Olivero's POV

I keep an apartment in the city, for the sake of convenience. Several times a year I spend a week or two there, and sometimes I lend it to friends or associates. I could have had Galbraith come here: there is room. But I do not want to appear over-eager to please him.

No, the hotel is good enough. I have made sure that the accommodations are lavish, but not ostentatious. I have seen to it that they are supplied with all the little amenities I think they might like, and I have sent my own boy, Manuel, to greet them.

I wonder if they realize that this is an honor I am showing them? It would have been simpler to send one of my grunts, instead of depriving myself of Manuel's company. Instead I send someone who means something to me personally.

I sit in my darkened living room, drinking brandy. He's taking his time, my Manuel. He left more than five hours ago for the airport. Or maybe it is not Manuel who is responsible for the delay in his return. Galbraith and Ballard have a certain... reputation. They like handsome young men, and my Manuel is very beautiful. Perhaps they have coaxed him into a bit of play?

The thought does not displease me. I told Manuel to give them anything they wanted. Anything. I like to share my boy, as long as it is at MY directive. He knows well enough not to make advances to anyone without my permission. I've never had to worry about that with him, not like some of my previous lovers. God rest their souls.

At last I hear his key in the lock. I do not look around as he enters, and I hear him pause near the door. I know what he is doing. He is studying me, trying to gauge my mood and decide what he will do and say, how he will act. That is one of the things I value in Manuel. He never ceases to think of how he may best please me.

I hear the muted clunks that tell me he has removed his shoes. It is a sign of subservience that he remains barefoot while under any roof I provide for him. There is the soft pad of his footsteps as he approaches, then he is kneeling near my feet. He is >mute, waiting to be acknowleged. "You took long enough." My tone is not quite accusatory.

"I am sorry, sir. They invited me to dinner, and I recalled your instructions to deny them nothing."

"You could have called."

His beautiful olive complexion pales slightly, but he does not protest. "Yes, sir. I should have. I did not think. I crave your pardon."

Normally such an infraction would earn at least a slap, but I relent. I am in a good mood. My plans seem to be progressing nicely, and I am feeling indulgent. "It's all right. This time."

He realizes he has escaped punishment, and his tense posture relaxes just a bit. He knows enough to be properly grateful. "Thank you, sir. Is there anything you want? Anything I can do for you?"

I pat the cushion beside me. Now that he has permission, he moves up to sit with me. "You can tell me about our two new friends." I tip the glass to his lips, and he sips obediently. He licks the last of the liquor from his lips and watches as I take another swallow, then set the glass aside on the side table."What do you think of them? What happened?"

He frowns slightly, his eyes intent. He takes this seriously, and he is marshaling his words. At last he says, "They are much as we expected. There was no great surprise. The photographs..." He shook his head, smiling now. "They do not do justice."

"Nice, eh?"

He nods. "Both of them, very attractive. I prefer Galbraith, but I think you will like Ballard more."

"Why is that?" I know why, but I like to hear him talk, especially about sex.

"His nature. Galbraith is the one with power. Ballard... he is not effeminate, you understand, but he is... softer."

Yes, Manuel, you know what I like. I have no use for the man/woman creatures. If I want a woman, I want a woman. If I want a man, I want a man.

"I will have to send someone for the car at the airport. As I thought, they did not accept the ride. More simple caution than actual suspicion, I think." I nod. Caution is a good thing: suspicion can be dangerous.

"Were they pleased with their rooms?"

He shrugged. "They did not complain. Galbraith thanked me. Ballard just examined everything, testing the bed. He seemed to take it all as only what he deserves."

I grunt, amused. "I hear his lover spoils him. Is he worth it, do you think?"

Manuel smiles slowly. "Yes, I think so."

I touch his leg. "Did you find out?"

He sighs. "Not this time, but perhaps another. They are both flirtatious, Daniel the most. I think he would be interested, if his keeper approves."

"An interesting possibility. You'd like to top him, Manuel?" I never allow him to top me; him, or anyone else. That happened a time or two when I was young, poor, and obscure. The ones who did it were careless of my pleasure, and my emotions. It spoiled the act for me. I will not do it again.

He answers me honestly, knowing I will not fault him for his desires, as long as he controls them and awaits my permission to act on them. "Yes. It is hard to look at him and not want to fuck him. But I want the other, too. I want them both."

"We shall see, my pet. Now, this talk of sex has awakened a certain part of me." I let my voice harden. "On your knees, slave."

He moves quickly, kneeling again near my feet. "How do you want me, Master?" Oh, he's a good slave.

"Your mouth. Slowly." I spread my legs, and Manuel moves forward to place himself between them. How many times have I seen him like this? Yet I never tire of the sight.

He strokes my thighs for a long moment, running his hands along the inside of my legs I am wearing thin, knit trousers, and I can feel his touch easily. His hands move up to cover my crotch, kneading gently. He feels, following the outline of my cock through the material. I am not wearing underwear. It was an unnecessary expense when I was a poor child, and I never got in the habit. I only wear it occasionally now, more for the erotic feel of fine linen or silk, and the added erotic fillip of having it removed. Not today, though. Today all that separates my flesh from his is that one, thin layer of cloth.

Manuel has made a study of what arouses me. He knows that I like it either fast and brutal, or slow and sensuous. He has gauged my present mood correctly, and his touch is light. He works, stroking and squeezing, as my prick firms. Soon it is stiff, lifting my fly in a straining arch. A small damp patch appears over the head, where pre-seminal fluid has begun to ooze from the slit. He leans forward and puts his mouth over the tiny spot, sucking and licking. I can feel the moist heat, and I sigh. "Open them, slave. I want your tongue on me."

He silently opens my pants, and I lift my ass to allow him to slide them down. He pulls them off and sets them aside while I remove my shirt. When I am sitting naked before him, he begins to reach for me, but I stop him. "Yours, now. But don't get up."

He strips while still on his knees. Much practice has made him graceful in this. I enjoy the slide of his muscles as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and reach out to caress one dark nipple. He stops, eyes half closing, a small smile ghosting across his lips. I pinch, and he winces, but heat flares in his eyes. "Did I give you permission to stop, slave?"

He opens his mouth, then hesitates. Looking down he says humbly, "May I speak?"

Good, good. "Yes. Speak if you will, unless I tell you to be silent."

"I am sorry, Master. May I resume?"

"Yes." The pants, then the underwear go. All are folded into a neat pile before he once again kneels before me. "Now, to your work, boy."

He moves up into the fork of my legs, his head dipping forward, and I feel the first velvet touch of his tongue on the very tip of my glans. He holds me at the base and begins the slow, soft torture I love so well. We can do this for a long time, Manuel and I. I have trained him to sense when I near completion, and to stop me if I have not indicated my readiness. A quick constriction at the base of my cock, just above the balls, halts the eruption of my sperm time and again. Part of the trick of being a durable lover is having a good partner. Manuel is excellent.

I watch his neat, dark head moving as he laps up and down the length of my shaft. I shift, and he pauses at the base to suck first one, then the other testicle, dabbing each firmly with his tongue. Then he rises again to suck just the head, and finally swallows me, slowly.

Halfway down he has to pause and take a moment to adjust, and I allow it. He is not being lazy or willful. I am generously endowed, and it is not easy for him to take my full length down his throat, but he never protests. In all things carnal, he is a willing participant.

Finally I am engulfed. I hold his head, gently tonight, and begin to fuck up into his mouth with short, easy strokes. "Touch yourself, but don't come. I want you to come when I fuck you."

He shifts, not really surprised that I want him both ways tonight, and reaches down to take hold of his own prick. Manuel has a pretty dick: not so big as some, but beautifully formed, and he knows how to use it. Now he strokes himself while I pump into his mouth.

His breathing is faster now, ruffling my pubic hair, and he makes tiny whines as I push in deeply. When I feel myself coming close to orgasm, I release his head. He does not pull back, but continues sucking, waiting for a signal from me as to what I want next."On your knees, over the table."

He pulls free and turns, arranging himself over the low, sturdy coffee table before me, presenting his small, perfect ass. I kneel behind him as he spreads his knees for me. Spreading his cheeks, I see that the butt plug is still in place. Manuel removes it only when he relieves himself, or when we fuck. I ease it out, noticing how it glistens. "Good. You used plenty of lubricant."

His arms are folded before him, and he rests his cheek on them. "It makes it slide so nicely when I move, Master."

I slap one firm buttock. "Slut."

He sighs. "Yes, Master."

I spread him again, and examine his opening. It is well stretched from the plug, and I will not need to prepare him any further. Manuel is always ready for me. But to be sure, I suddenly plunge three stiff fingers into his cavity. His back arches, and he hisses as I rake over his prostate. The tone of our session has just changed. He knows that it will be fast and strong now.

He knows what I want, and begs, "Fuck me, Master! Fuck me hard."

"How hard, bitch?"

He looks back at me, dark eyes glazed, mouth loose. "So hard that anyone who saw would think it were rape."

"It is impossible to rape you, whore. You always enjoy it." I slam into him, sheathing my cock in his rectum in one lunge. Manuel stiffens in a combination of pain and pleasure. Even loosened as he is, it is a shock, taking all of me so quickly. I relish the sharp cry that slides into a wanton, needy whimper as I begin to fuck him.

Manuel is still almost as tight as he was when I first took him three years ago. He was a cocky eighteen year old, who had the nerve to proposition me in the men's room of a club. It was obvious that he had slipped in: his clothing was far too shabby to have let him pass at the front door. He sucked me in a stall, then pushed me down on the toilet, dropped his ragged pants, and impaled himself on my cock, riding me to completion.

I took him home, and he has been with me ever since. He confessed that he had carefully chosen me as the man he would belong to, if I would have him. He had grown up on the streets, and knew the score. He knew exactly what he was getting into.

I have fucked him countless times since I acquired him, and it never grows dull. It's a shame he cannot bear children, otherwise he would have made a good enough wife. He is beautiful, intelligent, fiercely loyal, and can empty my balls like no one else I know.

At first, all he can do is hang on to the table as I ride him, buffeting his slender body. His erection, trapped under his belly, rubs against the smooth tabletop. Luckily, it is glass. Otherwise the fluid weeping from his rigid prick could leave streaks that would mar a wood finish.

But as I speed up, he finds my rhythm, and begins to thrust back at me. Our bodies meet with meaty smacks. Those, and our heavy breathing and grunts are the only sounds in the room. But as my strokes become shorter and harder, stabbing into him, he begins to whisper to me, obscenities and endearments, pleas and exclamations of pleasure.

Impatient for my release, I go still, buried deep inside him, holding his hips in a grip that will leave bruises, and command, "Work your ass, boy! Suck me with it."

He immediately bears down, and I feel the strong, talented muscles of his back passage ripple around me. He has practiced this, working on the plug or a vibrator for many minutes, strengthening his muscles to give me more pleasure. It is as if there is a fist inside him, gripping me firmly, squeezing and stroking. I come with a roar, spilling my seed into that tight grip.

When he feels the liquid pulse, he allows his own concentration to falter. I reach down and grab his balls, giving them a hard squeeze, and he comes with a choked gasp.

I pull out, leaving him to recover, collapsed across the table. I pick up the drink I had set aside and finish it, sitting on the sofa, watching Manuel as he slowly comes back to himself. Even in this dim light, I can see the shiny silver trail that my sperm makes, running down the inside of his thighs.

At last, with a groan, he pushes himself back firmly onto his knees. Turning, he moves between my thighs and begins to lick me clean. He had protested this once when we were first together, but only once. He's learned to keep himself cleaned out, if he doesn't like the taste of shit.

When he is done, I pull him onto my lap and sit, holding him in the dark. He rests his head on my shoulder. Anyone seeing us there would believe that we are simply lovers. I suppose it would never occur to them that occasionally a master will take his pet onto his lap to be caressed.