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giving so much of himself to another man that made him feel vulnerable. And yet
that was part of the excitement. To give so freely, so willingly. To completely let go
of everything in the world and on his mind. To simply exist in the sensation and
relish the incredible rush of having his cock not just sucked but devoured.
Alonso looked down at Arbol, his lips around the base of his cock, throat
bulging. He grabbed the back of his head and pumped gently. He could come so
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quickly. But that wasn't how he wanted to come this time. He wanted to take Arbol
the way he had taken Tocino on the ship.
Alonso pulled out of Arbol's throat and, without a word, indicated for Arbol to
rise. He looked into Arbol's eyes. Their lips met, and their palms touched, fingers
entwining. He could taste something salty on Arbol's tongue as he suckled, and
knew it was his own clear juice. The flavor made him growl, and he licked at Arbol's
neck, wrapped an arm around him, and leaned over to suckle and chew on Arbol's
nipples until they were hard and firm.
Lower and lower he went, licking at Arbol's navel, until his cock was against
his face, insistent and hot.
Alonso had never seen another man hard until Tocino. Even then, though, he'd
had no desire to touch a man's privates, let alone put a cock in his mouth.
But there was something about Arbol and the way he made Alonso feel. Plus
his cock was stunning. Thick, almost round, uncut like his own, the head a bright
pink. The foreskin was loose and floppy while the rest of the shaft was a dark
brown, smooth, creamy, and rich.
“I've never sucked a man before,” Alonso muttered as he cupped Arbol's hefty
balls, feeling their weight. He marveled at the heat emanating from the throbbing
shaft.
“You don't have to,” Arbol managed.
“And that's exactly why I want to,” Alonso replied with a salacious grin. He
then closed his eyes and suckled gently at the head, teasing, then biting. Arbol
gasped and shuddered. His reaction pleased Alonso and spurred him on.
He worked slowly, eagerly, greedily attempting to take Arbol's shaft down his
throat but only managed to take a few inches before gagging. He tried repeatedly,
but Alonso was barely able to take little more than a third of the fat brown cock.
Alonso gave up after a while and spun Arbol around. There was something far
more to his liking that he wanted to taste. He buried his face in the cleft of Arbol's
ass. He inhaled deeply of the musky scent, and something fired in his brain. It was
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like tiny pinpoints of light, stars all shimmering at the same time. In that moment,
Alonso seemed to understand the hunger and greed with which Tocino had eaten
him.
Arbol felt Alonso's strong, firm grip on his thighs as he was turned around. He
moaned when Alonso's hot breath seared his flesh, then sucked his breath in
sharply when Alonso's thick, wet, probing tongue lapped at the puckered entrance.
Arbol bent over farther to allow Alonso's demanding tongue access. It lapped and
gently filled his hole with spit.
Arbol moaned louder as Alonso brushed his chin up and down the crack of his
ass. The stubble made Arbol tingle and his hole spasm. He dropped to his knees and
rested his upper body on his elbows, ass up in the air. He pushed back, groaning as
Alonso chewed at the rosebud, teasing him.
Alonso's tongue darted in and out playfully. He reached back and placed a
hand at the back of Alonso's head. He pulled him closer, trying to get him to go
deeper as the infernal itch of desire rose within him and swelled to the point where
he could no longer take it. He needed more. Something bigger, thicker, far more
satisfying than a tongue or a few fingers.
“Take me, Alonso!” Arbol whispered harshly, surprised at the depth of his own
desires. He felt as though he were on fire.
Alonso pulled his face away and replaced his tongue with the head of his cock.
Arbol prepared himself for the onslaught. No matter how much spit Alonso
produced and slicked his hole with, it could never be enough. Taking him would be
painful no matter what. But Arbol wanted Alonso inside him.
Alonso rubbed the head of his erection up and down Arbol's spasming hole.
The juice from his cock, flowing freely, lubricated Arbol's puckered entrance. He
remembered how delightful it had felt when he had been with Tocino.
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Using his experience, Alonso rubbed the small of Arbol's back in an attempt to
soothe him and help him relax.
“Push back when I enter,” Alonso mumbled, leaning into him.
But no matter how patient he wanted to be with Arbol, the very nearness of
him intoxicated Alonso. He grabbed Arbol by the hips and pushed. He felt Arbol's
sphincter yield, and a small, wet, spongy sound filled his ears.
Before him, Arbol grunted painfully.
Alonso pulled back a moment. Arbol was so tight, it felt as if his foreskin were
ripping. If it was painful for him, he could just imagine how Arbol might be feeling.
He pulled his cock completely out of Arbol's backside, and Arbol all but collapsed on
the ground.
Alonso spit down onto Arbol's hole, then buried his face in the deep cleft once
more. He reached between Arbol's slightly spread legs, lifted his ass a little, and felt
Arbol's soft cock. He groped and pulled down at it, slightly squeezing as though he
were milking a cow. Within seconds, Arbol was as hard as before. His own clear
juice slowly oozed.
Alonso pulled Arbol's cock back and suckled on the head, tasting his precum. It
was sweet and salty at the same time. He pulled Arbol's cock back even farther and
tried to bend it so the head touched his hole, but he was too hard for that. Alonso
rubbed the head of his would-be lover's cock against his palms. Arbol convulsed, and
he moaned uncontrollably.
Alonso rubbed the thick liquid oozing from Arbol's cock onto his own. He then
smeared some of it along Arbol's hole with his thumb and added his own spit to
further moisten his shaft.
After a moment, he pressed the head of his cock up against Arbol's hole again.
He pushed, and it popped in with an audible sucking. Both of them groaned.
Alonso grabbed Arbol by the hips and felt a greedy power overtake him. He
pushed and kept pushing, until he could go no farther. As if from a distance, he
could hear Arbol growling. He opened his eyes and saw him clawing at the dirt.
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Drunk with desire as he was, the image only fueled Alonso. Sweating
profusely, he barely managed a few thrusts before a familiar sensation gripped him.
“Ay, Dios mío! Arbol! I'm going to…” Alonso finished with a series of loud
grunts that echoed in the night. As he came, Alonso felt as if more than just cum
spilled from his balls. It was as if he had emptied a portion of his spirit into the
slave. Along with a part of his heart, his fears, his frustrations.
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Chapter Thirteen
At first he was confused. What was he doing sleeping outside? He was
accustomed to sleeping on a dirt floor, but to see greenery when he opened his eyes?
He quickly remembered as he felt the warmth of Alonso's body behind him,
along with the soreness from the repeated times his young master had taken him
throughout the long night.
But he couldn't dwell on that. The sky grew lighter, and he should have been
miles away by now.
Quietly, gently, Arbol pulled away from Alonso's sleeping body. He delicately
extricated himself from the weight of the heavy, possessive arm and leg pinning him
down.
Alonso stirred as Arbol gathered his clothes and put them back on. He held his
breath as Alonso muttered something he did not understand.
But then Alonso rolled over, and Arbol sighed with relief.
Arbol turned his back on Alonso and took a few steps before faltering.
Something in his chest ached and brought tears to his eyes even as a sense of dread
and sorrow filled him. He stopped and glanced over his shoulder at Alonso.
The sight of Alonso's naked backside, the curve of his spine, and the ass that
was so magnificently round filled Arbol with longing. He wanted to snuggle up
behind the virile young man just once more, but he knew that if he did so, he would
never leave. And yet knowing he shouldn't, knowing it would only delay him
further, Arbol found his feet leading him back to Alonso, where he dropped to one
knee, kissed the young master on the cheek, and held him fiercely.
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“Forgive me,” Arbol whispered, stood, then hurriedly ran before he could
change his mind. Already he missed the warmth of Alonso's body against his own
and the musky scent of his sleep. Briefly, he wondered what it would have been like
to fall asleep beside Alonso at night, to wake up with him without fear that he
would be missed anywhere but in his arms.
Arbol pushed the thought from his mind as he wiped the tears from his eyes
and pressed on.
* * *
Bernardo sat in the large puffy chair in his bedroom. Beyond his window, the
black sky grew gray, and a rooster confidently announced the rising of the sun. The
soft light allowed Bernardo to see his reflection in the mirror set into the doors of
his armoire. His hair was loose and tangled from his running his hands repeatedly
through it. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were dark circles under his eyes from
lack of sleep. He rubbed at his face, his jaw, and felt the scratchy stubble.
Strangely, he thought of Adelina.
It's a good thing she's not here, or she'd reprimand me for looking like this. I'm
a fright. Bernardo looked away from the mirror.
He found it odd how deeply one person could affect and influence another; but
then, after so many years, she didn't need to be physically present to be with him.
She lived in his very soul, it seemed, despite the lack of love in their marriage.
And that, more than anything, was perhaps the single best reason why he
knew he had to do what was best—and right—for everyone. But what? His son was
right of course. He hated to admit it. There had to be a way.
The memory of the dying black woman so many years ago—with the tiny black
baby clutched tightly to her chest—had played itself over and over again in
Bernardo's mind. Definitely one of the larger cruelties of life, he decided, was the
inability to forget.
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He thought he had done the right thing. Knew in his heart that if he had a
chance to do it again, both he and Adelina would still have taken the baby from the
dying woman's arms if only to keep him away from Raúl and a life of mostly endless
torture. And yet a simple act meant to do good now mocked him. Yet another
cruelty of life. Sometimes good deeds worked against him.
He hated himself for thinking the only solution to his problem was to sell Arbol
to Raúl. Yes, there was a certain sense of satisfaction in taking the man's money for
something that rightfully belonged to him. But at the same time he was revolted by
what Raúl might do to the young man. After all, hadn't he witnessed Raúl's
peculiarities firsthand?
And yet if he didn't sell Arbol to Raúl…
The very thought of his family in financial ruin, socially outcast as well—not to
mention lost to him—was unacceptable.
No. There simply was no other way.
Arbol must be sacrificed to save Bernardo's family.
And your own skin. The voice in his head spoke truth.
Bernardo pushed the voice aside with a quick sigh, firm and resolute—if
uncomfortable—with his decision. Suddenly weary and tired, Bernardo nodded, and
his eyelids drooped.
“God forgive me,” Bernardo muttered, “for my own son may not.” He tilted his
head. His eyes were gritty, and his tongue felt as if he had licked the brocade pants
he still wore from two days ago.
But the look of shock and disgust on Alonso's face when he'd learned Raúl was
a blood relative haunted Bernardo.
Sadly, Bernardo realized that no matter what the choices, he would lose
something. Sadder still was the fact that losing the elder of his twin sons would
hurt far fewer people. His best hope was that someday Alonso would forgive him.
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Perhaps when he's older. Bernardo wondered when he had gotten so old
himself. When was it exactly that life had run away from him?
Bernardo felt a huge wave of regret wash over him. He knew, finally, and
understood how his son must see him. Briefly, he wondered if that was how he had
looked when—at roughly Alonso's age—he'd discovered his father had lost nearly all
the family fortune on loose women, drinking, and gambling.
Across the room, the warm, comfortable bed beckoned as surely and
seductively as Raúl's arms had once done. He stood as if entranced. His body
creaked and complained as he stretched and rubbed his eyes.
Exhausted, Bernardo drifted even before his head touched the pillow. But even
as he found comfort, his body twitched and jerked, fraught with unwanted dreams.
* * *
Alonso moaned and stirred in the damp coolness of morning. He felt chilled
and wondered—even as he dreamed of Arbol's lips softly kissing his cheek, the
warmth of his body as Arbol embraced him—why he felt so suddenly overwhelmed
with an inexplicable sadness. Even though they were together now, his heart ached.
No harm would come to Arbol as long as Alonso was around. He had promised.
Alonso rolled over in his sleep, meaning to throw an arm and leg protectively
over Arbol's body. He opened his eyes. He was confused at first, what with all the
greenery before him, the sound of the river as it flowed lazily nearby, the loud crow
of the rooster.
He sat up with a start and looked around. Arbol was nowhere to be seen.
As he gathered his clothes and slipped them on, Alonso told himself nothing
was amiss. That Arbol had simply gone to the fields as he was supposed to. But in
his heart, Alonso knew differently. There had been an urgency about Arbol the
night before that was about more than just lust. Alonso knew that now in the light
of day.
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Fully dressed, Alonso slowly scanned the trees. He glanced up toward the
mountain range in the distance that separated them from the other side of the
island.
A heavy feeling filled Alonso's heart and settled on his chest. He struggled to
breathe suddenly, and the effort caught in his throat as his vision blurred.
With watery eyes, Alonso turned and made his way back to the house, praying
profoundly that no one had found Arbol.
But even as he climbed onto the porch and saw the frantic panic that lined the
overseer's face, as he watched him fighting with Dante, Alonso knew without a
doubt that the alarm would soon be raised. He could not let that happen. He would
have to stall Perez. Buy Arbol some time. It wasn't much, but it was the best he
could do.
“At least it's something,” he muttered.
Alonso swallowed back his fear, found a confidence he did not feel, and
approached.
“Hear, hear, señor Perez,” Alonso said, hoping he sounded more jovial than he
felt. “It's too beautiful a day to be in a panic. What's all this commotion?”
“I need to see don de Rodrigo immediately! This insolent piece of trash will not
let me in!”
“Señor Perez.” Alonso struggled to remain polite and swallowed back a sudden
mounting anger. “Por favor. I would appreciate it if you did not speak ill of our
slaves.”
Perez looked at him with disdain but stepped down.
“Now. What is the matter? Anything you need to bring to my father, you can
bring to me. What did you need to speak to him so urgently about?”
“With all due respect,” Perez enunciated in a biting tone. “I need don Bernardo
de Rodrigo.”
“Señor. Forgive me, but—” Dante interrupted.
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Alonso turned his attention toward Dante, aware Perez was bubbling just
inches away. At the same time he was pleasantly surprised by Dante, who—as if
emboldened by Alonso's presence—now squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and