Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE: GETTING TO KNOW YOU

Previously: Alex describes his first full day as a slave. Much of his time is spent in labor – preparing and serving meals for Henri the chef, scrubbing bathrooms for Ivan the housekeeper, and washing and polishing cars for Pyotr the chauffeur, whose day it is to fuck him. While Pyotr is mid-ass, Grigory the gardener shows up wanting a blow job – refused by Pyotr. Alex is again disciplined by Ruslan, an experience that alarms Alex because Ruslan's physical presence gives him an erection. That night, Dmitri praises Alex for his efforts but tells him he will not be a `good slave' until he believes in his heart that his only purpose is to please his Master. Remembering this moment four months later, Alex realizes that that transition has not yet been made.

ALEX: TUESDAY, JUNE 21, AFTERNOON – KITCHEN

I was slowly getting to know the household staff.

I had spent the afternoon yesterday with Pyotr, the first of them to fuck me. His fucking got intense once he got going, but otherwise he seemed reasonable – he seemed to like me, and his face was the handsomest in the manor. Of course, I couldn't understand a thing he said.

Grigory I didn't know at all, other than the encounter he had had with Pyotr yesterday. Based on that, I didn't want to get to know him further.

Ivan, with whom I spent two long mornings, was all business, never smiling. Yesterday he reported me to Master for missing a spot in a bathroom. Today, after inspecting my work meticulously, he pronounced it "better." I took that as effusive praise.

Ruslan . . . I don't want to talk about Ruslan.

And then there was Henri. With three meals a day, I spent more time with Henri than any of the others. Henri genuinely seemed friendly. He seemed to have a crush on me. He would talk to me while we worked, almost as if I was a human being. He was also curious.

• So where are you from in America?

• Wisconsin, Sir.

• You don't have to call me `Sir'.

• . . .

• You may speak.

• Yes, Sir, I do. Master told me I had to call everyone `Sir', Sir.

• Oh, very well. Jackson never bothered, but I suppose that's part of what got him in trouble. Are you from Milwaukee?

• No, Sir. A small town called Clacksburg, in the northern part of the state.

• Not to change the subject, but are you ready to be fucked?

• It's my job, Sir.

• Ah, so you're a romantic! And how would you like to be fucked?

Was he really asking me this question? I was a slave, I did not have choices – did not Master drill that into me as intensely as he drilled me with his cock?

• Sir?

• How do you want to be fucked?

If I said `metaphorically' would you keep it to that?

• Doggy-style? Missionary? Cowboy? Bent spoons? Jockey? Lap dance?

• Pyotr just bent me over a car and Master did doggy-style and standing up.

• So you've only been fucked from behind.

• Yes, Sir.

• Well, I expect you aren't ready for the more exotic ones. Let's introduce you to the missionary position. That way we can see each other's faces.

He led me over to a low table, about two feet off the ground. He pointed to a cupboard and told me to take a thick blanket out of it, which he lay on the table to provide me some softness. He instructed me to lay down on it, on my back.

• Now there are a number of variations of this, mostly having to do with the position of your legs. You're going to bend your legs back toward your head and spread them apart, of course. For today, hold onto them by grabbing your thighs just below the knee.

I did so and then he pushed my legs back more and spread them further, which made my hole more accessible.

• Just like that. I'll be right back.

He went to the refrigerator, and reappeared with a large yellow lump on his finger.

• Butter. Just like "Last Tango in Paris." The kitchen is full of nice lubricants.

He smeared my open hole and probed inside it with his finger. His finger now sticky, he stuck it in my mouth to be cleaned. I licked off the butter, grateful that I had cleaned out and tasted no shit mixed in.

I waited as Henri stripped and then climbed over me.

• This is going to be nice.

I felt his cock against my hole. And slowly plunged in, asking me all the way how it felt.

It felt – not terrible. Henri's cock was small, barely five inches. And while he was physically the least attractive member of the household, he was so far the tenderest lover.

His face hovered over mine as he thrust his five-inch beet – er, `bite' – into my guts.

• Oh, mon cheri, l'amour – c'est magnifique, n'est-ce-pas?

Magnifique was a stretch, but I preferred it to Master or Pyotr. They had fucked me hard. Henri was making love to me. From time to time he would lean down and kiss me briefly. When he did, I imagined it was Matti's face I was looking at, Matti's cock that was thrusting into me, and sometimes it was Rhody.

It did not take him long for him to come. After he did, he leaned forward and kissed me passionately on the lips for about two minutes.

Astonishingly, there was a shower in a room directly off the kitchen that I had assumed was used for storage. He took me in there and we showered together. I saw only one towel; he dried himself then gave it to me.

As I was toweling off, he said:

• It is a shame that is a full week before we can do this again.

I took note of the word `we', as if I were anticipating it as eagerly as he.

• Except of course, for Saturday night. But Saturday night, of course, won't be as intimate.

He had to remind me. Saturday night. When I would be the `guest of honor'.

TUESDAY, JUNE 21, A HALF-HOUR LATER – GREENHOUSE

• So today I get my blowjob, yes?

Grigory – accent on the second syllable – looked at me devilishly.

• If you wish, Sir.

• Oh, I wish. I definitely wish. I wish yesterday and bastard Pyotr refuse. He say he fucking you, I say he only fucking ass, not mouth. He say Boss not allow spit roast yet. You know what means spit roast?

• (well, I've never heard the term, but in context it wasn't hard to figure out) I think so, Sir.

• Maybe Saturday night you find out. At party maybe is okay.

• (Henri said Saturday night `won't be as intimate'.)

• We play later. We work now. I must to mow lawn. You weed rose garden.

He led me outside the greenhouse, my second excursion into the open air. Yesterday, I had only caught a small glimpse of the grounds through a group of tall pine trees that abutted each other as a windbreak. Beyond them was a vast expanse of lawn, occasionally dotted by trees.

Now I saw that, in addition to the lawns, the estate had beautiful gardens – so beautiful that it was a shame more people wouldn't see them. Grigory led me to a rose garden with dozens of bushes. The roses were in full bloom, their fragrance and the variety in their colors brightening my soul.

It was a pleasant day, full of sunshine, temperature in the mid-seventies. This would be a lovely place to spend the afternoon. I was less than two hundred yards from the Gulf of Finland and the air was invigorating.

• You weed. Finish by time I come back.

I didn't finish. Sasha came by for a blowjob, soon followed by Oleg. When Grigory returned, I was only about sixty-percent of the way through the rose garden.

• Boy, you do shit job.

• (Uh, would you let me explain?)

I didn't have to – he figured it out. He grabbed my mouth and forced it open.

• Is more than saliva in here?

• Yes, Sir.

• Who?

• Sasha and Oleg, Sir.

He studied me. His face was intelligent but not kind.

• I promise Boss you finish rose garden this afternoon. Now is no time for MY blow-job. Is two days now I prevent from getting blowjob. Pah! Work faster.

And with that, he stalked away. Moments later, I heard voices. Pyotr had entered the rose garden. He pointed toward me and Grigory responded harshly. I could only conclude that Pyotr was looking for a blowjob of his own – which, considering how he had refused Grigory that privilege yesterday, took a lot of chutzpah. Grigory, of course, was having none of it, and the two began shouting at each other – occasionally I heard the word "Boy" peppered into their argument.

No love lost between those two. I managed to finish the Rose Garden just before the end of my shift.

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 22, LATE AFTERNOON – KITCHEN

The following incident was not included in the original version that I wrote for Master in early November. I wanted to protect Pyotr. And back in June, it didn't seem important, just idle gossip. I was wrong.

I was helping Henri prepare dinner after an afternoon after I was boringly fucked by Ivan and Pyotr came by for a blow job. After yesterday, I was expecting Grigory as well, but he didn't show.

Henri was chatting away blithely while I was chopping up beets (the vegetable, not the French cock) for tomorrow's borscht.

• Pyotr's very fond of you, you know.

• (Oh, really?)

• He probably doesn't show it. But I think you remind him of someone.

Suddenly there was another voice in the room:

• Are you going to tell him whom?

Of everyone in the household, only Ilya or Oleg would have used the English word `whom'. This was Ilya.

• (Ilya) There's a boy he likes. A nice blond boy, just about your age from the village nearby. Pyotr sneaks him in here sometimes at night.

• (Henri) Ilya! (Followed by some Russian that he didn't want me to understand.)

• (Ilya, deliberately in English) We all know it, Henri. No reason Boy can't know it as well. He's a well-behaved slave, he's not going to tell the Boss, is he? (to me) Do you like Pyotr?

• . . . I don't know how to answer that, Sir.

• A simple enough question. Do you like him?

• I'm not . . . attracted to him, if that's what you mean.

• He's attracted to you. That's pretty obvious. He'd like to have sex with you every day if he could. I bet he got a blowjob today, didn't he?

• Yes, Sir.

• He's quite smitten with you. As I said, you remind him of the boy he sneaks in here occasionally. You see, Pyotr has control of the gate. He can let the boy in and no one's the wiser. Come in late at night when everyone's at bed, in through the slave tunnel, up the back stairs to Pyotr's bedroom, then out again before dawn. The Boss never sees it because his bedroom's in the north wing with the sea view, while the servants' bedrooms are all in the south wing. But you haven't answered my question – do you like Pyotr? As a person?

• I don't know him very well, Sir.

• Do you like him more than you like me?

• (Danger, Will Robinson! A slave should never lie, but ...)

• (Henri) Enough, Ilya. Why are you pressing him like this?

• Just one more question. Boy, you don't want Pyotr to get in trouble, do you?

• No, Sir.

• And if the Boss found out about Pyotr's occasional night-time escapades, it would get Pyotr in trouble. So you won't tell the Boss about this little conversation, will you?

• No, Sir, unless –

• Unless?

• Unless, Sir, he asks about it directly. I'm not allowed to lie.

• See, Henri, he's a good boy. He won't rat on his friend Pyotr. This little secret will remain between us. But he needs to know that even pretty boys have their flaws. Before it gets to where he IS attracted to Pyotr. And now, Boy, get on your knees. Henri, I'm going to borrow him for a few minutes.

Uttered as a fact, not as a request. I dropped to my knees as Ilya presented his cock for me to suck.

Here's my own personal definition of irony: You aren't gay and half the male population of the world craves your body:

Matti . . . well, Matti was in a special category. On the boat, Rhody was attracted to me. Latronius was attracted to me. Even Ohio suggested he was attracted to me. Master, I assumed, was attracted to me or he wouldn't have taken me home with him. And now that I'm here, Henri is attracted to me. Pyotr is attracted to me. And it's clear as hell now that Ilya is attracted to me – so much so that he's jealous of Pyotr and feels the need to discredit him in my eyes.

There was no other explanation for Ilya telling me about Pyotr's village boy.

DMITRI: Alexei is correct. He did not include this story when I first read this chapter. Had he done so, there would have been consequences that would have changed later events. A sort of butterfly effect. He asked to insert it later, after it would no longer matter.

ALEX: THURSDAY, JUNE 23, AFTERNOON – GREENHOUSE

• (Grigory) Boy, do you know last time we have slave in house? April 10.

• . . .

• What you say to that, boy?

• I'm sure it was, uh, inconvenient for you, Sir.

• Inconvenient? You call it inconvenient?

• Difficult. A hardship. Sir.

• Is outrage. Man need sex. You used to be Man, so you know.

• (Biologically I'm still a man, fuck you very much.)

• We have needs. Right, boy?

• Yes, Sir. Men have needs.

• And we need slaves to satisfy those needs.

• (Uh, most people manage it without slaves.)

• When no slave, I have to go into city, pick up boy.

• (I pity the boy more than you.)

• Fortunately, they like me.

• (More fool they.)

• They see this, they want me. (Grabbing his crotch.)

• (I repeat, more fool they.)

• But then I get clothes off and they say, O, Grigory, you too big. I can't take. Stop.

• (Does it work?)

• I say to them. Too bad. It going in. You getting fucked.

• (So that would be a `no'.)

• Sometime they fight me. They resist. Sometime I have to beat up.

• (I told you they were fools.)

• You see now why we need slaves?

• (Oh, a question! Better answer.) Yes, Sir.

• Why?

• Because a slave can't say no.

• (Smile.) You right. Slave can't say no. But even slave is problem.

• (I don't think I want to hear why.)

• Only can fuck twice a week.

• (Poor baby.)

• Must ask permission for blowjob.

• (My heart bleeds for you.)

• Monday, Pyotr – he refuse me. Tuesday you must weed roses and others use you so no time for me. I so desperate I consider handjob. Wednesday, man come to deliver supplies. Cannot get away to ask Ivan for use you.

• (Cue the violins.)

• But now is time. No need for handjob. Time for you to meet Little Grigory.

He pulled it out of his pants. Little Grigory was not little. I have mentioned before that Grigory was the tallest man in the house – at least 6'7". Shall we say that the rest of his body was in proportion?

It was the longest penis I had ever seen in my life. As he peeled off his clothes, his cock slowly bounced up to quarter-mast. He put his hand on my neck – which only came up to his nipples – and began to caress it softly. For a moment, I thought I was with Henri. Until he suddenly slapped me hard on the face.

I gasped in surprise. He laughed. I looked down. The act of slapping me had stimulated him. He was getting hard. He rubbed his hands all over my chest, getting harder by the second. He lowered his hands to my groin, grabbed my balls, and squeezed them. Hard. I winced in pain. His cock was at full mast.

I stared at it. It had to be fully twelve inches long.

(They say, O Grigory you are too big. I say too bad. It going in. You getting fucked.)

He spun me around and pushed me against the wall. `Stay', he ordered while he presumably went off in search of lubricant.

A large, bony finger went up my ass, spreading around whatever substance he had found. If Pyotr had used motor oil and Henri butter, what would Grigory use – weed killer?

No condom went on that long dick and he said,

• Gotovsya trakhatsya. That mean, prepare to get fucked.

I had been fucked eight times in my life as a slave. It did not prepare me for what was to follow. He pushed in and I felt like the entire length of Darth Vader's light saber had been rammed up my ass. And then he announced, "That is only part."

He shoved in even further. I screamed. He was reaching part of me that not even Master had touched.

He delighted in my discomfort and started talking to me in Russian. I caught the words suka and pizda – bitch and cunt, terrific.

He jarred my prostate and my cock grew hard from the stimulation, but not with pleasure. It was pain, pure pain, as he drilled me like a jackhammer, his twelve inches more than my small body could handle.

The merciful part was that it didn't last long. His need for sex was obvious and he shot his load in about three minutes.

He withdrew and I crumpled in a mess on the floor, wondering if I was bleeding.

• I think Little Grigory would like second round.

• (Please God, no. Talk Little Grigory out of it.)

• But I don't think Boss would approve. He wants to keep us hungry. Which means horny.

• (And that's quite some horn you have there.)

• Besides if I fuck you second time, maybe you not able to trim hedges. Time to work, boy.

And then he instantly transformed from Rapist Grigory into Work Supervisor Grigory, pointing to a monitor displaying a map of the estate and pointing out hedges I was to trim. He handed me a pair of hedge trimmers.

I was stunned that he was handing me such a dangerous weapon. He read my mind, and smiled in that same this-amuses-me-but-not-you way that he had when I had first popped up in the greenhouse on my way to Pyotr.

• You not going to attack me. Maybe a stupid boy think, "I know he stronger than me, but when his back is turn . . . " Even Jackson not that stupid. You smarter than Jackson, you know you must be good slave.

• (Amazing how they all had this figured out.)

• Time tell if you succeed.

• (Thanks for the vote of confidence.)

• But one thing in your favor – you are good fuck.

THURSDAY, JUNE 23, LATE AFTERNOON – MASTER'S BEDROOM

• So, do you enjoy your time with Grigory?

• (Why this same question every day?) No, Master.

• Why not?

• Grigory's . . . member is very long, Master.

• Yes, is even longer than mine. Is why I not schedule Grigory until Thursday. So you more break in.

• (Thank you? I guess?)

• Tomorrow you have extra challenge. You know what is?

• Ruslan.

• You have seen Ruslan cock. Is very thick.

• (Indeed it is.)

• He says you admire.

• . . .

• Do you admire cock of Ruslan?

• (Shit.) It is . . . very impressive, Master.

• Do you want it inside you?

• . . .

• You hesitate. Do you want it inside you, Boy?

• I'm scared of it, Master.

• (slap) Five extra strokes with cane. You not answer question. You want Ruslan inside you?

• . . . No, Master.

• Are you sure?

• . . . Pretty sure, Master.

• Is doubt. You not immediately say `No, Master, I do not want inside me'. Why is doubt?

• . . . I don't know, Master. I honestly don't know. I'm not – I don't know!

• Wipe your eyes. Men do not cry. Slave is not Man, but must be manly. Boy. Do you want I fuck you tonight?

• No, Master. I want to please you, but honestly, no, I don't want to be fucked again tonight.

• Do you want Pyotr fuck you?

• No, Master.

• Do you want Ivan fuck you?

• No, Master.

• Do you want Henri fuck you?

• No, Master.

• Do you want Grigory fuck you?

• No, Master.

• And yet you hesitate when I say Ruslan. Ruslan different, yes?

• . . . Yes. I mean, Yes, Master.

• You are attract to Ruslan?

• I . . . wouldn't use those words . . . Master.

• This conversation disturb you. You forget to say Master and have to add it in hurry to avoid punish. Two more stroke with cane. So what words you use?

• I don't know, Master. There's . . . something about him, but I don't know what it is.

• Do you still think you not gay?

• Yes, Master. I know I am not gay.

• I am disappoint. That is first lie you tell Master. But I not punish.

• . . . ?

• Because you do not know is lie. Is lie you tell yourself.

DMITRI: THURSDAY, 23 JUNE, EVENING – PLAYROOM

A slave's mental attitude is critical. He must accept that your authority over him is absolute and permanent, that disobedience is inconceivable, that he has no rights whatsoever. He must accept nudity as normal, and he must accept being used sexually as normal. That is what all slaves must do. But the good slave goes beyond that: he understands that he has no purpose but to serve, that his slavehood is not an injustice – it is not only just, but essential; without it the world would be out of balance.

Compared to many new slaves, Alex is making the adjustment well. He is obedient and wants to please. He works hard. He is coming to terms with the fact that his situation is permanent, that he will never be free, that he will never wear clothes again. That I own his body. His mind knows this. But his mind is not enough. I need to own his soul.

That will happen when Alex understands that he needs to feel Men inside him. He needs to be fucked. He needs to suck cock. He needs to worship the bodies of his superiors. He needs to surrender his body for their pleasure. And when he realizes this, he will become a complete slave. That is why I ask him about his experiences being fucked by the members of my household.

I write this long after we had this conversation. I did not have all this insight only four days into his slavehood. I am projecting my feelings now back to that moment. But even then I knew the boy had potential, that he was no Jackson. He could be Klaus or even Slava. I'll tell you about them later.

My conversation with Alex strengthened my suspicions that the lad was born to be a slave. It was just a suspicion at this point. But his hesitation when I spoke of Ruslan – yes, the potential was there for him to be not just a good but a great slave.

The reports of my staff were useful. And Ruslan's reports of the playroom sessions were most encouraging. But I needed to see for myself how he responded to discipline.

ALEX: Ruslan tied me to the frame. I heard clothes dropping to the floor behind me.

• Grigory enjoy his fuck this afternoon.

• (So glad he liked it. I didn't. And you are telling me this because – ?)

• But he not happy he didn't get blowjob earlier in week.

• (He managed to survive somehow.)

• This morning he go to Boss to complain about Pyotr. He say some things employee should not say to his boss.

• (And here I thought Grigory was the soul of discretion.)

• Boss not happy.

• (Uh, could you give me a clue where this is leading, please?)

• He say Grigory should be punished. He sentence Grigory to twenty strokes on the back.

• (He sentenced GRIGORY to twenty strokes on the back?)

• Of course, Boss can't flog Grigory. So you will take it for him.

• (Unh . . . huh. The tradition of the Whipping Boy lives, transplanted to twenty-first century Russia.)

• I will use light flogger. Boss would never use heavy flogger on Grigory.

The flogger may have been light, but Ruslan's touch wasn't.

• Henri says you put too much sour cream in borscht. Boss says that five strokes on thighs with strap.

Criminy, that hurts.

• When you gave Sasha blowjob this morning, you spill a drop of his cum. The Boss assigned ten more strokes on the back, with a heavy flogger.

Heavy flogger, heavy strength. I felt like Spencer Christian. Damn, that hurt!

• Now, for ass, seven strokes with the cane. Boss say you fail to answer directly to question and twice you slow to call him Master.

I've never understood how something so thin as a cane could cause so much pain. Every blow he administered made me gasp, wince, grunt, or cry out. But then I was relieved to hear him say:

• That end of punishment.

Until I heard another voice.

• Very nice, Ruslan. Is my take over now.

Master.

DMITRI: He took it well, as Ruslan had reported. There were welts on his back and thighs, and several lovely stripes on those perfect melons he called buttocks. It had made me hard looking at him unblemished – with the marks identifying his subjugation he was even lovelier.

• Surprise you hear my voice, boy?

• Yes, Master.

He was, too, it showed in his voice.

• Punish is over. But is still discipline.

• . . .

• Slaves are punish for things they do wrong.

• (Or for what Grigory does wrong.)

• Discipline necessary for slave whether or not is deserve. Is clear?

• The difference is clear. But I don't understand why I'm punished if I don't deserve it.

• You not listen, Boy. Ruslan – extra stroke of cane, please. Hard.

• (cry of pain)

• Discipline is not punish. Punish is for not being proper slave, like not listen to what Master tell you. Discipline is for slave to understand what is slave.

• . . .

• Slave need to be discipline every day. Many Master use employee like Ruslan but sometime slave need discipline direct from Master. I give you discipline tonight. On other day, Ruslan give you maybe five or ten stroke with strap. I give you twenty.

• (gasp)

• Now is twenty-five. Slave not react to sentence.

ALEX: He then spoke to Ruslan in Russian. Ruslan said, "Da, boss." (Later, I would discover that the word `boss' was the same in English and Russian.)

Ruslan then moved in front of me, his monstrous cock at full mast. I closed my eyes to avoid looking at it.

Ruslan said something in Russian and then I heard Master say:

• Eyes open, Boy.

There it was. Nine inches long and so thick at its base that not even Grigory, with his long hands, could encircle it with thumb and forefinger. Above the cock was his thick bush of pubic hair and his washboard abs, his full, muscular torso, his magnificent neck. The essence of manhood, I thought, and it bothered me to no end that I felt a stirring in my balls.

He moved closer to me and I could smell him, smell his masculine scent and I drank it in, pleasurably, uncomprehendingly, wondering how this Man – or any Man – could produce this reaction in me.

Whack! Master laid the first broad stroke on my ass. That ripped me out of my momentary reverie.

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

My ass was burning as Master laid on stroke after stroke. After the fifth one, Master stopped and tilted the frame forward so that I was at a forty-five degree angle. Which had the effect of lowering my head. And Ruslan moved closer so that his massive phallus was only inches away. For a moment, I thought he was going to push it into my mouth but he just stood there, letting me breathe in his aroma.

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

Something strange was happening. I was getting hard. My ass was being pounded and I was getting hard.

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

• That is dozen, boy.

He moved to the frame and pushed it down so that my mouth was now within reach of Ruslan's cock.

• I think you want to suck it, yes?

That was a question. Damn.

• No, Master, I don't.

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

• Then why you hard, Boy?

• I don't know, Master.

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

• I think you do. Lick tip of it.

I did. Pre-cum oozed out of his cock and I tasted it on my tongue.

• Now pull back. I don't want you to bite Ruslan when I give last two stroke.

WHACK!

WHACK!

Damn – I was still hard. What on earth is happening to me?

DMITRI: Oh, yes, the boy is gay.

I had Ruslan adjust the top half of the frame so that he was more bent, and then released the springs on the bottom of the frame, which pushed the wood outward at an angle, effectively spreading the boy's legs.

He realized that I was going to fuck him right then and there. And I did. I fucked the living daylights out of him. I don't think he enjoyed it.

But I did.

ALEX: FRIDAY, JUNE 24, PRE-DAWN – MASTER'S BEDROOM

I can't get to sleep.

My ass is sore – tonight's session in the Playroom was the harshest yet. He punishes me for what Grigory did wrong. He punishes me because I answered a question in the wrong way. He punishes me because I gasped when he told me how severely he was going to punish me for things I shouldn't be punished for.

He says he needs to hit me to remind me I am a slave. I don't think I need the reminder, thank you. He does it because he can, that's all. Because he's a sadist.

And yet my sore ass – and the anger I hold that has no outlet – is only part of why I can't get to sleep.

The rest is that hard-on. How could I have had a hard-on while he strapped my ass? I don't think it would have happened if Ruslan had not been inches away from me. There's just something freaky about Ruslan. He crosses all my wires.

But I'm not gay. I'm not gay, I'm not gay, I'm not gay . . . am I?

No. It's just that five or ten percent or whatever that they picked up on when they did that test. Can't be more than ten percent. Maybe it's only one percent. Maybe Ruslan is that one guy out of a hundred that I respond to.

And it's been a week since I've shot my load, I can't lose sight of that. I'm a young man, we get horny without release. Almost anything could bring it on.

That's all it is. Could happen to anyone.

Right?

FRIDAY, JUNE 24, AFTERNOON – MASTER'S BEDROOM

I go into the bathroom to clean myself out. I am tense. I am nervous. I know that my appointment this afternoon is with Ruslan and his fire-hydrant cock. I have no choice. I have to face it.

To my surprise, there are two enema bags, each three-quarters full. Which are labeled: First Enema. Second Enema. In English. Why on earth does it matter which bag I use in what order?

But I know if I don't follow that direction I will get in major trouble, so I dutifully clean out with First Enema and then with Second Enema. Personally, I think one bag is enough, but my last discharge from the first bag has a tiny bit of color in it, and I need to be absolutely clean inside. Fine.

I'm sitting on the slave toilet and I'm starting to feel weird. Like I'm drunk or something.

I empty out for the last time and something is definitely wrong. As I clean off, I'm starting to lose my balance. I step into the shower, and lose my balance, nearly falling over.

I keep the shower short, as I am feeling increasingly woozy. I can barely find the towel to dry myself. I reach for the hamper to place the towel in, and miss.

The floor comes rushing toward me.

FRIDAY, JUNE 24, SOME MINUTES LATER – PLAYROOM

I'm awake. It's dark, I can't see. My head is reeling but I'm starting to think coherently.

I've been drugged. There was something in the enema.

And it's dark not because I'm in a dark room – though maybe I am. It's dark because there's something over my head. A hood. I can feel a snap against my Adam's apple. It smells like leather. I push my lips forward and feel a zipper, closed.

And that's only the beginning. My knees are pressed against my chest. There's a rope binding them to me, wrapping around my body from my back to my ankles. My arms are pulled in front of them, clasped together. A rope around them as well. I can't move.

I am trussed like a chicken ready for stuffing.

And then I realize how apt that metaphor is. Ready for stuffing. Ruslan. I am fit to be stuffed.

• Good, you're awake. Such a pretty package, all tied up. Of course, I could have done it while you were conscious, but I thought it you might like a surprise.

• (Did you really.)

I felt his rough hands at my throat, undoing the snap. The hood came off. We were in the Playroom. I was on the floor.

• You need to see what going into you.

I already knew what it looked like.

He sat in a chair I hadn't noticed before. It was a tall, wooden chair, made of a dark wood with a tall back and no arm rests. I would say Edwardian or Victorian, maybe, if I knew anything about furniture.

He sat in it. And stared into my eyes as, without touching himself, he grew hard. His cock grew from large to enormous, like an industrial-sized flashlight.

• You going to sit on my lap. (Grin.) Don't worry – you've been greased.

He crossed over to pick me up. It wasn't hard for him – he could probably bench press three of me. He carried me to his chair and sat down, resting me on his thigh. I felt his stiff ramrod against my left side and girded myself for what was about to happen.

He grabbed me by the ribs and lifted me up, positioning me just over his erect member. And then he lowered me, maneuvering my buttocks so that his cock tickled my hole.

• Here it comes, bitch.

He pushed down hard on my shoulders. I screamed. But it was more in anticipation than in reality. He wasn't inside.

• Open up! Relax your hole. It's going in, boy, you know that, only question is how much force is require.

I tried to relax my hole and welcome the huge knob past my sphincter. He pushed down and suddenly he was in. I gasped in fright and pain.

• That's it, boy. Now push out like you take a shit.

He pushed down on my shoulders and I pushed out with my sphincter and he went in deeper. It felt like a baseball bat – and not the thin end.

• Good boy. Halfway.

• (Halfway???)

He pushed down hard and I sank lower and lower until I was thoroughly bludgeoned by his eggplant-thick fuckstick. And then I felt his pubic hairs against my skin and I knew that he was in about as far as he could go.

We sat like that for one solid minute, as I got used to the feel of a cock that was as thick around as my wrist.

Then he grabbed me by the torso and pulled me up and suddenly shoved me down again. And up and down and up and down and up and down, as I speared myself on his engorged organ.

The pain was unbearable. Tears formed in my eyes and I felt like I couldn't breathe.

And up and down and up and down and up and down as his enormous member rammed my prostate and the pressure brought me to life: Up went my own cock.

Up and down I went. Up and down and up and down. Minutes later I felt a sensation building in my balls. My cock felt tingly. Oh no, this couldn't be happening.

He reached down and grabbed it, smoothly stroking it three or four times.

• Oh, yes, bitch, you like this.

He focused his attention back onto the sides of my torso, by which he was holding me and thrusting me onto his cock.

It happened. I don't understand how it happened but I felt myself getting ready to explode. My prostate was so stimulated that - well, I shot my load before he did.

He laughed when I did – not a sneering laugh, it was almost joyous.

And he forced me to fuck myself on his gargantuan tool until finally he bred me.

FRIDAY, JUNE 24, LATE AFTERNOON – MASTER'S BEDROOM

• Do you enjoy time with Ruslan?

• No, Master.

• I hear your cock say otherwise.

Yeah? Well, ask my ass.

FRIDAY, JUNE 24, VERY LATE AFTERNOON – KITCHEN

• (Henri) He's big, isn't he?

• Yes, Sir.

• But you survived it.

• (Survival is relative.)

• Walking a bit stiffly, I see.

• (I'm just glad I can walk.)

• Bet you didn't have to give any blowjobs today, did you?

• No, Sir.

• Or yesterday?

• No, Sir.

• Not even Pyotr demanded a blowjob from you, did he?

• No, Sir.

• You'll find that's true most Thursdays and Fridays.

• . . . ?

• You want to know why that is, boy?

• Yes, Sir.

• Because they're saving themselves. They want to be sure they're good and horny for tomorrow night.

FRIDAY, JUNE 24, EVENING – PLAYROOM

• (Ruslan) That's it for tonight.

• (Five strokes with the strap? That's all?)

• Don't be feeling too smug, boy. Friday nights will be just minimum discipline. Don't worry. Tomorrow night make up for it.

FLASHFORWARD: THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 10 – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

• This all you write about first week as a slave.

• Yes.

• You end it Friday.

• Yes.

• And Saturday? I order you write about sex.

• I wrote about sex. I wrote a lot about sex. You said I didn't have to include everything.

• I said include when was important. Your first party important.

• . . .

• Alexei.

• I don't want to write about that.

• Explain.

• It's too humiliating.

• Exactly why you need to write. Slave need humility.

• Master, if I may ask a question.

• Within limit, yes.

• You said you wanted to show this account to other people. Your friend Horst, some others.

• Possibly.

• I wrote about a lot of sex already. Wouldn't it be boring if I included Saturday night? It's just the same, only more.

• Party not boring.

• I got fucked, I sucked dicks, I got spanked. What's to tell?

• Your mind is to tell. Your react to party is what you need to confront.

• So . . . this is going to sound like a request.

• Go ahead.

• I'm wondering if I can just write that and not all the ins and outs – so to speak – of the party.

• Again with joke. If Horst or other Man read this, how can he read you react without know what happen?

• . . . Well . . . you could write it.

• (slap) You telling Master what to do?

• No, Master, I wouldn't do that. It was only a suggestion.

• (long pause) Maybe it good suggestion. . . . Okay, I write about party. I have Oleg translate – tomorrow you read. And tomorrow I read what you write about how you feel about party.

• Besides sore?

• (slap) You think you are make joke but you are being – what is word?

• Impertinent?

• Maybe. What means?

• Disrespectful. Inappropriate. Too big for my britches.

• Yes. Impertulent.

• Although I don't have any britches.

• (slap) You have cross line, Alex. Too many joke. Too much impertulent. You find out how Master treat impertulent slave at Punish Session tonight. Then maybe you not make joke. Is clear?

• Yes, Master.

• Get to work.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: LIVE FROM ST. PETERSBURG, IT'S SATURDAY NIGHT!]