Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: CHECKING OUT THE STOCK

Previously: The sea journey ends earlier than Alex had expected, in Somalia, and the captives are startled to be led off the boat naked, in front of a cheering crowd. The 44 captives are blindfolded, loaded into a van, and squeezed against each other like sardines in suffocating heat. Alex finds himself separated from Matti, but adjacent to Rhody, who hugs and fondles him, producing a vigorous erection, which embarrasses Alex. The captives work together to help Alabama through a severe panic attack, and, led by another Bottom, Ohio, find mutual comfort by singing together until, more than five hours after being imprisoned, they are released from the van and handcuffed.

There are eight intact virgins among the 44, to be divided between the Russians and the Royal Family. In past years, the Russians had had the first four picks, but the Family is now demanding the first, third, fifth, and seventh. The Russians are upset with this arrangement, worried about losing their coveted slaves, and afraid one of them will get stuck with South Carolina, whom they now realize would be a disastrous choice, having leaped overboard in an attempt to escape – or commit suicide.

ALEX: FRIDAY, JUNE 17, EVENING – MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

The word hit hard. The man named Abdul had referred to us as `slaves'.

It was not exactly a surprise. But still, hearing it confirmed like that was a blow to the solar plexus, removing any vestige of hope that, once off the ship, this nightmare would come to an end.

We seemed to be in some sort of a garage; the van had driven into it, and the floor felt like cement.

• (one of the Russians) Pull out virgins.

• (a maroon) Including the eunuchs?

• (another) If they haven't been fucked, they're still virgins.

A hand gripped my bicep and pulled me aside. I sensed others near me but felt no one's body next to mine. I made sure I made no noise.

• (the Russian) Take Bottoms inside.

The Bottoms – would I ever see them again? Alabama, Ohio, New Mexico, Kentucky, all the others I had met – their fate was likely worse than ours – unless ours was just as bad.

Minutes later, we were on the move ourselves. My escort let me stub my toe rather than tell me we were approaching steps into the building. Thanks, pal. My toe hurt like hell but I knew better than to cry out. I limped along as I passed through a door – concrete replaced by linoleum and then wood as I descended a set of stairs. Linoleum again, a few turns and a pause. Handcuffs released. Keys unlocking a door. Hands pushing me inside. Cement floor again, cold. Others shoved against me. Door slamming shut.

Then nothing.

Were we alone? With the blindfolds we couldn't tell.

• (a brave person) Can we talk?

Was that South Dakota? If so, then the new eunuchs were with us, including Del.

Silence. We were alone, twelve naked guys in a room.

We scoped out our `quarters' by feel. Maybe fifteen feet square. Cement block walls, no furniture, completely empty. If we were to sleep in here, it would be on cement floors. It was cold, unexpected given the stifling heat outside.

The door latch clicked and I stiffened like a soldier called to attention. I recognized the voice: Joey.

• You'll be processed in the morning. Might get chilly in here. I suggest keeping a warm body nearby. For your biological needs, I'm leaving some bottles of water and some sandwiches. And for your other biological needs, a couple of buckets.

DMITRI: SATURDAY, 18 JUNE, EARLY MORNING – MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

It was time to make our pitch to the Prince Regent, hoping to persuade him to allow us the first four picks as we'd always done in the past. By gelding four of our virgins, he'd deprived us of some top choices. We gathered for a breakfast meeting in his hotel suite; our own rooms lacked the splendor and opulence that a monarch required.

We shared the lavish spread with the Prince Regent, his three brothers, and Abdul. Two white slaves were serving food, one large, one small enough to be an LBM alumnus – which he was, although I couldn't place him. A pair of black legs, protruding from beneath the P.R.'s robe, belonged to a third slave.

Boris and Sergei insisted on presenting our case, probably dooming it. Boris can be prickly, and Sergei has rarely interfaced personally with the Royal Family. But they argued that my friendship with the P.R. would make me reluctant to confront him directly.

Moreover, they had a vested interest in persuading the Royal Family to reconsider their demands. Each had only one viable option among the eight remaining Tops. The only `exotic' left for Sergei was Nevada. For Boris, two Blacks remained – but only Illinois was acceptable after South Carolina's defiant leap into the sea. (The P.R., of course, didn't know about that little escapade.)

On the other hand, Yuri had two (Wyoming and Rhode Island) and I had the luxury of three (North Dakota, Wisconsin, and Minnesota). Boris and Sergei didn't trust us to press their case when we weren't the injured parties.

I had met the P.R.'s brothers before, though they had always left the negotiations to him. There was a clear hierarchy – Khalid, Mustafa, Rashid – presumably based on seniority, but to my casual eye all four brothers looked about the same age.

His Majesty didn't seem in the best of moods, but it was Khalid who was the most agitated.

• (Khalid) I do not understand why we are here. You agreed to the terms, you signed the document on Wednesday.

• (Boris) Under duress. You switched the terms on us. You caused us to undo an event that had been days in the planning. And it undercut our credibility with the product because we'd told them no more geldings. And then there were geldings.

• (P.R.) This has been explained. My brothers all have sons coming of age soon, and it is traditional to give them a virgin eunuch as their first slave. You had no virgin eunuchs, we had to make some.

• (Khalid) And what do you mean, your credibility with the product? They are slaves, what do you care?

• (Boris) The main thing is we've always chosen our boys first and then you get the other four.

• (Mustafa) Under that arrangement last year, we received inferior slaves.

Unfortunately, Mustafa was right. Last year the results of the games had allowed three of our lesser lights to advance to the final eight. After we selected the top four, the Family got the worst of the bargain – along with me, who mistakenly chose Jackson.

The argument continued on, Boris and Sergei arguing for the old arrangement while the P.R. held firm. His cock held firm, as well. Throughout the meeting, the Black slave worked on it with dedication, while the P.R. treated his ministrations with something approaching indifference. If you saw the P.R. on Zoom, you would have no idea that, below camera range, he was being blown.

Then the P.R. said, "One moment please," lifted his robe, and let us witness the moment he shot his load into the slave's mouth. The lad cleaned off his master's cock with his tongue and, with a snap of the P.R.'s fingers, retreated to the corner. I recognized him as a former Georgia.

The P.R.'s orgasm only seemed to annoy Boris even more: A few minutes later we had this exchange:

• (Khalid) The terms are not negotiable. We have the first, third, fifth and seventh pick. If you are not satisfied with that, perhaps you should not have allowed inferior products to have proceeded this far.

• (Sergei) We have games. We do not predetermine –

• (P.R.) Surely you could have rigged them to get the results you wanted.

• (Boris) We were doing exactly that until you forced your guillotine gimmick on us. Which you did not let us `rig'. Fate will decide, you said. The right four boys will lose their balls, you said. Only they didn't. My TOP CHOICE got the chop. Why? Because you wanted to play your own damn games. That was a breach of trust, and irresponsible. Irresponsible!

With that, Boris stalked angrily out of the room. Sergei, recognizing a lost cause when he saw one, quietly rose and joined him.

I was annoyed at them both. The Prince Regent was paying us a hell of a lot of money for half of our stock, and we couldn't afford to alienate him like this.

• (as obsequiously as possible without seeming too weak) I apologize for my colleagues, Your Majesty. Boris has a temper, and he was very upset after his favorite boy was gelded.

• (P.R.) Which boy is it? If it is all that special, I will give it to Ibrahim, Rashid's son.

• With all due respect, Your Majesty, you mean which one is HE? The boy is not yet a slave.

The Family thought of their slaves as property more than persons and, as such, not worthy of personal pronouns. I thought this went a bit too far in dehumanizing the boys, but I could only object on a technical basis – the boy had not yet acquired an owner.

• (Prince Regent, rolling his eyes) Very well, Dmitri. Which one is `he'?

• (Yuri) Mississippi, Your Majesty. Easy to recognize. He's the only Black eunuch among the virgins. Boris likes his boys Black. And Sergei likes Latinos – and only has one left now.

I threw a quick glance in Yuri's direction. Too much information, Yuri. Keep it to ourselves. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Khalid and Mustafa exchange looks. What was going on there?

With the agitators out of the room, the Prince Regent became more hospitable. He was comfortable with both Yuri and me and turned into a genial host. We offered us a hookah, which we declined, smoke in my lungs never being something I could abide.

• (P.R.) I'm sure this will work out to our mutual satisfaction. Even from my brief inspection the other night, I could tell that the quality of your merchandise is superior to anything I have seen from the Chinese. At least, so far.

Thus reminding us that he had alternatives, should our relationship sour.

• You are a good partner, Dmitri. And you, Yuri. I will excuse Boris's rudeness. Our friendship is too important to jeopardize over a foolish man's jealousy.

Jealousy? Yes, Boris was jealous that the Prince Regent – or his nephew – would have the honor of taking Mississippi's cherry.

We departed on amicable terms. But I was not altogether confident the day would end so amicably if Boris got stuck with South Carolina.

ALEX: SATURDAY, JUNE 18, MORNING – MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

I spent the night sandwiched between Matti and Rhody. We had to sleep touching each other if we wanted to keep warm. The twelve of us huddled closely together, as if in some mass orgy, taking up less than half of the space in the room. Which was just as well, as no one wanted to be near the buckets we needed to relieve ourselves in.

Matti was stretched out against the wall. I put my head on his hairless chest and lay at an angle, partly on top of him, partly on my side. Behind me, Rhody was curled in a spoon position, wrapping his arms around my torso as he kept as much of his body next to mine for warmth. Nodak was on his other side.

Rhody was hard much of the time. And I was too, some of that time. No, it wasn't Rhody, and no it wasn't Matti. As I've said before, it's a scientific fact that blood flows to the penis something like every seven minutes, and from time to time you just get an erection whether you want it or not.

Matti's chest made a satisfying pillow, though. And Rhody fell asleep sooner than you would have thought, given his hard-on. When Matti spoke it was in a whisper, so as not to disturb anyone else.

• Cheesehead?

• Yeah.

• This might be the last night we ever spend together.

• . . .

• What?

• Matti, this is the first night we've ever spent together.

• You're forgetting the night in my hotel room in Minneapolis.

• I was on the couch.

• This is nicer.

• Well, it is a chance to lie horizontally.

• My favorite position.

• I remember.

• With my favorite guy.

• With my best friend.

• Who loves me.

• Who loves having you as his best friend.

• . . . Alex?

• Oh, so it's `Alex' now, not Cheesehead. You must be getting serious.

• I am. . . . Why can't you admit it?

• Admit what?

• That you love me as much as I love you.

• Oh, Matti. Why do you say such things?

• Because I do love you.

• Mmm.

• And I know you love me back.

• Mmm.

• Which is obvious from the way you're not denying it.

• It's my anti-Finnish bias.

• I suspected that. . . . Alex?

• Yeah.

• Can I kiss you?

• . . .

• I may not get another chance.

• . . . Okay.

• Okay?

• Yes, okay. I want you to be happy, Matti.

• Lying here next to you, I'm very happy.

• Wait a sec.

• What are you doing?

• Trying to move my head up where you can reach it. Without waking Rhody.

• Yeah, he might want to join the fun.

• There.

• There indeed.

• . . .

• . . .

• That was nice. Thank you. And thank you for the hard-on you just gave me.

• I'm not kissing you down there.

• Of course not. That would definitely wake Rhody.

• . . . Matti?

• What?

• Want to do it again?

• Ah, you liked it.

• It made you happy. I like it when you're happy.

• I'll settle for that, Cheesehead. Now give me your mouth.

Okay, I got hard, too, but I think that happens just from the act of kissing, no matter whom you're kissing. We did kiss a few more times, and then I put my head back on his chest, draped my arm over him and fell asleep.

I'll skip over the part in the morning when we had to use the buckets, fumbling around blind, and without toilet paper. Suffice it to say it was gross. And then they gave us a small breakfast after that, which was, given the smell in the room, not appetizing.

So skip to where Joey appeared and called us out three at a time. He did it geographically, the three Western states going first, then Matti with the Dakota twins, then me with Noisy and Mississippi. They took us to a room just down the hall, sat us on a bench and slowly freed us from the blindfold that was superglued to our faces. We showered, which allowed me to accomplish what I had needed to accomplish with toilet paper earlier. The shower was in the form of a thin hose which I had to hold over my head, which was awkward and inefficient, but there was soap and the water was hot. And I felt clean, which was a relief.

A Somali came in, dressed in swimming trunks. He fit a thin nozzle over the end of the hose, and we were ordered to bend over.

I knew what was going to happen. The nozzle went up our asses. Before I knew it my bowels were being filled with warm water. It felt nice at first, in a way, then, as more and more water rushed into my gut, increasingly uncomfortable.

I thought about the enemas that all of the Bottoms had endured, including on that three-day sexathon known as Round Two. And I knew the reason for those enemas.

That could only mean . . .

• (Joey) Relax, boys, you're not getting fucked. We just need to pretty you up a bit.

Well, that was reassuring. Temporarily.

I expelled the water from my ass, and we showered again. As we dried off, I saw Rhody, Del and South Carolina, blindfolds removed, awaiting their turn in the showers.

Noisy balled his fist and subtly pushed it forward toward Del – a long-distance fist bump. Noisy had talked to Del a lot last night. God bless Noisy for doing that. I lacked the courage to do so; with the probability of losing Matti forever – and Rhody – Del was well down on my priority list.

I remembered our first meeting – Del was taking a swim, back when we still had clothes and had to strip in order to enter the pool. He'd introduced himself by saying, "My name is Ben, but my close friends call me Delaware." And how we he was close to us for a while and then less so, especially when he believed Latronius' story about me getting favors from the Russians. We got back to good after that, but it was never the same. For which I felt guilty, particularly after the guillotine separated him from his balls. Del needed support now, and I was glad Noisy could give him some.

They took us upstairs into a room about fifty feet by sixty feet. There were doors on opposite corners, along the longer wall. Parallel to each wall, several feet in, were three small platforms, five feet square and six inches high. Hanging from the ceiling above the platforms were a dozen sets of chains. The chains ended in a pair of handcuffs, six of which were attached to the Tops that had preceded me into the room. Their ankles were manacled, attached to chains so short that they allowed barely an inch of movement. The chains were spaced so that the man was spread-eagled, hands and feet both a meter apart.

Matti was one of those men, displayed between the Dakota twins. His genitals seemed more prominent than usual and it took me a few seconds to realize it was because he no longer had pubic hair. None of them had hair anywhere except on their heads.

All four Russians were present, with just a couple of maroons – Nelson and the Asian named Jay. Plus three tall Somalis, dressed in white and holding baskets whose purpose I could discern.

Nelson ordered me onto one of the platforms. I found myself directly across from Oregon, whose empty sac was more obvious now with his legs pulled apart. Matti was by the wall to my right; I was maybe fifteen feet away from him. I stepped up and obeyed compliantly as they chained me in place, finding my legs forced further apart than was comfortable. Mississippi's ebony, emasculated body was fixed to my left, with Illinois on his other side.

The Somalis produced the anticipated razors. They were taller than me (who wasn't?) and, despite the platform, easily able to reach every square inch of my skin. My attendant went about it meticulously, beginning with my armpits, then my arms, chest and abdomen, then my legs, my back and the back of my legs, then my buttocks, and finally, as if to prolong the anxiety, took off my pubes.

After that, he squirted me with shaving lotion which he rubbed all over my body and shaved me meticulously with a straight razor. He was slow and careful with my groin and my ass-crack, but he made sure to scrape my scrotum clean. I now looked every inch the Bottom, except for the hair on my head.

And then they brought in the last three, from the Atlantic Seaboard – Rhody, Del, and South Carolina. I wondered what Rhody would look like without all that chest hair.

I suppose the Russians saw everything going smoothly and – atypically – let their guard down. In any case, Rumeal and José, who escorted the trio into the room, were fixing Rhody to his platform. Del and South Carolina had been placed in front of their respective platforms; no one noticed that there was a moment when no one was between South Carolina and the door.

And, for the second time in three days, he made a dash for it. Why? Did he think he could find his way to the exit unimpeded, and then wander the streets in the nude? Did he think he could pass himself off as a naked Somali and somehow talk his way out of a jam with a policeman?

Irrelevant questions. Less than a minute later, he was hauled back into the room, cursing his head off.

DMITRI: SATURDAY, 18 JUNE, MID-MORNING – MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

If the Prince Regent had witnessed this behavior – and known about South Carolina's leap into the sea – the Family would never take him. Nor would we. We'd have to pay fair market value to Abdul for a replacement and dump South Carolina on him to be sold. Which would annoy Abdul, cost us money, and rob one of us of the pleasure of deflowering a virgin. Unacceptable.

The Royal Family simply HAD to take South Carolina. Which meant they must never know about his escape attempts.

It took four enforcers to return him to the room and secure him on the platform, the recalcitrant youth fighting every step of the way. He screamed in protest as the razor was brought out.

• No way, José! (Ironically, it was actually José he was addressing.) You ain't shaving me!

• (José) That's true, I'm not. This man is.

We pulled the chains taut, minimizing his ability to move his limbs, but he could still wiggle his hips. He was informed that a straight razor was about to be applied to his groin and that if he continued fighting the blade could slice into his cock or nutsack.

Illinois tried to quiet him, pointing out that everyone else in the room had been shaved bare.

• (South Carolina) I'm not the rest of you. I'm no faggot.

He had something of a point. South Carolina's Latent Homosexuality Index was the second lowest of all fifty-two contestants.

• (Boris) What are we going to do? If he acts up in front of the Royal Family . . .

Who were arriving at 11:30 to inspect our offerings.

• Are any of the doctors around? Have they all flown out?

• (Yuri) Haddad is still in town. He wants to watch the auction tonight.

• Get him. And tell him to bring a syringe.

Haddad, fortunately, was at the hotel and arrived minutes later. He injected South Carolina with a sedative to calm him down and enough Happy Juice to take his cares away, if not educe hallucinatory images. That wouldn't be quite enough to prevent disaster – who knew what might come out of his mouth? So we had to take one more step.

ALEX: SATURDAY, JUNE 18, LATE MORNING – MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

It was hard to avoid drooling with the ball-gag in my mouth. I don't think that was part of the original plan – they expected us to be obedient little boys and keep quiet. Anyone with sense knew nothing good could result from speaking out of turn. But South Carolina didn't have any sense, which meant they had to shut him up. Which meant they'd have to shut us all up. Which meant I was dribbling saliva.

At 11:30 nine men entered the room. Four wore elaborate robes and keffiyehs, including the Arab from the ship that Joey had called "Your Majesty". The other three looked like they could be his brothers. I assumed they were all Royals.

Four other Arabs wore Western dress and carried clipboards. The ninth man was dark – a Somali? One of the Arabs called him Abdul'. Possibly the same Abdul' who had called us `slaves' in the garage.

They worked in pairs, a Royal with a clipboard guy. Each selected a different wall. One of the Royals paused directly in front of me, as Abdul passed by and said, `Wisconsin'. Clipboard guy wrote it down.

We had been instructed to remain motionless, face straight ahead, but not to look at them directly; to do so would be a sign of disrespect. With the platform only six inches off the floor and the Royal about eight inches taller than me, it was difficult to avoid seeing his face, but I made sure not to look him in the eye as he scrutinized me carefully.

The Royal made comments – in Arabic – to his assistant who made notes on his clipboard. Then he pressed a button and I began to slowly revolve. I mentally flashed back to my state contest, when we posed on a rotating platform so the judges could see us "from all angles". Only then we wore clothes.

He let me revolve three times, then explored my body with his hands. He started with my face, pushing up my upper lip to examine my teeth (sandwiched around that ball-gag). He peered into my eyes, tugged on my ears, patted my cheeks, gripped my jaw, and then enclosed my neck in his hands as if to strangle me.

Every inch of my chest was massaged; he pinched my nipples quite hard and then surprised me by attaching alligator clips to them. They hurt, and while my eyes might have widened with the pain, I was careful not to move a muscle otherwise. He felt my biceps and other muscles in my arm, nodding approvingly, and then proceeded to my legs before directing his attention to my junk.

He took my cock in hand and stroked it, grasping it firmly to get a sense of its girth. If he was hoping to stimulate me to an erection, it didn't work, but he showed no reaction. He proceeded to my balls, massaging them in every possible way and then removing the alligator clips from my nipples and attaching them to my scrotum. I gasped at the pain, which got a look – and a smile.

He moved behind me, where my back side got a comprehensive review, especially my backside. My butt was rubbed, kneaded, pinched, and slapped, but he didn't pull my cheeks apart to examine my hole. Remembering Latronius' inordinate attention to that feature of my anatomy, this both astonished and relieved me, as he finished with me and moved on to Mississippi.

Mississippi had no balls to examine, but the Royal spent more time with him than he had with me. He made a lot of comments to his assistant, which seemed to be enthusiastic, and I saw him grin several times – which he had not done with me. Guess I'm not his cup of tea. I'll try to get over it.

While this was going on, a second Royal was examining Matti. I carefully watched his reaction as he focused like a laser on Matti's magnificent body. He smiled a number of times – Matti was pleasing him. I wondered if I could please him, too, and maybe we could wind up together. Obviously they were here to choose slaves. There were four of them, twelve of us – three apiece? If the same guy liked both Matti and me, maybe could wind up together?

The second Royal moved on to South Dakota, then to me. His examination was much like the first, but more enthusiastic. He spent more time with me than with Mississippi, as did the third.

The last to put me through my paces was "Your Majesty". He was rougher than the others, slapping and pinching me harder. When it came to my scrotum, the clips went directly on my balls, which hurt like HELL. I covered the pain by rapid, shallow breaths, like a dog panting; he seemed to approve. He made more comments to his assistant than the others did. But maybe that was because he was "Your Majesty."

After they had finished their examinations, they left. I continued to be surprised that no one had parted my cheeks to inspect my anus. Whew.

Not so fast. They returned a few minutes later, with four white-clad Somalis and Abdul. Abdul pressed a button on a wall, and suddenly there was slack in the chains pulling my hands toward the ceiling. All of a sudden I had freedom of movement of my arms.

I wasn't sure if I should lower them, so maintained my spread-eagle until I saw others lowering their arms without consequence, so I did, too. For a moment, I thought they were releasing us – though why would the Royals need to be here for that, and shouldn't there have been some maroons?

Yeah, well, they weren't releasing us. A Somali approached me, took hold of my right hand, and pulled it down, forcing me to bend over. He attached it to the same chain that restrained my right foot.

Oh. I get it. Time for Part Two.

My left hand was similarly pulled down to my feet, putting me into the perfect position – bent over, legs spread far apart – for them to examine my ass.

And this they did, oh, yes. They ran their fingers over every inch, especially the crack, then probed my anus with one finger, then two, pushing in as far as possible, testing the tightness of my rectum. If there was any doubt that I was destined to lose my anal virginity, this removed it. I started to hear farts on the side of the room to my left. They were too far away for me to smell, but they were definitely farts. As time progressed, and the rotation of Royals proceeded, I heard the farts from across the room, and then from my right.

When the last of the four Royals – "Your Majesty" – arrived at my station, I discovered the cause. Something rubbery was inserted into my anus and I felt pressure, pressing outward against the colon walls. It felt like air was being pumped into my ass, and that's just what it was – a sort of balloon that was inflated. When I had reached maximum discomfort, the pressure suddenly diminished until nothing and then the balloon-like thing was pulled out. I was guessing they were measuring the capacity of our rectums. There was a cheerfulness in his voice as he reported the result to his clipboard guy, and he patted me on the head almost affectionately. Guess I did well. Not sure I wanted to.

I had to fart like crazy, but held it in until he went on to Mississippi.

Afterwards, they conferred with each other openly, ignoring the possibility that among twelve intelligent college guys there might be one who could understand Arabic. But what if we did? What could we do?

Abdul put us back into our original positions and freed us from our ball-gags. Which, after over two hours, had made my jaw sore.

At least now we can talk, I thought. Until they replaced the ball-gags with duct tape.

DMITRI: SATURDAY, 18 JUNE, AFTERNOON – MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

At noon, the Bottoms had been displayed for their potential buyers. The P.R. and his brothers were still occupied with the Tops, so most of the first hour was only for Abdul's other clients, including Suleiman, the owners of two other male brothels, some militiamen and a number of independent businessmen and government officials. The Royal Family would get twelve of these Bottoms – Abdul's other clients would try to outbid each other for the remaining sixteen.

At a quarter to one, the Royals joined the group and remained there assessing the stock until three. Shortly thereafter, Abdul texted me, informing me that there had been intense discussions between the Prince Regent and two of his brothers. The P.R. wanted to meet with me. Not with us. With me.

"CAN I BRING YURI?" I texted back.

A delay. "YES, OKAY."

I was desperate to meet with the P.R., to see how the afternoon had gone. Did they (I hoped) like South Carolina? I was pleased to have a further opportunity to influence his decisions. I momentarily entertained the idea of disclosing some of South Carolina's behavior but ascribing it to Nevada or Illinois, so that he would be scared off of them. But what if he discovered that I had lied to him? Next year he would turn to China for his boys.

But if this was opportunity, it could also be a disaster. Clearly, the P.R. was disturbed about something. Maybe he wanted to impose even more conditions than he'd already inflicted on us.

We agreed on 3:45 in my room. Yuri let me do the talking.

• Dmitri, Yuri, my friends. I am so sorry to trouble you. I have a bit of a problem.

• What is it, Your Majesty?

• It is my brothers. Khalid and Mustafa.

I waited.

• You may have noticed that they were disturbed this morning when I told you I would give this Mississippi to Ibrahim, my brother Rashid's son.

• I . . . may have observed some kind of reaction, yes.

• It turns out that both of their sons have declared a preference for a Black slave. As much like a Nubian as possible. And you have only one such eunuch among your virgins.

• (Alarm bells ringing) I hope you are not asking me to castrate my two remaining Black Tops in order to satisfy their teenage desires.

• Of course not, Dmitri. That is out of the question. My nephews are young and must learn that they cannot have everything they desire. They will be happy enough with any eunuch. It is a special time for them – the first slave of their very own.

• Are they virgins themselves?

• Oh, no. They are allowed blow jobs at thirteen and fucking at fifteen. But they have to use general palace slaves, not their own, until they are seventeen.

• So what is the problem?

• Khalid and Mustafa. As compensation, they are demanding that I guarantee they can each have their pick of the available slaves – not the eunuchs for their sons, the full males for themselves.

• You say demanding. You are the Prince Regent. Can they demand that of you?

• They are saying that if I do not grant them this, they will withhold their slaves and their sons' slaves from my son Abdullah. Abdullah is nineteen, next in the line of succession, and as such has free access to every slave in the palace.

• You can overrule them.

• And my father can overrule me. I am only the Prince Regent. I am ruling the country because my father is severely disabled, but Khalid and Mustafa will go to him, and he is susceptible to misrepresentation. His mind is feeble, but officially he is still King. So you see, I am in a bind.

• How can we help?

• Tell me what you would want in exchange for giving us the first two picks.

• The first two picks? Last year, we had the first four and it was already a – how shall I say this? – a disappointment – that you took the first and third away from us.

• That was mostly Khalid's doing. He is very good at getting what he wants.

• But now even that's not good enough.

• After the inspection, each of them has one specific boy he wants.

• They both want the same boy?

• No, two different ones. But each one wants that boy and none other.

• Which boys?

• They won't tell me. But they are worried that if you have the second pick you will select one of them.

I thought back to Yuri's moment of indiscretion this morning. He'd revealed that Boris likes Blacks and that Sergei liked Latinos. Which means that Khalid or Mustafa – or both – might be after Nevada or Illinois.

If they took Illinois, Boris would either have to give up having a Black slave for the first time, or be stuck with the unacceptable South Carolina. (What was it with that state, anyway? Jackson was from South Carolina.)

Which gave me my answer. I knew what it would take to give the P.R. what he wanted.

• Can we have a moment?

• Of course.

In the hallway, I explained my idea to Yuri.

• I love it.

• Boris and Sergei won't.

• Yes, but you're saving them from you know who.

• Am I? They'd go ballistic and force him on you or me.

• Hmm. Good point. Well, they'll just have to lump it.

• I'll see if I can get some money, too. That'll ease the pain.

I turned back to the Prince Regent.

• Okay, here's our proposal. You get the first two. We get the next four and you take the last two. Plus you increase your payment price by 50%, off the record.

• (laughing) Dmitri, this is why I enjoy you so much. You bargain like an Arab. Now give me a realistic offer.

• You get picks one, two, six and eight. And increase your price by 30%.

• We get picks one, two, FIVE and eight. And increase our price by 20%.

• Done.

• . . . Done? Truly?

• Done.

• Thank you, Dmitri. Thank you, Yuri. I will give Khalid the first pick and Mustafa the second. I will take the fifth myself to give to Abdullah.

• He needs a slave? What about his eunuch?

• We, let's say, terminated its contract. Now that Abdullah is nineteen, he wants a slave with balls he can play with. And I'd like to give him another virgin. As for the eighth pick, Rashid is so happy that his son will have Mississippi that he will be satisfied with the last pick for himself.

Oh, no he won't.

[COMING UP NEXT - CHAPTER 29 (and the end of Book One) - TO MARKET, TO MARKET]