Page 9 of Body Slave

Sleeping in his old bedroom and hanging around the house was weird. Ben felt out of place in a way he hadn’t before when he’d come home for school breaks and summer. Maybe the feeling came from not being a student anymore, or maybe from being home for the first time for an extended stay since his mother’s death. Or, it could be that the discussion he dreaded having with his father hung over his head, making him toss and turn. Yeah, that was a real possibility. He couldn’t believe he’d been home a full twenty-four hours without his father once bringing up the topic of Ben joining the family business.

Then, of course, there was the body slave. Oliver. Pretty, too pretty, with silky-looking blond hair almost to his shoulders and bright blue eyes. That rosebud mouth and slender body belonged on a girl, except if they had been on a girl, Ben wouldn’t have given them a second look. The boy’s maleness, all too evident with the caged cock swinging between his legs had caught his notice and given him one hell of a wet dream once he’d finally gotten to sleep.

Shit, his dick throbbed just thinking about the guy. And given that his father kept him hanging around naked all day, including at every meal, how could Ben stop thinking about him? The one solution Ben had come up with worked well enough to calm things down, except it involved remembering where the slave slept at night—with Ben’s father, in the same bed where his mother had slept. The ick factor ranked high, although his father had the right point about one thing; it was easier to accept his father tucking a boy in between the sheets as opposed to a girl.

Ben missed his mother and had no doubt his father did, too. It wasn’t that he begrudged his father the companionship or the sex. It was how he went about it that weighed heavily on Ben’s mind. He had always hated slavery, the pure unfairness of it all. Being in Europe and seeing how right society worked with everyone free made coming back to a world of slavery hard. Having a home filled with even more slavery, and the worst possible kind, sexual servitude, made him slightly sick.

So did the smell of cigars, he thought, trying to lighten his mood as he stepped into the game room. His father’s poker night with “the guys” was in full swing. Smoke and laughter and something else hung thick in the air. He wasn’t sure how to categorize the third thing until he saw Oliver crawl out from under the table the players sat around. As if he were a dog or something. He saw the boy swipe at the corner of his mouth with a look of disgust that was gone before Ben was even sure he’d seen it. The slave went to kneel beside his master, who petted him briefly on the head.

Yup, just like a dog.

“So how was it?” his father asked the guy sitting across from him.

“Kid gives good head,” the man said, taking a long cigar out of his mouth.

“Yeah, you weren’t exaggerating about that,” agreed a man Ben recognized as Vince McGill, one of his father’s more slimy friends, Ben had always thought. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll be ready for another round.”

His father chuckled. “So long as you keep losing, he can spend the whole evening with your dick in his mouth.” All of the other men, including Vince, laughed.

Christ, his father had passed Oliver around like some kind of living blow-up doll. Now, Ben really did feel sick, especially seeing how the guy just kneeled there with a blank expression as if he didn’t care what he’d been forced to do. How could he not? And with five guys yanking him around, he must be exhausted already. An idea struck him. Before he could rethink it, he sauntered over to his father, who’d raked in a large pot.

“Hey, Dad, how’s the game going?” He plastered a smile on his face. “Gentlemen, is my father cleaning you out?” The men returned the greeting and grumbled good-naturedly about how his father was a card shark. A couple, like Vince, who’d known him his whole life asked about his trip and how it felt to be out of college. He traded banter for a few minutes before turning to his father.

“So, ah, Dad, mind if I take Oliver for a few minutes?”

His father stopped shuffling the cards in his hand and raised his eyebrows. “You want Oliver to suck you off?”

With effort, Ben kept his smile in place and shrugged. “I find I can’t ignore the testimonials, so yeah, you know, if you don’t mind.” Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a flicker of emotion on the slave’s face, although which emotion he couldn’t be sure. Then it fled, if it had ever been there.

His father shrugged back and started dealing. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Thanks. I’ll just go into your den,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the connecting door.

When his father gave him an absent nod as consent, the others turned their attention to their cards. Ben flicked his gaze down to Oliver, but the slave already stood, his eyes cast downward. Ben figured if he walked away, the guy would follow him, so that’s what he did. Once they were both inside the den, he closed the door and proceeded over to the couch. He sat down heavily and let his legs splay open. Before he could think of something to say, Oliver plopped himself down on his knees right between Ben’s legs and reached for his belt.

Ben caught the slave’s wrists with his own hands and held him back. Startled, the boy looked up at him and for a second stared Ben right in the eye. Fear lurked in that look, clear as day, before he dropped his gaze again. Ah, shit, the last thing he’d meant to do was frighten the poor bastard.

“Sorry,” Ben said in a rush. “I didn’t meant to....”—scare the crap out of you—“Startle you, but I didn’t bring you in here for that.”

He let go of Oliver’s wrists and watched him slowly move his hands to hold them behind his back. There was a slight tremor running through the slave’s body and Ben felt even worse, so he hurried to explain. “I just thought you could use a break, that’s all. I used the whole blow job thing as a cover.” Shy blue eyes peeked out at him from under long, thick lashes. Ben smiled. “We’ll just stay here for a little while. No one has to know what we’re doing, or you know, what we’re not doing.”

The eyes went back to looking at a point on the floor. His “Thank you, Master,” was said in a hushed tone.

“Please, don’t call me that.”

“Sir,” the boy amended.

Ben blew out a breath. “I don’t like that much better. Call me Ben, at least when we’re alone.”

White teeth now worried a bit of lower lip. There was an almost audible swallow. “Thank you, sir, but if I do that, I’d be afraid of accidentally saying it in front of others. The master wouldn’t like that and I don’t want to be punished.”

Irritation, if not anger, rose in Ben. He knew just what the slave worried about. He’d seen the punishment room and knew that his father used it more often than Ben could imagine the slaves’ behavior warranted. Certainly a slave like Joe, so diligent and earnest, didn’t deserve a beating. And yet, hadn’t the man stiffened in obvious pain when Ben had given him a hug at the airport? So he didn’t push the name issue with Oliver.

“I understand,” he said. Then a thought struck him. He stood abruptly and when Oliver scooted out of his way, he walked over to the minibar. Sometimes it seemed like his father had one in every room in the house.

“Can I get you something, sir?” Oliver asked.

“No, thanks.” Ben opened up the small refrigerator and grabbed a cola. He popped the top and took a long swig on his way back to the couch. He sat down and held the can out to the slave. “Here, have some. I bet you’re thirsty.” And probably want to wash the taste of cum out of your mouth, he thought but didn’t say.

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