Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: UP ON THE ROOF

Previously: The Russians and their slaves are invited to the Royal Palace for a tour, only to discover that their tour guide is the Prince Regent himself. The Prince shows off his art collection, including four nude statues on which slaves are mounted as human decorations, both tied to the statues and impaled on the statue's erect member. Derek, the Australian slave against whom Alex(ei) had testified in a trial, has now been obtained by the Royal Family, gelded, and mounted onto one of the statues. The visitors are stunned when the human `statues' soar up and beyond the rotunda's walls to form an arch a hundred feet above them and illuminated by a dazzling light display.

ALEXEI: THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, LATE EVENING – ROOF, ROYAL PALACE

Having seen all of the building's interior that was on the itinerary, the tour ended on the roof, which turned out to be a sort of combination garden, patio, and bar, at least from what I could see. Only our Masters were given the formal tour. We slaves had to wait at the circular railing by the dome's opening.

Above us were the bound slaves with marble members up their asses, hovering over the rotunda more than a hundred feet below, the colored lights bouncing off their bodies in what surely must have been a stunning light show when seen from the ground. Below us we could see the (from here) tiny figure of the discus thrower with the butt plug. We couldn't see the butt plug.

DMITRI: The view from the roof was dramatic, even in the dark. In the distance, the lights of the capital city. Midway, the illuminated Official Palace. On the palace grounds below, two Olympic-size swimming pools, one of which even had a platform and springboard for diving. Alexei would love that, I thought, if he saw it. But the slaves were not allowed to wander to the outer boundaries of the palace's roof to look out over the sights.

And then there was the centerpiece of it all, the spectacular sight of the four slaves bound to the marble statues, mounted on phalluses that warmed their colons – literally. While the dome was closed in the scorching heat of the day, it was open at night, allowing the cooler air to flow into the rotunda below. And in the dry desert the nights could get quite chilly. Rarely below freezing, but cold enough if you were naked. "To benefit the slaves and keep them warm", the Prince Regent explained that the phalluses on which they were mounted were heated. The only protection they got from the chill of the night air was coming from inside their asses.

We were drinking and having a pleasant time when the Prince Regent suddenly announced:

• Jaakko, I'm sure you will want to get back for the orgy.

• Oh, no, Your Majesty, there's no need. It runs just fine without me. If I get back by two or so, I can fulfill my obligation to be there.

• An obligation that I'm sure you can waive for some of your members.

• (confused, but in full toadying mode) I . . . suppose I . . .COULD . . . Your Majesty.

• Then I will ask you to exempt our Russian friends from the participation requirement. I'd like them to stay a little longer.

• Well, . . . it's highly irregular.

• As you mentioned before, Jaakko, I am IAMSO's most generous donor.

• Yes, of course, Your Majesty. I will make sure there is no sanction against – how many does this apply to?

• All the Russians and their slaves.

Jaakko looked nonplussed and swallowed.

• . . . I'll see it's done, Your Majesty.

Participation in the final night orgy was a firm requirement of attendance at the convention. I wondered if such exceptions had ever been made before, other than for true emergencies.

• Judge, Major, Mr. Donnelly, Mr. Weidner, thank you for coming. I hope you enjoyed your evening. (to a trusty) Boy, arrange for their transportation back to the hotel.

Well, that was that. For some reason, the Prince Regent wanted us to stay and the others to go. I had always had a hard time reading this man, and this was no exception. Was he asking us to stay because he had a bone to pick with us (South Carolina)? Or to discuss Little Big Man Europe? Or what?

It turned out to be `what'.

ALEXEI: I was made nervous by the departure of the others, leaving only our Masters, their assistants, and us slaves. I was convinced that we were going to suffer some punishment, and I was terrified that it would be to ride to the top of the dome, mounted on a prodigious phallus. There were four well-hung statues, four of us slaves. The math worked.

I was made more nervous when the Prince Regent walked over to us.

• Walk over there, form a line, and stand two feet apart from each other.

Uh-oh, here we go. We moved away from the dome opening. I found myself on the right end of the line facing the Prince, with Nodak on the other end and Wyoming and Rhody in the middle. I adopted the protocol position when standing – arms behind back, feet spread apart, head bowed.

As the Prince approached, Rhody instinctively turned around and dropped down, ready to display his ass, but the Prince stopped him.

• Remain standing. And raise your heads. I want you to look at me.

I wondered what Master's reaction to all this was – did he know the Prince Regent was going to do this? Was he bothered by it?

DMITRI: No, and no. His Majesty is His Majesty, so he can do anything he wants. And you are slaves, so he can do anything he wants.

ALEXEI: The Prince Regent took off his keffiyeh and I got a better look at his face than I had had previously. It was a handsome face, a powerful face, dominated by a strong chin and cheekbones. He looked like an American actor from the sixties and seventies named Dick Gautier, if Gautier had had a larger nose and one of those perfect, smooth beards that just carpeted the jaw and lower cheeks. Except Gautier was mostly a comic actor and there was nothing comic about the Prince Regent.

He opened his robe, lifted his gown, and moved in front of Nodak.

• On your knees. (A pause as Nodak complied.) Kiss it.

Nodak leaned forward and pressed his lips to the Prince Regent's cockhead. He opened his mouth wider as if to accept the royal Member into his mouth, but the Prince Regent pushed him away.

• I said `kiss it', slave. If I wanted a blowjob, I would have said so. (turning to Boris) Does it have a hearing problem? Or just a listening problem?

Boris looked alarmed.

• He doesn't usually have either, Your Majesty. He is an obedient slave. He was just trying to please you.

The Prince Regent scoffed at Boris.

• A Master does not make excuses for his slave, Boris. I would think you would know that.

He ordered Nodak to his feet.

• Do you have any talent, slave?

A wave of alarm spread across Nodak's face. Here was a loaded question if I had ever heard one, and trying to guess what kind of response the Prince Regent wanted could be dangerous.

Nodak went to an old reliable, one that I had fallen back on at the trial.

• A slave has no talent, Sir – Your Majesty.

• No talent at all? Are you saying you are worthless?

• Yes, Your Majesty, I am just a worthless slave. (I could hear the quivering in Nodak's voice.)

• Then there wouldn't be any point in keeping you around. Perhaps I should toss you over the railing into the rotunda, do you think I should do that?

• I . . . I . . . It is not for me to say, Your Majesty.

The words came out as a near whisper, and the terror in Nodak's choked voice was obvious. Boris was reacting with alarm – and so was Master – but after being reprimanded by the Prince Regent, Boris wasn't about to intervene.

• Walk over to the railing, slave.

Oh my god, no. Prince, you can't do this. This is my friend, this is Nodak, this is – I haven't even had a chance to talk to him yet.

Nodak took what might have been the slowest walk of his life, but I'll give him credit, he didn't flinch. And he didn't look over to Boris for help. He looked calm while I knew that his heart was beating two hundred beats per minute. Mine was beating nearly as fast. Rhody grabbed my hand for support – the prince wasn't watching, but I wasn't sure about our Masters, and I quickly broke free.

Nodak stopped at the railing.

• Bend over the railing.

My heart was in my mouth. I retook Rhody's hand and at that moment I didn't care who saw us.

• What do you see, slave?

• I see the floor of the rotunda, Your Majesty. And the sculpture of the discus thrower.

• Should I push you over so you can get a closer look?

A pause. I knew that Nodak was screwing up every ounce of courage he could muster. I saw him glance up at the suspended slaves who were no doubt watching this spectacle with curiosity and perhaps as much horror as I felt. (Or perhaps they were used to this sight; perhaps they had witnessed many a slave tossed over the railing to his death.)

• If . . . if it would give you pleasure, Your Majesty.

Probably the bravest thing I have heard anyone say in my life.

• Very well, then. I will do what gives me pleasure.

The Prince Regent snapped his fingers, and two Ruslan-sized slaves came forward. The Prince Regent gave them an order, which I didn't understand because it was in what I presumed was Arabic.

• I have always wondered what it would look like if I dropped a boy from here. It would be quite a sight watching a slave fall, knowing it had only seconds to live. I did not want to lose one of my own slaves, but since I have your permission . . .

To my horror, the two well-built slaves each grabbed one of Nodak's ankles. The Prince Regent pressed one hand on Nodak's right shoulder and with the other groped a buttock, copping a feel, then reached between Nodak's legs and began to lift him up off the floor. I gripped Rhody's hand harder – and he squeezed mine.

I heard the prince grunt with the effort of lifting Nodak. The slaves were pushing upward and Nodak's torso was slipping over the railing. Soon all I could see of Nodak were his legs from the knees down. The two slaves were dangling him over the rotunda floor a hundred feet below.

• So long, boy.

No, no, no, no, NO!!

• Wait.

I breathed.

• I want to get my camera. This should be filmed.

I couldn't imagine what was going through Nodak's mind. He was going to die in a few seconds and he was not making a sound. What goes through your mind when you are about to die? Maybe he was calm. Maybe for him it was a relief, the only release from a slavery we knew was life-long. In Nodak's case, that life wasn't going to be very long.

I looked over at Boris, Nodak's master, wondering what was going through his mind as he watched his slave being dangled over the edge, like Jonathan Edwards' `natural man' being held by the hand of God over the fiery pits of hell. His face was full of anxiety and rage – this was his property, and his power over his slave was being usurped by this petty tyrant.

A moment later, the Prince Regent had been handed a camera. Standing a few feet away he aimed it directly at the two slaves holding my naked friend.

• Ready for the most exciting five seconds of your life, slave? Enjoy the scenery on the way down. Okay, boys. On the count of three. One. Two.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't watch my friend die.

• Three.

I waited for Nodak's scream.

I didn't hear it. I didn't hear a thud either.

I heard a chuckle.

I opened my eyes. Nodak was on his feet, safely inside the railing. The Prince Regent was laughing.

• I could never throw a slave over the side. If it landed on my discus thrower, it might break him. It would cost me thousands to replace him. Now get back in line, slave. (A slap on the rump to get him started.)

The Prince Regent went over to Master, Boris and the others, and spoke to them briefly. I saw Sergei grin, and Master give an awkward little smile. Boris, however, looked pissed as hell.

DMITRI: That was the first thing the Prince Regent did that startled me. He had not discussed this plan with me – or, more importantly, with Boris – in advance. Once again, as he had done with the guillotines on the boat, he made us – or at least Boris – look weak in front of slaves.

Undoubtedly, it was the P.R.'s way of letting Boris know he had not forgotten the disrespectful way Boris had spoken to him in Mogadishu, when we were negotiating over the order of slave selection. Boris, and Sergei to a lesser extent, had been angry that the prince had stolen their top picks and they had wound up with white slaves rather than the ethnic types they preferred. Boris had been particularly vocal.

I thought Boris was going to have a heart attack when the P.R. dangled Andrei by his feet over the railing. Boris had told me that Andrei was one of the best slaves he'd ever had, despite not being Black. He honestly thought he was going to lose him, but was afraid if he spoke up, it would only encourage the P.R. to go ahead and drop him, just to spite Boris.

I wanted to know what the Prince Regent had said to the two trusty slaves in Arabic.

• I told them that if they dropped him, one of them would have to jump over the side. But if they lifted him back safely, they'd get to fuck him later. Boris won't deny them that, now will he?

ALEX: Nodak was back in line, but the Prince Regent was not done with him.

• You are well-trained, slave. You should be proud of your Master.

Whoa there, prince. Haven't you gotten that backwards? Shouldn't his Master be proud of him?

• So Boris, tell me, does it have any talent? And by talent, I don't mean for cocksucking, I mean can it do anything that might entertain us, other than looking enticing dangling by its feet?

Boris stepped forward.

• Prior to his enslavement, he was a musician, Your Majesty.

• A musician! (turning to Nodak) What kind of musician, boy?

• (Nodak) I can play the flute, Your Majesty.

Blood seemed to be returning to his face. The Prince Regent called out to one of the trusties waiting patiently nearby.

• Boy! Fetch a flute. Boris's boy is going to entertain us. (to the Russian Masters) My brother Rashid's boy is a musician as well. We'll have a competition, shall we? See who is the better musician? Boy, while you're at it, fetch Abdullah and my three brothers and their slaves.

As the trusty departed wordlessly, the Prince Regent resumed his review of us, moving on to Wyoming.

• Knees. (And then the expected) Kiss it.

Wyoming complied and stood back up upon command.

• Boy, what talent do you have? And don't tell me you have none, I want to know what you can do.

The Wyoming that stood before the Prince was a shadow of his former self. All the swagger, all the braggadocio was gone.

• Your Majesty, I don't think what I can do is something I can demonstrate here. But I can rope a calf. I grew up on a ranch and I have good skills with a lariat.

• Hmmm. (to one of the trusties) Boy, fetch a rope. I'd like to see if this one can rope a slave mounted on the dome.

By the look on Wyoming's face, I gathered this was something he thought he could do.

And then it was Rhody's turn.

• Do you have to be told what to do, slave?

He dropped to his knees and lightly kissed the Prince's member, producing a small reaction – in me.

The Prince Regent turned back to Wyoming.

• Perhaps, instead of lassoing one of our dome slaves, we should have you rope this slave's balls. (to Rhody) You're familiar with the feeling of rope around your balls, aren't you, boy?

Shit, he recognized Rhody. No one who was there could have forgotten what the Prince Regent had forced Rhody to do [cf. Ch. 22] – drag a hapless Maine for fifteen feet across a greased floor with a rope around the poor Bottom's testicles – and then continue dragging him for another fifteen feet by a rope tied to Rhody's testicles. The incident had nearly destroyed Rhody, who was half in love with Maine. And half in love with me.

• What is your talent, slave?

Rhody was prepared.

• Before I became a slave, I was a wrestler, Your Majesty.

• A wrestler? Were you on the wrestling team?

• Yes, Your Majesty. Providence University.

The Prince took another look at Wyoming.

• This one looks like a wrestler. (to Wyoming) Can you wrestle, boy?

• A little, Your Majesty. I was on my high school team, but not my college team.

• You look strong enough, though. Yes, I think instead of a lasso demonstration, we should have a wrestling competition. Winner fucks the loser. That should be entertaining. But then we'll have to arrange something for this last slave.

That would be me. I immediately dropped to my knees and kissed his cock.

• This one is yours, Dmitri.

• (Master) Yes, Your Majesty.

• I wasn't asking, Dmitri. I know exactly who it is. I remember it well. I nearly took it for Abdullah. Abdullah is my son. He's nineteen. (turning to me) I wonder what you can do as a talent.

Not a question, I stayed silent. His eyes were penetrating me, seeming to pierce my very soul.

I suddenly realized I was turned on by him – or maybe it was just standing next to Rhody – but my cock was twitching.

The Prince noticed.

• Well, we see one thing you can do. Do you like me, boy?

Holy shit, what a question.

• I . . . my cock seems to like you, Your Majesty.

He slapped me.

• Control your cock, boy.

Dead kittens, dead kittens, dead kittens.

• A slave should never become erect before its superiors give it permission.

Oh, great, like I can stop it? Dead kittens, dead kittens – oh, good, it's working. Seeing me less tumescent, but still not fully deflated, he slapped me again – which finished the job.

• Now, boy, you haven't answered my question. What is your talent?

• I – Your Majesty, I used to be a diver.

• A deep-sea diver, with an oxygen tank?

• No, Your Majesty. I was on my diving team at college.

He stared at me.

• A diver. A competitive diver. Half-gainers and that sort of thing. Really?

• (What had I said wrong?) Yes, Your Majesty.

• Well, isn't that the damnedest thing. Abdullah's boy is also a diver.

I felt weak in the knees.

Abdullah's boy is also a diver.

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

And Abdullah's boy had been summoned.

And to crown it all off, the Prince Regent added,

• Perhaps we can arrange a little competition.

DMITRI: After he had finished interrogating our slaves, the Prince Regent produced the second shock of the evening.

• I want to meet your staff. Yuri, Dmitri, I am pleased that you brought your assistants. I'd like to meet these men. Let's have them line up so I can take a good look at them.

I looked at Yuri and he looked at me. Sasha, Oleg, and Ilya stood in front of the Prince along with Yuri's men Nurbek and Anil. The Prince passed down the line, looking them over as if he was reviewing troops, and then stood back, facing them, and said the single most astonishing word of the evening.

• Strip.

• (Anil) Excuse me, your Majesty. I'm not sure I heard you. Did you – ?

• Strip. Take off all your clothes.

Four of the five men, stunned, began fumbling at buttons. Sasha darted a look in my direction, as if to say, `What's going on here, Boss?'

I didn't know. The Prince Regent was not a man you should cross. Just ask Boris.

• If I'm doing business with a man, I need to see him. I need to see all of him. I need to see what kind of a man he is. How much of a man he is.

As I said, four of the five were complying with the prince's directive. Ilya wasn't moving. I had to step in.

• Ilya. His Majesty told you to strip.

• (Ilya) I'm not one of his subjects. I don't have to obey him.

• (P.R.) Strip, young man.

Sigh.

• Ilya, you're my employee. If you want to remain so, you will obey my orders. Take off your clothes, Ilya. Everyone else is.

By now, the other four – including the man who is now helping me write this in clear English – were stark naked. Ilya sighed and joined them in a minute or so.

The Prince Regent paused in front of each, looking them over from head to groin to toe and back to groin. Nurbek he touched on his chest, admiring his generous pelt of chest hair. Anil he patted on the tummy – the Sri Lankan was a bit on the plump side. Sasha he did not touch, but Oleg found the Prince's hand on his penis.

• A good length. I approve.

Then the Prince Regent moved over to Ilya, the smallest of the five men and looked him squarely in the face.

• This one is very nice. Let's have a look at your ass. Turn around.

When he did so, I could see how red-faced Ilya was. He was approaching the color of a ripe strawberry when the Prince Regent stroked his buttocks.

• If you were a slave, I'd buy you.

This, of course, sent alarm bells among the four of us partners.

• You have spirit, you'd be fun to break. But fortunately for you, you're not a slave. (turning to me, with a grin) You wouldn't sell him to me, would you?

His tone was mischievous enough that Ilya realized he was joking and relaxed a bit.

That was the thing with the Prince Regent. He was relentless, stern, unforgiving – and he could also be playful and charming. I had a strong enough relationship with him for him to consider me his friend. But there was never any question about which of us was in the power position.

The Prince Regent looked over the five nude assistants.

• I'm done with you. You may dress.

His phone made a noise and he looked at it.

• My brothers and my son are headed over; they're on the other side of the dome.

The four of us looked at each other. This was it – the moment of truth. Along with the P.R.'s brothers (Khalid, Mustafa and Rashid) and his son Abdullah, their slaves had been summoned. We knew exactly who they should be: Nevada, Illinois, Minnesota – and the slave we had forced on them, South Carolina.

And then they appeared, walking around the dome, trailing a few feet behind their masters – Nevada, Illinois, Minnesota – and a Black boy who was definitely not South Carolina.

ALEXEI: And there he was.

My pulse skipped a beat or six. Matti was here, he looked healthy – and, to my relief, with a full scrotum. All four of them still had balls – Matti, Noisy, Nevada, and – to my surprise – Ohio. It should have been South Carolina. But South Carolina had twice tried to escape (once by diving overboard and again in Mogadishu). Perhaps he had continued his foolish behavior here and had been replaced.

I write about this now as if I had taken all this in at the moment. To be honest, I don't even know if I had noticed Noisy. I only had eyes for one person.

Matti was here!

Matti was safe!

Matti and I were within thirty feet of each other!

As the four of them approached around the curve from the other side of the dome, I saw the shock in their faces as they confronted the Men who had scammed them into slavery, who had turned from their benefactors into their abductors, who were responsible for their current – permanent – status as slaves.

And then Matti's eyes focused on the nude figures on the roof. He saw Rhody and Nodak and Wyoming.

And he saw me.

Even at this distance I could see his eyes widen in disbelief. Something akin to panic crossed his face – an expression I had never seen before on Matti's lovely round Finnish face.

Our eyes met – just for an instant – and I saw his head shake microscopically from side to side: No, do not look at me, he was saying. You don't know me.

But I wanted to look at him. His body was so beautiful, his face was perfection, his soul . . . his soul was a thing I longed to possess.

Rhody took my hand again and I felt his hip bump against mine. I don't know which it was – the sight of Matti or the touch and smell of Rhody – but I had to summon dead kittens again or there was going to be an embarrassing moment.

I looked away from Matti but from time to time stole a glance. He was not meeting my glance.

This was troubling. Was he expressing the same anger he showed in the last hour in Mogadishu before we were separated? Rhody had cited that as proof of his love for me, deliberately provoking a fight so that I wouldn't miss him so much. Or was it fear – fear of contact, fear of giving away our friendship – okay, our love – fear of retribution from his Master? Or was it just mental overload, something he couldn't deal with at the moment and so trying to bury it by pretending I wasn't there?

Whatever the case, he was not in the mood to send me any positive signals.

I longed to dash across the floor, take him in my arms, plant a big fat wet kiss on his lips and then disappear with him for hours someplace where we could talk. But I knew that if I took even two steps in that direction, I'd probably find myself hanging over the rotunda or maybe hurtling toward it like Nodak nearly was.

Somehow, Ohio had a microphone in his hand and the Prince was explaining that he was going to entertain us. I suddenly remembered the Prince telling Nodak that `Rashid's boy was also a musician'. A background tape with a jazzy, upbeat tempo began to play and there was Ohio launching into a smooth version of Cole Porter's "You're the Top", sounding oh-so Mel Tormé. The very choice of the song was ironic – or deliberate – when sung by a slave. I realized it was deliberate when the last line of the song was changed to "If Master, I'm the bottom, you're the top."

Ohio ended the performance by positioning himself in front of Rashid and bending over to display his ass to his Master. How humiliating for Ohio, I thought – but what a great singer.

At this point, the flute arrived and the Prince handed it to Boris.

• Let's see if your boy can top that. Let's make a wager, shall we?

• For what stakes?

The Prince whispered something in Boris' ear which amused the Muscovite.

• (Boris) Who's the judge?

• My son Abdullah. He will judge fairly – you can count on that.

• You're on.

Boris brought the flute to Nodak and the Prince Regent ordered him to `play something'. There was tension in the air. For the second time tonight, Nodak was under threat – there was clearly a penalty to pay for losing, though Boris' rapid endorsement of the idea assured me that at least no fatalities should be involved.

Nodak looked at the flute lovingly, perhaps marveling at the very concept that such a precious object could once again find its way into his hands. Here was a guy who had hoped to have a career with a professional orchestra, who lived for this metal `woodwind'. And now it was in his hands once again, about to touch his lips. Nodak looked both rapturously happy and apprehensive at the same time – don't ask me how that's possible, but it was.

Nodak considered for a moment, raised the flute to his mouth as if testing it, and played 5 notes: two eighth-notes on B-flat, a dotted-quarter A, an eighth on G, and a whole note on F.

I stared at Rhody. Rhody stared at me and then at Wyoming. Wyoming stared at Rhody and then at me. We all recognized it. It was the first five notes of "Bridge over Troubled Water."

Nodak stopped for a moment and adjusted the flute to tune it, and then began again in a moment that brought a lemon-sized lump to my throat. I looked across to Matti and Noisy. They recognized it.

It brought us all back to those hours when we were packed together like sardines in that stuffy van in the garage in Mogadishu's stifling heat, with claustrophobic Alabama freaking out and everyone afraid we were going to die of suffocation or heat exhaustion. And then hearing Ohio's silky, creamy voice rising above us all with that soothing anthem of reassurance:

". . . When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all. . . "

It was like a secret code. Only eight men on that roof understood it. It resurrected a beautiful moment within a horrible moment, a time when we bonded, all of us in that van, like never before or since. It was a moment that gave us the strength to go on, and replaying that moment gave us strength now. I felt as one with my seven naked brothers.

". . . When friends just can't be found, like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down."

But I had found seven friends at that moment on that rooftop.

It was a simple melody, not the virtuoso playing I knew Nodak was capable of. But I was in tears. Rhody was in tears. Even Wyoming was in tears. I looked across and saw that Matti was in tears.

And the person to whom this was a tribute, Ohio, brushed his arm across his face. We were all falling apart – in a good way. I wished I could raise my voice and add the lyrics to that melody, but it would have ruined the moment and gotten me punished big time.

The Prince Regent turned to his son.

• Abdullah?

• Uncle Rashid's boy is crying. A slave should not cry. The Russian slave is the winner.

The Prince summoned Ohio.

• Bend over, boy.

The Prince then took the flute from Nodak and rammed the playing end of it up Ohio's ass. About half of the flute protruded from Ohio's chocolate brown buttocks. The Prince sodomized him several times with the flute, making Ohio grunt with pain, before withdrawing it completely.

• You will sing "Danny Boy" and if you miss a single note or a single word, I will separate this flute into two sections and you will spend twenty-four hours with both pieces up your ass. Is that clear?

Ohio responded without wavering.

• Yes, Your Majesty.

The Prince walked the flute over to Nodak.

• After the first phrase, you will accompany it.

On the flute whose mouthpiece had just been rammed inside Ohio.

To Ohio he said, "Key of F" and to Nodak he said "Play him an F."

Nodak raised the smelly woodwind to his lips and played a note. I knew enough music theory to realize that this was a trap for Ohio if he got careless. He had to realize that, while the piece was in the key of F, the first note he was to sing was not the same pitch that Nodak had played.

Ohio didn't fall for it and sang the pickup on an E, correctly. His voice was steady, showing no nerves after having been sodomized with the flute. He sounded as gorgeous as ever. Nodak began to accompanying him, at first doubling him on melody, then adding some creative harmonies, and eventually improvising complex flourishes that showed off his virtuosic abilities without, somehow, drawing attention away from the singer.

When Ohio hit that high note and held it tenuto, it was to die for. Nodak dropped out momentarily, letting the Black slave have the moment to himself. And then he finished:

". . . in sunshine or in sorrow. Oh, Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so."

Oh Matti boy, I love YOU so.

We've had both our sunshine and our sorrow, Matti. Do you still love me so?

DMITRI: I think the P.R. realized that this musical interlude had been something of a disaster, apart from the amusing spectacle of a slave having a flute rammed up his ass. The slaves seemed to enjoy the music more than their masters, and there were undercurrents in the air that were invisible to me. Something had gone on when North Dakota – Andrei, as Boris had renamed him – was playing that tune, something I failed to recognize. Oleg told me later that it was a popular song by someone named Simon Garfinkel from the sixties; I never paid much attention to American music. (Note from Oleg: I, of course, told him Simon and Garfunkel, but decided not to correct that in the translation.)

Reasserting control, the P.R. proceeded to the wrestling match between Yuri's and Sergei's boys. Sergei had, as was his custom, decided to maintain his slave's state name, and referred to him as Wyoming'. Yuri had given his boy a Russian name, but as his American name was Chris', there was no good Russian equivalent. Having first known him as Rhode Island', Yuri settled on Rodion'.

Wyoming looked the more powerfully built of the two – Sergei had him do weight-training daily. But Rodion was the more skilled wrestler. The two nude bodies writhing together on the floor sparked interest in Dmitri Junior, particularly when Wyoming grabbed Rodion by the balls. But Yuri's boy was quick to reciprocate and held on until they both released each other's genitals. When Wyoming seemed to move Rodion by grabbing his hip, he missed and only got a handful of buttock, which – while I'm sure it was a nice feel – didn't provide much leverage. Rodion eventually flipped Wyomng over and he was pinned in about three minutes. There was no need for a decision by Abdullah.

The P.R. approached Yuri's boy.

• You are the winner. Congratulations. How would you like him?

Alarm passed over Rodion's face.

• Humble apologies, Your Majesty. I do not understand what you mean.

• Doggy style? Missionary? Bent over the railing? Ah, no one told you. All competitions must have something at stake. In this case, it was the loser's ass. So how do you want him?

• I guess doggy style, Your Majesty.

Wyoming dropped to all fours, looking every inch the obedient slave. As a trusty greased the loser's hole, the P.R. continued questioning Rodion.

• Boy, will this be your first time fucking another slave?

• No, Your Majesty.

• How many times has your Master allowed you to fuck?

• Twice, Your Majesty. That is, only on one day, but I . . . engaged in the act twice.

• Engaged in the act'? Say fucked', boy. That's what you did.

• Yes, Your Majesty. I fucked him twice.

• (P.R. to Yuri) Twice. Generous, Yuri. Too generous.

• (Yuri, defensively) They were tied up in a cage, Your Majesty, with their cocks and balls in each other's mouths. I figured if they could free themselves, they could do whatever they wanted.

• (P.R. to Rodion) Is your Master telling me that these fucks were voluntary?

• The second one was, Your Majesty. The first was compulsory.

• And why did you fuck the slave the second time?

• (Enough of a pause that I was expecting a slap. But then:) I was in love with him, Your Majesty.

• (NOW there was a slap) A slave is not entitled to feel love, boy. Tell me, does it love you back?

• No, Your Majesty. He – it – is not in love with me.

• Is this slave one of the other Little Big Man slaves?

• Yes, Your Majesty.

• Is it the boy you just wrestled?

• No, Your Majesty.

• Good. Now go fuck its brains out.

ALEXEI: I was relieved that the Prince Regent had ended his questioning of Rhody before he named me as the object of his affections.

But all eyes were on the sex taking place. Rhody was not exactly fucking Wyoming's brains out. Master, Ruslan, Grigory, Pyotr, Latronius – they knew how to fuck a slave's brains out. Rhody's style was not as gentle as Henri's or as indifferent as Ivan's – it was more like Oleg's – steady, enthusiastic, but still considerate of the bottom's feelings.

Wyoming took it professionally – as by now we were all professionals in getting our asses reamed. It was weird seeing him as a bottom, though. He did seem to have adapted to it. Rhody held on to his hips, increasing his tempo as he rode him, then taking one last plunge as he spilled his seed within the cowboy's bowels.

After Rhody withdrew from Wyoming's asshole, the Prince surprised me by forcing Nodak, not Wyoming, to clean off Rhody's cock.

As he did so, the Prince Regent asked Rhody:

• Is this the slave you fell in love with?

Rhody glanced over at me apologetically.

• No, Your Majesty.

The Prince Regent walked a few feet away and stared at me.

• So it's you. Dmitri's boy.

Oh shit, this can't be good.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER FORTY-SIX - THE SWIMMING POOL]