Dorian immediately straddled him, knees over his shoulders, imprisoning Benedict's head. The whore's chest heaved with excitement. His hands reached up to grip Dorian's backside, massaging his buttocks through his clothes. Dorian wrenched open the fastenings on his trousers hurriedly. He brought his cock free from his drawers and forced it into Benedict's mouth.
Benedict gave a pleasing groan. He arched up, enveloping Dorian in a slick swirl of saliva, hot and wet and teasing. Dorian cursed. He bent over, holding on to the arm of the chaise longue while he eased himself farther into Benedict's mouth. He looked down, watching his whore's plump lips slide up and down his prick, leaving it gleaming. Christ, this was a feeling worth hanging for. He could do this every day for the rest of his life—just rock himself into this sweet boy's mouth and drift away on a sea of bliss.
But he pulled back before he felt the rush tighten his balls. Not yet.
He knelt back. "Turn over. I want to see what you're offering."
Benedict wriggled onto all fours, presenting plump, undulating buttocks and Dorian bit his lip with desire. He spanked Benedict on one cheek, little more than a love-tap really and heard his companion draw in his breath. Benedict swayed back wantonly, spine arched, head dipped. Just asking for it.
Dorian slapped him again and listened to the shocked intake of breath.
"That hurt."
"Your cock is still hard, sir."
Benedict's bum cheek flamed. "That's because your pego in my mouth excites me."
Dorian spanked the other cheek and Benedict hissed. "Would you like my pego elsewhere?"
"Yes. In my bottom."
Dorian grasped both peachy, heated cheeks in his hands and spread Benedict apart, liking what he saw. He bent, pressed his tongue flat against the area of skin between Benedict's tight little sac and his rosebud.
Benedict squirmed. "Oh, sir."
"You like to be pleased this way?"
"Yes. I like a tongue wetting me all up and loosening me."
"So you're a true mandrake then and not just fucking men for the money?" Dorian asked curiously.
Benedict glanced over his shoulder. "I like men and men alone, sir. Nothing pleases me more than a hot prick up my arse."
Dorian smiled to himself. He sucked the dangling balls one by one into his mouth then grasped Benedict's heavy hanging cock and pulled it backwards between his legs. He sucked on the rosy head, tasting the first drops of Benedict's essence.
Benedict bucked and gasped. He almost jerked from the chaise longue when Dorian circled his entrance before stabbing with the tip of his tongue, working Benedict open.
The Mary-Ann clawed at the arm of the chaise longue. He pressed his buttocks longingly backwards, begging for more with breathy moans. Just what Dorian wanted. A mandrake—a man who liked to be loved by another man. A man free of guilt and shame and eager to please. Unlike Richard, who saw Dorian and his tastes as a source of corruption.
He sat back a moment, distressed by memories. He shouldn't be doing this. Oh God, he shouldn't.
Benedict looked back over his shoulder. "What's wrong?"
Dorian stood and paced a moment.
Benedict sat up and drew his knees up to his chest, shivering slightly, regarding Dorian warily. "Dorian?"
Dorian glanced at him. "You're cold. I'll ask Willis to light a fire."
"No. Warm me up yourself." Benedict held out his arms.
A rush of need stiffened Dorian again. He threw his frockcoat onto a nearby chair followed by his waistcoat, cravat and shirt. His pocket watch bounced noisily onto the floor, possibly broken, but he ignored it. In a bureau in the corner he reached for a dark glass bottle containing oil to help him with his endeavours.
When he came back to the chaise longue, Benedict was laying full length, a hand around his straining prick, stroking his shaft with delicate, loving fingers. Dorian watched a moment with greedy eyes and thought about asking the whore to take himself all the way to climax.
That could come later. Dorian wanted to be responsible for Benedict's first orgasm.
He shed the rest of his clothes quickly, leaving them in an untidy heap on the chair. Then he climbed onto the chaise longue and stretched out full length on Benedict, between his thighs.
Hardness pressed against his own; cool, satiny skin on his. Dorian hadn't intended to kiss Benedict. He wasn't sure the prostitute would be amenable to it but suddenly, they were mouth to mouth, inches apart, Benedict staring up at him with those impossibly green eyes, his breath quickening with anticipation.
Dorian let out a soft groan. He slid a hand beneath Benedict's head, held it possessively as their lips met.
Benedict craned up with a whimper, melding his mouth to Dorian's so perfectly it was like they had done this a million times before. Like Benedict's mouth had been made to fit his own. Shock flowed so swiftly through Dorian's veins that he was afraid to move. Afraid of the feelings coursing through him. Something more than lust and need for satisfaction. A kiss always did this to him. He remembered the men he had kissed more than the men he had lain with.
Then he pressed down on Benedict's eager lips and drank in his breath, the moist inside of his mouth, his tongue. They ground against each other, limbs entwined, working themselves into a frenzy.
Benedict was so appreciative beneath him. He gasped and panted, hands clutching at Dorian's back, pelvis rocking into his. Their cocks slid together, both slick with fluid, hot and throbbing and desperate.
Dorian tore himself away with a gasp. He knelt back, reaching for the oil, hurrying to slick his aching prick. Benedict lay there watching, knees up and open, his cock heavy against his belly. Dorian reached forward. His oiled fingers found the damp little entrance and lubricated it with teasing strokes, using one finger to penetrate.
Benedict shifted, pupils large, nearly overwhelming the green iris. Dorian withdrew his finger. He gripped his shaft and shuffled closer. When Benedict tried to turn over, Dorian stayed him with a hand on his hip.
"No. Like this."
He wanted to see Benedict's face.
Benedict lay back. He lifted his legs as Dorian knelt between them, wrapped them around Dorian's hips. Dorian sought his warmth. He rubbed his cockhead over the slick entrance a few times before he pushed forward.
Benedict grabbed at his shoulders with surprising strength. He pulled Dorian down onto him as Dorian sheathed himself inside and they kissed again.
Dorian rocked into him, listening to Benedict's soft groans, smothering them with his lips. Neither of them were going to last, that much was obvious. Dorian balanced on the edge of climax, while Benedict trembled and writhed under him like a man possessed.
He sat back, dragging Benedict with him, so his lover manoeuvred his limbs, straddling Dorian.
Dorian sat with his back against the arm of the chaise longue, Benedict on his lap, arms around Dorian's neck, deeply impaled.
Benedict moaned. Their chests were pressed damply together, Benedict's cock trapped between their bodies. Dorian's hands cupped his perfect little bottom and thrust up and Benedict's head fell back. Dorian mouthed his neck, biting a little, leaving marks just below where Benedict's stiff collar would sit.
He didn't consider that Benedict's prospective lovers might be put off by the mark of another man on him. Tonight Benedict belonged to him and him alone. As Benedict shuddered in his arms, Dorian could make believe Benedict would be his forever after this.
Benedict rode him. His breathy moans got louder, more ecstatic. He quivered and shook. He sought Dorian's mouth again and Dorian kissed him hard. His hand found Benedict's cock and it felt huge and solid. He frigged it between their bellies and the way Benedict strained into his hand, so hard and hot, excited him to no end.
Benedict started to cry out. He bounced wildly, hands gripping Dorian's shoulders and the noise he made was like nothing Dorian had ever heard before. He didn't try to silence Benedict. All that noise was for Dorian and he drank it in like the kisses from Benedict's lips.
"Oh God, oh God."
Men always cried to God when Dorian fucked them, but none had ever seemed to lose complete control the way Benedict did. Dorian held onto him firmly as the orgasm tore through his lover's body, sending Benedict by turns rigid and shaking, then limp. Hot juice spurted upwards, over Dorian's chest and Dorian continued to pump him until Benedict had lost every last drop.
Dorian let himself come. Benedict was still riding him with soft gasps, his prick still hard and sticky between their bodies and Dorian spurted endlessly into his warmth, feeling his spunk trickle out, down his own shaft and onto his balls.
He shifted beneath Benedict, gripping his buttocks, spreading them so even more of his own spendings dribbled forth, soaking him.
Benedict breathed heavily, his face against Dorian's neck. He whimpered a little as Dorian continued to thrust lightly up, emptying Benedict of more and more of his seed.
After a few minutes, Benedict drew away. He eased himself free and climbed off the chaise longue. Dorian sat there watching. In the dim gaslight, Benedict's inner thighs shone as he walked away.
Dorian got up and followed. As Benedict reached for his underwear, Dorian caught him lightly by the wrist. He pulled him across the room, to the table, where he pushed him down face first.
Benedict gasped in shock and fought in a half-hearted way that excited Dorian. He pushed the whore's legs apart, looked at the trails on his thighs, the wetness gleaming on his balls. Dorian bent down. He licked Benedict's inner thigh lightly, going as far as the crease in his groin, tasting himself.
Benedict caught his breath. He balanced himself on shaking arms, looking over his shoulder.
Dorian spread his buttocks apart and looked at the creamy essence leaking from his lover. Benedict whimpered. A trickle of fluid tracked down his leg, beyond his knee.
"I need to bathe," Benedict mumbled. He sounded embarrassed.
"I need you like this," Dorian replied. "Full of me." He sucked at Benedict's sac and then he tongued the gay boy's most private place, making him shiver and shake.
"Don't."
"Why not?"
Benedict didn't say anything else. Dorian slid two fingers into his moist heat. As he fucked his lover with them, more of his spendings spilled free and Dorian grew hard again.
He leaned over Benedict's back, pressing his lips to his spine. "I want to fuck you until my juices pour from you."
Benedict spread his legs further in lewd invitation. He reached under himself, pulling his cock down between his legs so Dorian could watch him stroke the swollen head.
With a groan, he buried himself deep into Benedict again.
The table rocked as Dorian fucked him and Benedict groaned and cried out and pulled at his own cock until Dorian came once more in a hurricane.
He drew free, leaving the whore still hard and unsatisfied. He sank onto a chair to rest a moment, eyeing the peachy backside still spread open on the table before him.
Dorian made Benedict walk up the stairs before him naked so he could watch the fluid running down his legs. Benedict cast an erotic shadow on the pale walls with a huge erection sticking out before him. Dorian liked that he had left the man still needy.
He spanked Benedict's arse lightly as he followed him and Benedict swore and climbed as fast as he could with his limp. Dorian couldn't help but notice the misshapen left leg, the odd kneecap.
In Dorian's chamber, the fire roared and candles on the bedside table illuminated the elegant four-poster. On a table in the corner stood a decanter of brandy with two glasses. Shit, Willis knew he had smuggled in a gentleman visitor all right.
He took one of the tiny chocolates off the plate and fed it to Benedict. Benedict chewed and smacked his lips and Dorian popped another into his mouth, watching his lover swallow.
"Get on the bed," he said.
Benedict did as he was told, climbing onto the lush, burgundy velvet covers. He knelt up, knees apart, his cock rigid against his belly. His golden hair shone blindingly in the candlelight. He eyed Dorian as he knelt in front of him on the bed. Then he took hold of Benedict's hand and wrapped it around the prostitute's own shaft. "Frig yourself," he said. "Let me watch you pleasure yourself until your lovely prick spends everywhere."
Benedict's chest heaved in excitement. He stroked his cock, eyes fixed on Dorian's. As his hand moved faster, he lifted his pelvis, bucking his hips into his greedy touch. His mouth hung slack and panting.
Dorian leaned closer. He fondled Benedict's sac. He looked at the drops of fluid that dripped onto the bed covers. He touched with two fingers, probing Benedict's wet hole before he impaled him.
Benedict cried out. His head fell back and his hand moved like lightning on his straining shaft as Dorian fucked him.
"Come on," Dorian ordered him, eyes trailing the length of Benedict's lean, shuddering body to rest on the thick cock being frigged between his fingers. "Let me see it."
Benedict obeyed. His hips jerked frantically as he creamed his hand, spurting over his chest. With a gasp he collapsed backwards onto the bed, lying motionless.
Dorian withdrew his fingers. He leaned over his lover with his heart pounding hard with excitement. "That was wonderful, Benedict. You're a true exhibitionist."
Benedict regarded him from under heavy lids. He still clutched at his sinking cock. Dorian bent his head. He licked lightly at Benedict's fingers, tasting him. Benedict's hand fell away with a groan and Dorian dipped his tongue into the puddle on Benedict's chest.
"You taste good, boy."
"Stop calling me boy," Benedict snapped. "I proved I'm not a boy."
Dorian sat on his heels and regarded him. "How old are you then?"
"Twenty-four."
Dorian snorted, deliberately goading. "Nearly over the hill for a gay boy."
Benedict glared. He sat up. "How old are you, old man?"
"Thirty-five."
"Positively ancient," Benedict sneered. "Why don't you tell me now why you're alone on Christmas Eve?"