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his cock at half mast, the hair at his groin cropped neatly. Dorian placed a palm in the middle of his chest. He marched Benedict backwards until the gay boy gasped and sprawled full length on a chaise longue.
    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