Cross Country, Part 1

Roger Beresford, the sharp-eyed art dealer, lounged in his velvet-lined study, surrounded by canvases that whispered of forgotten passions. His gaze fixed on Benjamin Bradley, the lithe young servant with sun-kissed skin and a boyish grin, who knelt before him, hands trembling as they unbuckled Roger's belt. 'That's it, darling,' Roger murmured, his voice a silken command, guiding Benjamin's mouth to his hardening cock. The youth's lips parted eagerly, tongue swirling with tentative hunger, drawing a low groan from Roger's throat. Jon Valentino entered then, his dark curls tousled, eyes gleaming with mischief. He stripped off his shirt, revealing a torso sculpted like a Renaissance statue, and joined them on the Persian rug. Roger reached out, fingers tangling in Jon's hair, pulling him close for a bruising kiss while Benjamin bobbed rhythmically, saliva glistening on Roger's shaft. 'Don't stop,' Roger growled against Jon's lips, his free hand sliding down to squeeze the bulge straining Jon's trousers. Andrew Bryant lingered by the door, the shy one with freckles dusting his cheeks, but Roger's beckoning finger drew him in. He knelt beside Benjamin, their shoulders brushing, and together they lavished attention on their master—Benjamin sucking deep, Andrew lapping at the base with soft, worshipful strokes. Jon shed his pants, his own arousal thick and ready, and straddled Roger's lap, grinding against him as Roger freed himself from Benjamin's mouth to claim Jon's ass in one slick, insistent thrust. The room filled with the symphony of gasps and slick sounds. Roger fucked Jon hard, hips snapping with the precision of a collector appraising a masterpiece, while Benjamin and Andrew took turns kissing up his chest, nipping at his nipples. Jon rode him like a storm, muscles clenching, until Roger flipped him onto all fours, pounding deeper. Benjamin positioned himself behind Roger, tentative fingers probing, then sliding in with Roger's nod, creating a chain of heated bodies. Andrew, not left wanting, straddled Jon's face, his cock disappearing into that wicked mouth as Jon moaned around it. Sweat slicked their skin; breaths mingled in ragged harmony. Roger orchestrated it all, his clever hands everywhere—stroking Andrew's thigh, pinching Benjamin's hip—until ecstasy crashed over them. He spilled inside Jon first, hot and claiming, triggering a cascade: Jon's release muffled against Andrew, Benjamin's pulse flooding Roger, and Andrew's final shudder painting Jon's chest. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, Roger's satisfied chuckle the only sound in the afterglow, his delicious young servants utterly spent.