repeated, soaking him with warm, glowing honey. "You are forgiven."

In the woods, the boy swallowed; then he said in his halting voice. "Clouds go... everywhere... sun..."

Eva's feverish mind filled the gaps of his poor English with images of her own. She felt the waves abating, the roaring thunder of the winds leaving his ears. A second hand reached out, pulling the boy into the sweetest of hugs. Were they Mistress's or Eva's? A tongue caressed his drenched face, was it M's or was it Eva's? It travelled down his throat and chest, centering on a screaming nipple. Hot, wet lips opened around his tiny tit. Then they sucked in the flesh. From the center of her being (his being?) ran dizzying rivers to the most remote niches of their bodies. A new sob wracked his frame.

"I die," he whispered into Eva's embrace. "I die, then I live." He trembled and shivered like a taut string on a musical instrument, making soft reverberations dance up and down Eva's soul. Together they started the sweetest, inaudible music that ever touched their senses. Eva's mouth reached his crotch by now, just like Mistress's had. It pushed against his shriveled flesh, the mouth itself a body of soft, rippling water. Wet, insistent pressure sucked on his penis, making it enter her like an undulating, sinewy little fish – soft but swollen.

When he came, the two entwined bodies shook in unison, spreading shockwaves of energy around them. They were Eva's and Sandro's, but they also were the vivid echo of his final abandon to the woman he would call Mistress for the rest of his life.

At long last the shaking stopped, and their voices sank into a pool of whispers. There are moments when a girl's face becomes the forlorn image of a lost child. Her eyes swim with tears, and mascara turns into smudges of soot. The rims of the eyes turn red, as does the skin around the nose and nostrils. The lower lip shines with snot and saliva. It trembles like a leaf in a merciless wind. The face opens in a way no man is able to understand. It gains a vulnerability no man can ever fathom, only destroy.

Sandro was that ruined child-woman now. Sandi. His bottomless misery touched Eva as it had no doubt touched his Mistress. It strangled her with a tiny fist and took away her breath. She cupped the child's face and ran a slow tongue over its surface. She lapped at the salty tears on cheeks and lips. Then she ran the trembling tip of it around the closed eyes. She felt the eyeballs shiver behind their velvet screens. She heard a low moan leave the throat.

"Mommy."

***