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Category: Erotica/Gay-Lesbian Erotica
Description: It's been years since Master Ophir was Hector's boy, but he's never stopped loving his old Master. Chris used to be a student at the University where Ophir teaches, but since his parents threw him out of their house and stopped paying his tuition, he can only pretend to belong. When Ophir finds out that Chris has lost everything, he offers the boy a place to stay for the weekend. After only three days together, they both know that Chris belongs in Ophir's harem of slave boys, but first Ophir has to convince the boy to trust him, and convince himself it's time to move on from Hector.
eBook Publisher: Torquere Press/Single Shot, 2009 http://www.torquerepress.com
eBookwise Release Date: October 2009

34 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [79 KB]
Words: 17192
Reading time: 49-68 min.

Ophir patted his suit pockets. No, it wasn't there. A small frown that would have brought his slaves running didn't have the same effect on the small, red leather-bound book he sought.

Compared to the milk and beef-fed Americans he taught at the University, Ophir seemed slightly built, but his gray wool suit hid honed muscles. In his homeland, he was registered as a lethal weapon thanks to the martial arts he learned in the military. Even without knowing that bit of personal trivia, people were often intimidated by his intense, quiet presence. A precise black mustache and beard framed the frown on his full, brown lips. Thick brows furrowed over his dark eyes. Nearing forty, he had yet to find gray in his short-cropped hair.

He glanced around his English department office. What should have been an invisible division between his territory in the cramped room and his office mate's was quite apparent. The teetering stacks of files and dirty coffee cups most certainly weren't his.

Except for his computer monitor, nothing was on Ophir's desk, so he hadn't absent-mindedly set the book down when he came into the office. The space the book usually occupied on the shelves behind his desk was empty. His frown deepened as he placed his worn brown leather briefcase on top of his desk. He couldn't remember placing the book into the satchel after his poetry class, but he might have.

Lately, matters at home had been distracting him at work. That irritated him almost more than the missing book. Another boy lost. Well, not so much lost as given up as a mistake. He warned new slaves how life under his roof would be, but somehow, they insisted on trying to live out their own fantasies anyway. That simply wouldn't do.

Ophir opened the two leather buckles on his briefcase. Papers to be graded were in folders, sorted by class. The markers he used on the white board were in their plastic sleeve. But the book wasn't there.

An unexpectedly sharp pang came with the realization that the book was probably lost. Certainly, he had other volumes of Yeats' poetry. That wasn't the point. When he held that slim volume, the leather warmed under his fingertips as if it were alive. The binding fell open to his favorite poems. Somehow, even though the words were the same in other copies of the book, they had so much more depth when read from those fragile pages. He never should have risked something that meant so much to him by toting it around campus, but until that moment, he hadn't realized how much he cherished it.

The last gift from my Master.

How long had it been since he'd flipped to the front page and read the words Hector had written in it? Years. He didn't need to see them, though. He remembered the inscription verbatim. He even remembered how he and Hector had tried so hard that last weekend to fall back in love even though they both knew it was over.

Another pang caught him under his ribs. Why was every memory of Hector as a lover bittersweet when their present friendship was so satisfying? Maybe because Hector had a new boy, Randy, and was head over heels in love, again.

Ophir shook his head, a wry smile replacing his frown. Was he jealous of Randy? Hardly. Well, maybe a little. The feeling of Hector's arms wrapped around him, and those lingering, passionate kisses were etched so deeply in Ophir's memory that he swore he could feel the brush of lips on the nape of his neck. He shivered even as his cock hardened.

A knock on his office door made Ophir flinch. His caramel skin darkened slightly over his angular cheekbones.

"Come in."

The office door opened slightly, then a bit more. Dark blond hair styled into stiff spikes appeared first, then a pale forehead, and finally, solemn eyes.

"Professor, er, Doctor, um..." A gangly boy slid into the office. He stared at his feet. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, but I saw this on the stairs, and..." The boy thrust out his hand. In it was a small, red leather bound book.