Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE: REMATCH

Previously: Dmitri, accompanied by Ruslan, his executive staff and Alexei, fly off to the Royal Palace for negotiations about the Little Big Man Contest – as well as a second diving contest between Alexei and Matti. The competition creates an ethical dilemma for Alexei: in order to save Matti from a possible death sentence, he must lose and give up his life in Russia to become one of the Royal Family's slaves. Dmitri has told him, "I think you lose competition," but Alexei isn't sure if it is Dmitri's desire or just a prediction.

Meanwhile, Ruslan seems to have something up his sleeve. His appearance, fully clothed, shocks Declan, the trusty with whom Ruslan connected while posing as a slave. Ruslan clears the air with Declan – and fucks him twice to their mutual pleasure. He then takes Alexei to the swimming pool for diving practice – and orders him to try to win the competition. The thought terrifies Alexei, who is afraid that doing so will condemn Matti to the dome, from which there is no survivable return. Ruslan tells Alexei to trust him, but Alexei is not sure if he should. Ruslan might have his own reasons for wanting to keep Alexei in Dmitri's household.

DMITRI: FRIDAY, 13 JANUARY, 9:45 P.M. – SWIMMING POOL

So many things could go sideways with Ruslan's plan. The Prince Regent, Abdullah, Matti, Alexei, Khalid & Mustafa, even Boris – any of them could throw a monkey wrench into it. So could bad luck. Not to mention the supposedly impartial diving judge – who knew how much integrity he had, and whether or not Khalid or Mustafa had gotten to him.

I was tense; I could only imagine what Alexei was thinking. Ruslan had told me that he had looked good in his practice session, which meant nothing. Ruslan was no diving expert. But he said Alexei had felt good about it, which did mean something. If he didn't freeze up once the real competition began.

Ruslan had had the bright idea of stripping while he supervised Alexei's practice session: That way, if Khalid or Mustafa spotted him from a window, they would think Alexei was being watched by a trusty.

We gathered at the pool – the Prince Regent, his brothers and their slaves, and Abdullah on one side; myself, Boris, my assistants and our slaves on the other. Ruslan stayed in his room; I could not afford to have Khalid and Mustafa see him before the deal was done. His room had a view of the diving pool, and he had binoculars; airpods enabled him to hear anything that I said.

The P.R. had used the leverage of the new contract to pressure me into this competition, so I made sure that the contract would be signed before the boys dived. Technically, we sold our captives to Abdul, the slave broker in Mogadishu, and the Royal Family bought their slaves from him; Abdul kept 7.5% of the proceeds and gave us the remainder as his payment for the boys. Consequently, Abdul's signature was necessary on the final document, and he had been invited to the palace for that purpose.

The Prince Regent, Khalid and Mustafa headed in our direction. pulled Boris and myself aside, and waved Abdul over to join us.

• (Prince Regent) Abdul, you are aware that the contract is tied to the diving contest about to take place, yes?

• (Abdul) Certainly unusual, Your Majesty, but all I care about is my fee. What you do with your slaves is none of my affair.

• (P.R.) Dmitri, I can assure you of the judge's objectivity. He has insisted on not knowing which slave belongs to whom, and says he will resign as national diving coach if his integrity is compromised. You can trust him to be impartial.

• (Khalid) I still think a week or two in prison would have changed his mind, but our diving team is a source of national pride and we cannot afford to alienate him. Unfortunately, some men can't be bought. (Regretful smile intended to be wry.)

• (P.R.) Now, let me begin by reviewing what everyone wants. I want Alexei, pure and simple. Khalid and Mustafa want Abdullah's boy – 4387 – on the dome, but will settle for sending it out of the country. Abdullah wants to retain 4387, but that won't happen, so he will settle for keeping it off the dome. Dmitri and Boris want a contract that commits to LBM Europe – and they would like – I THINK – to retain their current slave, but would settle for a suitable replacement, or enough compensation to buy a top-of-the-line slave on the market. Is that accurate?

• (Boris) You stated what you wanted, but not what you would settle for.

• (P.R.) That's because I intend to get what I want. Now, let's also review the stakes of the diving contest, since there are factors not entirely under our control. First, if – as expected – 4387 wins the contest, Dmitri will surrender Alexei to me and Boris will give up his delectable flutist, whose current name eludes me.

• (Boris) Andrei.

• (P.R.) Whatever. Since this will leave you both without slaves, I will award 4387 to Dmitri as compensation and Rashid's boy, known to you as Ohio, to Boris. This will mollify Abdullah, as it would spare his boy the dome –

• (Khalid) An injustice. The boy's balls should come off tomorrow, and its head soon after.

• (P.R.) We have settled this already, Khalid. Rashid will happily accept the flutist as a replacement. As you know, I find the lad delightful, and I will fuck him regularly. Rashid is not in a position to object, and won't.

• (Mustafa) You could dangle him over the rotunda again. That was most enjoyable.

• (P.R.) Now, if – somehow – Dmitri's boy wins. Boris gets to keep his flutist, and I will temporarily surrender 4387 to you, Dmitri, but, not needing two slaves, you will sell him back to us at six thousand in slavecoin at today's rate.

I was surprised to hear him express the price in slavecoin, but I realized that a trusty was within earshot – and one should never let slaves know the value of such transactions.

• (P.R.) I will then, in a gesture of good faith to my brothers, vote to put 4387 on the dome at its trial on Monday, giving them what they most desire. Abdullah will think his boy is in Russia with Dmitri, and won't even be aware that there is a trial. To prevent Abdullah from recognizing his slave on the dome, I'll fit it with a mask that will alter its facial appearance. Of course, this will leave Abdullah without a slave. This is unacceptable. I want Alexei to replace him – and will sign the contract at these rates only if you agree to sell him to me. I am willing to double what I'm paying to get 4387 back. That's twelve thousand plus the six for 4387, total of eighteen thousand in slavecoin. That's (punching numbers into his phone) forty-two percent higher than any slave in the world sold for last year. More than enough to buy a top-of-the-line replacement.

• I agree. It would be.

• You agree?

• I agree.

• You drive a hard bargain, Dmitri, but I am in a good mood.

• Any payment would have to be made personally to me, though, not to Little Big Man. We can't let this money flow through our books, even as a disguised asset.

• Of course. So you see, Boris, I get Alexei either way. I told you I intend to get what I want. And you get your contract, at current prices.

• (Mustafa) Brother, I don't know why we spent all this time quibbling over something that won't happen. Until moments ago, when he agreed to sell us his boy if it won, the LBM contract was contingent upon his boy losing. Obviously, Dmitri ordered the boy to lose.

• I made no such order. He will lose the competition of his own volition.

• (Khalid) Excuse me – you gave it a choice?

• It is a test of his loyalty. He must choose between maintaining his life in Russia – which he has grown quite accustomed to – and rescuing a friend to whom he has a deep attachment.

• (Khalid and Mustafa) WHAT?!

• (P.R.) Apparently, he knew 4387 before the contest and they are fond of each other. (to me) Psychological pressure can be an effective form of control, though not one I would choose.

• (Khalid) Devious as this is, I cannot imagine a situation where giving a slave a choice – even when you are confident of its decision – is a good idea. It empowers them.

• Actually, quite the opposite. For Alexei, whatever decision he makes will be wrong. He feels completely dominated and hopeless. If he wins the contest, his friend may die –

• (Khalid) Not `may'. Will.

• ... and he will have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life. If he loses, he gives up all the security he has, his sense of identity, and the relationships he has formed since becoming my slave. I know my boy: He will choose to sacrifice himself before he sacrifices his friend. He will lose the competition. Now that we're all in agreement as to what will happen tonight, let us sign the Little Big Man contract and get on with it.

I called Oleg over and had him verify that what we were signing was the same one he and Sasha had approved earlier in the day; he assured me it was. A quick glance confirmed that the right figures were there, both in terms of number of slaves to be purchased and their price (NOT in slavecoin). There was an additional clause stipulating that the loser of the diving competition would change ownership (as would Andrei if Alexei lost), but the subsequent compensatory transfers to replace the losses were not explicitly stated; they would remain a private agreement and off LBM's books. The Prince Regent, Abdul and I affixed our signatures and the document was now `official'. (Of course, the contract would be illegal in any government court – but IAMSO had its own court system where it could be enforced.)

With the contract a fait accompli, I was free to put Ruslan's plan into action – IF things worked out. Which was far from certain.

Far from certain.

ALEXEI: FRIDAY, JANUARY 13, 9:55 P.M. – SWIMMING POOL

My practice session had gone well – at least it would have in a normal context. Again I had the sensation of being in my own realm, of muscle memory returning, of some piece of my old life coming back to me. The water felt as wonderful now as it had with that first dive in September. I had to bury the memory of almost drowning in that very same pool because of what Matti had done. I knew why he had done it, and that he had never anticipated that I would be in mortal danger.

They brought us dinner at seven – more slop for me, with some vegetables on the side – apparently here you got your protein via lentils and not meat if you were a slave. More incentive for me to win the competition – I did NOT want to live here, but I would if it was the only way to save Matti. And yet Ruslan had told me to try to win, and to trust him. But even if I trusted Ruslan's intentions, I couldn't see how he could control anything.

At 9:30 everyone gathered in our room – Boris, Nodak, Sasha, Oleg and Ilya, plus Master and Ruslan. Of these, the only one who spoke to me was (are you surprised?) Ilya. When I displayed, he slapped my ass a few times and then rubbed his hands over it.

• I saw you practicing this afternoon. I don't know why you bothered. You're going to lose. The fix is in, boy. The judge is one of theirs – you don't think he's going to let you win, do you? Not when the fucking ruler of this country wants your ass.

He turned to Master and spoke in Russian, something that had the lilt of a question. Master scowled and said, "Nyet." Ilya turned back to me with a smile that was not friendly.

• Apparently I can't have one last blowjob for the road.

He rubbed his hands over my ass again, squeezing my cheeks firmly and then slapping them lightly.

• I'm going to miss fucking this ass. Your replacement had better be at least as good or he's going to regret it.

He spanked my ass sharply, as if to illustrate what he meant. This earned him a reproach from Sasha, who was obviously irritated at Ilya's distracting me from the main focus of the evening.

And then we departed. A trusty – not one I recognized – came to escort Nodak and me, as no Man would enter the slave elevator. He led us out to the swimming pool, where Master and the others were already assembled.

Unlike the first contest, there was not much in the way of an audience – on our side of the pool it was just Master, Boris, Sasha, Oleg and Ilya, plus Nodak and me, and a dark-skinned man who – shit, that was Abdul, the slave-broker from Mogadishu. That couldn't be good. On the far side were the Prince Regent, his son (Matti's Master), three Men who were undoubtedly his brothers, and eight slaves, including four I knew all too well: Noisy, Nevada, Ohio . . .

. . . and Matti.

The sight of him took my breath away. In September, he had avoided making eye-contact. Now, he was gazing at me intently. My eyes danced with delight on seeing his perfect body and that wonderful, stupid grin on his face. How I longed to plant my lips on that face and feel his skin next to mine. How I longed for a consummation of our relationship that was a genuine reflection for our affection – no, dammit – of our love for each other. I didn't want our only sexual encounter to have been a violent rape.

I was lost in a reverie and then looked back at him. A part of that perfect body had started to rise. A part that I longed to wrap my lips around and bring to climax. A part that I wanted to feel probing my prostate. A part that I –

My corresponding body part was also starting to rise. This was not good – for either of us. (Not to mention what diving with an erection would be like.) I saw Ohio across the pool and remembered my advice to him when he involuntarily stiffened back on the boat: I closed my eyes and thought dead kittens, dead kittens, dead kittens, horribly mutilated kittens.

I went down.

Matti went down also, but not by his own efforts. The Irish trusty had noticed his fledgling hard-on and – directed by the Prince Regent – had punched Matti hard in the stomach. The surprise of the attack as he doubled over in pain deflated him quickly.

After that, we avoided looking directly at each other. But I couldn't help thinking about him and – dead kittens, dead kittens.

The Prince Regent and two of the probably-brothers pulled Master, Boris and Abdul aside. Nodak and I looked at each other – what was this all about? Was this about us? And I still didn't understand why Nodak was here – I feared for him as well as myself and Matti. And why Abdul? Were they selling us to him? They talked for a few minutes – the Arabs did most of the talking – and then appeared to sign something.

Sign something? A bill of sale? But, if it was, there would be no point in the diving contest. No, it must be, like Oleg had said, about the Little Big Man contract. I hoped.

The Prince Regent stepped forward and spoke into the microphone.

• We are here this evening for the diving competition between Slave Number 4387, property of the Royal Family, and the slave currently known as Alexei, property of Dmitri Malenkov of St. Petersburg, Russia. The owner of the winning slave to take possession of the losing slave. Should slave 4387 be the victor, the Family will also take possession of the slave currently known as Andrei, property of Boris Andruchenko of Moscow, Russia, in return for a slave of equivalent value.

Nodak looked like he was going to faint. The look on his face said, "This was exactly what I was afraid of." We both knew there had to be a reason he was on this trip. Shit. Dammit, Nodak, now I've got your fate in my hands, too.

• The contestants will move to the top of the diving platform.

The two of us moved to the end of the swimming pool and climbed the ladder to the ten-meter platform. I let Matti ascend first, giving me a memorable view of his fleshy buttocks as he climbed. When we reached the top, we saw that the audience was focused on the Prince Regent at the other end of the pool, as he politely introduced every Man present, including Master's assistants. Which gave us the chance to quietly exchange words, being careful to keep our lip movements undetectable.

• Cheesehead, can you ever forgive me?

• I know why you did it. I knew the moment you called me `Cheesehead'. Until then I was angry. But not now.

• Cheesehead, I love you so much.

• I know, Matti. Ruslan told me. I love you, too.

• The last time you said that, my balls were in a guillotine. Did you mean it then?

• I . . . I wasn't sure. I'm sure now, Matti. I . . . I don't know what to do.

• What do you mean?

• If I win, they're not going to give you to my Master. He's going to sell you back to them and they've fixed your trial so that you'll lose.

• (Long pause) For real?

• For real. If I lose, you'll be safe – I'll come here, but they'll give you to my Master to replace me. I don't want to live here, but it's the only way to save you. But . . .

• But what?

• I've been ordered to try to win.

• You have to do what you've been ordered to do, Alex. We're slaves, now. That's our job, to obey orders. I have my orders, too, and I have to obey them.

• But if I win . . .

• Cheesehead, you haven't beaten me yet. If you win tonight, there can only be one reason.

• . . . Anti-Finnish bias?

• (momentary grin, quickly suppressed) You remembered!

• Matti –

• Do your best, Cheesehead. Let's not try to psych this out. Let's just compete and what happens happens. Don't overcomplicate it. Let life take its course.

As usual, sensible advice from Matti. I was still churning inside, though, as the Prince Regent finished his introductions. They then called Master over to flip a coin to decide who would dive first. This contest would begin and end on the platform, my stronger area, with dives two and four on the springboard, Matti's specialty. Slight advantage for me, I suppose, but Matti was good enough to have qualified for the Division II regionals in both disciplines.

In advance, we had been given a list of dives and checked off columns as to whether they were favorite dives, in our repertoire, done rarely, or never attempted. Supposedly, they selected only dives in both of our repertoires, so that we could be compared head-to-head, doing the same dives. As the five they chose were both ones I had done, I think they probably went about it fairly.

My first dive went decently, though I over rotated very slightly and wouldn't have gotten more than 7's from a judge on it. Matti did it flawlessly – 8 or 8.5, surely. I was behind.

This was actually a relief. If I lost legitimately, it would save Matti and I could still uphold my obligation to obey Ruslan's orders to attempt to win. And make Master's `I think you lose competition' an accurate prediction – if it was just a prediction and not a directive.

The look on Matti's face conveyed both confidence in his ability and guilt that by besting me he was condemning me to life at the palace – from which he would supposedly escape. I shook it off – just do my best and let the chips fall where they may.

Matti went first on the second dive, from the springboard, which I thought both of us did well on. The third dive, from the platform, was my very favorite and Matti congratulated me on it.

• (with nearly closed mouth) You beat me on that one, for sure, Cheesehead.

• Yeah, well, you beat me clearly on the first one.

• I'd say we were about even overall.

• Yeah, but you've got your best dive coming up next.

• I think the judge hates Finns, though. Most people do. He's sure to rig it in your favor.

• You forgot one thing, dude. You're a slave, you have no identity. He doesn't know you're Finnish.

• Ah, good point. Cute, though, isn't he?

• You noticed that, too?

• I'm going to ask him for a date afterwards. Maybe he'll take a ride on the dome with me.

• Don't joke about that.

• Hey, no big deal. I like heights. I like stuff up my ass. What's not to like?

I had almost forgotten Matti's ability to make light of the most desperate situations. His balls, his life, and both of our destinies were at stake, and he was bantering like we were discussing a Vikings-Packers game.

I was right that his best dive was coming up next. He nailed it to perfection. I did okay, but it was obvious to me that I was behind going into the last dive, which was one I had done often before. It was one I had never seen Matti do in competition, but obviously it was in his repertoire.

Butterflies. I was two minutes away from a monumental change for one or both of us. Unless I beat him decisively on this last dive, I was condemned to a life of sleeping on hardwood floors, flavorless meals, cold showers, no toilet paper, and being known only by the term `Boy' and the number tattooed on my chest and back. And condemning Nodak to the same. I didn't want that, even though Matti would be safe.

But if I somehow pulled it off, I would get to stay with Ruslan, Master, Pyotr, Henri, and all the people I knew and liked, living in relative comfort. Nodak would safely go home to Moscow. But Matti would likely be castrated, anally impaled and suspended for hours eight stories over the rotunda, his head eventually adorning the Hall of Shame. I couldn't live with the knowledge of that.

Try to win, Ruslan had ordered. Trust me, Ruslan had said. But no, he couldn't guarantee Matti's safety.

For not the first time, I was questioning Ruslan's motives. What if he wanted me to win just so he could continue to fuck me? What if he was lying about Matti being safe? Why the hell wasn't he here at the pool to support me? And why had he tried to pass himself off as a trusty when supervising my diving practice? He was up to something and I didn't know what.

Can I trust you, Ruslan? Can I even do it, come from behind to win, even if I try?

I went first. It was a back-double-somersault with one-and-a-half twists, one of the dives where you had to stand on the platform facing backwards, with your feet half-hanging over the edge. It always looked exceedingly dangerous to outsiders, until you learned how to balance your weight so that there was really not much risk of slipping.

I pushed off, got a good jump, felt like my height was as great as it had ever been. My hands and my feet touched in harmony, and as I tumbled and twisted on the way down, I just had to keep my focus on the water below to time my re-entry at the appropriate moment.

In I went, perfectly vertical. I couldn't see the splash above, but it felt like it was likely to be small. It was as good as I could do on that dive. But I was points behind and Matti was a better diver than me.

I pulled myself out of the water and waited at the poolside below, there being no reason to climb up to the platform again. I watched as Matti, full of concentration, walked calmly to the end of the platform, turned around slowly, and inched back to place his feet over the edge.

And lost his balance.

He had moved a half-inch too far and suddenly began flailing and waving his arms, trying to restore his posture. But gravity was pulling him back and he fell backwards off the platform, his limbs waving wildly as he fell through the air. A second later he tried to right himself and enter the water cleanly – which he managed partially to do – but he had not come anywhere remotely close to executing the dive. Any competent judge would have given him a 0.

My heart fell. And leaped. And fell. I knew that no matter what his lead had been, this disaster had cancelled it out and then some. I had scored decently. He had scored nothing.

I looked over to Master for his reaction – would he be upset that I had almost certainly won? His expression was unreadable. He had told me I was going to lose, and I think that was what he wanted, but he didn't seem disappointed that I had won. But neither did he seem happy. Instead he looked preoccupied, as if he had another concern on his mind.

Matti was climbing out of the water, facing away from all of the audience and so didn't need to keep his lips still while speaking to me.

• Good job, Cheesehead.

• Matti, you – how did that happen?

• I had my orders. I obeyed them.

• They told you to tank the last dive?

• I'm a good slave. I do what I'm told.

He almost choked when he said that last sentence.

And then the judge took the microphone.

• The winner of the diving competition is the blond slave.

It was the first time in my life when I had won a diving competition and felt awful about it.

I looked at everyone assembled, our side and their side. Ignoring Master's passive reaction, all the Men on our side were pleased – and, of course, Nodak was beside himself with relief. But on the other side, only Matti's Master looked upset with the result. The Prince Regent's brothers were actually celebrating, high-fiving each other and grabbing their crotches.

These are the ones Ruslan had said wanted Matti on the dome. And now it looked like they would get their wish.

At that moment I heard a sharply barked, "Boy!" emanating from the prince who was my age – Matti's Master. Matti quickly trotted over to him and fell to his knees, presenting his ass. The young prince slapped his rump hard and pushed him with his shoe back into the water.

"I'm a good slave. I do what I'm told," reverberated through my brain. Matti had been ordered to lose – but not by his Master; the young prince was upset. I think I knew what had happened. His Master had assumed that Matti would naturally try to win; no order was necessary. But his uncles, eager to dome him, had ordered Matti to tank the last dive; absent an order from his Master, Matti was obligated to obey it.

I had been in a similar situation. Master had not ordered me to lose. Ruslan had ordered me to try to win. I had obeyed Ruslan – and I had trusted him. He had said that there was a way Matti could be safe – but he couldn't guarantee it. Well, he wasn't doing a damn thing about it, now, was he? He wasn't even fucking here.

I looked across at Matti, now back out of the water. He looked inconsolable. Noisy and Ohio were distraught. He sure didn't look safe.

I looked again at Master, who was in a brief conversation with Oleg. A moment later Oleg approached me.

• Boss says to take you back to the room. He doesn't want you to see this.

He didn't want me to see the moment when he sold Matti back to them, knowing it was a probable death sentence for the man I loved. I didn't want to see that either.

I took one last look across the pool, one last glimpse of that fabulous Finn, the man who made my heart swell. That beautiful body, that beautiful face, that beautiful soul, that charming grin that was now nowhere near his desolate face. It looked like he was crying, and I was glad that at least he was unaware that I was looking at him.

As in Mogadishu, it was not the way I wanted to part; it was not how I wanted to remember him the last time I had seen him. But I had no choice, and my last view of him was of him looking miserable. And I felt miserable, too.

I turned and left with Oleg. Tears were pouring down my face. And I was filled not only with sadness, but with anger. Anger at the uncles. Anger at the whole fucking Royal Family. Anger at Master. Anger at myself. And most of all, anger at Ruslan.

Who wasn't here. Ruslan fucking wasn't here. Was that because he knew he had failed? Was that because he knew he had lied to me? I had never associated the word `coward' with Ruslan before, but it was the only conclusion I could come to. If he was somehow going to save Matti, he had to be there. And he wasn't.

Why did I trust him?

But then, I realized, it didn't really matter if I did or not.

I'm a good slave. I do what I'm told.

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER SIXTY - UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT]