Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

[Author's Note: if you like this story (and, frankly, if you don't, you must be a true masochist reading this far), let Nifty know by supporting them financially. Donations are what enables them to keep posting stories like this. Go to https://donate.nifty/org. or just go to the website, click on the Donate tab at the top and proceed from there. It's easy, and, astonishingly, if you're American, it's tax-deductible – Travis Creel]

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO: ALL GOOD THINGS MUST COME TO AN END

Previously: After Dmitri tells an overjoyed Alexei that he will keep him as his personal slave, Ruslan is contacted by Abdullah, seeking the location of his brother. When Ruslan relays this information to Dmitri (via Zoom), Koivisto overhears it. Astonished that Abdullah (whose death had been faked in January) is still alive, Koivisto interrogates Alexei, learning about the incident at the nude beach, Abdullah's banishment, and Jamal's enslavement to Nikolai. Koivisto is furious that Dmitri allowed Abdullah to roam free rather than forcing him to face the consequences, and attributes his `softness' to being too close to Alexei. He pressures Dmitri into agreeing to sell Alexei, and Yuri follows suit.

Alexei and Rhody, informed of this change and realizing they will soon be separated forever, express their mutual love and seize the moment by having sex. The ship arrives in Mogadishu and the LBM leaders take Javier, who had attempted to murder his master, to the aquarium and feed him (and a protesting night watchman) to the sharks. The next day, as Alexei is inspected by prospective buyers, he spots Matti and Rhody, but is unable to talk with either of them. However, Matti grins at him, and Alexei melts, knowing he will never see Matti again, and mentally prepares himself for his future as a palace slave.

ALEXEI: THURSDAY, JUNE 15, EARLY EVENING - MOGADISHU, SOMALIA

I decided that the building we were in had formerly been used as a combination courthouse and jail. The courtrooms – emptied, of course, of the accoutrements of the justice system, had been where we had been displayed for inspection. The top floor, where I was now, had probably been used as holding cells for those awaiting trial. These were not the iconic open-to-view separated-by-iron-bars jail cells popularized on television and in movies. They were more like the cells in a high-security prison, solid walls with a solid door, with only a tiny pane of reinforced glass to look out of. It reminded me of the stereotypical hole' in series like Oz', in which the punished prisoner was invariably stripped before dumped inside without even a mattress.

So much for my hopes of being able to communicate with Matti or Rhody. Or even see them.

The door opened. I tensed. This was it.

It wasn't it.

• (Master?!)

• Surprised to see me?

• Yes, Master. Do I still call you Master?

• You deserve punish for ask question. But yes, I still Master for little while. And because this last conversation, I allow you talk freely, ask question.

• Have I been bought yet?

• No. They just inspect you. Auction this evening.

• Where I'll be bought by the Royal Family.

• Is likely. They say they give me Alaska if I put you up for sale. And they say they outbid anyone else.

• And you agreed.

• I agreed. But I make condition.

• Condition?

• Once a week, they must give you two hour to write. They send me what you write. So I know you adjust to life at palace.

• They agreed to that?

• They agree to two month. I want six, they want one. Is call compromise.

• But, Master – they won't let me say what I really want to say. You told me to be honest. They'll punish me if I say anything they don't like.

• I think of this. You write only good things. Things they approve. But if it not true, you include extra word. You include word `very'. If you say you happy, it mean you happy. If you say you very happy, it mean you not happy. You not tell anyone this, Alexei. Even if ask directly, you lie. Is clear? This our secret.

• Master! You're conspiring with a slave?

• (wry smile) Is why I need to sell you, Alexei. I too close. I will be more distance with Alaska.

• I always thought you were pretty distance with me.

• Not as much as you think. Maybe not as much as I think.

• I . . . I don't know what to say. I'll miss you, Master.

• Is what saying is: All good thing must come to end.

• . . . Master?

• Yes?

• I . . .

• Go ahead.

• . . . WAS it a good thing? For you, I mean – was it good?

• Alexei, it was good thing. When you at best, you very very good. When you worry too much about Matvei, you performing not so much. But you prove you worthy slave by being good boy after I talk to you in St. Petersburg. And then you and Rodion save Jaakko. I think even without that, I would keep you if I had choice.

• Not Alaska?

• Alaska sexy boy, maybe he good as you, I don't know. If I have choice, I take you. I have no choice, Alexei.

• I will miss you. I will miss you and the others - Ruslan and Pyotr and Henri especially.

• You miss them anyway. Ruslan will soon be establish own household, with new slave from LBM Europe. Henri – Henri retire. He have stroke.

• Oh, no! Poor Henri!

• He going to recover, but he going back to France. And Pyotr leaving as well.

• What? Why?

• Pyotr on thin grass after he let Latronius visit. I know Ilya pressure, but he should still don't do it. And he never forgive me for sell Arkadi – boyfriend from town. Then Royal Family threaten him with device around scrotal, he scare. He say you only reason he keep working for me. And now you gone, so he leave.

• Wow.

• So, you see, it not same even if you go back St. Petersburg.

• . . . Master.

• Yes?

• I've come to realize how much I owe to you. You changed my life forever. And, thanks to you, I know who I am now.

• You welcome, Alexei.

But, as he said, all good things must come to an end. I wondered if I could possibly find the kind of fulfillment at the palace that I had in St. Petersburg. It might be possible. Matti found it with Abdullah. I had to look at this as an opportunity, not a punishment. That would be a challenge.

Master had one more thing to say to me:

• I not fuck you today. Bend over.

DMITRI: The draft' was held this evening. After Jaakko's discussions with me and the Family, I was confident of obtaining Alaska, so I bypassed the draft' to visit Alexei, giving Yuri my proxy. If anything went wrong, he'd text me in time for me to pull Alexei out of the auction. Since he didn't, I presumed the draft went smoothly.

There were two other evening activities: one was the orgy of Bottoms and Eunuchs, following their sale in the afternoon. The other was the `Pre-Owned Slave' auction. Most of the merchandise were trade-ins for newer models purchased earlier in the day from Abdul. Others were here just because it was a convenient marketplace. That included slaves like Rodion. And Matvei. And Alexei.

After I had left Alexei, I dropped in on the orgy to observe but not to participate, as I had just emptied my load in Alexei's rump. I found Yuri there, having come straight from the draft.

• Yuri. How did it go?

• Fine, for the most part. Rough start, though, when Jaakko selected New Mexico.

• I thought he wanted Missouri.

• So did I. What was more, Khalid wanted New Mexico, so it got contentious, but the Prince Regent smoothed it over. Khalid then grabbed Missouri and it all went on peacefully. I got my Indiana, you got your Alaska.

• Sergei?

• Wyoming. Two Wyomings in a row for him. This one's a redhead.

• Any repercussions from our little adventure last night?

• We should be safe. The street is buzzing about the night watchman who disappeared, but whose clothes were found in the aquarium. Apparently he had gambling debts, and they figure he either paid the price for not paying up, or decided to go for a swim. Suicide by shark.

• No remnants in the shark tank?

• Nothing obvious. They may find traces of blood in the water if they test it, but I doubt they'll analyze it enough to realize it came from two different people. (Pause) So what was so important that you couldn't go to the selection meeting?

• I needed to say goodbye to Alexei.

• Dmitri.

• Yes, I know. The more I think about it, the more I realize that Jaakko was right. I became too close to him, Yuri. As much as I said I was ambivalent about keeping him, as much as I said I wanted Alaska – in my heart I knew I wanted Alexei.

• Are you in love with him?

• No. But if I had kept him, I might have become so. And that's dangerous. Slava was the best slave I ever had, but I didn't love him. Alexei . . . Alexei might have been something more. And a Master can't ever let that happen. It ruins the dynamic.

• You have a lot of changes in your household, Dmitri.

• Yes. Alexei. Henri. Pyotr. Ruslan. All gone, or going. A lot of changes.

• Well, all good things must come to an end.

• That's what I said to Alexei. So we'll just have to build more good things. Both of us. Starting with Alaska and Indiana.

ALEXEI: Barely two minutes after Master had left, I heard a jangle of keys, a lock clicking, and a door opening.

• Boy, out!

But it was not my door that opened. I rushed to the door and looked through it as best I could. Down the hall I could see a nude male being led off by two white-clad Somalis, with other guards close behind. It wasn't my time. But it was coming.

This scene – or this `heard' – was repeated more than a dozen times, three or four minutes apart. Each time I could hear that the jangle of keys was not close enough to be for my own cell.

And then finally it was.

• Boy, out!

This was it. This was truly it.

All the doors seemed to be open and the rooms unoccupied, save one, which might or might not have been occupied. They walked me down two flights of stairs to what had undoubtedly once been a courtroom. Most of the courtroom features had been removed, but the judge's bench remained. Seated there, wielding an actual gavel, was a Man who looked vaguely familiar. Then I recognized him: Abdul, the slave broker, last seen at the Palace in January.

There was a pedestal a few feet in front of where the witness box would have been. The pedestal was three feet square and four feet high. An auction block. Atop it was a slave, hands clasped behind his head, feet spread wide but unrestrained.

All of this I saw, but none of this drew my attention. For when I was brought into the room, I was led to the back of a line of three nude slaves along the left wall of the courtroom, waiting their turn on the block. As I approached them from behind, I could not discern the identity of the slave in front – was it Rhody? The middle slave was easily identifiable – the unfortunate boy in the iron mask. The third, directly in front of me, had an ass that I recognized instantly. A back that I recognized instantly. A neck that I recognized instantly. A back of the head that I recognized instantly. And my heart leapt.

Yes, it was Matti. I thought I would never see him again, and now here I was, literally inches away. But there was no way I could say a word to him. Or even let him know I was here. Unless . . .

There were guards near us, but their eyes were focused on the slave currently being auctioned. They could see us via their peripheral vision, but no one was deliberately watching us. I think they were most concerned about us talking or making a sudden move, which they could easily intercept.

Keeping an eye out for the guards, I raised my index finger to the small of his back. I lightly touched it to his skin. There was a tiny movement in reaction: What was that? Oh, somebody behind me must have poked me accidentally.

And then I lightly traced out four letters on his bare back: P – O – O – L.

Well, that was my intention, anyway. In the middle of the second `O', he jumped. Not literally, but his muscles made an involuntary movement. A guard noticed and looked sharply at him, but, seeing no attempt to escape, relaxed the intensity of his glare and resumed watching the auction.

Matti had realized I was behind him. Only he and I knew the significance of those four letters. A year ago, on D-Day, when we were forced to have gay sex for the first time, he had surreptitiously traced those letters on my back. Alex, he was saying, meet me at the pool. We did, which led to our double-crossing Utah and both remaining Tops.

I don't know how I could see him smile when I could only look at the back of his head, but I could. He was comforted by the knowledge that I was inches away from him, and that I was telling him that I loved him with those four – well, two-and-a-half – letters.

The slave on the pedestal was sold, without my really noticing. The next slave was led to the auction block and hoisted up onto it. It was not Rhody. Rhody must already have been sold, and I would probably never learn where.

I let my hand wander over Matti's voluptuous ass, but one of the Somalis spotted it and slapped it away. He then pushed me back, out of reach of Matti.

And I bumped into the slave behind me. So apparently, that last cell had been occupied. As I did so, I heard the world's softest whisper, so soft I wasn't even sure I heard it – and obviously not heard by the Somali guards:

• Alex.

Omigod, it was Rhody.

My senses were overwhelmed. Here I was in a courtroom full of Men, with a slave on a pedestal being auctioned off, minutes before I would meet that same fate, and I couldn't absorb it at all. I didn't hear a word of the auction or notice who the buyers were, or see them raise their cards in the air to signify their bids. Or watch the slave's reaction to his fate.

All I knew was that I was literally between the two people I loved.

The last time that had occurred had been a year ago, in this same city, in a cold, bare cell with eleven other guys. My head resting on Matti's chest as Rhody pressed his body behind mine, huddling together for warmth. And me planting a kiss on Matti's sweet mouth as we joked about not waking Rhody.

How I wished I could plant a kiss on both of their mouths right now.

I thought about the legend of Tantalus, standing in a pool of water in Hades, starving as a fruit tree above his head was ever out of reach. He was being punished for being a wicked king.

My fruit tree was in the form of two men, within feet of me, whom I would never touch again. I was being punished for the drunk driving that had killed my twin brother, and my failure to turn myself in. But why was Matti being punished? Why was Rhody?

I was snapped out of this introspection by the sharp sound of a gavel and the words:

• Sold to Number 42 for six million two hundred thirty-thousand in slavecoin. Number 42, you may pick up your slave after the end of the auction in holding cell thirteen.

Oleg had told me once about slavecoin. It sounds like a rival version of bitcoin, but it wasn't. It was a manufactured, arbitrary currency that IAMSO had created only for transactions involving slaves. The conversion rates were secret – and changed daily. Its purpose was to keep us from knowing how much we were `worth'. Surely the slave had not been purchased for six million dollars. But was six million in slavecoin equivalent to five hundred dollars, five thousand, fifty thousand, or even more? Who knew? Well, the Masters knew, but the slave never would.

I took the time to look around the room for the first time. The bidders had only been identified by numbers. They each held laminated cards with their numbers printed boldly on them so that the auctioneer could easily read them. The anonymity of the buyer was protected, though I suspected that many of them knew each other.

There were around a hundred such Men holding cards. Most wore suits, some dressed casually. Several wore military uniforms – that was scary. And over a dozen were in Arab dress. Among them was at least one from the Royal Family. Because they had a reason to show up: me.

There were plenty of Men who weren't cardholders, but just came for the entertainment. I scanned the room to see if Master had shown up to watch me be sold. He hadn't, but I did spot Jaakko Koivisto, which made me wonder again what fate had befallen Javier. A thought I tried to banish from my mind.

By this time, the boy in the iron mask had gone up on the block. My curiosity got the best of me and I listened to how the auctioneer introduced him.

• The next item up for sale, Lot 16, is obviously a unique item. His current name is Ignacio, born Ignacio Manriquez, in Guatemala. He is twenty years old. When his father had accumulated significant debts to a local businessman, he agreed to have his son work them off as an indentured servant, working in the man's factory. When Ignacio attempted to abscond prematurely, the factory-owner decided to punish him by encasing him with this hood until such time as the debt was completely paid off – sixteen more months. The boy made a further attempt to escape and tried to have the hood removed. Fortuitously, he encountered a local member of IAMSO, who made inquiries with the factory owner. He purchased the boy for the price of the outstanding debt – a bargain price as slaves go – and brought him here. Upon arrival he was forcibly stripped for the first time in his life.

• Gentlemen, he only technically qualifies as `pre-owned'. He is a virgin. His buyer may dismantle the hood or keep him encased in it indefinitely. Given his disposition, retention of the hood is recommended, at least initially, as an incentive for cooperative behavior.

I saw the boy lift his head at that last remark. What was he thinking? Was it a crushing blow – I'm not going to get rid of this thing? Or was he hopeful – I can get rid of it if I behave?

I wondered how much he had been told about his new life. He had heard himself described as a virgin. Surely he understood the implications of that. He had only recently been stripped naked – did he realize that that was more than temporary?

No one had explained the realities of slavery to me until I felt Master's boot on my ass in his bedroom, moments before he robbed me of my virginity. My guess was that this boy had no idea what his life would be like for the next twenty years – or that he was unlikely to survive beyond that.

• The bidding begins at four million.

I saw card number 2 raised.

• His Highness bids four million. Do I hear four million two hundred thousand?

His Highness. That perked up my ears. I looked for the Prince Regent or Khalid, but did not find them. And then I saw him: Mustafa. Mustafa was the holder of card number two. I suppressed a bitter smile. The Royal Family was all `number two' in my book.

So this boy in the iron mask might wind up in the palace with me. Maybe I could get his version of the story they told.

Card number 1 was raised. Who, I wondered, was so important that he got a higher number than the royal family? Ah. Jaakko Koivisto, of course – president of IAMSO. But why was Koivisto buying a slave? On the boat, he had expressed profound interest in both Missouri and New Mexico – especially Missouri – and would have thought he would have already purchased his replacement for Javier.

Mustafa decided not to play the card game and called out his bid orally.

• Five million.

• (Koivisto) One slavecoin more than five million.

• Five and a half million.

• Abdul, whatever he bids, I bid a single slavecoin more.

• What if I bid a hundred million in slavecoin?

• Then I bid one hundred million and one, Your Highness.

• You can't afford one hundred million, surely.

• Of course I can. I'm the one who put him up for sale. I'd only be paying myself, it would cost me nothing.

The room was abuzz with this revelation and I was perplexed. Jaakko Koivisto was the owner of this boy in the iron mask? I didn't see how it was conceivable, and evidently no one in the room could either. Where had he come from? He wasn't on the boat, he must have been sent here by one of his employees. Maybe he had multiple slaves in Finland, and this was one of them.

• (Mustafa) Abdul, is this true?

• (Abdul) It is, Your Highness.

• (Koivisto) I'm taking this boy off the market.

• (Mustafa) This is twice you're pulling the rug out from under us. First New Mexico and now this? It's an outrage!

Koivisto just smiled at him. I think I understood now. The family must have taken Missouri away from him, so he was retaliating by denying them this boy. That was the only thing that made sense. Though it seemed stupid on both parties' behalf. I knew the Royal Family to be joined at the hip to IAMSO, so why would they jeopardize that relationship over a pair of slaves?

As the Somalis took the boy in the iron mask out of the room, I had no time to muse on the situation further. For they had just put Matti on the block.

Omigod. Here we go.

• Gentlemen, the next item up for bids, Lot 17, is an experienced slave with an excellent reputation. An American from Minnesota, twenty years old, original name Matteus Laukkonen. He was one of Little Big Man's slaves a year ago, purchased by the Royal Family – to whom we are all so grateful for their support – to serve the late Prince Abdullah. The slave was so devastated by the loss of his Master that the Family decided it would be best to find a home for him outside of the palace. He was subsequently loaned to the Red Lion brothel here in Mogadishu in April, where he has been happily serving satisfied customers until he could find a new owner here this evening.

Omitting a few key facts. And adding a few fictions. Fascinating. Politics is apparently universal.

• The boy is obedient and responds well to correction. His principal fault is an impulse to inject humor into inappropriate situations – which, with a firm Master who avoids overfamiliarity, should not be an issue. Those of you who inspected him this afternoon have, of course, noted his voluptuous buttocks, and you have our assurance that what lies between those buttocks is well worth the trip.

Ha, ha.

• The opening bid is three million in slavecoin.

I glanced around the room anxiously as bidding cards were raised in rapid succession. Matti, modeling `good slave' behavior, kept his head down and did not watch who was bidding for him.

I could barely watch. There seemed to be six bidders – one who looked Japanese, two from sub-Saharan Africa, and three Caucasians. None in Arab dress or military garb – a relief.

The bidding wound its way up to six million and the Africans and one of the white Men had dropped out. At seven million it was down to the Asian and a European-type in a suit. And a moment later:

• Sold for eight million, two hundred seventy-five thousand in slavecoin to bidder number 61.

He didn't look like a slaveowner to me. He looked like a younger version of Jeff Gates – a middle-aged nerd, with combed-over hair and glasses, wearing an expensive suit. He looked relatively harmless. But then, Jaakko Koivisto appeared harmless – and he was ruthless.

• You may pick up your slave after the auction in Holding Cell number six adjacent to this room.

Yet again, I was looking at Matti for the last time. The first last time' had been last June, in that cold, bare cell, when he had staged that fight with me and left without looking back. The second had been at the swimming pool in September, after he had nearly drowned me. The third had been at the rematch in January, when Master had won' him, but supposedly was going to sell him back to the Family. The fourth had been in April after Abdullah had taken us to the nude beach and Master had shipped Matti off to the Red Lion. The fifth had been this afternoon, when we had been inspected and he grinned at me from across the room.

After each this-is-the-last-time-I-will-ever-see-you, there had been another time. So maybe . . . But I didn't see how it was possible, unless we somehow ran into each other before being transferred to our new owners. There had to be an end to my string of luck. All good things must come to an end.

He seemed to realize that, too. He tried to grin as they pulled him off the pedestal, but it's tough to grin with tears in your eyes.

And then rough arms were yanking me toward the pedestal.

DMITRI: I needed to be at the auction. Call it closure, if you like. I thought our final conversation – and final fuck – would be enough, but it wasn't. I needed to see him sold. But I didn't want Alexei to know I was there. In a keffiyeh and robes, I looked like an Arab. The Prince Regent was kind enough to lend me one of his plainer robes for the occasion. After all, I was giving him what he wanted – Alexei – and he was in a mood to repair and strengthen relations with me and Little Big Man in general. I attached the same false beard I wore in the States to disguise myself when I played the role of shower attendant at the state contests. This helped me look more like a Middle-Easterner. To aid my disguise, I added eyeglasses and darkened my skin with makeup.

Khalid and the P.R., busy coordinating their other purchases, had left the bidding in the hands of Mustafa, who seemed pleased to have been given this responsibility. There were four security guards in military uniforms with him, as well as some cousins and lesser relatives – and other men in Arab garb unrelated to the Royal Family. I blended in among these.

Each time a slave was sold, they brought in a new one into the room, maintaining a constant waiting line of four boys. So Alexei didn't arrive until they had sold most of the boys; ironically, when they did, he was placed between Matvei and Rodion. That must have been stressful for him. In front of Matvei there was a strange slave in some sort of fixed metal helmet, who to my astonishment was bought by Jaakko. Jaakko had earlier secured New Mexico in the `draft' so I wasn't sure why he bought this one. Though I think I heard he had two slaves – one for his main estate and one for his summer place.

I watched them sell Matvei to a man I didn't know. I wondered what was going on in Alexei's head.

There was no time to wonder about that. Alexei was next up.

ALEXEI:

• The next, and penultimate item up for sale, is Lot 18. He is twenty-one years old, an American from the state of Wisconsin, original name Alex Sorenson, currently known as Alexei. Another product of the Little Big Man system, he has spent the last year as the personal slave of none other than Dmitri Malenkov himself. He has an excellent record, both in obedience and, as employees of Mr. Malenkov have attested in depositions, in fuckability.

• (They got testimonials from the servants?)

• Mr. Malenkov is offering him for sale only because of a concern that a prolonged relationship with Alexei may result in him becoming closer to the slave than is appropriate.

• (I'm still not sure I believe that.)

• That should tell you something about this young man's desirability. As if you can't see for yourself.

• (Channeling my inner Sally Field: you like me, you really like me.)

• He responds well to discipline, and is able to accommodate – and even relish – the well-endowed Top. He is also fistable.

• (Oh, great, you had to mention that.)

• His principal flaw is over-concern with other slaves with whom he has become acquainted. This is particularly true of the slave just sold, Matteus Laukkonen.

• (Rhody, I see you looking at me when he said that. Try not to be hurt.)

• This slave's performance, in all aspects, is deemed to be superlative when assured of the safety and happiness of the boy Matteus. It is recommended that Alexei's Master provide that assurance by contacting Matteus' new Master, whose identity can be obtained from the clerk.

• (Like the Royal Family is going to do that. But I guess I have Master to thank for that request. He's trying.)

• The opening bid is five million in slavecoin.

• (I suppose I should be flattered by that. It was higher than any opening bid I had heard.)

I was not as good as Matti. I didn't keep my eyes down, looking at the floor. They flitted in two directions – to the place on the far right of the room where the Men in keffiyehs were sitting, and to the left wall, where Rhody was standing. And wiping his eyes.

And once again my heart moved. Another song popped into my head: Torn Between Two Lovers. Funny, wise, charming, fill-my-heart-with-joy Matti and sweet, kind, devoted, fill-my-dick-with-blood Rhody.

Both of whom I wanted. Neither of whom I could have.

A card went up on the opposite side of the room. Of course. Mustafa.

• Let's get this over with. I bid twelve and a half million in slavecoin.

I nearly fell off the block. Did he say `twelve and a half million'? I looked at Rhody, who had finished drying his eyes and was now staring at me in disbelief.

A silence as loud as the space after a thunder crack fell over the room. I saw raised eyebrows and lips move and imagined what they were saying: Twelve and a half million – for HIM?

• (Abdul) The current bid is twelve and a half million from His Highness. Does anyone wish to compete? Very well. Going once. Going twice. (Pounding his gavel) SOLD to the Royal Family for twelve million, five hundred thousand in slavecoin. You may pick him up –

• (Mustafa) I will pick him up now.

I stood there motionless, stunned at the rapidity with which I had been sold, even if the destination was no surprise. Instead of being helped down from the platform by the white-clad Somalis, four men in military uniforms rushed toward me. Two of them went behind me and pushed my buttocks with such force that I had to spread my arms into the air in order to try to balance myself and avoid falling on the floor. I didn't succeed. I was pulled to my feet and a knee assaulted my groin, doubling me over in pain. And then, feeling like I was going to vomit, I was frog-marched down the left aisle toward the back of the room, passing by a horrified Rhody on the way.

In the corridor there was a trunk, fitted with a breathing apparatus. I knew what to do.

I was readying the list of songs to play in my head if I woke up mid-flight while still encased in the trunk, like last time. Hopefully, they would give me enough anesthesia to last through the entire flight. I was going a shorter distance, after all.

On went the hood. Into the thigh went the syringe. And into dreamland went I.

DMITRI: I did not stay to watch Rodion's sale – I checked in with Ramses. He assured me that everything was under control: Alaska would be packaged for the flight home tomorrow morning. I had too much adrenalin to sleep any time soon, and if I waited until a morning flight I'd arrive home exhausted – not the way to break in a new slave. I called Sasha, who found me a flight that left at 12:45 a.m., getting me home in time to get some sleep before Alaska arrived. I headed straight to the airport. On my way, I knew there was another call I needed to make.

• Ruslan?

• Hi, Boss. Everything go okay?

• Yes. Alexei should be on his way to the palace. How are things? Pyotr is definitely leaving?

• He's given three weeks' notice. He'll still be here to pick you up from the airport. Bobrovsky is astonishing us with his abilities in the kitchen – it's not French cuisine, but you can definitely entertain guests and feed them well. And Tcherepnin is here to replace me as disciplinarian.

• I'm still astonished he resigned from the FSB.

• He made enough money there to retire, even at the age of forty-five. The FSB is corrupt, Dmitri. And I think he's glad to say good-bye to some of their more nefarious work. He enjoys inflicting pain to an extent, but he has his limits.

• An FSB man with ethics. Imagine. I wish you were staying, Ruslan.

• Boss, you know I have to move on.

• But LBM Europe – the ship doesn't leave for another ten days. I don't understand why you need to leave now.

• I already left.

• For Norway?

• Finland. Jaakko Koivisto's summer estate.

• Isn't Nikolai there?

• He and Jamal are back in Yekaterinburg. The estate is open, and Jaakko gave permission for me to go there. After LBM Europe, I'll be on my own with my own slave anyway, so I might as well clear out now. I don't want to be there when your new boy arrives.

• You miss Alexei, too.

• Alaska looks a lot like him, Boss.

Yes, indeed he does. Was that a conscious decision on my behalf?

RUSLAN: THURSDAY, 15 JUNE, LATE EVENING – GULF OF BOTHNIA, FINLAND

Should I have told him everything? I didn't exactly lie. I think Dmitri has had enough adjustments to go through. He'll learn the complete truth eventually.

ALEXEI: FRIDAY, JUNE 16, TIME UNKNOWN – BETWEEN SOMALIA AND PRINCE REGENT'S COUNTRY

A blur.

Fog.

Thoughts melting in and out.

Start to get up. Bump.

Shit. Still in the trunk. Not enough anesthetic. Try to go back to sleep.

ALEXEI: FRIDAY, JUNE 16, TIME UNKNOWN – BETWEEN SOMALIA AND PRINCE REGENT'S COUNTRY

Shit. I'm still in the damn trunk. More alert, not so foggy. Which is not a good thing when you have to contemplate being trapped inside what feels like a coffin for – you don't know how long.

I started my Paul Simon songbook, again leaving out The Sounds of Silence. I also skipped Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover. I don't think Mr. Simon ever considered that being sold at an auction would be one of them.

I was just starting in on Kodachrome when I noticed we were descending.

ALEXEI: FRIDAY, JUNE 16, TIME UNKNOWN – PRINCE REGENT'S COUNTRY

I felt them lift me up. I heard some guy swearing – some version of `Shit, this thing is heavy', no doubt. It didn't sound like Arabic, but it didn't matter.

I was carried on what felt like a luggage transport cart, then offloaded. There was noise around, which surprised me. It didn't seem like a private airstrip like in Florida or near St. Petersburg. There was, indeed, hubbub. I heard something that sounded like an announcement. Was I in an airport?

The trunk opened. The sounds got slightly louder. With the hood on, I couldn't see anything, but I felt something – another jab in the thigh. And a voice:

• We've decided you need some more sleepy-time before the last leg.

So not in the Royal Family's country yet. Must have taken a circuitous route.

Sleepy-time came quickly.

ALEXEI: FRIDAY, 16 JUNE, TIME UNKNOWN – PRINCE REGENT'S COUNTRY SURELY, THIS TIME

I was aware of light beyond my eyelids. Was the hood – ? Yes the hood was off. And I could move my legs. And I was no longer lying face up. And . . .

I was out of the damn coffin-trunk. Hurrah! I was on a floor. Which had carpeting. I was in a bedroom, or possibly a living room. I would have expected the carpeting to be plusher – but then, I was a slave and at the palace the slaves were not exactly cosseted with plushness, were they?

Okay, time to brave the experience and open my eyes. I did so slowly, knowing that the intensity would be jarring if I did it too fast.

Slowly, slowly, lying on my side, open slowly . . . there.

A room, but nothing like I was expecting. It actually looked . . . rustic. A window was open and I heard – birds? I hadn't remembered birds on my prior trip to the palace. Was that a dog barking?

I shifted my leg, the first preliminary move toward standing up. And then I heard, behind me:

• Ah, you're finally awake.

I froze. I knew that voice.

• Rhody??

• Formerly Rodion of Providence, St. Petersburg, and a slave market near you.

• . . . Mustafa bought you, too?

• If by Mustafa', you mean Bidder Number 2, alias His Highness', then yes.

• You didn't recognize him from the palace?

• Alex, it was nine months ago. You forget, you've been there three times, I've been only once.

• Shit, Rhody. I'm sorry they bought you, too. Life at the palace sucks.

• We're not at the palace.

• Well, I'll admit this doesn't seem like the palace. Those are wooden window-sills. And I hear birds. And a dog.

• Look out those windows. Those are deciduous trees, not palm trees.

I rose to my feet and went to a window. Green all around. Trees. Lawn. Hedges. Flowers in gardens. Birds flitting amongst the trees – songbirds. And – was that the ocean in the distance?

• We're not at the palace, Alex. We're not anywhere near the palace. Look at the clock. It's almost ten o'clock at night. It's still light. Would it be light at the palace?

• No, it's like – it's like at home. Do you think this is St. Petersburg?

• Maybe. We're not at your Master's, though, or my Master's. But we're somewhere north. Like –

A Man answered the room to answer the question.

• Finland.

Rhody and I stared at each other, astonished. The voice – one I knew well – continued.

• Get on bed. It getting late, you not been fucked today. Nurbek, you coming?

A second Man entered.

• Yes, Ruslan. Rodion, grab the windowsill and spread your feet.

Ruslan? Nurbek? What the fuck was going on here?

RUSLAN: What was going on here was the culmination of Plan Ruslan. The goal all along was to gain possession of Alexei and Rodion for myself and Nurbek. Mission accomplished.

How did we accomplish it? I'll walk you through the steps. Rewind five days.

STEP ONE: SUNDAY, 11 JUNE, 2 P.M. – PULA, CROATIA

A phone call, from `Egemen Cengiz' – actually Prince Abdullah. We pick it up from where I left off:

• (Abdullah) So anyway, that's not why I called.

• Why did you call, Abdullah?

• I want to visit my brother.

• (wild laughter)

• Ruslan!

• Abdullah, your brother is a slave! You can't go visit a slave.

• I know Nikolai is in Yekaterinburg. I can track him down, but it's faster if you give me his address.

• Nikolai may live in Yekaterinburg, but he's not there now. And neither is Jamal.

• So where is he?

• If you really want to know, he's in the Gulf of Bothnia.

• Bosnia? That's not far from here.

• Not Bosnia, you idiot. Bothnia. It's the body of water between Sweden and Finland. Jaakko Koivisto owns an island there.

• Oh, you mean his summer place. I know where that is. I've been there. Thanks, Ruslan.

• (Shit. Better warn Nikolai.) He won't let you in.

• It's a helicopter ride from – what's that city nearby – Turdo, something like that.

• Turku.

• Yeah, that. He'll have to let me in. It's hard to stop a helicopter from landing, you know. What's he going to do, shoot it down?

• You have money to pay for this trip? Working in a hammam?

• I have credit cards.

• Good luck, Abdullah. You'll need it if you expect to get access to Jamal.

STEP TWO: TUESDAY, 13 JUNE, 1:30 P.M. – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA (CONFERENCE ROOM)

Another continuation of a conversation. I was on Zoom with Dmitri when Jaakko walked in and discovered that Abdullah was alive. Jaakko and Dmitri had quarreled and Dmitri walked out in disgust:

• Mr. Koivisto?

• Yes, what is it, Ruslan?

• Could we talk for a few minutes? I have an idea. A way you can thank Yuri and Dmitri without violating your principles. And it just might solve one of your own problems.

• I'll listen.

• But I warn you – it's big. And you need to act now.

• Go ahead.

• How do you think the Royal Family would treat Abdullah if he were returned to them?

• Not very nicely.

• You said earlier that if anyone deserved to be a slave, it was Abdullah.

• Yes, I would double-down on that statement.

• What if he WERE a slave?

• What do you mean?

• Would the Royal Family want him?

• In a flash, I would think. Khalid and Mustafa, definitely. And the Prince Regent wouldn't object. He no longer sees Abdullah as his own flesh and blood. It would be fitting revenge. Only –

• Only - ?

• Abdullah is supposedly dead. He can't be seen walking around the palace, now, can he?

• What if he were disguised so that no one would recognize him.

• I don't think a wig and a mustache would do it, Ruslan.

• Do you know a good metalworker? That you could get to Finland quickly?

• I wouldn't need to. The stablemaster at my summer estate makes his own horseshoes. He's also my handyman, he can do just about anything. But – where are you going with this, Ruslan?

• Abdullah is, at this very moment, on his way to your summer estate.

• WHAT?

• He wants to see his brother. I told him it was futile, but I let it slip where he was, and he left Istanbul this morning on a flight to Turku.

• And when he gets there –

• And when he gets there, Nikolai and your employees capture and strip him. Your stablemaster makes a mask that fits over his head – a permanent mask.

• Like the one in the Dumas story.

• Duma? The Russian Parliament?

• No, Dumas was – well, never mind.

• Send him to Mogadishu and put him up for sale on Thursday at the Pre-Owned Slaves auction. Pass the word to Khalid that the boy in the metal mask is Abdullah.

• Yes, nice for the Family – it will ingratiate me with them further. But how does this help me reward Dmitri and Yuri? And how does this solve any of my problems?

• I'll explain that later. Call Khalid, and see how the Family responds. If it's positive, tell your stablemaster to get ready. I'll alert Nikolai. Before I can help you out, I need to check on a couple of things myself.

STEP THREE: TUESDAY, 13 JUNE, 2:00 P.M. – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA (GARAGE)

• You really want to leave, Pyotr?

• The last few months have been difficult, Ruslan. Losing Arkasha really hurt. I mean, he was just my bit on the side, but he was so damn cute – and when the Boss sold him as a slave . . . and then when the Prince Regent and his brother came, they put that thing around my balls and the Boss wasn't going to give in to them – he was going to let them castrate me!

• No, he wasn't, Pyotr. He would never let them do that.

• I felt that thing start to cut, Ruslan. Just for a second, but that was enough. After that, I knew I couldn't trust the Boss. To be honest, the only thing that was keeping me here was Alexei.

• He is a sexy little thing, isn't he?

• I lived for Monday afternoons and Saturday nights. It was enough to make me want to learn English, just so I could talk to him. But now he's gone, Master is going to sell him. What is there here for me? If I could find the right job, I'd be gone in an instant. But it would have to be an IAMSO household. I must have a boy around. And how many job openings are there for chauffeurs in IAMSO households?

• . . . Would you have to be a chauffeur? Could you be, say, a gardener?

• (Long pause) Yes, I think so. Daniil likes to talk about his work. I've learned a lot from him. And I like the outdoors. Why?

• No promises, Pyotr. But what if you could be a gardener in a place with a resident slave? You'd have to learn English, but we could arrange that.

• I'd be gone in an instant. I actually can understand a little English – I just can't speak it.

• Give the Boss three weeks' notice. If it doesn't work, you can change your mind.

STEP FOUR: TUESDAY, 13 JUNE, 3:00 P.M. – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA (KITCHEN)

• So how goes the application to IAMSO, Bobrovsky?

• I've gotten about half of the training courses done. So glad they can be done online.

• And your practicum?

• Scheduled for next month. At the IAMSO training facility in the Aegean. But I still am not sure why it's essential. If I'm staying here as chef, I won't have a slave of my own.

• What if I could find you a job where you could also have your own slave?

• How are you going to do that?

• I know someone who needs a chef.

• And the slave?

• I'll be getting a slave from LBM Europe that I don't need.

• You don't want to keep him?

• I have other plans to get my own slave.

STEP FIVE: WEDNESDAY, 14 JUNE – AFTERNOON – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA (CONFERENCE ROOM)

• Good morning, Mr. Koivisto. How did things go with the Royal Family?

• They'd be eager to get their hands on Abdullah.

• Speaking of whom . . .

• Apprehended. The mask is being applied. He'll be in Mogadishu by tomorrow morning.

• Excellent.

• Now tell me the rest of your plan. How I reward Yuri and Dmitri and how you help me.

• I'll start with the latter. I've found you a new gardener and a new chef – contingent upon your approval of everything else I'm going to say. They're currently Dmitri's chauffeur and temporary chef, and are willing to make the move. I think your employees would be happy working for Dmitri.

• I'm sure they would. And the rest of the plan?

• As I recall, your position in the draft is ahead of both Khalid and Mustafa, correct?

• Yes, I'm second overall, after the Prince Regent.

• Do you know any of the LBM boys Khalid or Mustafa is interested in?

• Khalid covets New Mexico, he was quite explicit about that.

• I want you to select New Mexico at the draft on Thursday.

• He's not the boy I'd choose. I like New Mexico, but I prefer Missouri.

• Do they know that?

• Oh, yes, Khalid and I exchanged our views quite enthusiastically.

• Reinforce that between now and the draft.

• Why?

• So that when you choose New Mexico, Khalid will choose Missouri to spite you.

• And?

• (deep breath) Okay, I told you this was big. You reward Dmitri and Yuri by sparing their slaves from the Royal Family. You not only repay them for saving your life, but they'll be so grateful to you that they'll owe you favors in the future.

• And how exactly do I do that?

• You promise the Family Abdullah and New Mexico, but only if they trade them to you for Alexei and Rodion, and agree to sell you Missouri in the fall when you trade in Bakti at the convention.

• That makes no sense. I don't need three slaves.

• (even deeper breath) And you won't have three slaves. Not if you lease your summer estate to me and Nurbek for five years.

• What?

• Rent-free.

• Really? That's your idea?

• Okay, not rent-free. Say five euros per month, we could afford that.

• You want me to give up my summer estate?

• You'd still own it and can visit whenever you like. Bring your slave along or leave him home, your choice. You can still have parties on Saturdays, and you'd have extra slaves to share with them.

• Extra slaves?

• Alexei and Rodion. Nurbek and I would own them and manage the estate for you. You'd have a replacement for your chef and gardener. Of course, they'll only be there if we are. You don't give us the lease, they don't make the move.

• I see.

• But the main thing is you have demonstrated your gratitude for Alexei and Rodion saving your life.

• I don't express gratitude to slaves.

• No, of course not. You express gratitude to their owners by making their slaves happy. Trust me, Alexei and Rodion will be happy with myself and Nurbek.

• Let me summarize. The Family will buy Alexei and Rodion at the auction on Friday. And I will buy Abdullah, disguised behind his mask, and select New Mexico in the draft. Then I trade Abdullah and New Mexico for Alexei and Rodion, who I give to you and Nurbek. You then get me a replacement chef and gardener. And in the fall, I exchange Bakti for Missouri.

• You always trade in your current slave at the convention anyway.

• . . .

• . . . (waiting, fingers crossed)

• I admit it would satisfy my obligations to Yuri and Dmitri. And it would solve my staffing problems. It's an interesting proposal, Ruslan, very creative. Let me sleep on it.

After that, I had to rely on human nature. Would Khalid react the way that I thought he would by retaliating against Jaakko and selecting Missouri? Would the Prince Regent give up Alexei for the chance of retribution against his rebellious son, and pacify Khalid by getting him the slave he wanted? Would Jaakko convince himself that it was the right thing to do and that he ultimately had nothing to lose?

They would. And they did. All three of them. And that, Alexei, is how you came into my possession.

ALEXEI: SATURDAY, 17 JUNE, LATE MORNING – GULF OF BOTHNIA, FINLAND

• So am I your consolation prize?

• You're a prize, Rhody, and I find your presence consoling.

• I take that as a `yes'.

• It's `yes, I'm excited that you're here because you're very dear to me.'

• Have you figured out where we are, yet?

• I think so, only it doesn't make sense.

• Jaakko Koivisto's summer estate?

• Yeah. You think so, too.

• It fits exactly with Javier's description. Right down to the horses and the view of the sea.

• I agree. But we're with Ruslan and Nurbek, not Koivisto.

• I think we'd better start calling them Master Ruslan and Master Nurbek.

• Conceded. But why are they here, and not Koivisto?

• I don't know. It feels like one of those baseball deals, where there's some kind of three-way deal involving them and Koivisto and the Royal Family.

• And a slave-to-be-named-later?

• Alexei, let's not worry about that. We're here, we're not at the Royal Palace, we're in a beautiful location in a great country –

• Where Matti was born.

• The thundering sound you just heard was the arrival of the elephant in the room.

• Sorry. I just find it really ironic. Bitterly ironic. Matti – the man who bought him didn't look like a sadist to you, did he?

• . . . Alex?

• Yes?

• Be happy.

• . . . What?

• Be happy. Think of where we were forty-eight hours ago. Think of where we could have been right now. Is it perfect? No. Nothing is. But, of all the realistic possibilities, I can't imagine a better outcome. Realistically, I couldn't have imagined it turning out this good.

• . . .

• . . . Yes?

• . . . Yes. You're right. Being here with you, and someplace safe – and with Ruslan as my Master – is better than I could have dreamed. I shouldn't hope for perfection. As long as Matti is safe . . .

• It's okay to miss him.

• I do love him, Rhody. And at least I got the chance to tell him so at the end.

• You did?

• When we were standing in line, waiting to go up on the auction block. I traced the word POOL on his back. It was my way of telling him that I loved him. Like his saying `Cheesehead' at the swimming pool was his way of telling me that he loved me. It's not quite closure, but it will have to do.

• I'm sure he will hold on to that, Alex, and it will give him strength wherever he is.

• And we did have three great months together. But, like they say, all good things must come to an end.

• Not all good things, Alex. Not as far as I'm concerned.

• Even that will come to an end someday.

• Hopefully not for a very, very long time.

• That sounds like a prelude to a kiss.

• Did you ever see that movie? Prelude to a Kiss?

• No, the title just came to me.

• You know what happened after the kiss in that movie? The persons' spirits switched into each other's bodies.

• Do you suppose that will happen if we kiss?

• . . . Let's find out.

ALEX: FRIDAY, JUNE 22, EVENING – TROMSØ, NORWAY

Life for the last week has been heaven. Ruslan is a firm yet tender Master. He maintains strict control over me during the day, almost treating me as if I was a piece of furniture, indifferent to my wants and desires. He treats me – well, like a piece of property, which I am. But in the evenings, after the discipline session, he turns into a different person. It is as if the Master/slave switch has been turned off. He talks to me in the way that Master Dmitri used to on rare occasion, allowing me to express my true feelings. He caresses me like a lover. He fucks just as brutally as ever, but the force which he applies pummeling my insides is driven from a lust that takes into account that I am a human being. When Grigory used to fuck me, for example, with his elongated member, he might as well have been fucking an inflated doll. When Master fucks me, he is both asserting his utter and complete dominance over me and making love to me.

And I am 'Alex' once again. As Master and I are foreigners in this country, I think it seemed out of place to him for me to assume a Russian identity. Nurbek asked Rhody if he wanted to be Rodion' or Chris' – and, to my astonishment, he said he wanted to be called `Rodi'. So that is what Nurbek calls him.

And Master and I sleep together, like we did that one night in July before Master Dmitri found out. Yes, I actually sleep in a bed now, not on the floor. Nurbek takes Rhody to bed with him as well.

Rhody has been sweet – well, Rhody has always been sweet, but there is a calm and a confidence about him now that we are in such a favorable environment. He is protective of me – although I have no need of protection. We are able to converse freely when we are alone together, and they don't mind if we kiss or touch each other. We haven't been allowed to have sex, although Nurbek has hinted that it might be within bounds under limited circumstances at some future date.

In the week that I've been on the island – yes, it is an island – I haven't grown attached to the other staff in the way that I did with the residents of Master Dmitri's household. Pekka, the gardener, and Olivier the chef, are happy that we are here but only because Javier was such a mess. As fuckers, both of them are more in the Ivan category (`meh') than the raw pleasure I would get from being drilled by Pyotr or Grigory, or even Henri, whose cock was small but whose love-making was tender. Master told me that both Olivier and Pekka had been looking for new jobs. With Rhody and me there, available on demand (not on a fixed schedule like at Master Dmitri's), they asked to stay. However, it was too late – they had already given notice, and replacements would be arriving soon. I hope they were sexier than these two.

Jesper, the stablemaster/handyman/disciplinarian, was more to my liking, both in personality and in sheer masculinity. Not quite in the same category as Master or Pyotr or Bobrovsky (or, for that matter, Latronius) but at least in the same range as Nikolai or Tcherepnin. And that was all the staff there was – there was no resident housekeeper, and obviously no need for a chauffeur on a private island.

Yesterday, Master ordered me to pack his things; a helicopter arrived an hour later. The four of us – Master, Master Nurbek, Rhody and I – flew to the mainland, where we slaves were packed into one of those dreaded trunks and flown here. Here being the northern reaches of Norway. And, for the third time in my life, I find myself on the Fundamental Experience.

DMITRI: FRIDAY, 22 JUNE, EVENING – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

Len – a.k.a. `Alaska' – has not gotten off to the most auspicious of starts. Gennady Tcherepnin is with him at the moment, down in the playroom, administering discipline. Len is going to have a rough session, having earned a lot of punishment in addition to the requisite discipline. At this point, it seems doubtful that he will ever earn the name Leonid. Alas, I am often seduced by a perfectly-shaped rump and an adorable face topped by neatly-kept blond hair. Len is beginning his slavery closer to emulating Jackson than emulating Alexei. But it is early, and Gennady may help bring him around eventually.

There is a second slave with us – Bobrovsky's, although he is officially mine until Bobrovsky is fully certified. Jaakko arranged his purchase. It was part of his way of thanking me for Alexei and Rodion saving his life when his slave tried to strangle him. But this cannot be a two-slave household on a long-term basis, and Bobrovsky will move out when he gets his full IAMSO certification.

I had been angry with Jaakko for forcing me to part with Alexei. But somehow he persuaded the Royal Family to trade Alexei (and Rodion) to him – for what, I have no idea – and then he gave the two slaves to Ruslan and Nurbek, who had coveted them. He wouldn't tell me where they are – afraid, perhaps that I would track them down to have a reunion with Alexei – but Jaakko has properties all over the world, and has friends who have others.

ALEX: FRIDAY, JUNE 29 – MEDITERRANEAN SEA

Rhody and I have spent a lot of quality time together on this voyage. We are again stationed in the Control Room, monitoring conversations – this time, we have to guard against not only use of personal names, but of languages other than English. Switzerland and Germany tried to converse in German once and were soundly flogged for it – that didn't happen again.

There is again a third slave in the Control Room with us. Of course it is not Javier – I shudder when I think about what Javier's fate must have been – I'll probably never know – but instead it is a former member of royalty. Yes, the former Prince Jamal, who is here as Nikolai's slave.

Jamal is young and eager to please, and has taken to slavery like a frog to a lily pad. He disapproves of Rhody and I conversing with each other, saying (when asked) that slaves should not speak unless ordered to by their Master. It is a pleasure seeing him so easily adapt to his change in status, and so happily. He positively beams when Nikolai enters the room and drops to the floor to display in an instant.

But I wish he were not the third slave in the room. Boris did not bring Nodak with him. Which means he must have sold him already. I hope it wasn't to the Royal Family.

ALEX: SUNDAY, JULY 8, AFTERNOON – GULF OF BOTHNIA, FINLAND

Mogadishu is not a place I ever want to visit again. Even though I knew I was safe, just to be in that atmosphere while human beings were being bought and sold, was unnerving. I wished I could tell them it would be all right, that they would find their rhythm, that being a slave could be rewarding – and that most likely they were selected BECAUSE they were the kind of men who would find slavery rewarding. But (a) I couldn't speak to them, and (b) they wouldn't have believed it anyway. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed it myself.

But now I'm back `home', on my cozy little island. One of Rhody's and my duties here is to help exercise the horses. Jesper is training us so that eventually we could perform this task unsupervised – an act of trust, although there's no point in trying to escape; where could you run on an island with no other residents? The horses – Rope and Handcuffs – were docile enough and, although I had never before ridden a horse in my life, I was becoming more skilled at it. Riding in the nude had its risks to the crown jewels, but the horse, at least, got to wear a saddle, which made it easier.

This afternoon, on my way to the stables, I heard a voice.

• Stop!

I stopped. I frowned. That was not Master or Nurbek, but the vowel sounded Russian, not Finnish.

• Bend over. I fuck you.

Definitely a Russian accent. Not Master. Not Nurbek. I found a tree and braced my hands on its trunk so that I could comply with the demand to bend over.

• Ya skuchayu po etoy zadnitse.

• (Omigod. In Russian, I recognized that voice!)

• Oleg learn me English little.

• (Pyotr!)

He warmed his hands on my buttocks, then came around to the side so that I could see him. He grinned as he saw the mixture of astonishment and pleasure on my face as I viewed this handsome, handsome Man. I watched him peel off his clothes and massage that familiar dick into an erect state, an erect state that had filled my ass every Monday afternoon for nearly a year.

• Work now here.

• (Uh, there's no need for a chauffeur on an island with no cars.)

• Garden.

• (Come to think of it, I hadn't seen Pekka today.)

• Is no . . . no bring smazka – with.

Guessing that smazka was Russian for lubricant, as he then spit in my hole repeatedly and pushed his finger inside to moisten it. And it was not long before he pushed something else inside.

Sending me to heaven. The improvement over Pekka was immeasurable. Oh, how I missed this cock. And this Man.

He drilled me like a prisoner enjoying his last sex before execution, babbling in Russian the whole time. During the much-welcomed assault on my innards, he said only one thing in English.

• Not just Monday now. I fuck when want.

They say that all good things must come to an end. Well, it was true: Pyotr's cock was a good thing, and it was coming to my end.

And it `came' IN my end.

ALEXEI: SUNDAY, JULY 31, EVENING – GULF OF BOTHNIA, FINLAND (OVER THREE WEEKS LATER)

Dear Master Dmitri,

I hope you are well and that Alaska is proving to be a slave worthy of your stewardship. Thank you again for ordering me to continue to write my story after I was sold, because you wanted to be sure that I was safe. Of course, at the time, you thought I was going to the Royal Palace, where there was more danger.

When I wrote the previous entry, I thought it would be the last of my updates. I thought it was a perfect place to end my story – although I could no longer be your slave, I had the best possible replacement in Master Ruslan. And I was here with Rhody – Rodion to you – whom I cherish as a dear friend and (when allowed) lover. And then to have Pyotr arrive!

I also – to be honest – liked the way that last entry ended. With a little play on words about good things coming to – or in – an end. It seemed like the perfect sign-off.

Only I didn't know that there was yet another chapter in my story. A chapter that surely you know about, but about which I feel compelled to write. Because I could not possibly end my story without including it.

And Master – I am happy. I will not say I am `very happy' because then you would think it was code, and I was not happy. But – in all honesty – I am very, very happy. Very. For real.

Your obedient,

alex

[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yes, there is one more chapter – originally intended to be part of this one, but this chapter has gone on long enough, don't you think?]