Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE: THE DOORBELL RINGS

Previously: Alex is subjected to his first Saturday night party', during which he is flogged, spanked, forced to suck cocks, and fucked by Dmitri and all eight members of his staff. Recalling it later, he tells Dmitri that he had the horrible sense of feeling worthless'. Dmitri tells him that when he embraces being worthless, he will have worth.

Alex is slowly discovering more information about Dmitri's other employees, including the fact – withheld from his initial write-up but added months later – that Pyotr has a boyfriend from town that he sometimes sneaks in for overnight trysts. Alex learned this from Ilya one afternoon while he was working with Henri in the kitchen.

ALEX: THURSDAY, JUNE 30, MID-MORNING – LAUNDRY ROOM

My best friend on the diving team back at UW-Superior was named Daniel. Daniel would spend his summers, with his parents' hearty approval, backpacking in Europe. Last winter, before the Little Big Man Contest raised its ugly head, he asked me if I wanted to accompany him this summer. I had to decline, knowing Dad would never approve and would certainly not finance the trip. Besides, I needed a summer job to earn money for school expenses.

Daniel said it was a shame because travel was so freeing. He said that the moment you set foot in a foreign country it's like time is distended. You are so overwhelmed by new sights, sounds and tastes that you are completely transported and after three or four days it seems like months – you don't even think about what's going on at home.

In a way, I experienced that same sensation from the moment I boarded the ship in Fort Lauderdale for "Little Big Man", especially after the contest was revealed to be a fraud and we were stripped of our clothes. I gave no more thought to my Dad or Clacksburg or Superior or anything that had occurred in my life up to that point. I was so immersed in my new environment, concentrating on my relationship with Matti, our captivity and the (temporarily successful) effort to remain Tops, that the rest of my life retreated into a tiny corner of my brain, as if it was hiding.

It was happening again. My entire world now was this house and these nine Men. Every waking moment of every day was absorbed in the details of being a slave and doing it right. It had been more than three weeks since I had worn a stitch of clothing and I didn't even think about nudity anymore. I was just naked all the time – that was how it was. I had been fucked in the ass thirty times, swallowed nearly as many milky discharges, kneeling and bending over compliantly as if I had been doing it for years.

I had been doing that for eleven days.

The worst part was that I barely think about Matti anymore. For two months he was the most important thing in my life but now it had been days since I had given him more than a passing thought. I was too absorbed in the immediate, in surviving the day, in trying to avoid displeasing Master.

But Matti invaded my dreams almost every night. It wasn't always the dream in the woods, with the voice calling out for help as he was being raped. Often it was more benign.

Last night I dreamt I was in a diving competition. In contention, I was determined to have a spectacular last dive, to `make a big splash' – an ironic phrase, because in diving you score higher for making a small splash upon entry. I was standing on the platform and saw him in the crowd, watching me. Suddenly I noticed that I was nude and everyone was staring at me and laughing. Except Matti. He stood up and patted his heart, then picked up a hat shaped like a giant wedge of cheese and put it on. It gave me such confidence that I made a spectacular dive and the audience was cheering as I rose up out of the water. I looked over at Matti but he had vanished. I needed to see him being proud of me and he wasn't there anymore. A feeling of panic hit me so intense that I woke up panting.

I was unloading laundry from the dryer and remembering that dream when the doorbell rang.

The doorbell rang!

In a week and a half that had never happened. The possibility of a visitor was something else outside my world; my universe consisted of the nine Men who lived or worked in Master's house.

The doorbell rang. Was I supposed to open it? Was the visitor expecting to be greeted by a naked slave?

Then I remembered a snippet of conversation from when I was introduced to the household staff. "Ruslan admit visitor at door if you not available."

I was supposed to answer the door, then. Was I available? I was working – but then I was always working. I think "not available" meant being outdoors where I wouldn't hear the doorbell. Or being mid-fellatio.

I dropped the pair of Sasha's boxers I was holding and scurried to the entrance hall. My heart beating fast and suddenly ashamed of my nakedness, I went to the door and opened it.

There was a ruddy-faced man, stocky but not fat, in his early-to-mid-thirties. A thin, russet-colored beard covered his face. He was dressed in a business suit and his shoes looked expensive. I ushered him into the entrance hall wordlessly.

He took a moment to study me.

• You must be Dmitri's new slave.

In English. And not a Russian accent. It sounded more . . . German.

• Let's have a look at you.

I suddenly remembered my place and dropped to the floor, presenting my ass to him. Hoping he would not report my delay in doing so to Master.

He leaned over and traced a finger lightly through my exposed crack, teasing my anus.

• Lovely. (Squeezing my buttcheeks with his two hands) You may rise.

Who was this Man? He must be a legitimate, sanctioned visitor, or Pyotr would not have admitted him to the grounds. But not having been informed of his expected arrival, I had no idea what to do with him. And it wasn't like I could ask.

He took note of my evident confusion.

• Didn't you know we were coming?

• (WE?) No, Sir.

• I believe your Master is expecting me in the conference room.

Yes, definitely a German accent.

The conference room was adjacent to the library. I had never seen it occupied, but I had polished its conference table, which seated eight. Master sat there now, with his laptop open and a pile of papers nearby. A business meeting, evidently.

• Boy, tell Ivan that I will need you this morning.

• (Uh, don't you normally text him with such requests?)

• I left my phone upstairs.

• (Oh.)

"Tell Ivan." When I was not permitted to initiate conversations. But now I had to. The best solution would have been for me to simply fetch his phone. But that's not what he told me to do.

I found Ivan, vacuuming, in Grigory's room. To say the least, he was startled by my appearance.

• Boy, what are you doing here?

A question! I could answer without having to speak first.

• Sir, Master instructed me to inform you that he would be needing my services this morning.

Ivan growled and told me to fetch Ruslan and have him complete my work so that the clothes didn't wrinkle. Wrinkled clothes meant more ironing for Ivan – ironing being a task, like vacuuming, that I was not trusted to do.

Ivan resumed vacuuming, leaving me to wonder how the hell I was supposed to find Ruslan and how I would summon up the nerve to convey an instruction to him, of all people. Ruslan was not, as I had hoped, in his room, or anywhere upstairs. I was heading down the staircase when –

The doorbell rang again.

Shit. The German had said `we' were coming, hadn't he?

I rushed to the door and opened it, admitting a fat Man in probably his sixties. I fell to the floor and presented my ass.

"Vstavtay" he said, or something like that. It was one of the few Russian expressions Master had taught me. He was telling me to stand up.

I led him to the conference room, where I had to consider carefully what to do. Stay there, where Master `needed me', or leave and continue the search for Ruslan.

Priorities. My priority was to obey orders. Ivan had given me an order, and Master had said I must obey orders from servants as if they had come from him. Master had not ordered me to stay, only to tell Ivan he would need me.

I decided I should search for Ruslan and left the conference room. Master did not chastise me for doing so, so I must have guessed right. But if Ruslan was not in the house – quickly confirmed – he was probably with Grigory in the garden. Which meant I would have to leave the house.

I dashed into the library and scampered down the spiral staircase leading to the slave tunnel. I sprinted down the passageway, needing to minimize my time. What if more visitors arrived and I couldn't hear the doorbell? I would surely be in very deep shit.

I scrambled up the stairs to the greenhouse. Which was . . . empty.

Shit, shit, shit!

I darted outside to look around. No one. The grounds were extensive: Ruslan could be anywhere. Grigory could be anywhere. Neither was in sight.

I couldn't run around the entire grounds looking for him. I'd have to cut my losses and suffer the consequences, hoping Master would understand that I tried my best – and knowing that it probably wouldn't matter that I'd tried my best. The bottom line was that I had failed.

It was a good thing that I was fit, for I was able to sprint back to the house without getting winded, and nearly collided with Sasha, on his way to the conference room. He said nothing as I continued to the front door and opened it, just to make sure there was no one there.

There was someone there.

Shit, shit, SHIT!

It was a Man I recognized. One of Master's colleagues on the ship, known to us as `John'.

This couldn't be good. I fell to the floor and presented my ass.

• Have you lost your sense of hearing?

• No, Sir.

• I will have a word with Dmitri. Surely he is not training you well. I expected more from you, Wisconsin.

He kicked me hard in the ribs and ordered me to stand, adding:

• Dmitri told me you were working out well. Evidently, he was mistaken. Even Jackson would not have kept a Man waiting for nearly three minutes.

Three minutes! He must have arrived just after I entered the slave tunnel.

I was partway to the conference room when the doorbell rang again. This would be a comedy of errors if it was at all funny.

I had to trust that `John' knew his way to the conference room. I bowed my head quickly to acknowledge the fact that I would have to leave him on his own, and dashed toward the front door.

• Oh, NOW you decide to obey.

The newest visitor was a Russian version of Dwayne Johnson in an action movie: tall, bald, strong, unsmiling. Or maybe an unfriendly version of Mr. Clean. I presented myself and he snarled something unintelligible.

When I didn't move, he muttered a phrase including the word `Amerikanskiy', and then added, in English, "Up."

I led him to the conference room. I had to make a choice now – another effort to find Ruslan, or give up and stay.

Master made my decision for me.

• Boy – under table.

I did so, taking note of the six Men seated around it – Master, Sasha, the German, Mr. Clean, the fat guy and John'. During the meeting I would learn all their names – the German was named Horst, Mr. Clean was Misha, the fat guy was Semyon and John' was Yuri. I would also learn the size and shape of their cocks.

Sasha was first to feed me his penis as the others talked about me – in English (surprise).

By this time, I had learned something of Sasha's blowjob preferences. He liked me to take his balls in my mouth and caress them, which got him nice and hard before he was ready to invade my oral cavity. When he was, he took an aggressive approach, forcing my head on and off his cock with both hands, even though to do so he had to reach under the table. I hoped Master wasn't relying on him to take notes.

Sasha's cock glided in and out until I felt him hold my head steady and I knew he was about to come. The whole table heard him begin to pant as he neared climax and I imagined them all staring at him as he grew more and more excited. Moments later he exploded into my mouth. A prolonged "Ahhh" sprang from his lips as he dumped his load into my gullet.

Someone said something in Russian, ending with the word Sasha and a question mark and the others laughed.

Then Misha (short for Mikhail) – alias Mr. Clean – unzipped and exposed his cock. Not knowing how he liked it, I began by taking long licking strokes along his shaft along with quick flicks of his frenulum, a trick learned from Latronius. A couple of minutes into it, I heard:

• (Misha) This boy of yours is a better cocksucker than the last one.

• (Semyon) My grandmother would have been a better cocksucker than the last one.

• (Misha) She was, she was.

• (Laughter)

• (Yuri) (Unintelligible Russian)

• (Master) (Unintelligible Russian – a lengthy response)

• (Yuri and Master back and forth in Russian, sounding somewhat confrontational)

• (Horst) If you please, gentlemen?

• (Yuri) I was just telling him something about his slave.

• (Horst) That you can't share with me? I find his new slave delightful. I'd like to fuck him sometime.

It dawned on me why the meeting was conducted in English – Horst, a German, did not speak Russian. English was their only common language.

• (Master) You get chance, Horst. But not today.

• (Horst) May I ask what you were discussing?

• (Yuri) Very well. He may be a better cocksucker than Jackson, but he's a poor slave. He took three minutes to answer the door.

• (Master) You rush to judging, Yuri. I not hear his side of story.

• (Semyon) That's the trouble with you, Dmitri. `His side of the story'! A slave has no side of the story. He failed in his task – that is all that matters. He must be punished.

• (Master) Yes, he will have punish. But how much is determine after I interview boy.

• (Semyon) Pah! Interview him? You're getting soft, Dmitri.

• (Misha – gleefully) I'M not! I'm quite hard! (Laughter).

• (Master) Alex have much learn. But he obedient. If he slow to answer door, I find out why.

(Confession: Master wasn't the only one with imperfect English. But I know how he speaks English and don't remember the others' syntactical abuses sufficiently to document them accurately.)

I nearly gagged on Misha's cock. It was the first time I had heard Master use my name. And then I brought off Misha and moved on to the German, Horst.

And the meeting went back to discussing the acquisition of a mining company in the Urals.

THURSDAY, JUNE 30, AFTERNOON – GARDEN

After sucking off all five of Master's guests – the curmudgeonly Semyon seeming to take a kinder view of me after he unloaded in my mouth – I was dismissed and immediately returned to the laundry. The clothes were just as I had left them. Some of the trousers and shirts had become wrinkled. All I could do was hang them up and leave them for Ivan to iron later. I folded the remaining underwear and rolled up the socks, carefully sorting them by owner – socks were tricky but I think I did it correctly; underwear was easier due to differences in size and style.

This made me twenty minutes late reporting to Henri, for which he, in quick succession, berated me, asked for an explanation, and forgave me. God bless the French. Fortunately, lunch – which the business guests were also attending – was not delayed more than a couple of minutes, and I was able to fulfill my role as nude waiter without further incident.

It was Thursday, my afternoon to work for and get fucked by Grigory. Except, as it turned out, it wasn't.

It was a cloudy day and, for the end of June, chilly, at least if you're naked. Today I was to weed a portion of the vegetable garden, starting with the cabbage patch (sans kids).

But then Pyotr showed up. I sighed. Pyotr would want a blowjob, which would slow down my work and cause Grigory to be upset with me for not finishing my assignment. Which he would report to Master who would increase my punishment beyond whatever I had incurred this morning. Fuck!

I fell to my knees, but instead he barked, "Nyet. Naklonitsya."

Naklonitsya' was another of the words Master had taught me. It meant bend over'. And then I spotted the lubricant Pyotr had brought with him. Apparently, he wanted to fuck my ass. But Pyotr's fuck day was Monday; today it was Grigory's turn.

Almost involuntarily I sought out Grigory and he yelled across:

• He win game Saturday night. I lose. He fuck you today instead of me.

So that's what was going on when they were raping me in two-minute segments Saturday night: a competition for fucking rights – with me as the prize. I would feel flattered if I had any ego left.

There was nothing nearby to bend over, so I just bent over, steadying myself with a pair of tomato plant stakes. I heard Pyotr's clothes being shed and soon felt a probing finger in my asshole spreading the gooey gel around, preparing me for Pyotr's erect member.

Suddenly there was another voice.

• Pyotr!

Ilya. Oh, my Lord, was I going to have to suck him off as well? My mouth had already had quite a workout today.

But before Pyotr sank his cock into my guts, the two of them had a conversation, which attracted Grigory's attention as well. Unfortunately, it was all in Russian, so what appears below is just my imagined version of what transpired, extrapolated from attitudes and inflections and the few words of sex-slave Russian that I had been taught.

• (Pyotr, annoyed) What are you doing here?

• (Ilya) something something fuck something Boy.

• (Pyotr) Whatchu talkin' about, Willis?

Okay, that's a joke you won't understand, Master, dating from an American television show of the 1980's called "Diff'rent Strokes."

• (Ilya) something something fuck something Boy.

• (Pyotr pushing Ilya back) Get out of here, asshole!

• (Ilya pushing Pyotr back) You get out of here.

• (Pyotr) No, YOU get out of here.

• (Ilya) No, YOU get out of here.

Okay, I don't really think it was at this fifth-grade playground level of conversation, but they were obviously fighting and pissed at each other.

• (Grigory) What's going on, you two?

Grigory, playing the adult in the room?

• (Pyotr) Ilya wants to fuck Boy. He's crazy. It's my right.

• (Grigory) Ilya, you're not allowed to fuck Boy except at parties. You know that.

• (Ilya) Yeah, well, we'll see about that.

• (Grigory) Go on, go back to the house, go about your business.

• (Ilya) Something something something Pyotr and a lot of Russian that went on for over a minute.

• (Grigory) No shit?

• (Ilya) Yes shit.

• (Pyotr) Well, okay, if you put it like that.

Now I have absolutely no idea what Ilya said during that long speech but whatever it was convinced Pyotr to hand me over to Ilya. Grigory was not pleased but chose not to intervene, as long as Pyotr was conceding to Ilya.

I was subsequently reamed by Ilya, who was enthusiastic but less of a hard driver than Pyotr, so for me it was a good exchange. As soon as Ilya pulled out, though, Pyotr and Grigory demanded blowjobs, both feeling deprived of their ass-fuck.

After that, I was expected to carry on weeding as if it was a normal afternoon. Which, as a naked slave in an all-male, all-gay, all-top household, it kinda was.

What happened next made it not normal at all.

• (Ilya) Boy, what happened today was between Pyotr and me. It's none of your business, do you understand?

• Yes, Sir.

• So you're not going to tell Dmitri about this, are you?

• Sir, I am not allowed to volunteer information.

• That's not what I asked you, you little asswipe. I'm not allowed to fuck you on weekdays. You're not going to let your Master know that I did, are you?

• Sir, I cannot lie to Master. But I won't tell him unless he asks me.

• And what if he does ask you?

• Sir, I must tell him the truth.

• (slap) Wrong.

• . . . ?

• If he asks you to describe the sex you had today, what will you say?

• . . . (Shit, what's a safe answer to this?) . . . That I was fucked once and sucked two cocks, Sir.

• Whose cocks, Boy?

• Pyotr's and Grigory's, Sir.

• (slap) You will tell him you sucked my cock and Grigory's cock. Pyotr fucked you, is that understood?

• . . . I understand, Sir.

• (slap) And if he asks whose cocks you sucked this afternoon, you will say what?

• Pyotr's and Grigory's, Sir.

• (slap) You want to rethink that answer?

• Sir, I cannot lie to my Master. He has made that very clear.

• (Slap – hard!) You fucking piece of shit. Didn't he also tell you to obey one of us as if the order came from him?

• Yes, Sir.

• Then hear this. I am ordering you to lie to your Master.

• . . .

• Do you understand?

• Yes, Sir.

• So if he asks, you will lie to him?

• No, Sir. I will suffer the consequences of disobeying you, but I cannot disobey my Master, Sir.

• Okay, you pathetic little turd, here's another order: Run, as fast as you can, down the driveway toward the front gate.

• . . . ???

• Go!

My head was in a whirl. I did not understand what Ilya's game was. I realized that he could get in trouble for fucking me out of turn (though why this was such a big deal was beyond me), but what he was doing now was incomprehensible.

Nevertheless, an order was an order, and this was didn't contradict any of Master's orders, so I began running at full speed – not as full as I would have normally run, feeling the aftereffects of the fucking, but I could still move at a decent pace. I ran for a good quarter of a mile, hearing his running footsteps behind me. And then I heard

• Glance over your shoulder and look worried!

This was probably the strangest order I'd been given in my eleven days as a slave, but I did so, and saw that Ilya was holding his phone out in front of him.

• Halt!

Ilya caught up to me and grabbed my wrist violently. With his other hand, he switched off his phone.

• Now, you little cunt, let me explain something. If you tell your Master that I fucked you this afternoon, I will tell him that you tried to escape. And I will show him this video. Do you know what happens to slaves who try to escape?

• No, Sir. (But it can't be good.)

• Jackson tried to escape once. Jackson no longer has balls. Draw your own conclusions.

Part of the mystery of my predecessor explained. Jackson had tried to escape. If that was true, no wonder everyone seemed to be trashing his memory. And it explained why he was no longer here.

Grigory was now major-league pissed that I had lost so much prime weeding time. Which he exhibited not by lashing out at Ilya but by kneeing me in the balls.

Great day so far, huh?

THURSDAY, JUNE 30, LATE AFTERNOON – MASTER'S BEDROOM

• You fail three time today. You late open door for Yuri. You not finish laundry, you leave Ivan with much iron. And you late to Henri. Are serious failing. Do you have explain?

• Yes, Master.

• Explain.

I did, grateful that his list of alleged transgressions did not include an escape attempt. So neither Pyotr, Grigory, nor Ilya had reported to him what happened in the garden earlier.

All during the first week, Master had asked me daily if I had enjoyed being fucked by each of his servants. This week, so far, he had not. I was praying that he would continue that trend. I was waiting for the shoe to drop and must have appeared nervous. But Master must have interpreted my nervousness as anxiety over punishment for my `failing' this morning, and did not ask about my afternoon sex.

• That reasonable explain. However, slave who fail in duty must have punish. You receive five extra stroke of cane for each failing. Semyon would have give twenty. You fortunate to have Master who is fair and merciful.

Right. Fair and merciful. Fifteen strokes when I did nothing wrong except try to follow impossible orders.

Just when I thought I was getting the hang of this thing.

SATURDAY, JULY 2 – PLAYROOM

I was nervous. There had been guests at dinner – the same four Men who had been at the meeting on Thursday. Their presence worried me – were they also going to attend the `party'? They were. And would all of the staff be in attendance as well? They would.

At 8:30, Ruslan and Pyotr carried me downstairs, blindfolded me, and bent me over something padded. (A pommel horse?) My arms were pulled forward and loops went around my wrists, tying me tight. I felt ropes around my ankles, and, as expected, my legs were spread to give better access to my soon-to-be-raped asshole, and then tied to the pommel horse (I was assuming). I heard Master's voice.

• Bring in other boy.

Other boy?

Wait! `John' – that is, Yuri – had a Little Big Man slave.

A Little Big Man slave! Who could be Matti! Was it too much to hope for that –

• Misha bring boy to party.

Yeah, it would be. Misha's boy. Not Yuri's.

• We party together. We see who have most fun.

My guess would be you, Master. It certainly won't be one of us slaves.

I heard footsteps and then, nearby, a thud. The kind of thud that my body made when I was dumped onto this slightly padded something. There were two pommel horses in the playroom. Yeah, it fit.

• (Master) Misha, my slave new and not have name yet. He go by `Boy'. Introduce your slave.

• (Misha) My slave's name is Hi. (Probably not spelled like that, but it sounded like you were saying hello.) His original name was Somchai, but that's a very bad name – in Thai, it means man of worth'. He's a slave, not a Man, and he is worthless. So I gave him a new name, Hi. Hi' means `cunt' in his language.

• Is good name. Tonight we play game. Is compete. Winner can choose Boy or Hi for overnight guest. Probably my staff choose Hi. Probably guest choose Boy. We see.

Well, I couldn't see anything. He explained the rules of the game'. Each guest would pick a card from a deck – depending on what suit was chosen, they would either give one of us five strokes of the strap (spades), three strokes with the cane (clubs), fuck our mouth (diamonds), or fuck our ass (hearts). Which one of us? Flip a coin – heads it's Hi, tails it's Boy'.

The goal was to do all four activities and lose your load at least once in each of us. With four activities, that meant a minimum of four rounds, which meant a lot of fucking and a lot of impact. The only silver lining was that if you got the same combination of activity and slave as you'd done before (like caning Hi's ass), then you had to sit out that round.

What was it about these Russians and their fucking games? And, yes, I meant that literally. Didn't we have enough of that on the ship?

And, it turned out, there was a competition between Hi and myself. When the game ended, whoever had taken the most cocks (in either end) was the winner – his reward was to get fucked in the ass by everyone who hadn't done that to him yet.

There were thirteen Men in the room. I have nothing against the Thai people, but Hi, I hope you `win'.

It seemed like there were more black (beating) cards drawn than red (fucking) cards. Over the course of the five rounds, clubs were drawn no fewer than seventeen times. That was fifty-one strokes of the cane. And thirty-six strokes of the strap. I got six cocks up my ass and three in my mouth. Hi had five in his ass and four in his mouth. Which meant we were tied in the `slave competition'. Guess what the tie-breaker was? Yep, most cocks in the ass.

Which meant it was me. My reward was to be gang-banged by seven Men in succession.

Master went first, of course, out of deference. He was horny as hell after watching us get raped and thrashed without having lost his load yet, and plowed me like there was no tomorrow.

He then deferred to Misha, the owner of the other slave. I was intensely grateful that Master called me Boy' and not Cunt' like Misha had done with his slave. Misha was strong but didn't fuck as hard as Master. The German, Horst, followed, and then the home team: Oleg, Ivan, Grigory, and Ruslan, in that order. Saving the two biggest for last – Grigory's twelve (I swear) inches and Ruslan's tree-trunk girth. Both of whom fucked me like it was their last orgasm before being sent to the executioner.

You would think that after eleven cocks one or two more wouldn't matter, but with cocks that enormous, it felt like being penetrated for the first time.

I was bleeding afterwards.

Of course, the others were cheering and applauding as I was being ridden by one after the other, shouting words of encouragement to the fuckers as they ravaged my insides. While Ruslan was doing me, I heard activity to my left, and realized that Master was fucking the other slave.

Master was fucking the other slave.

Master was fucking someone ELSE!

A strange feeling passed through my brain, a feeling of resentment. Not the resentment of having my prostate jammed halfway to my lungs by Ruslan – painful as that was – but resentment toward Hi. Why was Master fucking HIM? Wasn't I his slave? I felt oddly betrayed.

For a moment. Then Ruslan plunged his mammoth phallus into me with such a monumental thrust that I screamed, and concentrated on getting through the ordeal – the last rape of the evening. I hoped.

My mind was so distracted through all of this that I paid no attention to the moment when Master congratulated the winner on his victory – and the fact that his prize was to be me (for a night).

Personally I didn't care who won – although, in retrospect, I should have. It turned out to matter.

[COMING UP NEXT - CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX: WRITING ASSIGNMENT]