Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE: AN UNCONVENTIONAL CONVENTION

Previously: Dmitri has instructed Alex to write about the three most important events after the initial two weeks of his slavehood. He has now completed (and Dmitri has read) the first two.

Alex's first story was the visit by Latronius while Dmitri was on a business trip. Alex's positive response to their sex made him realize that he was, in fact, gay. The visit happened only because Ilya had blackmailed Pyotr into admitting Latronius and three of Ilya's friends, who participated in a rough gangbang that injured Alex. Alex expected Dmitri, after reading of this, to punish Ilya and Pyotr, but he surprisingly seems to have taken no action.

The second story revolved around Alex's overnight visit to Yuri, owner of Alex's friend Rhody, who loves him. After a `party', Alex is left alone with Rhody. They have tender sex and a meaningful discussion, prompting Alex to question if he can love both Matti and Rhody at the same time.

FLASHFORWARD: FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 18 – MASTER'S BEDROOM

• So that is two story. I see why they important to you. Both story have good and bad. First story good news – you know you gay – but it expose you lie to me. Second story bad news – you confuse about feeling for Rhode Island – but it expose problem we need to fix. You choose well. Third story . . . will be about trip in September? I am guess.

• Yes, Master. That was – of everything that happened, that was the most . . . overwhelming. It won't be ready tomorrow. There's too much.

• Is okay. Was eventful trip. Take time. Write in pieces.

• Thank you, Master.

ALEXEI: TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, LATE AFTERNOON/EARLY EVENING, SOMEWHERE WARM

I do not know where we are for sure. The air is hot and the sun is pouring down on me as I leave the airplane. It feels like about 95 degrees. The heat is dry, suggesting a desert climate. Middle East? Spain? Algeria? Hell, it could be Siberia during a heat wave.

Could we be in the Prince Regent's country? If we were, I was where Matti was.

I know now that he is not in Russia. Let me rewind a bit and explain – not for Master, who knows, but for any others with whom he might share this document.

By the way, I must call myself Alexei', now that I am past the point (mid-August) when Master gave me that name, replacing Boy'.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, MORNING (TEN HOURS EARLIER) – MASTER'S HOUSE

Master had me pack his things last night, so I knew he was going away, but I had no idea that I was going with him until he ordered me to meet him at the garage and Pyotr ushered me into the trunk, once again copping a generous feel of my buttcheeks as he maneuvered me into position. Sasha, Oleg, and Ilya were all accompanying Master, requiring a second car. That was unusual. Must be a big trip.

We drove to an airport, a small one, apparently a private one. We drove right out onto the tarmac, and I was surprised to find myself on it, naked as ever, in full view of anyone watching. I saw no one watching, however; it was that private. They marched me up the staircase in broad daylight, not bothering to cover me at all. But at least if I was going on a plane, it wouldn't be inside a trunk.

The plane was private, too – a jet seating perhaps twenty. I was startled to see it already occupied – by Yuri, his two assistants (Anil and Nurbek), and (surprise) Rhody. He and I were put in the back, in adjoining seats, but not allowed to speak.

Rhody looked thrilled to see me, and I have to admit my heart fluttered a bit when I saw his muscular body next to mine. He grabbed my hand and held it affectionately. I didn't resist, but when my cock started to respond, I quickly broke free and covered my crotch with a pillow. He smiled, understanding what had happened – and looking pleased that he had prompted this reaction.

We flew for an hour or so and then landed. Again, on a small airfield – no terminal evident – and Rhody and I awaited instructions on deplaning. But our Masters did not move; instead, the plane acquired four additional passengers: Peter' and Thomas' from the boat, and two short, naked male figures: Nodak and Wyoming.

My heart sank.

Only eight of us had emerged from the arduous contests on the boat with our virginity and genitalia intact. Four would go to Russia, four to the Royal Family. Now I knew the four who were taken to Russia – Rhody, Nodak, Wyoming and me.

Which meant Matti had been taken by the Arabs.

Nodak reacted with delight when he saw Rhody and me. Wyoming did not seem surprised, but nodded as he entered the cabin. They were seated across the aisle from us, but again we were not allowed to speak. And we were blindfolded for the remainder of our journey. I wanted to catch up with Nodak, whom I had not seen since Mogadishu, but there was no opportunity. Maybe later

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, LATE AFTERNOON/EARLY EVENING – SOMEPLACE WARM

They kept us blindfolded, so that when we deplaned, the heat – hot sun against bare skin – was my only clue as to where. If there were trees around, were they palm trees, olive trees, acacias, banyans? Wherever we were, if anyone was around, they didn't care that four guys were walking off the plane stark naked. So obviously, not a public airport.

Hands grabbed my arm and led me along the tarmac – painfully hot against my bare feet – then I found myself shoved against a car and bundled inside a trunk. It was a large trunk, there was plenty of room, and my claustrophobia was tolerable, especially after my blindfold was removed. I looked up but could see only blue sky and Ilya's face, before he deposited something heavy on my chest. Master's suitcase. This morning, I had loaded his suitcase into the back seat – it being more deserving of the privilege than I was – while I had the trunk to myself for the transport to the airport. But now, in this roomier trunk, I had to share the space with luggage.

We drove for only ten or fifteen minutes before we stopped and the trunk opened. I looked up and saw Sasha, who told me to hand him the suitcase. Ah yes, the suitcase still had priority over me. I did so, and he laid it on the ground, then motioned for me to climb out of the trunk so that I could carry the suitcase – didn't Master believe in wheeled luggage? – into what appeared to be a hotel.

Yes, a hotel.

I couldn't believe my eyes. I was standing in the sun, outdoors, in the nude, in front of a hotel. We were definitely in the desert somewhere. I saw a parking lot, sandy-looking earth, palm trees, and limousines. I saw others as naked as I was, trailing behind clothed Men, usually carrying suitcases (or, to be more accurate, pulling them, as apparently wheeled luggage was still a thing (hint, hint, Master)).

We were somewhere where nudity raised no eyebrows, obviously.

On the outside of the building in three-dimensional block letters were the words "FUNDUQ ALEURAAT LILRIJAL" below what presumably was the same message in Arabic script.

Oleg, looking cheerful, translated for me: "Men's Naturist Hotel."

Of the three assistants, Oleg was the one I liked best. He would talk to me sometimes, like Henri, and seemed to recognize the person behind the sex object. He continued:

• Yes, a hotel for male nudists. In this country, they wouldn't let women walk around naked, and certainly not in the presence of Men. So who comes here? Gay Men. The hotel's only open one week a month, but when it is, it's all-gay, all-nude. Officially, homosexuality is illegal in this country, but unofficially it's not only condoned but endorsed.

So we've gone to a nudist hotel? This boggled my mind; I couldn't envision Master at a naturist resort – and certainly not Sasha or Ilya. Oleg maybe, he was more of a free spirit, but the rest of them?

• Of course, this week is different.

Oh? Different how? And why `of course'?

We entered the building and I waited an appropriate distance behind Master, Sasha, Ilya and Oleg as they checked in. The man behind the desk was bare-chested and had a thin blue ring around his neck, like a choker but maybe an eighth of an inch wide. As we approached, I saw that the choker was all he was wearing, and that several bellboys wandered around the lobby wearing only hats and similar chokers. Naturist, indeed.

The clerk was handing out room keys.

• Suite 2702 for you. Mr. Andreyev is in 2709, Mr. Valenskiy in 2710, and Mr. Balin has 2713. Would you like a porter for your luggage?

• (Master) For me, no. Slave will carry. But for assistant, yes.

• Of course, sir.

The clerk had shown no reaction to the word `slave', as if it were a concept he encountered every day. He rang a bell, and three nude bellhops materialized to take the assistants' cases.

My head was still spinning. A nudist hotel. Master and some other Masters were coming here for some R&R – and bringing their slaves along, who would fit in because we were already nude. Since some gay Men had fantasy master-slave relationships, no one would know that I was an actual, involuntary slave. Which was why the clerk hadn't reacted when Master used the word `slave'.

But why had Oleg said this was `different'?

• Now about the convention, sir.

Convention?

• There are no events for returning members this evening, only new and prospective ones.

And then I saw it – a small sign behind Timothy that read Welcome to IAMSO' and underneath, in smaller letters, IAMSO' was delineated: International Association of Male Slave Owners.

Holy shit. A convention for slaveowners?

• Tomorrow and Thursday there are seminars during the day, as you know. Although technically not mandatory, everyone is expected to attend the assembly tomorrow night.

• (Master) As usual, Timothy.

Timothy? Master knew this guy. Hunh.

• Now, about the orgies.

Excuse me, did he say `orgies'?

• Tonight's orgy is only for new and prospective members. Tomorrow night's is open and Masters are encouraged to attend with their slaves, but it is not mandatory if you'd prefer a quiet night in your room or choose to share him with only a small group. Thursday night's orgy is, of course, mandatory for all Masters and slaves.

• (Master, to Timothy) I am familiar with protocol. Do you have slave collar ready?

• Yes, sir, of course. Let me just confirm that your preferences remain the same as when you registered. You are prohibiting scat, double-stuffing and fisting.

• Correct.

• Everything else is permitted – bondage, all types of impact and corporal punishment, piss, rimming, CBT, wax, suspension?

• Yes.

• Naturally, any activity that results in the slave's permanent injury, mutilation, or death is strictly prohibited.

Well that was nice to know.

• And no one will touch your slave without your express permission – except at the orgies, where it's open season on slaves. No limits other than those specifically forbidden by the slave's collar.

• Understand.

• So then, here is your slave's collar.

Timothy produced it. It was three times as wide as the one he was wearing and consisted of three bands – one brown, one orange and one pink. Master fixed it on me, then gathered Sasha, Oleg, and Ilya around me to examine it.

• (Master) See, collar tell everyone which activity his Master not allow. Brown one mean scat – I find scat disgust - orange one mean double penetrate and red one mean fist. Alexei hole not yet trained for two cock or fist.

• (Sasha) I would think he's ready, Boss. He's taken well over a hundred cocks.

Gee thanks, Sasha.

• (Master) Maybe, Sasha, but first fist up Alexei ass will be mine, not stranger.

Thanks, Master. Sorta.

Master distributed the key cards, handing one to me. (Uh, should I put it in my pocket?) Fortunately, Master had only brought one suitcase so I had a hand free. We headed over to a bank of four elevators. But these elevators were labeled "Men Only". Master pointed toward a pair down the hall, labeled slaves' – with a lower case s'.

I thought about the American South in the times when Black Americans had separate drinking fountains, restrooms, waiting rooms – and probably couldn't share elevators with white people. Although I had not been discriminated against for my whole life like they had, I felt a tiny measure of what they must have felt just by this simple diminishment.

I had to share this elevator with two other slaves toting luggage. One was a Black guy, half a foot taller than me, nicely built, wearing a collar with six rings – yellow, pink, orange, brown, black, and red. The other was white with light brown hair and brown eyes, slim and slightly too tall to be Little Big Man material.

• (White slave, to Black slave) Wow, you have a lot of rings on your collar.

He had an accent that was pure British-Commonwealth-in-the-Southern-Hemisphere: Aussie or New Zealander or South African, I couldn't tell the difference.

• (White slave) You're lucky. Your Master really protects you.

Black slave raised his fingers to his lips in alarm: Shhh!

The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and Black slave got off. Down Under Guy turned his attention to me, studying my collar.

• You've got only three. Brown is scat, and orange is double-stuffing. What's the red one?

I pretended not to hear – or see him. He blathered on.

• I don't have a red one. I've got yellow instead – that's piss. I don't get pissed on tomorrow night, lucky me. You've got red, I don't, so something my master lets get done to me. Fisting – is it fisting? He fists me sometimes. It's fisting, right?

I turned my back on him.

• What? You afraid of talking? We're in a fucking elevator, for god's sake.

I pegged him for Aussie. New Zealanders were more polite.

• Who's going to hear us? Our Masters? Listen, my Master's downstairs drilling some stupid porter he spotted when he came in. He's a fucking moron anyway. What's your Master like?

To my infinite relief, the elevator stopped at twenty-four. His stop. He was looking at me, waiting for an answer. I pointed toward the open elevator door until he finally realized he had to get out. And did.

With two stops along the way, I arrived at the 27th floor after Master had gotten there. He was waiting impatiently in the hallway outside a room. I used the key card to admit him to his room – our room? - and carried in his suitcase.

Suite 2702, Timothy had said. It was a suite, all right – the size of four normal-sized hotel rooms. There was a living room with a wall-sized television, a bedroom (with only a half-wall-sized television), a working office with computer hook-up, an enormous walk-in closet, a kitchen and fully stocked wet bar (none of that for me, of course). And not one but two bathrooms – one for Master, one for slave.

Something caught my eye on the desk in the living room. A card labeled IAMSO Convention – Official Schedule.

I would never have conceived of such a thing. A convention of slaveowners and their slaves. With nightly orgies. And some kind of activities (speeches? panel discussions? classes?) that required a schedule. Other than fuck slaves, what did slaveowners DO at such a convention?

A darker thought occurred to me: Was this a marketplace? Were they here to buy and sell slaves from each other? Could I be leaving here on a different plane than I arrived on?

I knew I was in a trial period with Master – that if he wasn't pleased with me, he would replace me, presumably to sell me to another Master. But he had given me a pretty clear indication that that decision would be made as I approached my one-year anniversary – when it was time for next year's Little Big Man. I didn't think it would be now.

But why was I here? Why were WE here?

And if Rhody, Nodak and Wyoming were all here – was Matti here, as well?

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER FORTY-TWO - GUILTY UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY]