Release: Davlova: Book One by A.M. Sexton

voice thick with lust. He pulled again, and the boy made that near-euphoric sound again. “This is what I paid for. Neural manipulation and response conditioning. The more I hurt him, the more he screams for me to do it again.” He pulled one last time, so hard that the boy fell backward. He lay panting on the floor.
    “Please,” he whispered. “Master, please.”
    “‘Please’ what, slave?”
    A tear wound down the boy’s cheek, and he reached to touch his cock. He stopped short though, looking up at Donato through thick, soft lashes. “Anything,” the boy said. “Don’t stop now.”
    “I don’t intend to.”
    The boy ducked his head. A shudder shook his body. I couldn’t tell if it was relief because he really did want more, or desperation because he didn’t.
    I wished more than anything that I did know, because at least then I’d be able to decide if it was acceptable to be turned on or not.
    Donato prodded the boy with his toe. “Get up.” Then to me, “Get undressed.” I did, although I used the moment when I turned away to put my clothes on the chair to dry-swallow another il. When that was done, Donato said to us both, “Now undress me. And don’t rush it.”
    I knew what that meant. Pretend to enjoy it.
    The slave and I began to do our job, standing naked side-by-side, never looking at each other. His erection had gone down. Mine hadn’t. The fact that it was drug-induced didn’t make me any less ashamed.
    Donato pulled me to him and kissed me. His tongue pushed into my mouth, demanding entrance. Demanding obedience. I gave it. I opened up and let him establish his dominance over me. I pushed my erection against his leg, feigning arousal. That made him happy. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him harder, begging him with my body to focus on me. To leave the boy alone. But he didn’t. He let me go, and turned to the slave. He didn’t kiss him, but instead reached out and pinched the boy’s nipple. The slave’s reaction was instant. His legs seemed to give out. He held onto Donato to keep from falling, and he writhed as Donato mercilessly twisted and pulled that tender bud of flesh. The boy cried out over and over again, but it wasn’t from pain. Or if it was, it was only because the pain gave him pleasure. When Donato let him go, the boy stood panting with a hard cock.
    “Get on the bed,” Donato said to him. “You know what I want.”
    The boy didn’t look at either of us. He went to lay obediently on top of the fur cover.
    Donato paid no attention to me. He was focused on his slave. He went to the cabinet by the bed and pulled out a large jar of salve. He knelt on the ground between the slave’s knees.
    “Open up for me, little slave.”
    The boy put his heels on the side of the bed, spread wide apart, his knees in the air. I watched as Donato spread a generous layer of grease over his hand. He put the tips of his fingers against the boy’s rim. “Make me proud, slave.”
    With that, he pushed in. First his fingers, all four held together, then his thumb, cupped in his palm. He slowed when he got to his knuckles, but not much. He twisted his hand slowly back and forth as he pushed past the boy’s resistance, until he was in up to his wrist.
    The boy screamed, but not from pain. He bucked against Donato’s hand. He squirmed on the bed, and Donato froze there, his entire hand buried in the boy’s ass.
    “Do you like that, slave?”
    But the boy was beyond any kind of rehearsed answer. He panted, his eyes glassy with desire. “More,” he said. “More, more, more.”
    Donato turned his hand, and the boy threw his head back and cried, “Yes! Master, please! Master, yes! More, Master, please, Master, more, more, more!”
    And Donato gave him more. Another inch of his wrist disappeared. He twisted his arm the other way, and the boy began to sob. He shook and shuddered, but still he bucked against Donato’s hand. He panted out his pleas for more.
    More pleasure.
    More