Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: GUILTY UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY

Previously: Alex, now "Alexei", finds himself on an airplane with all four Russian Masters and their slaves, plus Dmitri's and Yuri's assistants. Since the other three slaves are Rhody, Nodak, and Wyoming, he realizes that Matti must be owned by the Prince Regent's family. They arrive at a place with a desert climate and Alexei is astonished to be walking about in the open air while completely nude – and entering what seems to be a hotel. Oleg tells him it is an all-male naturist hotel, but of course, this week is different'. He discovers why: it is the site of the annual convention of IAMSO - the International Association of Male Slave Owners. He is dressed' in a collar which designates activities forbidden to any other Master who might use him, and experiences a surprising elevator trip with another slave who speculates verbally about the meaning of the bands in Alexei's hotel-issued collar. Alexei worries about the implications of a slaveowners' convention – was it also a marketplace? Was he brought here to be sold?

ALEXEI: WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, MID-MORNING – SUITE 2702

At breakfast, I had sat on the floor in case anyone at the table wanted a blowjob at eight in the morning. They didn't. But hey, I was a slave, it wasn't like I could sit in a chair at the grownups' table, now, was it?

Back in the suite, Master was making phone calls. Sasha, Oleg and Ilya were with him, babbling away amongst themselves in Russian.

There was a knock on the door.

Master looked up, annoyed; he clearly was not expecting a visitor. He said the single word, "Alexei" (a name I had recently acquired) and I rushed to answer the door.

The Man at the door was tall and olive-skinned, Middle-Eastern in appearance, with a thick mustache and piercing eyes. He wore a uniform that looked military or maybe police – in any case, official and rather intimidating. Unsure if I should invite him inside, I stepped back a few feet and displayed my ass.

• Are you the property of Dmitri Malenkov?

• (Malenkov? News to me. I'd never heard Master's last name.) Quite possibly, Sir.

I felt a shoe – make that a boot – against my ass and a hard shove, pushing me down prostrate on the floor. He pressed his foot down hard, digging his heel sharply into my glutes.

• `Quite possibly'? What kind of response is that? Are you telling me you don't know? I am not a Man you want to fool around with, boy.

• Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. I do not know my Master's surname. I am not allowed to speak his first name but it is the one you mentioned. So I believe you have come to the right room.

He kicked me in the side and stomped on my ass.

• No one asked for your opinion of my sense of direction. Now get up, boy.

I did. He took out his phone, fingered it, then looked at me, the phone, me again, and then nodded.

• I need to speak to your Master.

Why? What had Master done? Russian businessmen were notoriously corrupt. Fear gripped me like a pair of plyers on my balls: If Master was in trouble with the law, what would happen to me?

I ushered Military Guy into the suite, guiding him into the office where Master was. Before I could display to follow protocol, Military Guy grabbed my arm and more-or-less flung me to the corner of the room.

Master looked astonished and I could tell that he had no idea who Military Guy was – but he had taken note of the uniform.

• (Military Guy) Dmitri Malenkov?

• (Master) I am known by that name.

• This is your slave?

• He is.

Military Guy handed Master a sheet of paper, turned on his heels and left. Master stared at the paper, looking astonished – and pissed.

• (sounding as pissed as he looked) Alexei, come.

I interpreted this as a direction to join him, not to ejaculate, and went to him. He handed me the paper. I stared at it, as incredulously as he had moments earlier.

The paper read: "SUMMONS. The slave of Dmitri Malenkov is required to appear in Slave Court on Wednesday, 7 September, 2:00 p.m. Courtroom A, 3rd floor. Attendance of Master is not mandatory but strongly recommended."

• What the hell this, boy? What you have done?

• I . . . I don't know, Master.

He slapped me, hard.

• You don't know.

Not a question. Stick to the protocols, don't answer. He was expecting an answer, however, and slapped me again, on the other cheek.

• Are you say you don't know why you are summon to Slave Court?

• Yes, Master. I don't know what I've done wrong.

• If serious, my reputation is damage – is clear?

• Yes, Master.

• Little Big Man have reputation for quality slave. Is business meeting in half hour. Here – in this room. If others know you are summon – if word spread already . . . is bad. They expect me punish you. They see you and they ask – why slave not punish.

I didn't like where this was going.

• I put you in slave closet. Clean out and grease up.

I didn't like where this was going at all, even though I had no idea what a `slave closet' was. I repaired to the slave bathroom, douched, and squirted lubricant up my ass.

There was a door in the interior hallway that had never been opened. I'd assumed it was a linen closet. Master ordered me inside. It was dark and there was no light switch.

For a claustrophobe, the slave closet was terrifyingly small – just large enough to hold a single chair. And built into that chair, protruding from the center of the seat, was a wooden phallus.

• Sit.

My reaction to that order would have added an extra consonant to that word. I positioned myself over the phallus and eased myself onto it. It was only about four inches long, but it was made of wood and afforded no flexibility whatsoever.

• My name not Malenkov. Malenkov is name I use at IAMSO for secure and private. Slave not need to know Master true identity.

With that, he shut me into the darkness for the next hour. At one point, Master opened the door to display me to his guests, undoubtedly to explain why I had not greeted them at the door. I heard him say:

• No, no, is not punish. Is discipline. Keep boy in place.

The guests seemed impressed with his training methods, and I concluded that whatever I had done had not reached their ears.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, AFTERNOON – COURTROOM A

We traveled in our separate elevators to the third floor and followed the signs to the two courtrooms on the floor. Master was obviously apprehensive and trying not to show it. I was scared shitless.

A Man wearing a blue suit approached. Late twenties, Latino, prematurely balding, with sharp features that made him quite attractive without actually being handsome.

• May I see the summons?

Master handed him the paper, which was then returned to him.

• Show them this and they'll seat you in front. Your slave comes with me.

He took me to a back entrance, which led into a tiny antechamber with doors off to either side. One was marked Members', the other slaves'. Of course, I entered the one marked `Members'.

(Uh, no. Just checking to see if you were paying attention.)

I was not alone. The room's other occupant was Black, wearing a collar with six layers to it: the slave I had ridden the elevator with yesterday, along with Down Under Dude. Pieces fell into place.

Clearly Down Under Dude was in trouble, but were the two of us in the dock as well? We waited in silence for him to join us. He didn't. But someone else did – a slave I had never seen before. He wore the same blue collar as Timothy and the bellboys, so I assumed he was a hotel slave and not one of the guests'.

The Latino reappeared.

• The trial is beginning. When we enter the courtroom you will sit against the left wall in the front corner until you are called.

Called. It sounded like we were witnesses and not defendants. If so, that was a relief. And I might have sat on that damn phallus for nothing.

It looked mostly like a traditional courtroom – the judge's bench raised, a jury box to the right side, a desk for the prosecutor to present his case, and room for over a hundred spectators.

There was a jury of mixed races and ages. The spectator area was packed – not an empty seat that I could see. About a third of the spectators, segregated in an area to the side – were slaves. I spotted Nodak, Rhody and Wyoming among them. In fact, the whole gang was here – Yuri, Peter, `Thomas', Sasha, Oleg, Ilya, Nurbek and Anil, all in the second row, behind Master.

Seated at the prosecutor's desk was Military Guy.

There were three features of the room that I have not described yet. The first was a large screen suspended from the ceiling to the left of the judge, in front of the prosecutor's desk. This wasn't so surprising, as I imagine such screens appear in courtrooms when visual presentations were to be made.

The second was the presence of four pegs on the floor, arrayed in a rectangle, cylinders about four inches high and an inch in diameter with grooves around the side, ringing the cylinder in concentric circles. I couldn't figure out their purpose.

As for the third: The defendant – Down Under Dude – was not seated at a desk with his lawyer. There was no desk and there was no lawyer. He could not argue his own case because a roll of duct tape had sealed his mouth. He was not seated at a desk because he was not seated at all – his wrists were tied to ropes suspended from the ceiling, his feet dangling a foot off the floor.

The Latino, who seemed to be the Bailiff, addressed the Court.

• This is the case of Bruce Donnelly and the International Association of Male Slave Owners versus the slave of Bruce Donnelly. The Honorable Judge Mario Spirazzi presiding. Counsel for the prosecution is Major Ashraf Sadiq. Defendant is a slave and has no right to counsel.

• (Judge) Major Sadiq, you may proceed.

• (Sadiq, a.k.a. Military Guy) The prosecution calls the slave of Dmitri Malenkov.

What? I was the first witness? Shit, that was pressure. The witness box was on the far side of the judge, which meant I was staring at the dangling nude form of the defendant six feet away. Major Sadiq handed me a laptop and addressed me:

• Do you have a name, boy?

• Yes, Sir.

• What is it?

• Alexei, Sir.

• (raised eyebrow) Alexei? Are you Russian? Your accent is American.

• I . . . WAS American, Sir. I am Russian now. (An answer I hoped would please Master.)

• Do you see the video in front of you?

• Yes, Sir.

• Your Honor, I posit that the witness's video is the same one visible to you and those in attendance.

• (Judge) Accepted. Proceed.

• (Sadiq, pausing the video) Alexei, this is an image from the security camera in slave elevator #2 from yesterday evening. Is this you in the elevator?

• Yes, Sir.

• There are two other slaves in the elevator. Do you see either of them in the courtroom today?

• Yes, Sir. One of them is in the witness box and the other is – hanging from the ceiling. (Chuckles around the room.)

• Have you ever encountered either of these slaves other than in the elevator or this courtroom?

• No, Sir.

• So they are total strangers to you?

• Yes, Sir.

• What about their Masters?

• Sir, I have no idea who their Masters are.

• Is there anything at all you know about either of these slaves?

• (thinking) Well, only...

• Only what?

• . . . I'm not sure, Sir.

• Out with it, boy.

• Yes, Sir. I believe the slave facing me in the video – the defendant – I believe he is from the Southern Hemisphere.

• What makes you think that?

• His accent, Sir. (Murmurs from the spectators.)

• Are you telling me that he spoke out loud?

• Yes, Sir.

• So that his mouth moving on the video, he was not just miming speech, he was actually speaking?

• Yes, Sir.

• (advancing the video) He appears to be speaking to the other slave here. (Pauses video)

• Yes, Sir.

• What was he saying?

• He was commenting on the slave's collar, Sir.

• Specifically, what did he say, if you recall.

• He was saying that the slave was lucky to have such a lenient Master, Sir. That he had a lot of rings on his collar, so his Master was shielding him from a lot of activities at the orgies and such.

• (advancing the video) Now, he's talking to you. What was he asking?

• He was asking me about the colors of my collar. What the red one meant. Sir.

• A curious question to ask, don't you think?

• (`Don't you think' – a dangerous phrase.) Sir, I am not encouraged to offer opinions. But he said he didn't have a red ring so it must mean something that his Master allowed that mine didn't.

• And what did you say, boy?

• I didn't answer, Sir.

• You didn't know what red meant?

• No, Sir, I knew it meant fisting.

• Now at this point in the video he seems angry with you. Why is that?

• Sir, slaves are taught not to speculate.

• And you're a good slave, aren't you?

• Sir, it is not for me to judge. That is for Master to decide. (Murmurs in the crowd, which seemed to be positive. It was giving me confidence.)

• So, Alexei, without speculating, do you remember what is he saying to you?

• Sir, he's asking me if I'm afraid to speak.

• Were you?

• Sir, I have been trained not to speak unless I've been given permission, which I hadn't been.

• (advancing the video again) He seems quite agitated here. What is he saying?

• Sir, I believe at this point he's saying something like, we're in an elevator, who's going to hear us – our Masters? And then he said that his Master was . . . somewhere else.

• You hesitated. Did he say where his Master was?

• Yes, Sir. He said – beg pardon to the slave's Master – he said his Master was downstairs drilling some stupid porter he saw when he entered the hotel. (Shocked gasps.)

• Was that all?

• No, Sir. He said something about his Master.

• . . . Well?

• It's not very polite, Sir.

• It's not your job to be polite, slave. It's your job to tell the truth.

• Yes, Sir. He – do you want the exact words?

• Yes, his exact words.

• I'm sorry, Sir, but he called his Master –

I looked at the dangling slave in front of me. His eyes were desperate. He knew he was in deep shit and was pleading for me to save him. Lie for me, he was begging. Don't repeat what I actually said.

While anyone lip-reading the video might have a hard time identifying his language from the lip movements, they could surely spot it if I said something inconsistent with the video. Sorry, guy, but if I lie for you, I'LL be the one in deep shit.

• (impatiently) He called his Master WHAT, slave?

• He called his Master . . . a fucking moron.

Pandemonium. The courtroom exploded in fury. The jury was stunned. Around the room virtually every Man present was discussing this agitatedly with his neighbor, Master included. The slaves, of course, remained mute, but were clearly startled. I caught Rhody's eye. He looked concerned, but smiled at me. He knew what I had done was difficult but necessary.

I avoided the eye of the defendant. I knew I had just condemned him to . . . I didn't know what.

A Man in a suit rose to his feet. I thought, looking at him, that he would be Central Casting's idea of an American FBI agent – tall, broad-shouldered, chiseled features, moderately handsome. Only right now he was not at all handsome.

• Damn you to hell, boy! You'll learn who's a moron soon enough!

The defendant's Master, obviously. His accent was as Australian as his slave's.

The judge allowed the hubbub to continue for a little while then pounded his gavel. Sadiq proceeded:

• I direct the jury's attention to this section of the tape where the movement of his lips is consistent with the words `fucking moron'. Alexei, did he say anything else after this?

• Yes, Sir. He asked me what my Master was like.

• And how did you answer him?

• I didn't, Sir.

• And then what happened?

• Then we arrived at his floor, Sir. He didn't seem to realize we were at his floor and I pointed toward the exit.

• Why did you do that?

• Because I wanted to be away from him, Sir.

• And at no time during the journey did you speak to him?

• No, Sir.

• So you did not reprimand him for his blasphemy?

• No, Sir. I am not allowed to speak without permission.

• That is correct. You acted appropriately, Alexei. You have done a good job today. Your Master has trained you well. You are dismissed.

They called the Black slave who corroborated the fact that the defendant had spoken out loud. But he was not witness to most of the conversation, including the scandalous part, because he had disembarked at a low floor. But the Black slave won points for putting his finger to his lips to admonish the defendant for talking. Something I suppose I should have done.

Then they called the other witness, the hotel slave, who turned out to be responsible for maintenance of the elevator security system. He answered some questions about the date and time of the video, the fact that the system picked up visuals but not audio, and some other technical things intended to authenticate the validity of what the court – and spectators – had just seen.

• (Sadiq) Your Honor. The case against the defendant is so strong that it is not even necessary to call any Men as witnesses. The prosecution rests.

• (Judge) A very convincing case, Major. Defense?

• (Defendant) Mmmmm mmmmm mmmm. (Well, he was gagged.)

• (Judge) The defendant calls no witnesses. I conclude that the defense rests.

It was reassuring to see such a fair trial.

The jury retired and returned in less than a minute with a verdict of guilty (surprise).

• (Judge) Slave, property of Bruce Donnelly. You have been found guilty of the following charges:

1. That you have broken slave protocols by speaking to other slaves without permission, despite being visually admonished by another slave.

2. That you criticized your Master for engaging in normal sexual activity and mocked his choice of sexual partners.

3. That you encouraged other slaves to disobey their Masters by engaging in conversation with you.

4. That you stated, by inference, that it was acceptable for a slave to break protocol if he was not in the presence of his Master.

5. And finally that you did most egregiously insult and disrespect your Master by referring to him in a blasphemous manner.

• It is the judgment of this court that you be subjected to the maximum penalties I can impose for such violations. You are hereby sentenced to the following.

• First, that you be fed the feces of half of the members of the jury. We will use the jury members in order of their seats, unless they are unable to produce a suitable turd.

• Second, that you be fed the urine of forty Men by having them piss directly into your mouth. Rather than hold up the proceedings in this courtroom, this action will take place in the main lobby, and your mouth will be available to all passers-by, until you have drunk the piss of forty Men.

• Third, that at 8:00 this evening, you be delivered to the main lobby where, in full view of the public you will be given fifty lashes on your back and ten lashes on each of your thighs, to be administered with a bullwhip at full force.

• Fourth, that you then be given one hundred and twenty-five strokes of the prison strap on your buttocks, to be delivered with full force.

• Fifth, that you then receive a dozen strokes of the cane directly on your genitals, to be delivered with full force.

• Sixth, that following the administration of these corporal punishments, you are to be taken directly to the orgy room, where you are to be fucked simultaneously in both mouth and ass without cease, until 3 a.m. tomorrow morning.

• Seventh, that you be similarly used at tomorrow night's orgy, with the additional proviso that you not be released until no Men remain in the room who wish to use you.

• Any additional punishment will be seen to by your Master. This court is adjourned. The bailiff will lower the defendant to the floor. The witnesses will assist him in moving the defendant and secure him face up on the floor so that he can begin his sentence.

The witnesses? Shit. (Poor choice of expletive, considering.) So I, the Black slave, and the security camera guy had to carry the struggling defendant to a spot in front of the judge's bench. We then had to take the ropes tied around his wrists and attach them to the pegs in the floor, the reason for whose existence had heretofore been a mystery to me. More ropes were procured and his legs similarly secured, so that he was spread-eagled on the floor.

While this was happening, the front row of the jury was dropping their trousers – apparently all of them wanted to feed the hapless slave the remnants of their lunch. I looked away and fortunately Master summoned me with a nod of his head. I went over to him and didn't look back, glad to be able to escape witnessing the humiliation about to enfold. And also grateful for the brown ring in my collar, which spared me from being subjected to anything similar.

As we emerged, a Man known to me approached Master. I had not spotted him in the crowd, though he must have been there or why would he be here on the third floor.

• Dmitri!

• Horst! You did make it!

• Yes, Dmitri, you've convinced me. I'm ready to take the plunge. As a preliminary guest member, I got here last night – and whoa, what an orgy! It was incredible. And the seminars today – they're so helpful. I've been busy all day, but had a break in my schedule long enough to take in this trial. I've never seen such a thing – I found it utterly fascinating. And then to discover that your boy was the star witness. I had no idea.

• (Master, laughing) I had no idea either. They gave him summons this morning. I thought HE was boy on trial.

• He did well, Dmitri. Even the prosecutor said so.

Chest swelling with pride.

• (Master) Yes, this surprise me. Why he praise? Alexei do what slave supposed to do, nothing more. That not worthy praise, that just doing job. Anything less deserve punish.

Chest deflating rapidly.

• (Horst) Well, I'd love to chat, but I've got another seminar in a few minutes.

• Which one?

• It's called, `Your Slave Has Limits – Should You Care?'

• Ah, is good one. But I tell you in advance what they say. Will be two sides: One side say, No, you don't care. If slave have limit you stretch so he can take more.' Other side say, No, you don't care. Is slave. Who give shit what he think or what can take?' Both side agree you don't care, but not agree why. Is good to hear such discussion. In fact, why not I go with? Then we can talk more.

• That would be excellent, Dmitri. I'd love that.

• I certain you have important seminar tomorrow – `Facing Your Practicum'.

• Yes, I'm not sure what that's all about.

• (Was Master's smile apologetic?) You find out. Alexei, you go with Oleg and Ilya back to room. Where is Sasha? Ah, he talk to Nurbek.

Back in the room, Ilya shared his thoughts about how inappropriate the prosecutor's praise of me had been. He reminded me that I was just a piece of shit, a worthless slave, good for fucking and nothing more. He went on for about three minutes, dumping me with insults, until Oleg spoke to him sharply in Russian. Ilya left, and Oleg took advantage of the fact that we were alone together to talk to me.

• I heard what the Boss said to Horst outside the courtroom. He didn't want you to get too full of yourself because Major Sadiq praised you. But he was proud of you, Alexei. I could tell. He was proud of you, and he was proud of himself for the way he trained you. He's talked to Sasha and me a lot about you. He likes you, Alexei. He'd like to keep you around, but he doesn't think you like him back. He says that you're gay but you refuse to admit it. Is that true, Alexei?

Oh, shit. A question. I had to answer.

• I don't know, Sir. I honestly don't know.

That wasn't honest, but it was as close as I was willing to go. To say anything else would be to admit that I had been lying to Master.

• You need to figure that out, Alexei. There's another Little Big Man next year. The Boss doesn't have to replace you. He kept B.J. for a second year, and it could have been longer if B.J. hadn't gotten complacent. But if you want him to keep you, then you have to decide if you're gay or not. If you decide you're not, there's little hope. If you decide you are, you have to immerse yourself in it. You need to show the Boss that he is the one and only thing that matters in your life. And now, in exchange for some excellent advice, you will give me a blowjob.

I did, and a good one, too, I think.

But all while I was wrapping my tongue around his long-but-not-Grigory-long member, an additional thought was ringing through the recesses of my brain: I already knew there was another Little Big Man next year. But how many had there been before? Were Jackson and B.J. both LBM slaves? And now I had to wonder where B.J. was, as well as Jackson.

And where I would be next summer.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, LATE AFTERNOON – SUITE 2702

Master had just returned from his seminar along with Horst, who was eyeing me covetously. Master noted that: "You can have him tonight, you know."

Horst nodded but then responded that it was a shame Master had to share me with so many others. Master said he didn't have to; he was thinking of skipping tonight's orgy. If he did, he'd only share me with his assistants – and he'd invite Horst to join them.

I was liking this scenario and wanted to hear more when the bell rang. Master expressed annoyance, and I left the office to answer the door to the suite, expecting to see Yuri or Peter' or Thomas', whom, thanks to Oleg's filling me in, I could now identify as Boris and Sergei, respectively. Instead, I found myself face to face with Bruce Donnelly, Master of the slave in the trial.

Surprised, confused, and somewhat alarmed, I dropped to the floor to display. Instead of ordering me up or explaining himself, he knelt down behind me and fingered my hole. He rubbed his hands all over my buttocks and then went as far as sticking a finger inside me.

• Nice. Very nice. Just as I suspected. (Naw-ees. Very naw-ees. Jest as I sespictid.)

I wondered what Master would think of this stranger probing my anal cavity without his knowledge or approval. I knew that slaves were available to all during the orgies but this wasn't an orgy – was it within bounds? Or, like his slave had thought, was everything above board as long as it's not observed?

It was observed soon enough. After about a minute, Sasha came wandering out – Master had evidently sent him to investigate when I hadn't returned after answering the door.

Sasha looked at him skeptically.

• Can I help you?

• This is a very nice boy you have here.

• Thank you. He's not mine. He's also not yours. What are you doing with him?

The Australian rose, ordered me up, then stuck his finger in my mouth to clean it. He then offered the same hand to Sasha, who didn't take it.

• Bruce Donnelly.

• Yes, I know. What are you doing here, Mr. Donnelly?

Sasha, as usual, was all business.

• I want to meet this slave's owner.

• Why?

• I'd rather explain it to him.

Sasha eyed him coldly then spoke to me.

• Alexei, escort Mr. Donnelly to the office.

Sasha went on ahead to prepare Master for the arrival of this unexpected `guest'. The Australian was all smiles and friendliness as he said:

• Dmitri Malenkov? Bruce Donnelly.

• (not shaking his hand) What you want, Mister Donnelly?

• Can we speak privately?

Horst volunteered to leave but Master assured Donnelly of Sasha's discretion. No one was worried about confidentiality in my presence; even if a slave acquired knowledge, who could he tell?

• Thank you for seeing me. I've had rather a bad day.

• You had rather bad slave.

• Yes. And I think I've been a rather bad Master. Derek – he was a volunteer, signed the contract eagerly, and – well, I see why they say volunteers aren't a good idea. Plus I'm rather new at this, and I've made some mistakes. I'm only a provisional member of IAMSO and now I'm afraid they won't let me in.

• They let you in. Is what training for. Go to seminars, complete course requirements, do practicum. Believe me, they want your dues. But, for be full member, you have to get rid of boy.

• Yes, I know. Actually, I had brought him here hoping to sell him. But no one will give me any kind of decent price now.

• No.

• I need your advice. What do I do with him? The training here is excellent, it's been very helpful – and I know there's more tomorrow – but Derek – he knows I've been too lenient and I can't re-establish myself with him. I can't just start over – what do I do?

Sasha jumped in, sensing (I suspect) that Donnelly was trying to hook Master into becoming his mentor:

• I know some places you can donate him – you won't get any money, but you can take him as a tax write-off. Assuming you've disguised him as a legitimate subsidiary in your accounts.

• (Donnelly, almost offended) Yeah, of course I have. The business end of it I'm good at. It's just the management. (to Master) You – you've done so well with your slave. My slave put him in a difficult spot. I wanted to apologize to him for what my slave put him through.

Master rose to his feet, incensed.

• You WHAT?!

• I – I wanted to apol-

• You want to apologize to SLAVE? I never hear of such thing my entire life! No wonder your boy feel he can get away with do what he like. Alexei, get over here!

• (What the hell?)

• Bend over desk.

• (Uh-oh.)

Master took off his belt and handed it to Donnelly.

• Give him ten.

• I – I mean I don't think –

Master grabbed the belt from out of his hand and whacked me full force. Shit fuck ouch dammit to hell! He handed the belt back to Donnelly.

• Ten. Hard. Like I do.

Donnelly took the belt and – Whack! My ass was on fire.

Whack!

Whack!

Whack!

I was certain that portions of my ass were approaching the color of a cardinal.

Whack!

• (Master) That too gentle. Not count. Six more. Hard.

WHACK!

• Better.

WHACK!

WHACK!

Holy motherfuck that hurt!

WHACK!

WHACK!

Almost done. I was breathing hard and in so much pain that tears were forming in my eyes. I fought hard to keep them from rolling down my cheeks – Master would be disappointed in me if I displayed such weakness.

WHACK!!

I breathed in and out, in and out, rapidly, pushing out my breath to handle the pain. The incipient tears stayed in my eyes, sparing me additional humiliation. I hoped Master wouldn't notice the moistness.

• (Master) THAT how you apologize to slave. Alexei, is thing you want to say to Man who beat you?

Another potential trap. There were two possible answers. Which one was right? I took a gamble.

• Yes, Master.

• What is you want to say?

• I want to say, `Thank you, Sir.'

• Mister Donnelly, Alexei accept your apology.

I went back to my corner, rubbing my hams, as Master had a conversation with Sasha in Russian. Sasha then left the room.

• Sasha have idea about where you can dump bad slave. I going to make phone call. We see if we can help.

• Thank you.

• Is all? You can leave.

• Well, there is one other matter, if you can spare a few more minutes.

Master looked as if he couldn't spare a millisecond, but sighed and impatiently said:

• What is?

• Is your slave for sale? I'd like to buy him.

I almost burst out laughing. Master would sell me to THIS clown?

Master looked at him, looked at me, and then looked back at him.

• How much you offer?

WTF! Master!

As Donnelly started to open his mouth, Master continued:

• No. Do not say out loud. Slave should never know monetary value. Whisper in ear.

Donnelly approached Master, leaned down, and whispered something.

• That more than he worth. Why you want to buy?

• I'm hosting a retreat next month for like-minded Men who know I have a slave and are eager to fuck his brains out. So I can't possibly show up without one. Your boy is everything I want. He's obedient, honest, and respectful. He took that beating without a word, not even a grunt. And I was really impressed by him this afternoon. I mean – it destroyed my slave, but your boy did the responsible thing. Deferential – `Sir' in every sentence. The prosecutor laid traps for him – he didn't fall into them once. He's obviously very intelligent. And . . .

• And?

• Well, look at him. Great ass. Way better than Derek's. He'll impress my associates.

• You want to buy slave in order to impress friends in one month?

• Well, I mean – obviously I want him long-term, but – that's the immediate objective, yeah.

• Is not reason to buy slave.

• Look, I need a slave. You have a slave, I'm willing to pay more than he's worth – I mean, you brought him here, most guys who bring their slaves are at least willing to consider trading or selling. Obviously, you wouldn't trade but –

• Alexei not for sale at present time.

At present time? Master, did you say `at present time'?

Donnelly picked up on that language as well.

• So when might he be?

• Not before your retreat. He need more develop. I not ready to sell him yet.

Yet.

• When?

• We see. In few month maybe. It depend.

• Let me know when he's on the market. Here's my card. And thank you so much for your help. For those phone calls.

• No promise. But I see what I can do.

Just then Oleg walked in.

• Mister Donnelly, this Oleg. Oleg speak very good English and also good Italian. I may want him make phone call. It depend on answer I get from my phone call. Alexei show you out.

As I did, I considered the two Men in the room I was leaving – Oleg and you, Master.

Oleg says that you like me. Oleg says that you want to keep me around.

And yet you say you might sell me in a few months. "It depend."

It depend.

Lordy-lord. It depend.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER FORTY-THREE - TWO ASSEMBLIES]