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The hand around Daniel’s cock disappeared, reappeared a moment later at his crack, cold and slick with lube. One finger circled lightly where the master’s tongue had been just moments before, and this time, Daniel was too relaxed, felt too good to tense up. This was nothing like what Mr. Foster had done, no rough forcing, only care. The fingertip slid easily inside him, and it felt almost no different from the tongue, just as strange but nearly as good. Daniel let out his held breath on a shuddery moan.

“Okay?” the master asked.

Daniel nodded, and the finger slid in a little farther, and then a little farther still, until it was in all the way.

“Still okay?” the master asked, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on Daniel’s back.

Daniel gave a hesitant nod. It was all a little odd, a bit unnervingly intrusive, but not at all uncomfortable, and the spark of pleasure was most assuredly still there, as if that ring of muscle and the flesh beyond it were nothing more than a bundle of nerve endings singing beneath the attention.

The master’s finger slid out ever so slightly, then back in again, out and in, and then paused, crooked, and pressed gently toward Daniel’s cock from the inside.

Daniel’s balls tightened, and the words “Ohmygod I’mgonna—” fell from his lips in a breathy rush.

“Not yet, you’re not.” The master withdrew his finger and placed a kiss on the tight ring of muscle, flexing of its own accord. “Come on.” He sat up, propped some pillows against the headboard, and patted them invitingly. “Roll over and sit up. I want to see your face when I bring you to the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.”

Daniel rushed into position, aroused to distraction and burning with curiosity for what other new sensations the master might wring from him. Plus, the part of him still quivering with fear rather than pleasure, the part that couldn’t shake the memory of what Mr. Foster and the supervisors and his mistress’s clients had done, felt safer face-to-face with the master, more secure, a little more in control. Even though he knew whatever control he had was only at the master’s pleasure.

He leaned against the pillows, and the master put another one under his hips, gently pushed his bent legs wide and his ankles back as far as they’d go. Daniel blushed again, the heat in his lower belly rising all the way to the roots of his hair. He felt so exposed this way, so vulnerable and open.

The master must have sensed his discomfort, for he dropped his hands to Daniel’s belly, massaged the tense muscles there until they relaxed. Daniel let his legs fall open a little wider, inviting the master’s probing finger back.

The master chuckled and re-slicked his fingers, then pushed one in slowly, brushing over the same spot inside he’d hit before.

“Jesus,” Daniel breathed, “what are you doing?”

The master smiled up at him and did it again. “You like that, eh?” Again, and Daniel moaned his reply, reached out to touch his aching cock but stopped himself when the master shook his head. “It’s your prostate, Daniel. You really didn’t know?”

“I must’ve—” Daniel gasped, eyes falling closed and fists curling into the sheets as the master rubbed harder on that magic spot. “I must’ve been absent from school the day they discussed the intricacies of gay sex.”

The master thwapped his leg and snorted. “Smart-ass.”

But Daniel was only half-kidding. NewWorld Media schooled all their slaves destined for skilled work, and a companion’s work was no doubt more skilled than most.

But then the master rubbed his prostate again and all thoughts of school—sexual or otherwise—ran right out of his head.

The master’s finger disappeared, and before Daniel could really begin to miss it, it came back with what he assumed was its neighbor. The stretch was just a touch uncomfortable, and he clenched down, gasping.

The master pulled out immediately. “Did I hurt you?” he asked, so pitiably worried that Daniel was loath to confirm the man’s fear.

“No. No, it’s fine, it was just . . . Just a little surprising, that’s all.”

The master’s slick hand slid from his ass to his cock and stroked him with agonizing slowness. “Because we can stop if you—”

“No,” Daniel breathed. “Really, it’s . . . Please. I want to feel—”

Strange, how hard it was to finish that sentence. Daniel’s mind flashed back to the basement of NewWorld, overcome with exhaustion and pain, repeating the words Mr. Foster had made him say. But the master was not Mr. Foster, and there was no pain now. Only pleasure.

“I want to feel you inside me,” he said. And realized, with wonder, that he actually kind of meant it for its own sake.

The master studied his face for several seconds before nodding once and sliding those two fingers back to his ass, massaging briefly before pressing them inside. There was still a burn, but there was pleasure too, and when those fingers found his prostate again, the one feeling quickly overwhelmed the other until he was left with nothing but the need to stroke himself, to come and come and come until his fucking ears leaked.

But the master wouldn’t let him touch his cock, and the sensation of teetering on the edge just kept going and going. He was vaguely aware of thrashing, moaning, begging beneath that touch, and when the master added a third finger and then a fourth shortly after, there was no pain at all, only delirious fullness and a freshly amplified sense of impending-but-not-quite orgasm.

“Please,” he heard himself saying. “Please, Master, I need . . . I need . . .” And God, he really did need, would’ve gone crazy if the man tried to stop now.

A hand touched his belly, his chest, cupped his cheek. “Open your eyes,” the master said, his voice full of that strange, squishy gentleness wrapped in the hard edges of hunger, and it was only then that Daniel remembered the master hadn’t come yet, had spent all this time paying attention to Daniel instead. “Look at me.”

Daniel didn’t recall closing his eyes, but clearly he had. He opened them to the master’s smiling face, his moist, parted lips, his brown eyes nearly black with desire.