Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: THE SWIMMING POOL

Previously: A small group of guests accompanies the royal family to the roof, where the Prince Regent inspects and questions the slaves. Alex's friend Nodak (renamed `Andrei' by Boris), survives a terrifying moment in which he is dangled above the rotunda a hundred feet below. The P.R. further shocks the Russians by stripping and inspecting Dmitri's and Yuri's assistants.

The P.R. decides to have a series of competitions between slaves. The first, a musical contest, pits Nodak against the palace slave Ohio, who had comforted the LBM slaves in the van in Mogadishu with his soulful rendition of "Bridge over Troubled Water". In tribute, Nodak plays that tune on the flute, moving all the slaves and mystifying their owners. The second competition featured a wrestling match, with the winner (Rhody) fucking the loser (Wyoming). The third, yet to come, is to pit Alex in a diving contest against a palace slave – whom Alex realizes must be Matti.

Matti and Alex catch sight of each other, but the long-awaited reunion isn't what Alex had hoped; Matti won't meet his eyes and pretends not to know him.

The P.R.'s final bit of questioning elicits a confession from Rhody that he is in love with Alex.

DMITRI: FRIDAY, 16 SEPTEMBER, PAST MIDNIGHT – ROYAL PALACE ROOFTOP

So this was the third surprising development of the evening, following Andrei being dangled over the rotunda and the stripping and subsequent inspections of my and Yuri's assistants. The fourth, if you count whatever happened during that flute solo that caused all our slaves to get choked up.

Yuri's boy – Rodion, formerly Rhode Island - was in love with Alexei.

Furthermore, he had fucked him – with Alexei's consent! Which was interesting, since Alexei was still insisting that he was not gay.

Could the problem lie with his attachment to Rodion? Rodion had insisted that Alexei did not return his affections – but he might have been protecting him.

Their encounter had been nearly two months ago, in late July – about the time that Ruslan and Pyotr had noticed Alexei becoming more responsive during sex, even exhibiting something close to enthusiasm at times. Coincidence? I personally had not observed a change – he complied without objection, but it was clear to me he was just going through the motions.

I was thinking these things as we were in the elevator descending from the roof. As we left, I took one last look at the four wall extensions arcing over the rotunda, each sporting a bound slave speared on the erect marble cock of a nude male statue, illuminated in a glorious display of rotating colors. The duct tape encircling the head of Donnelly's former slave detracted from the aesthetics, but it held the penis gag in place and spared us from hearing the invective the boy would doubtless have spouted without it.

Arriving on the ground floor, we headed outdoors to one of two swimming pools on the west side of the palace. We were to hold a diving competition between Alexei and Abdullah's slave, the boy I knew as Minnesota. I remember thinking at the time how peculiar it was that two state winners – from adjoining states – were both divers. And here they both were, in the same location, months after their slavery had separated them. Proof that coincidences do occur.

During the ride down, the P.R. posed the issue of stakes for this competition. He held the view that since this was the last competition, the stakes should be the highest. What he proposed was shocking – that the wager be for possession of the slaves themselves: The owner of the winner would take possession of the loser.

The idea was preposterous – and dangerous. The P.R. had declared publicly that he had nearly chosen Alexei to be his slave instead of Minnesota. Obviously, the P.R. wanted to use this competition to gain control of both of them. I couldn't allow that – not yet, anyway. Alexei at full potential could be my best slave since Slava, and even though his performance so far had been disappointing in some respects, he was HOT and I held out hopes that he would develop to the point where I could at least keep him a second year, like B.J.

But saying no to the P.R. had to be done diplomatically – best if I could find a pragmatic reason to convince him it was a bad idea.

Who would be the judge of such a competition, I asked. Wouldn't it require some expertise, some knowledge of the sport?

At which point, the P.R. smiled.

• I have already taken care of this, my friend. A helicopter is bringing our national diving coach here to the palace. He is a frequent guest here, and so is well familiar with slave protocols. And I have offered him the use of any slave he chooses as an extra incentive.

So much for that argument. So I tried pointing out that if I won, I would violate IAMSO's `one slave per master' guideline. The P.R. countered that he had enough influence with Koivisto to make sure it never came up for review by the oversight committee. Alternatively, I could sell one of them back to the family and make a nice profit.

I had no resort but to state flatly that I was not ready to part with Alexei yet, and that doing so would leave me without a slave. The P.R. said he'd provide me with a replacement – but who knew who that might be. I asked if he would give me Illinois, thinking maybe I could trade Illinois to Boris for Andrei (North Dakota). Illinois had been Boris's first choice and North Dakota mine before things had gone sideways in the negotiations with the royal family over slave selection.

But the P.R.'s brother Mustafa, who owned Illinois, objected immediately and it seemed we were at an impasse until Abdullah spoke up.

• (Abdullah) I have an idea. Have the winner not only fuck the loser but be his master for a half hour. He'd have complete control and we'd insist that he be strict and not go easy on him..

• (P.R., smiling his approval) That might be amusing. Dmitri?

• Agreed.

• (P.R.) But Abdullah – watch your use of personal pronouns.

• (Abdullah) Oh, Father.

I was immensely relieved. Impasses with the P.R. tended to be resolved in the P.R.'s favor.

But Khalid and Mustafa, I noticed, were clearly shocked by the suggestion and there were some heated exchanges in Arabic.

ALEXEI: I suddenly knew how Nodak felt when he saw the flute. In front of me was an Olympic-sized swimming pool with both a springboard and a high-dive platform. I felt like a kid in a candy store. I had not been in water since the pool on the boat, and not on a diving board since May. A simple swan dive into ten feet of water would be ecstasy.

Prince Abdullah had given Matti instructions for about two minutes. Master, on the other hand, had simply said, "Do well."

I got nervous when they introduced the judge – no less than the national diving coach. Who didn't seem to be the least surprised to be surrounded by naked slaves. In fact, there was a bulge in his pants. They made Matti and me stand together and the Prince Regent went out of his way to point out that the judge did not know which of us belonged to him and which to `my guest Dmitri'.

For them to have such a high-profile judge and such a clear attempt to project impartiality, there must be something significant at stake. Both Master and the Prince were enormously wealthy – would they really be playing for money? Or maybe – a darker thought – the loser would have to pull a long train. I didn't want Matti to have to do that – nor did I want to undergo it myself.

I looked over at Matti and he looked away. Please, Matti – look at me, smile at me, wink at me, touch your hand to your heart when no one's looking – do something. Don't pretend you don't see me.

I thought back to the darkest hour on the boat, when Matti was mounted on that horrible ball-guillotine and any of three guys could have lost his nuts (it would be Mississippi). Matti's lips moved and I couldn't read them. Rhody told me he was mouthing the words, "I love you, Cheesehead."

Something like that, Matti. That's what I need from you. Or even just some acknowledgement that I exist. I have waited three long months for this moment – and this moment isn't happening.

The guest judge explained the rules – five dives, alternating springboard and platform, last dive on your choice. He was familiar with the degrees of difficulty.

I was up first, on the springboard. I bounced a bit, to get a feel for it and felt my cock flop up and down and my balls bounce along for the ride. I had never dived without a cup and wondered how my flopping ding-dong would affect things.

Not that much. I started off with a straight forward pike with one-and-a-half twists and it felt good, vertical, clean entry. I couldn't see the splash but it felt confident that it was minimal. And, oh, that water! It restored my soul.

Matti went next, a double-somersault with a superb tuck, and almost no splash at all.

Okay, advantage Matti. But I was just warming up. My next dive, from the platform, was one of my best – a forward double-somersault with one-and-a-half twists that I absolutely nailed. Matti followed with a slightly less difficult dive and went a little over on his entry. Advantage me.

After that, Prince Abdullah spoke again to Matti, quietly. He looked concerned, then nodded. He did one of his most difficult dives next – one I knew I couldn't compete with. Advantage Matti. But springboard was his specialty – and platform was mine – and I felt we were pretty even going into the last dive.

He did a fabulous dive on springboard. I did a pretty damn good one off the high platform. Not quite good enough – the judge proclaimed Matti the winner `by a small margin'.

The P.R. stepped forward.

• Congratulations, boy. You both know what the reward is for winning – and the penalty for losing.

Wait a moment. I didn't. All Master had told me was `Do well'.

Master, at least had the decency to speak up.

• Actually, my boy does not.

The P.R. raised an eyebrow.

• Very well. Alexei, for the next thirty minutes, Abdullah's boy is your master. You will obey him as you would your own Master, without exception. After that, he will fuck you.

He turned to Matti.

• For the next thirty minutes, you may say anything you like to the slave Alexei, and you may order any of the trusties to assist you in dealing with it. Your freedom is unlimited with regard to what you do to it– other than killing or permanently altering it – and of course you may not address or speak ill of your Master or any other Man. Is that clear?

Did you catch that Matti was a he' and I was an it'?

Matti looked him straight in the eye and answered coldly.

• Yes, Your Majesty.

I felt worse for Matti than for myself. Whatever feelings he had – including anger held over from Mogadishu, if it hadn't been manufactured as per Rhody's theory – had to be suppressed. He was being asked – told – to dominate his (I hoped) best friend. The stress must be unbearable.

It didn't seem to be.

Matti stood inches away from me (dead kittens, dead kittens) and stared into my eyes. Hard. There was nothing kind or reassuring in those eyes. No wink. No gleam. No softness. No indication that he had ever seen me before in his life. And when he spoke, it was in a tone of voice that I had never heard him use.

• All right, boy. You're going to jump into the pool and stay completely under water for sixty seconds. Not one second more, not one second less. You will receive one stroke of the cane for every second you are over or under that limit. Is that clear, boy?

• (Matti, are you fucking kidding me?) Yes, sir.

He punched me in the gut, so hard that I doubled over and he screamed at me like a drill sergeant.

• Is that how you address your master, boy?

• No, sir. I mean – no, master. Sorry, master.

• (to a trusty) Boy! Fetch a cane. (to me) Spread your legs.

When I did so, he kneed me directly in the balls. I doubled over again and before I could straighten up, he had pushed me into the pool.

I had been caught unawares, unable to store up breath and knew I wouldn't last the full sixty seconds. Fortunately, I had experience being underwater, and I know how to keep myself from rising to the surface. I started to try to count seconds but without a chance to take a deep breath while I was falling into the pool, I knew it was hopeless. I kept swallowing hard to keep the breath down but eventually I just had to rise to the surface and gasp for air.

• Thirty-four seconds. Pitiful. Get your ass out of the water, cunt.

Cunt'? Really, Matti? Cunt'?

In protest, I considered obeying him literally and lifting just my ass out of the water, but that might put my head back underneath the surface. I swam to the steps and climbed up the grab bars until I was on the tiled surface around the pool.

• Hands on knees.

Shit. He was really going to do this?

He was. I bent over as the trusty approached with the cane – fortunately not a super-heavy one. The trusty was a good two-hundred pounds, not as big as Ruslan, but big enough. He held the cane in his hand and I was trying to imagine the amount of force with which he could swing it.

• No, I'm going to whip this boy's ass myself.

A bit of a relief. Matti was much smaller, and less powerful. When he hit me, it wasn't going to hurt so –

WHACK!

Oh, Jesus, it was.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Well, there's no point in my writing `WHACK' twenty-two more times, is there? The cane is a nasty implement, and twenty-six is a lot, even with a smaller one. Ruslan had rarely given me that many. By the fifteenth stroke I felt tears and then had to hold it for nearly a dozen more.

I wondered how much time was left in the half-hour.

• Open your mouth, slave.

I did, and he spat in it. Then he shoved a penis gag inside that felt Pyotr-sized if not Grigory-sized. A blindfold went around my eyes. This was the man I loved?

• Up there.

What was up there? Oh – me, evidently. One of the trusties was large enough – and I was small enough – that he could carry me up the ladder to the top of the high-dive platform.

• Bring rope – and the flute.

This did not sound good.

• Hogtie it.

Evidently, he had followed us onto the platform. I was trussed, ankles to wrists. The trusties turned me into the trussed-ee. See, that's the kind of joke Matti would make. The old Matti. MY Matti. Not this one. Matti, what happened to you?

• Now shove this third of a flute up its ass.

Hands grabbed my buttocks, forcing my cheeks apart and the cold, smooth cylinder went up my colon. Fortunately, a flute isn't that thick and –

• Now another third.

And two widths of flutes are. This was the sentence that Ohio was promised if he missed a note or word during `Danny Boy'. Of course, his sentence was to be for twenty-four hours. But then he wasn't to be hogtied, blindfolded, and penis-gagged at the same time.

• And the remaining third.

Jesus, Matti. But at least by dividing it into thirds, there was not much length protruding from my anus. Which was a good thing considering what happened next.

• All right, let's kick this whore around until it goes off the platform. But be careful – make sure it goes into the water. We don't want it hitting the tile and spilling blood all over.

No, we wouldn't want to stain the tile, would we. Anger and confusion were welling up within me, reaching a boiling point. I did not know why Matti was doing this.

I felt feet – bare feet, thankfully – kicking and pushing me around. There were small bits of flute protruding from my rectum and whenever one of them hit the platform, it pushed against the sides of my colon and hurt like hell.

They played soccer with me for about a minute and then I tumbled over the edge of the platform and gravity had its way with me.

From ten meters up, it was quite a fall and of course I couldn't orient myself when I hit the water on my hips and ass. The impact sent shock waves of pain to my brain – imagine a belly-flop raised exponentially, only on your back, hips and ass.

I plunged deep and when I rose to the surface my head was under water. I was floating, but ass up and head down. I wriggled against my bonds but could not right myself; my center of balance forcing me to stay upside down. There was no way I could twist and turn to get my head above water and breathe. For the second time in less than thirty minutes water became my enemy, only this time I was going to drown.

Well, obviously, I didn't drown, or this narrative would never have been written. I saw something explode in the water a few feet from me and then behind me there was another shock. The two trusties, jumping from the platform. Matti, realizing that without intervention I was going to die, had sent them down to lift my head above water. This was hard to do when the water is deeper than you are tall – no leverage – but they managed.

It probably wasn't close but it felt like it was. Reassuring, I suppose, that Matti, as much enmity as he must be feeling to treat me like this, didn't want me to die. I guess that was something.

Out of the water, untied, unfluted, ungagged, and unblindfolded, I was convinced my half-hour was up, but before it was, he made me to rim the two trusties. Never my favorite thing.

I had endured plenty of BDSM at Master's Saturday night parties, not to mention the nightly discipline with Ruslan. But I had never before felt that my life was in danger. Matti had nearly killed me.

Matti had nearly KILLED me.

MATTI had nearly killed me.

Matti, my best friend, the man who had single-handedly gotten me through the ordeal on the boat, the man I had lain next to and kissed, the man who had made me laugh with his silly jokes about lying horizontally and anti-Finnish bias, the man whom I thought I was in love with – THAT Matti – had just nearly killed me.

And standing a few feet away, looking like death, worried sick like a relative waiting for news about the surgery – was a man who did truly love me. And whose touch and smell could make me erect in short time. A kind, sweet, generous man, who was deserving of my love and to whom I had only offered friendship.

Rhody, I've been unfair to you. You would never do this to me. You didn't even fuck Wyoming that hard.

I was beginning to realize that –

• Slave! Get your ass over here! Now!

I had almost forgotten. My period of enslavement to Matti wasn't over until we had had sex. Correction – until he had fucked me. I was pretty sure that this was going to be sex for one person only.

• Hands on the grab bars. I'm going to fuck you standing up.

I moved over to the pool and stooped over to clutch the top of the grab bars – the curved pieces at the top of the ladder leading out of the pool. A trusty approached with lubricant. Then I heard Matti say:

• No. I'm going to fuck this bitch dry.

I heard – or imagined that I heard – murmurs of approval.

I felt his cockhead against my hole as he kicked my feet further apart.

• Get ready, cunt.

Pain filled my bowels as he pressed against my anus. I had not been fucked without lubrication – or at least saliva – since that time back in July when Master was away. That had put me nearly out of commission for days. This wouldn't be a gang-bang, but Matti's cock wasn't going in easily and no matter how much I tried to open up for him, it wasn't working until in one monumental shove, he got in. I gasped with the pain and Matti just laughed.

• Take it, bitch.

The saving grace was that Matti had probably the smallest cock, other than Henri's, that had ever invaded my back door. But, ungreased, Matti sawing in and out was difficult, scraping against my unprotected rectum. I had probably taken two hundred cocks in my career as a slave, but this was not a good fucking.

He stopped suddenly, cock buried full-length up my gut, when he pulled me away from the grab bars and pushed my head down so that my torso was at right angles with his.

• Its mouth is free if anyone wants to join me.

• (a voice) I will.

Half-expecting it to be Ilya, I looked up to find myself face-to-cock with none other than Prince Abdullah, the Prince Regent's son and Matti's master.

I opened up for the prince. He was already hard. He was on the tall side, like his father, and fit. His cock was not approaching Grigory-world, but was long enough. It was similar to Oleg's, except Oleg was cut and Abdullah wasn't.

Abdullah began thrusting in tandem with Matti – I hated when they did that – and the young prince was scraping my throat raw as Matti was reaming my bowels.

Matti came first, and when he did, Abdullah was good enough to withdraw.

• (Abdullah) Gotta save this for later. There's a party coming, right?

I translated that remark. Party = Orgy = more cocks up Alexei's ass.

Matti pulled out of me and slapped me on the butt, punitively – not in a locker-room sort of way.

The Prince Regent approached and I could tell he was torn between the idea of praising Matti and the idea that he should never praise a slave.

The latter instinct won out.

• Boy, is there anything you want to say to this slave while you are still its master?

• (Matti, with an audible sneer) Yeah. I hope you enjoyed that, you fucking cunt. You asshole. You piece of shit. You - you – you – Cheesehead!

What? Did he just say - ?

• Cheesehead? I don't know that word.

• It's American slang, Your Majesty. A form of insult. It means, `you have no more brains than a piece of cheese'.

And in Matti's right eye – the one out of the Prince Regent's field of vision – I saw a minuscule wink.

Cheesehead. You called me Cheesehead. And you lied to the Prince Regent about its meaning.

Omigod, Matti.

Maybe you do care for me after all.

DMITRI: The orgy followed. The P.R. produced most of the remaining slaves he had purchased from us – I didn't spot South Carolina among them – and invited several of his relatives, to make sure there weren't more slaves than men waiting to fuck them.

We had a cordial selection of first fucks, each group choosing from the other's top slaves. I picked Minnesota, not so much for his masterly dominance of Alexei as for his splendid rump, one that I had longed to plunge into all during the days of the Fundamental Experience. Boris finally got a chance to plunder Illinois' fine black ass, while Sergei had his moment with his former top choice, Nevada. Yuri was more than content with the singer Ohio.

The P.R. and his brothers fucked our four slaves, with the P.R. opting for Alexei to honor me, despite his recent disgrace at the hands of Minnesota.

We had to pace ourselves – there were more slaves available to be fucked than I had orgasms to give, so I wound up shooting my load only three times, fucking several without cumming, getting to enjoy some of the Bottoms I had coveted on the boat – glad to at last be able to breed the voluptuous ass of Idaho.

ALEX: I looked for Alabama, but didn't spot him. Rhody, I'm sure, was disappointed not to see Maine. Who else could I spot? Not a lot – I was too busy being bent over.

Mississippi and South Dakota were there, both looking content and in good shape despite having been castrated. Nodak told me later that South Dakota had flashed him a secret `thumbs up' sign to let him know he was adjusting well to slavery.

And there was Del. I was thrilled to see Del and he to see me, although he looked a little upset to see the condition my ass was in after Matti had caned it. I wished I could explain.

In fact, he and I wound up over adjoining fuck-horses, the padded sawhorses over which we were draped and secured for easy access.

After the Prince Regent (a very good fucker, by the way) and his brother Mustafa (not so much), the third cock up my ass was that of Prince Abdullah, Matti's master. And standing next to him, plunging his tool into Del, was none other than Mr. Curious himself, Ilya.

I had no choice but to listen to their conversation – I guess if you're fucking your third slave, you can just carry on conversations while you're doing that.

• (Ilya) So that was quite a number your slave pulled on our boy Alexei.

Hello, Ilya, your boy Alexei is right here.

• (Abdullah) Excuse me. Who are you?

Just about the amount of attention Ilya deserves.

• (Ilya) So sorry, Your Highness. Ilya Balin. I work for your father's friend Dmitri – that's his slave you're fucking now.

• (Abdullah) I am well aware of who I am fucking. I must fuck him – I can't allow my slave to have a pleasure which I have not myself enjoyed.

Well, glad to be of service, prince.

• (Ilya) You called him him', not it'.

• (Abdullah) Well, `it' is my father's thing, not mine.

• He did well, your slave. I think he missed his calling as a top.

• Fortunately for me, he has no such privilege.

• He's got a great ass.

• A slave is more than an ass.

• Not to me.

• Then you are not ready to be a Master. My slave – well, my father tried to trade him for your slave here.

Whoa, what was that? WHAT did you say? The Prince Regent tried to trade Matti for me?

• (Ilya) You sound disappointed. Alexei has a great ass, and it fucks so nicely.

Wow, a compliment from Ilya. Let me store that one in the vault.

• (Abdullah) As I said, a slave is more than an ass. Boy is . . . well, he's something special. I can't explain it. He's more than just someone to fuck and order around. He fills me with lust and – something more than lust.

• (Ilya) There's nothing more than lust.

• (Abdullah, to me) You're enjoying this, aren't you, slave?

• Yes, Your Majesty. (I was, too. He was as good a fucker as his father.)

• (Abdullah) You call me Your Highness'. My father is Your Majesty'. Understand?

• Beg pardon, Your Highness. I am just an ignorant slave.

• (Abdullah) Yes, a Cheesehead.

• (Ilya) A what?

• Cheesehead. It's what Boy called your boy. (amused) He has the brains of a piece of cheese.

• You're saying your father tried to trade slaves?

Yes, run that by me again.

• (Abdullah) He wanted to make the diving contest about ownership of the loser. We knew Boy would probably win, so that Father would take your boss's boy. And then, in a spirit of friendship, he would give your boss one of our slaves as compensation. I was afraid he would choose Boy. I was opposed, of course, but my father is very headstrong and I can't control what he does. And my uncles – they don't like Boy and might want father to trade him. Your slave is a nice piece of ass, but I would never trade Boy for him.

I'll try not to be too offended by that.

• (Ilya) You must be very proud of how your boy handled himself tonight. I mean, kicking Alexei off the platform – that was brilliant.

Not so brilliant to me, thank you. I nearly died.

• (Abdullah) Hopefully, Boy went up in my father's estimation and in my uncles'. That should help him at the trial.

• (Ilya) Trial?

TRIAL???

• (Abdullah) You don't know about our trial system?

• (Ilya) No, please tell me, Your Highness.

Yes, please tell me, Your Highness.

• (Abdullah) Every new slave – well, every new personal slave – has a probationary period. They have a trial six to eight months after they begin service. He needs a majority of the jury to keep his position or else he's demoted to a kitchen slave or a garden slave or maybe a personal slave of someone lower-ranking. If he's demoted there's another vote on whether or not to geld him. And if he fails that, there's a third vote on whether to make him a dome slave.

• (Ilya) I thought there were only twenty dome slaves.

• There are. If a new slave goes on dome duty, the one who was assigned there the longest comes off.

• And what happens to him?

• He gets demoted.

• To what?

• There's no rank lower than a dome slave.

• So how can he get demoted?

• What do you think? We bring in new slaves every year. Our slave population isn't swelling.

Please tell me that means you sell them.

• (Ilya) The one I'm fucking. He was gelded. Is that because he failed his trial?

• (Abdullah) Oh, no. Boy is my cousin Tariq's slave. Tariq's very happy with him.

Hmmm. Matti's name is Boy, Ohio's name was Boy, Del's name is apparently Boy. It must get confusing around here.

• (Ilya) Then why geld him?

• (Abdullah) He came to us as a eunuch. When we turn seventeen, we are given virgin eunuchs as our first slaves.

• Were you given a eunuch when you turned seventeen?

• Of course.

• But you have a different slave now. What happened to the eunuch you had at seventeen?

• He went to the dome. I'm worried that Boy will, too.

• Your slave? Surely he'll pass his trial.

• I'm not so sure about that. Because I'm not twenty-one, I don't get to be on the jury. and my uncles – Khalid and Mustafa – have a lot of influence. I don't think they'll let me keep him. They didn't like the fact that Boy got to fuck your boy tonight – they don't think any slave should be allowed to fuck, not even trusties. And particularly Boy – as I said, they don't like him.

• They'll send him to the dome?

• God, I hope not. It's possible, but I don't think they would do anything that drastic. But they will probably geld him and reassign him somewhere else. And that would crush me. Absolutely crush me.

It would crush me, too. And wouldn't do a lot for Matti.

• (Ilya) When's his trial?

• (Abdullah) January.

• Good luck.

• Thanks. What did you say your name was again?

And then Abdullah shot his load up my ass, and the next person in line – the diving coach – plunged his cock into my waiting hole.

FLASHFORWARD: SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 20 - MASTER'S BEDROOM

• So this is why you write about trip? This what important? Minnesota?

• Yes, Master.

• You think you in love with him.

• I know I am, Master.

• Despite how he treat you.

• He was only doing it because he had to impress them. He called me `Cheesehead', Master. That was like a code between us. He knew I'd know he still loved me, that all that meanness was just for show.

• And this distract you. Since you back from trip, your performing less good. Is because of you see Minnesota.

• I . . . I'm sorry I've been a disappointment, Master. But . . . yes.

• So now we know what is problem. Minnesota don't be part of your life now. Is over. You must remove him from mind, Alexei. Forget.

• How can I, Master? I'm worried sick about him. He has his trial in January.

• You afraid he go on dome?

• Yes. Because of the uncles that don't like him.

• Alexei, I am not religious man. But is famous prayer in America, they use in, what do they call, Alcohol Anomaly, something like that. It ask for courage to control what can, patience for what don't can control, wisdom to know difference.

• I'm a slave, Master. I already know the difference: I can control absolutely nothing; I just need patience for everything. So I don't need wisdom.

• You wrong, Alexei. Is one thing you can control. Your mind.

No, YOU wrong, Master. I can't control my mind until I know Matti is safe.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN - NIKOLAI]