Page 24 of Body Slave

Why not? The kid didn’t have anything pressing to do in the morning. A little beer wasn’t going to do him any harm. Oliver gave him a shy smile in response before reaching for the bottle. Perversely, even when he had a grip on it. Ben kept his hold, too. Their fingers touched, causing warmth to slide down Ben’s belly. The slave took a tentative sip then another.

Oliver wrinkled his nose. “Thank you, sir.”

Ben laughed. “It can be an acquired taste. You’ll get used to it.” He downed more himself but kept sliding it to the slave as he went. The constant contact gave him the courage to press Oliver back against the sofa on the pretext that it made it easier to hand him the bottle. Really he only wanted the slave to be more comfortable. When the last dregs of the second bottle were gone, he got a third. By the time that bottle was halfway done both boys had slid farther into the cushions and closer together. The breath caught in Ben’s lungs when he felt Oliver’s head on his shoulder. The simple gesture of trust and maybe even affection, however much aided by the alcohol, elated him. They finished the movie and the beer and just lay there together, not moving. Neither of them said anything. Ben didn’t dare for fear of breaking the sweet spell they had fallen under.

Still, unable to resist the lure, he brushed his hand against Oliver’s arm, rubbing the skin lightly with his knuckles. The slave’s breath quickened at the touch. Ben’s lungs struggled to increase their tempo. Part of him acknowledged that the alcohol had lowered his own inhibitions. Maybe it had been his lizard brain’s plan all along. His moral compass wavered in the face of an unrelenting need to touch and savor this boy. He knew it was his job to pull back, to stop things from going any further.

Before he could muster the physical or mental strength, however, Oliver proved to be the stronger of the two. Or, perhaps the more foolish. Sliding his hand over, he placed it right on Ben’s package. He moaned from the pressure against his already-hardening flesh. It didn’t stop there, either. Deft fingers unsnapped the jeans and tugged the zipper down. Then in a swift, graceful move, the slave was on his knees between Ben’s legs, his head moving toward the hard cock being freed from its confines.

Awash with the pleasure of it all, Ben barely had the presence of mind to place his hand on that gorgeous head. “No,” he groaned. “You don’t have to do this.”

Oliver looked up at him with pleading eyes, or was that just what Ben wanted to see? “Please. Please let me.” The tone of his voice, the sincerity of it left no doubt.

With a sigh that morphed into another groan, Ben let go and dropped his head on the back of the couch. So this was how it would play out, how it had to be, the slave making the first move. Just like with The Kiss, Ben wouldn’t have dared to. He couldn’t bear the idea that he’d forced himself on this lovely boy like so many others had. Like his father did. Even now as those luscious lips wrapped around Ben’s aching dick, some part of him worried that it wasn’t consensual.

Then he stopped thinking.

Chapter Eight

The soft, wet heat of Oliver’s mouth welcomed Ben’s cock with an intensity that robbed him of any coherent thought. Ben could do nothing more than relax and surrender to the slave’s mastery over his need. A clever, dexterous tongue laved the underside of the rod, teasing the ring around the head, and dipping into the slit. One hand squeezed the base of the hard flesh while the other played with Ben’s balls. He melted even farther against the cushions, losing himself in the glorious sensations of his slowly building climax.

Oliver alternated between licking and sucking, all the while stroking and fondling. He teased the pleasure up to a point of eruption before pulling back and ratcheting down the level of play. At times, he did little more than flick his tongue against the cock’s head as if licking at an ice cream cone. When Ben groaned in frustration and lifted his hips, the boy held him down with a chuckle. Warm breath teased wet skin. Ben gripped the couch and bit back another groan. He ruthlessly shoved to the back of his brain thoughts of how the slave knew the way to drive him wild. It was too seductive to resist and too late for his conscience to object.

Oliver lipped Ben’s dick from tip to base before lapping up it again and swallowing it whole. The slave’s stroking hand became superfluous as he sucked the hard length down to the root. Ben’s cock was wrapped tight within the boy’s throat, cocooned in silky warmth. And when he swallowed, the muscles coaxed the climax to come out. The lure of it was more than Ben could resist, especially when Oliver’s nimble fingers milked his balls to the same rhythm.

With a cry, Ben shot his load straight past that willing mouth and down that throat. His hips bucked wildly with the force of his orgasm, but Oliver held on, never letting him go, taking it all. Deaf as he was to everything but his own release, Ben still managed to feel the hum of Oliver’s voice while he milked him dry. When the last of the spasms subsided, the slave drew back, licking the softening cock sliding out.

There was a sigh before the boy’s head rested on Ben’s thigh. He lifted his own head from the back of the couch and pried open his now-heavy eyelids. Oliver lay with his cheek inches from Ben’s spent, wet cock. The slave’s arms were loosely lying beside Ben’s splayed legs. Oliver’s torso rose with labored breaths, and for a moment, Ben worried that the boy was upset with what he’d done. Then he heard another sigh, the merest of sounds, and it held only contentment. Something snapped inside of Ben, driving him out of the lethargy of the blow job. He grabbed Oliver by the arms and hauled him up.

Oliver braced for a blow when Ben’s strong hands pulled him up. He wasn’t going to regret what he’d done, though, no matter the punishment. For the first time since he’d been made to take another man’s cock in his mouth, he’d fully enjoyed himself. Now he understood why freemen wanted to give blow jobs. The pure joy of feasting on a man’s flesh and the pride of bringing him to climax was a memory he’d cherish. He wasn’t even going to pretend, either, at least not to himself, that he’d done it as a way of thanking Ben for the fun evening. No, he’d gone down on his knees for purely selfish reasons. He’d wanted to taste this man in particular, and so he had. A beating constituted more than fair trade for the experience.

But Ben didn’t hit him or scold him even. Instead, he pulled Oliver into a tight embrace and attacked his mouth with his own. The kiss was wild and possessive. Thrilling. It stole his breath and reason. After a few seconds of stunned disbelief, Oliver returned the assault, using tongue and teeth with a fervor to match Ben’s. He clutched at the man’s back as they tumbled onto the sofa. The heavy weight pressing Oliver down felt good, safe, not confining the way it did with the master and other men. And they lay face to face. It was sweetly intimate.

Of course, it meant that his straining cock pressed against Ben’s body. Oliver worried for a second that was a bad thing before he realized Ben’s hand fumbled with his zipper. When fingers curled around his erection, Oliver gasped against the mouth still sliding across his own. The clasp was strong and commanding, a claiming of the flesh, but without pain. It resembled nothing like the quick hand jobs he’d occasionally been able to give himself before coming to this house, nor did it remind him of the clumsy, fervent efforts of other slave boys in the training center. The way in which Ben’s fingers stroked his cock with a sure and purposeful rhythm reminded Oliver of how he had been taught to pleasure a master. It was as if Ben strived to please him by building his climax because Oliver’s pleasure really mattered.

The beer and blow job had pumped him sufficiently, so it didn’t take much effort to make him come. Gasping and writhing, he flew through the first orgasm he’d had in months. His body arched up against Ben’s and he cried out against the lips still covering his own. Ben held him tight, riding the wave with him, his tongue still lunging down Oliver’s throat. As soon as the pulsing stopped, however, the haze of passion started to lift. Oliver’s brain kicked back into thinking mode and worried over his mistake. He wasn’t supposed to come without permission. Maybe he’d get that beating after all. Still worth it.

Then Ben chuckled against his lips.

“Enjoyed that, did you?” he asked in a teasing tone.

Oliver dared to open his eyes a bit and stared at the darker ones only inches from him. Passion still lurked there. He offered up a grin. “Yes, sir.”

Ben’s lips pursed in a frown. “Ben. Here and now given what we just did, it’s Ben.”

“Ben.” He said the name in barely a whisper, reverently, with all the love in his heart.

To his surprise, Ben kissed him again, gently this time, his tongue taking a leisurely stroll through Oliver’s mouth. When Ben broke the contact, he still didn’t sit up. Instead he rested his head in the crook of Oliver’s neck, and he didn’t pull his hand away from Oliver’s softening cock, either. He merely clasped it loosely. His warm breath tickled Oliver’s skin. A minute or so ticked by with Ben lying on top. Oliver had the passing thought Ben might have fallen asleep. Then the man spoke.

“You are the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen,” Ben said in a low voice. “Please tell me you liked it, that I didn’t make you do something you didn’t want.”

Oliver grinned inwardly at the question. Seriously, how could Ben even think he hadn’t enjoyed himself? He dared to reach up and stroke the back of Ben’s head as he answered. “This has been the best night of my life.”

Ben lifted his head and frowned down at him. “That can’t be. Please tell me this hasn’t been the best night of your entire life?”

The poor man looked so stricken at the idea Oliver immediately wanted to ease his concern. “The best night of my adult life,” he amended because hey, there had been fun times as a child with his mother and sister. Only he hadn’t loved them the same way he now knew he loved Ben. This love was more intense, although just as futile. It wouldn’t amount to anything. Still, he wanted to assure Ben what they’d shared that evening was special to him even though he didn’t understand why the young master would worry about Oliver’s happiness.

Ben’s lips curled up in a small smile. “Okay, I can accept that and I’m glad.” He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on Oliver’s forehead before pushing away. He stood and stretched his arms high above his head, groaning loudly as he did.

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