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Daniel couldn’t stop thinking about Armand’s past. He was rescued from a brothel when he was fifteen. So, I wasn’t so far off the mark when I called him a rent boy, he thought, giving a dry, humourless laugh. He had come across such stories before, of course, as a journalist. He thought of his own youth, the dicks he sucked in shady bars in order to score drugs. Armand’s life was similar to mine in some ways, only a thousand times worth.
He thought of the slavers abducting Armand. Perhaps they initially planned on selling him for labour. But then they take note of his exquisite beauty, and realize they’d get a lot more if they sell him to a brothel. ‘You’ll make such a pretty whore,’ one of them must have said as he traced his fingers on his face. Suddenly, in spite of himself, Daniel realized he was hard.
The realization made him uncomfortable. How could he be aroused at something so horrific? Daniel knew he was no saint–he thought of how Armand’s youth and position of subservience had turned him on when he was pretending to be Rashid. But this was something completely different. I should be horrified by this, Daniel thought. I should be horrified and disgusted at the thought of a much younger Armand being abused so terribly. Daniel imagined it, Armand in the brothel, stuck in a tiny room, with older, bigger men constantly entering to take pleasure from his beautiful, lithe body. The men grabbing his chest, his waist, his ass, as they eagerly thrust into him, letting out moans of pleasure. Armand learning to look at them seductively, to respond to their touch. Daniel pictured Armand after an especially long day, tired and sweating, streaks of cum coating that gorgeous face and lush hair. His lips swollen from the blowjobs he’s given. Yet, in spite of everything he looks seductive, and the wave of customers are slow to die down. He must have been an in-demand whore, Daniel thinks, palming his crotch.
What the fuck am I even doing.
This was wrong. Armand was underage back then. He was forced into it. A trafficking victim, a sex slave.
I wish he would be my sex slave.
Daniel hated himself for that thought, but he couldn’t deny that was what he felt. He thought of Marius–that wicked, perverted, lucky, bastard–who got to possess Armand for more than a decade. He unzipped his pants and freed his cock, slowly stroking it as he thought of Armand with Marius. He imagined Marius bathing and dressing the boy he called Amadeo, trying to be a good guardian to him, but finding the boy’s sensuality irresistible. Marius finally giving in to his desires and touching him. Unlike the men in the brothel, Marius must have actually cared about Amadeo’s pleasure. He might have made the boy moan, coaxing the most delicious noises out of him. Daniel began to stroke faster as those thoughts filled his head. He imagined he was thrusting into beautiful Amadeo. Perhaps he would have been one of Marius’s friends whom he donated him to. He envisioned it, Armand at twenty, heartbreakingly beautiful, being told that he has to service his master’s friend, Daniel.
He imagined the scenario in great detail. Maybe Marius would read his writings and decide to make his acquaintance. Maybe he would get to visit him and he would introduce him to his beautiful Amadeo. He would try to be respectful of his friend, and not let his eyes linger too long on this beautiful youth who was almost certainly his lover. But he wouldn’t be able to resist stealing glances whenever possible. And one day, Marius would make his dearest wish true, and send Amadeo to spend a night with him.
Daniel imagined the way Amadeo would look at him with his large, doe-like eyes. Eager to please his master’s friend, to take him to the heights of pleasure. He imagined his lips, soft and firm. His slender, beautiful fingers undoing his pants. Perhaps he’d feel a moment of guilt as he thought of how the beauty touching him was not doing so by choice, that he was Marius’s property. But it was hard to think of morality when he had Amadeo kneeling before him, his small sensuous mouth on his cock bringing him ecstasy. He imagined Armand then stripping, slowly, seductively. Bending over and letting himself be penetrated by Daniel. He imagined grabbing his sweet, tight ass as he thrust into him.
Daniel quickened his strokes, imagining it was sweet Amadeo he was thrusting into. Before he knew it, he came in his hands. He immediately felt ashamed.
How could I have sunk to this? He quickly cleaned himself, and walked out of the room, hoping to not run into Armand. I really hope he and Louis were not reading my mind.