Page 20 of Body Slave

After Ben shut the door behind him, silence reigned until the master rose. Grabbing Oliver by the hair, he hauled him to his feet and tossed him against the desk. Seconds later, pity for Danny was displaced by the need to endure while the master once more worked out his frustrations. Thank God Ben wasn’t there to see, Oliver thought, before the master’s punishing cock stretched his ass.

Thank God Oliver existed to receive the anger instead.

Chapter Seven

Shit, scotch was a harsh drink, burning all the way down Ben’s throat to churn away at his stomach. To be fair to the top shelf brand, he’d been nauseated even before sitting in the dark den to sling back his father’s numbing agent. He hadn’t expected it to make him less so. Besides, enjoyment wasn’t the point. He hoped to get shitfaced enough to fall asleep. Beer didn’t operate in the right league for that kind of abuse. Thinking that word, abuse, and in this room, let the horrible images back in that had plagued him for the last eight hours. Draining the glass, he laid his head on the back of the couch and willed his mind to think of other things.

It didn’t work. Visions of that sweet little boy he had watched grow up in this very house being forced to service his father haunted him. This would have been the place, too, his father’s private fucking lair. No one other than his mother would have dared to interrupt the master when he holed up in here, and she would have been sick in their bed, fighting the effects of the poison that fought in turn to keep her alive. It was grotesque, and no amount of pain his father had been going through could ever justify it.

What the hell was Ben supposed to do now? His mother must have served as a smoke screen, keeping Ben from seeing his father’s true nature. Or, maybe, just maybe, losing her in that protracted and brutal way had changed the man. Ben wasn’t sure he could believe that as much as he wanted to. People’s sense of morality didn’t alter with grief, did it? It didn’t matter anyway. Regardless of the reason he’d done what he’d done, it was a terrible truth to live with. Ben could give up on the man, simply cut ties and make his own way in the world. His mother had left him enough money to allow that kind of decision. He didn’t have to stay.

But he did. It wasn’t his own interests that held him chained. Even if he were able to write off Danny, Mary, and Joe, all of the slaves under his father’s control who might suffer if he left his father unchecked there, he still couldn’t put aside the most important one of them all. Oliver. Strange how the one slave he’d known for such a short time had become his primary concern. His father already used the boy as a punching bag. If Ben enraged his father by leaving, that one slave was sure to feel the full brunt of it.

Thinking of the slave seemed to conjure him up. With a quiet snick, the door to the den opened and a blond head peeked in.

“I-I’m sorry, sir. The master sent me to get his mobile phone. He thinks he left it in here.” Oliver slid his body a fraction more into the room and waited for a response.

Sitting up, Ben stared back, allowing himself a second to take in the pale beauty of the naked boy. Then he set his glass down on the coffee table and traded it for the phone lying there. He stood up and held it out. “Here.”

If he’d been put to the rack, he would have sworn he didn’t toss it to the boy for fear of it dropping and breaking. That was a lie. He wanted the slave to have to come all the way in and take it from his hand. Part of that was for the pathetic thrill it would give him to see and almost touch the boy. The other part was a nagging worry that his somewhat-fight with his father that afternoon had led to punishment for the slave. Although only a dim light by the bar illuminated the room, he could see the smooth flesh well enough as Oliver approached. He seemed fine, but that was only from the front, and only from the outside.

“Thank you, sir,” the slave said, reaching out to take the phone.

Ben didn’t let it go right away, scotch and fear giving him Dutch courage. “Did he hurt you?” he asked and heard the pleading in his own voice. Please say no.

Oliver held his gaze for a few seconds. “No, sir.”

Relief flooded through him and he let the phone go, except reality slammed through him a split second later. He snatched the slave by the arm and brought him up short when he turned to leave. Eyes wide with fear and more, what more Ben didn’t dare name, stared at the fingers encircling him.

“Don’t lie to me!” Ben uttered the rebuke no less potently given that he did it in a voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m not, sir. I promise.”

“Look at me. At. Me.” He shook the boy for emphasis until he obeyed the order. Now just fear shown in those beautiful eyes. “I made him mad this afternoon. You were there. He had to have taken it out on you.”

Oliver swallowed hard but held his gaze steady. “He relieved his frustration, yes, sir. He didn’t hurt me.”

Gore and anger rose within him. With a low cry, he let go of Oliver’s arm and fisted his hands in his own hair. “You’re so fucking well-trained as a body slave, so used to being property that you don’t even recognize that everything he does to you hurts you. God, if you asked Danny, he probably doesn’t think he was hurt, either.”

There was a small sound, almost a sob. When Ben looked at Oliver, the slave shook his head. “He doesn’t. Danny, I mean. He doesn’t think he was hurt.”

Ben’s head whipped up. “You asked him?”

“No, sir, he’d told me about it before lunch. I guess he figured we were kind of in the same boat.” Oliver shrugged.

“Well, at least he has someone to talk to about it. That’s something, I suppose, although damn fucking little. But who do you have to talk to, Oliver, when things get too hard?”

Oliver reached out as if he were going to touch Ben, and Ben silently urged him to do so. The hand dropped down again. “I don’t need anyone.”

“Oh, Oliver, everyone needs someone to talk to once in a while.” He swallowed a few times, the scotch making his mouth dry and his voice raspy. “I wish you’d talk to me.”

The slave’s eyes flashed. “You don’t mean that, sir. Not really.”

“Yes, I do!” The fierceness of his response surprised even him.

Oliver looked away. “I don’t want to talk to you about the things that bother me. Please don’t make me.” His voice hitched. “I don’t want to be one more thing that comes between you and the master.”

Of course. What was the matter with him? He tried to push the slave into a position that would only cause him more misery. He was no good at hiding his feelings with his father, never had been. If he knew half the things his old man did to the poor kid, it would probably make his head explode. Then his father would take it out on Oliver again, a repeated cycle of anger and abuse.

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