There are the 6th and 7th chapters of The Kazakh's Story, a novel about slavery and gay sex in modern times.
Key words: authority, control, loyalty, slavery, punishment, re-training, and submission.
This story is entirely a work of fiction and all rights to it and its characters are copyright, and private to and reserved by the author. No reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is permitted.
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The Kazakh's Story by Gerry Taylor
Chapter 6 -- A first night
There are days you remember and days that you don't. I will always remember my first night in my Master's bed. We had gone to his room together, at least for me to undress him. Again, all his clothes of the day in a pile on the floor. I will learn in time where the laundry basket is.
That first night, I was well washed but nothing more. While my Master had worked on his papers, I had sprinted into my shower- did you hear that - my shower! - and cleaned myself up. There was one of those things beside the toilet for cleaning up your hole, but I did not dare use it on short notice. I would need to try it out when I had the time.
But when my Master was finished with his phone calls and papers, I followed him to his bedroom. When naked, he stopped me from coming into the bathroom. I think he preferred to piss and shit on his own. When he came out, I could smell mint of some sort. He had washed his teeth! I had not!
Yuriy, you are a fool to hurry such things. You must remember that you are here to please the Master, not just your own whims. When had I last washed my teeth? Three days ago, I think. Will the Master notice? He noticed all right.
The Master was limited on that first night to what he could do or wanted to do, with only one good arm, but it was an experience I shall never, ever forget. He walked in from the bathroom and climbed up on the bed. I was standing there at rest at the end of the bed. He patted the side of the bed beside him with his left hand. How many times had I done that to my military cot when a trembling city or farm boy conscript was standing there for my pleasure. Here the roles were reversed.
I got up on the bed beside him and with two finger of his left hand, he pushed me back down on the soft cover and the pillows which were under my head. He wanted my arms over my head and my legs slightly apart. My heart was pounding and my eyes never left his face as I tried to guess and second-guess his moves and what was required of me. I found that the Master could balance on the elbow of his right arm but could not use the wrist or hand of the arm itself, but his left arm was now over my body just touching and feeling the warmth emanating from me. I always seem to give off a lot of heat. At least, that is what the lads and Sergeiy have always said.
The Master's tongue is now touching my biceps and working up toward my elbow, his left hand just gently massaging a nipple. Suddenly I give a jump as the Master's tongue touches some spot in the crook of my elbow. The Master smiles and says `One'. At least, that is what I thought he said.
His tongue has come down my biceps where you can see every single vein to perfection after my five kilometre swim and now it is dangerous close to my axilae. I am terribly ticklish and what will the Master do if I jump up? But no, he feels the tension building up in me, and instead of licking my armpits, he is gently biting them not with his teeth but with his lips of all things. You can't bite with your lips, yet he is doing it.
Oh, by the honour of the regiment where has he touched in my armpit? I have felt a bolt of electrical something run thought my entire body and I groan at the pleasure of it. The Master smiles not three inches from my face, and says `Two'. He is counting!
I know the numbers in English. If he says, three, I will know for definite that he is counting, but what is he counting? My jumps?
His tongue is now working its way round the hair in my armpits, but for some reason it is not ticking me as it should. I should now be on the floor thrashing about trying to get away from the touch of anything...Oh by all the saints, what was that he touched in my armpit. Oh, please let him touch that spot again! I hear `three'. Yes, the Master is counting and it must be my jumps.
It is not fair to be talking about myself and just about myself when I am in fact my Master's slave and I should be worried and concerned about my Master's pleasure. But my Master was being just that on our first night together. He was in charge. He was in control. He was the authority in that bed. I was submissive to his touches and caresses, to his lips and to the fingers of his only good hand, his left one.
The Master laughed and laughed when he sucked my toes and I almost fell out of the bed I jumped so high, but then I learned that between each toe there lurked a secret place when touched properly with a sucking mouth, as like nothing on earth.
When the Master licked and sucked and rubbed some spot just below the sternum of my middle chest at the top of my belly so to speak, I did not jump but groaned in the agony of pleasure he was giving me.
He the Master was pleasuring the slave. The slave whose job in life is to please the Master, was being pleasured.
On that particular spot on my upper belly, I had NOT had jumped, I had merely groaned as wave after wave of pleasure ran through my middle body. And the rouble dropped! The Master was not counting my jumps, he was counting my erogenous zones.
He was at twenty five and still counting. How many zones does a man have? Will the night be long enough for the all to be touched and kissed and found and pleasured?
Is there a way of stopping time or clocks or the motions of the moon and tides, so that this wave after wave of pleasure can continue. And the Master does not appear to be tiring? He is like a person who is out shopping going up and down the aisles of those big food shops, touching this product, taking that product, all the time moving on.
I would be totally remiss were I not to say what happened when the Master said `thirty four'. My hands were grasping the bedrail at the top of the be for dear life. He had put some white cream on the middle finger of his left hand and had slide it up my chute.
This is supposed to hurt. I know when I did it to the conscripts there was a fair bit of shouting and crying out. But the Master's finger laved my chute with this white cream, and more white cream, and then a second finger went in with the first. It should have been hurting but it was not. I am twenty seven and have never been stretched back there. I really should have had an experience with a guy in my late teens but never got around to it -- having two girls on the fly at that time.
Then it happened. Somewhere inside me, deep inside me by my reckoning, though afterwards when we could speak of such matters, only about three to four inches in, the Master's finger made a direct hit on a spot and with a shout that must have rocked the room, my body literally left the bed. Had I not been holding on to the bedrail, I certainly would have fallen out.
By this stage, the Master had been touching and kissing and caressing my body for about an hour. It seemed with each minute to have been a lot more, but it could not have been.
His sensitisation of my body was such that when `34' was called out, he had hit my prostate with his middle finger and literally had sent me into orbit. For over thirty minutes, following first contact with the prostate, I whimper and begged for more, for less, for sexual release, to stop, to continue, to go harder, to go softer.
The Master was also gauging the reactions of my cock, which had there been balalaika music in the bedroom would have been conducting the orchestra.
It was erect. It was hard. It was rock hard. It was twisting to the right, to the centre, to the left. The pressure inside me was such on that such wonderful spot that I wanted time and space to contact to expand, to do anything it damned well pleased, as long as the pleasure did not stop.
But finally stop it did. I looked at the Master, a strange smile on his face. He closed his eyes and put his head to one side to indicate sleep. The Master was tired. He had pleasured me. I had done nothing for him. I was going to try and get up. His finger was still so warmly embedded up my chute that I never wanted it to come down again. But now the Master took my cock in his mouth and right on the spot which sends me over the top, just behind the glans...yes, Master...oh, just there Master...again, Master, just in that spot, Master...the Master sucked the most tender skin of my exposed cock head and with its hood stretched way back down my shaft, the Trans- Siberian bound for Vladivostok came roaring out of the Urals, and my loads shot into the Master's waiting throat.
I was physically shaking such was the force of my sexual release. I was quite sure that my legs would not have supported me on the floor had I tried to stand but I had to do something for the Master. I could not equal his skill, his prowess, his technique in bed. I had but one thing to offer my Master, which I never offered to any man alive.
I turned over on my belly and raised my hips high and spread my legs as wide as I could on the soft quilt, and I offered my anal virginity to the man who was now my one and only Master. He had licked me there. He has rimmed me there. He had fingered me there.
I wanted his manhood there, in my chute, there where no one other had ever been.
But it was not to be. It was not that the Master was not erect. He was rock hard, that I could see. Maybe he was tired. Maybe his wrist did not allow him to do what he wanted to do whenever he would break me in and would rode my virginity into past history.
But I felt, his two fingers on the upper arm, and I let myself half-fall, half-roll over. And with a circular motion of his fingers, the Master indicated it would be another time, another day.
The bed was a mess. I straightened out the clothes on it and turned down the quilt. The Master had gone into the bathroom and I heard him piss again. He came out and firmly point me to my bedroom. To MY bedroom.
My head touched the pillow, and it was morning.
I had slept the sleep of the battle fatigued soldier. My first thought was last night a dream, but I touched the spots which my Master had touched, some were still electric. When I touched my chute, I nearly came there and then and my erection was so hard that it was hurting. If slaves were allowed to wank themselves, I would have done it there and then. But such is a Master's privilege.
The Master. The Master! Where is he? What time is it? I rush to the door which adjoins our bedrooms, but the Master is still asleep. It is 04.35 according to the clock by his bed and first light. I get up on the bed very quietly and spoon him from behind. My arm embraces him and rests over his chest. He breathes deeply in his sleep and pushes back against my morning hard-on, and breathes in and out deeply in a restful sleep. He half-woke twice, realised it was me beside him, half- turned each time and gave me a kiss on the forehead, in fact more on the eyebrow and immediately fell back asleep.
I, Yuriy Obov, a slave, will watch over my master, Jonathan Martin, in the early morning light, and I ask myself, how can I server my Master better today?
The Master disappeared, to work I presume, on the second day of my being at his large home, much the same as the first day. I did my jobs. They were so easy. I did my five kilometres in the pool and this time really put my back into it as my drill sergeant used yell. I ended up panting and out of breath that end of my two hundred lengths. I would never be so out of breath after five kilometres of hill running. Is swimming a harder exercise? Or am I out of condition for continuous exercise? I must do better.
When it is 13.00 according to the Master's bedroom clock, I go to the kitchen and I say `good morning' to the Cook. I hope by being polite he will remember maybe to feed me.
He points at the clock and has me repeat after him `good afternoon'. I have to repeat it various times but he is not satisfied. He goes to the press and takes out my bag of biscuits and shows me the half one left over from yesterday and sighs deeply, shakes his head and puts it back in the bag. He is about to put the bag back in the press, when my stomach rumbles loudly at the mere thought of food, and Cook bursts out laughing.
He turns. The half biscuit is not in the bag at all, but in his hand. He must be a magician. He points to the floor and says good afternoon'. I sit saying good afternoon' in my best English and he gives me the half biscuit.
Cook does not eat much during the day. In fact, I do not see him eating really very much at all. Today he seems to be preparing more food than just for one. We peel and chop and clean. He is a happy little man. When all is ready, we go into the Master's eating area and yes, I am correct, we set, rather I set, places for two persons. He smiles at my progress or at my memory, I know not which.
I have not been given the large knife to put out. Cook hands me two identical strange looking long flat blunt knives. I look at them. Cook mimes that he is swimming. Ah, the Master is going to eat fish and he will use a different knife. How great it is to be rich and to have two knives one for eating meat and one for eating fish!
Cook brings me out to the outer courtyard and hands me a different type of brush to the one I have used for the leaves that morning. This is for the dust in the courtyard and I set about sweeping it all up. The Master must be having someone important to dinner for all this preparation.
Cook mimes that he is going to go to sleep for an hour. So when I am finished in the yard, I go back and have another swim, and this time I really try to go fast. I love the feel of the water on my naked body and particularly down between my legs. It makes me feel alive.
I turn up in the kitchen again at 15.00 to see what Cook is doing. Ah, he is starting to prepare a cup of tea for himself, but he has forgotten that he gave me a glass of water yesterday. He motions me to go and sit in the garden shade and when he comes out, he has his tea in one had and my glass of water in the other and a sprig of mint in it! I look in the glass and there is ice. I smell the water and there is lime in it. I am standing and I wait for him to sit down, then I say thank you'. He makes me repeat it putting the stress on the thank' and not on the `you'. Cook is a fine man and a good teacher. I sip my lime- water, close my eyes and I could be anywhere in the world!
Chapter 7 -- A good evening
When the Master returns at half past four, I am there to meet him, and this time I say clearly and without fear or stumbling, Good afternoon, Master' and he replies, Good afternoon, Yuriy.' My Master is such a civilised man that he talks politely to slaves. The driver call me over as there were three boxes to be taken out of the boot of the limousine. I take the largest one and the driver follows with the smaller two boxes.
The Master has already gone upstairs and we are to follow with the boxes, and go into his bedroom. But the boxes he tells the driver at not be left there but in my room.
I undress the Master or rather help him just drop his clothes in a pile on the floor. He takes a towel from the bathroom and wraps it around his waist and I have to follow him out and around and into the swimming pool area.
He drops the towel on a chair and jumps into the water, surfaces like a dog and shakes the water off his face and hair. I see that his arm is in a new type of plaster which the water is not harming. I am to get into the pool with him at the side and he goes to one end and waits for me to arrive. We are to have a race!
The Master starts off but the plaster on his arm makes his strokes very ungainly and off balance. I barely propel myself through the water using the frog stroke. Now the Master has turned over and is only propelling himself along with his feet and a one armed backstroke. I do the same and he laughs when he sees me doing it only with one arm.
When we get out, I carefully towel him down. The arm is still very painful because at one point he did something to it and I could see the pain register on his forehead.
Having gone back to the bedroom, the Master wanted to shave again, so I carefully wet and lathered his face with shaving cream.
It was definitely the good work out earlier on and the pleasant relaxing swim with the Master just now, but as soon as I smelt the shaving cream aroma, I knew I was in trouble. I started to get a hard-on to beat all hard-ons. You would think that I had not come in a week and that last night had been a dream. The Master accidentally compounded the matter when he stretched up his chin for me to shave his neck and he breathed out deeply. His breath smelt of strong mint. Now I was in real trouble. I could feel the hard-on beginning to hurt and it was not even within the confines of any clothes.
When we were finished the Master looked at me and could not but help seeing my predicament. He went over to the toilet bowl and took the metal attachment from the wall. His foot pressed a button on the floor and water started to come out the top of the attachment. He let the water run over the fingers of the hand of his sore arm and the water tinkled like piss into the toilet bowl.
With his head, he motioned me across and he had me bend over. The backs of my legs were against the toilet bowl and I was grasping my knees at the back. The Master was going to put that thing up my bum!
There was a slight push and it was in and then I felt the flow of warm water. It just filled me up and then some more. The pressure was building up inside me. Oh Master, don't make me hold on too long! I let a grunt, and the nozzle was out of me. The Master's fingers on my back pushed my bum onto the toilet bowl. I did not need a written invitation, I can tell you!
And then the Master did it again, for what I would say about for about fifteen seconds. I was poetry in motion sitting down on that bowl, that was me!
The Master then held up a tube of something which I did not recognise and gave it to me. I was to put some of the clear gel like substance on the Master's fingers which I did. It was not like the white cream he had last night. I think I got the message very quickly, the Master was going to put his fingers up my bum. Even the thought of anything going up the Volga makes me clench so tight back there, even though I had almost passed out with the pleasure of it last night!
But the Master brought me into the bedroom and had me kneel on the bed, with my ankles over the side and my backside up in the air like a baboon. He worked his middle finger in, pausing, inserting, touching, pausing, lubricating. I jerked when he touched my prostate, as I now know it to be, which is down and to the left in me. He did not touch it again. I was kneeling there in passive acquiescence to my Master.
The Master was now to take my virginity. He separated my legs as far as they would go, and put my two hands in the centre of my back. My face and left cheek were touching the bed clothes.
I did not resist my Master's entry which was preceded by the light touch of his wet cockhead on my flower bud centre. I could feel that the Master was very hard and erect. Holding my hands in the centre of my back in a sort of inverted handshake, the Master positioned himself, or rather his cock, and with one firm thrust he was sliding inside me.
They say that such penetrations hurt. His penetration of me did not. There was no pushing or shoving or groaning or grunting. The Master's hand grasped mine firmly and I moaned a little, but it was the moan of an unusual feeling of intrusion, not that of pain. He set up a gentle motion, never fully coming out, but letting the tightness of my anal passage and rectum beyond feel the fullness of his cock's six inch circumference and its seven and a half inch length.
The Master kept up this thrusting action for some minutes and then the something magic happened, the muscles of my chute just relaxed. Just relaxed like that. It was as if a switch was thrown which said don't be tight, don't be afraid, don't clench, and I and they did not.
The Master now directed all his thrusts down towards the left and soon I was ecstatic. He was hitting my prostate each time. His breathing became ragged at the same time as mine, but the Master had better control in holding his emission and I unleashed the pent- up semen in my balls in five or six gushes which I could see looking right under me splattering even the Master's thighs. My cries of pleasure I could not hold on to them and echoed around the room. I felt the Master's cock grow inside me and he shot various loads of his seed into to me.
The Master flipped me over with his good and waddled up my body with his knees on either side of my chest. I was perspiring like in the desert of the border foothills of Kazakhstan and my sweat was making body slick, though the room was not hot. The Master slipped his still dripping cock, wet with his own cum and my own tastes and the remnants of the gel like substance into my mouth. I sucked the Master clean as if I were licking the palm of his hand and not his most intimate and prized physiological possession. I was so happy at pleasing my Master that I let my tongue do an extra little dance under his frennulum.
Our sex was over. The Master had taken my anal virginity and I had loved it. I had loved him in me and his shooting of his seed up my tightness.
The Master reached across to the digital cloak and set the alarm. He spooned up with me behind him, and simply fell asleep. He would tell me afterwards when I could speak the language, that this was the `after-sex sleep of lovers'.
It was only five thirty and I did not sleep as I just held on to my Master and marvelled at the smoothness and paleness of his skin thought his tan. I memorised the curve of his neck and the shape of his ears, and then the alarm went and it was six o'clock.
The Master jumped up and literally ran into the shower. Before I could set it properly, the Master was under a hard cold spray and pulled me under it as well, as much to say, `if I have to do it, so do you.'
The Master was dressed carefully for dinner, and putting on his watch, indicated that I should leave him. I pointed to the boxes still unopened in my room, and he remembered. He told me to open the largest one, and I understood the meaning of his gesture if not the words.
It was a TV, no, it was a video monitor. The second box contained a VCR with a remote control and the third box, twenty videos and twenty books. He held up the first book and I saw the word ENGLISH. The Master had bought me videos to learn English, and a video and a VCR! No one ever had spent that amount of money on me. Not even the glorious army when I was made Captain and I received two fine new uniforms!
The Master handed me a white book of instructions in many languages set up the video and I saw that one of the languages was Russian. But I am Speznaz -- special forces - and have assembled Kalashnikovs blindfolded and even hanging upside down from a beam, I could have assembled that video and VCR by touch alone! I turned to say thank you to the Master but he was gone, so I assembled the monitor and the machine and left it ready for whenever I was supposed to use it.
I actually moved it five or six times to see the best angle of it. Would I sit on the floor when viewing it, or on the bed, or should I sit at all? The decisions that I would have to make in learning English for my Master!
There was nothing else to do, so I went across to the kitchen and as it was just seven, I was given my two biscuits. I noticed that Cook barely gave me a glance as he followed the bubblings of his pots and pans. I did notice that I got my water in a plastic cup and that the driver ran his hand through my closely cropped hair. He gave me a thumbs up sign and pointed to the courtyard. I think I was doing part of his former duties and he was pleased with how I did it.
I had nothing else to do until the Master called me so I went back to the pool area to do some of the Kazakh Air Force Academy exercises. If only I could remember them all, and I tried to visualise my old drill instructors and the sequence of exercises which they had put us through. Some of the exercises are little more than high stepping, but other can take your breath away. As I had time on my hands, I did double each exercise that would normally be done.
I was in the middle of a routine when the driver came in and clapped his hands indicating that I was to come with him quickly. I hear the word `Master' and that was enough. I was off at a trot after the driver.
The Master's guest had arrived and they were having drinks. I was still perspiring lightly from my exercises, though I heard the word `swim' and I realise that the Master was telling his guest I had been at the pool.
The Master indicated to me to go close to his guest and then to kneel down beside him. He said something else to me which I did not understand and he opened his mouth wide. I did likewise. The guest had leant forward and was looking in my mouth. He was a man in his fifties, I would say, and looked fit and professional with closely cut grey hair. He said, "Ah" and I spoke back to the international language of doctors with my own `Aaaah". He had produced a small brown stick and was now looking closely at my teeth, gave me a pat on the shoulder. I looked at the Master who indicated at me to get up and to leave.
I waited in the kitchens until the meal was over. Various plates had been brought in and served by both Cook and the driver. As the used items came, I put them into a washing machine for plates and glasses. This house has every type of gadget! Finally, the meal was over and the guest had departed, and I was called to the Master.
The Master was tired. I have said that he goes to bed early, I think, because he gets up early. But tonight, he was tired and I thought he merely wished to go to sleep. He got on his bed and lay back his beautiful body displaying his egg sized balls and a firm cock which had been so skilfully used earlier on that evening.
With his left hand, the Master signalled my room and then his bed, and then made that gesture with his head which meant that he did not know what I wanted. The Master was letting me choose where I slept that night! I bounced in one leap onto his bed.
That night the Master put me through my paces in bed. That night I yelled and gasped in ecstasy more than any other night and the Master have found that of all my spots, my choad is becoming a delight to lick and to tease.
He took me for the first time on my back and made me keep eye contact with him at all stages so that, I think, he could judge my reactions and his own success in performance. My muscular legs rested lightly on my shoulders, and me took him harder than the previous night He stayed hard for so long that I thought it impossible.
He flipped me over onto my knees and took me doggie style which allowed him some very hard penetrations. I thing that the Master likes me best when my legs are back over my head and my powerful buttock muscles cannot protect my arse hole.
But he smiles when my legs are splayed wide on my hands and knees and my pink asshole is being well and truly furrowed and ploughed. I find myself grunting a lot at the force of my insertions, but I have never made a complaint or effort to have the Master stop, which he does at his own time and pace.
That evening however, I looked the Master in the eyes and putting a hand on his chest, I pushed him back onto the bed, he has half twisted around me, but I then put my knees on either side of his hips. The Master's cock had not gone down. Sitting astride him, I reached back and took it in my hand and brought it to full erection, Then kneeling upright I brought my portal of delight down to the Master's cockhead and started to let the weight of my own body force it inside myself.
The flange went in. I felt a bead of sweat running down the side of my face, which must have been a study in concentration. Little by little, I lowered myself onto my girthed 16 centimetres of hard cock. The Master did not move a muscle. This was my true act of submission, of impaling on the altar of worship.
All of two long minutes later, the Master was fully inside me as a result of my own manoeuvrings. For the next fifteen minutes, I raised and lower himself on his manhood and I feasted of his virile strength, that is until I started to clench and relax my sphincter muscles. That sent the Master over the edge inside me.
When the Master was spent, I became inventive and massaged his body for over an hour using a combination of touch, frottage and light unscented oil I had found in the Master's bathroom. This is something that my Irina once done to me and which left me in love with her for life.
But as they say one favour deserves another. That night, I had not ejaculated at all despite over two hours of intensive love making, so the Master took my ever still erect cock in his mouth and working his tongue along my glorious flange and frennulum, within minutes I was clutching the bed clothes as I groaned in pre-ejaculation ecstasy.
When I shot it was like my previous eruption in the limousine, copious, pulse after pulse which a less experienced lover than my Master would have failed to cope with.
The Master also discovered another thing after I had come. The tip of my entire penis is extremely sensitive, so he took it again in his mouth and every fifteen seconds or so ran his tongue over and around it. I was half- sitting up in the bed, my back hard up against the top of the bed and the wall as if trying to escape through the brickwork, as the Master sucked away so sensitive was the cock-head.
When he raked his teeth lightly over my cockhead, it was as if I had been given an electric shock and I shuddered and erupted yet again.
That night I learned to be submissive to my Master's wishes, and when he made as if to suck my cock head again yet again, I shook my head so violently with a `No, Master. No, Master' that the Master had to laugh. I would not think that he have had the energy anyway.
Now the Master snuggled back and into the curve of my body. I daringly put my arm over his belly and then moved it down and lightly held his cock. He looked back over his shoulder at me, one eye closed and one eye open as if quizzing me, breathed deeply and was asleep, just like that!
I held the Master's organ warm in my hand until I too fell asleep. The Master moving woke me up and it was already morning!
That morning was very strange. When I had breakfast, I was given only half a single biscuit and a lot of water. I was told to go and swim. This I did. At least an hour later, my stomach rumbling its protests, the driver came looking for me. The Master wanted me. My stomach rumbled yet again when I went in. The smell of the cup of coffee at his elbow was sufficient to make it go on me yet again. The Master got up and said, "Come, Yuriy,' and he patted my stomach and said, `ok, ok' with a smile.
The Master led me out to the outer courtyard where there was a very large white lorry. The man who had been at dinner walked down out of the back of it. He was now dressed in green just like a surgeon in a hospital. What was the Master going to do to me? Or have that man do to me?
We walked round the back of the lorry, and my mouth must have dropped open. It was a dentist's surgery where everything looked as if it had just been unwrapped that very day, and in the middle of it, a large blue seat. The dentist pointed to the seat with his hand and I went and sat in it. I wanted to look at the Master, but he was behind the dentist. I just don't like dentists. I don't trust them.
The Master came to my side, and said `Ok, Yuriy? Ok?' and gave me a thumbs up sign. I nodded and gave him back a thumbs up sign, but I did not want to open my mouth under any circumstances.
The dentist came over to me and I cold feel the cool leather of the seat on my body. There was air-conditioning on in the lorry. Next minutes I heard Beethoven's Pastoral work played. I know Beethoven when I hear it. The dentist put a white mask over my nose and face and the dentist's surgery faded away.
I opened my eyes to find myself riding over the steppes in early spring. I knew it was spring because of the flowers. The horse underneath me was running fast and furious. Why was I riding him bollocks naked? The sun was up in the morning sky, I shaded my eyes to look at it, and when I looked down from its glare, who was in the saddle in front of me but my Sergeiy Ivanovich, and he turned and smiled and his laughter rang in my ears and out over the steppes.
But he was not just in the saddle in front of me, I was in him and up him, and as we rode mile after mile the pounding of the horse's hooves drove me harder and deeper into my beautiful Sergeiy's posterior.
Suddenly, there is another horse and rider coming down from the right, through the long grasses and soon we are racing along at a breakneck pace. I am alive and laughing at the sheer joy of the day and the race.
I look across at the other rider and see the smiling face of my Master, Jonathan Martin. How can it be? How can he be out on the steppes with me? I look away to see where we are going, and my Sergeiy Ivanovich is no longer in the saddle in front of me. I feel that I am now forward in the saddle, that someone is holding me tight, that I have been entered, not violated, but filled and warmed with every nerve ending crashing a symphony of ecstatic feelings. I look over my shoulder to see who is behind me and it my Master, Jonathan. But that is not possible, he should be on the other horse!
When I look at the rider of the other horse, it is now my Sergeiy Ivanovich, and he is smiling and laughing. I know it is he because he has his hand on his chest over his heart and his index and middle fingers are intertwined, Yuriy over Sergeiy, Sergeiy under Yuriy... and his horse veers away through the blue and pink flowers in the long grasses and soon he is lost from my sight.
To be continued ...