Cast Away

Dangerous Game

Naked Prey 4

Part 1 of 2

by George Gauthier

Author's Note: This is a tale of a teenager's misadventures during the early eighteenth century while on a long voyage of personal discovery, reaching from London to the Caribbean and beyond. It is the fourth story in my 'Naked Prey' series for the Historical section of the Nifty Archive, each with different characters. The other stories in the series so far are 'Naked Prey' set in 19th century Africa, 'The Shawnee', set in colonial America, and 'Terra Australis', set in the great age of exploration in the South Seas.

It contains graphic descriptions of the male human body and of consensual and non-consensual sexual activity between adult males.

If any of this would offend a reader, read no further. This is not intended for persons younger than an age where they may freely and legally select their reading matter in whatever jurisdiction applies.

It is offered for entertainment. It is as historically and geographically accurate in its setting as I could make it, with only minor poetic license. If it manages to both intrigue and to provoke prurient interest, it will have succeeded in its aim.

It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead. The story was suggested by and is a homage to Richard Connell's famous short story, 'The Most Dangerous Game', though with my own personal twist to the premise.The actual hunt is only the last chapter in a long tale that is at least as much a gay Gothic romance as a tale of high adventure though it is that too.

Note: Connell's story or one with the same premise has been filmed many times, notably in 1932 with much the same cast and using the same expensive jungle, swamp, and gate sets as for the classic movie 'King Kong'. (Yes, Fay Wray is in it.) See the Internet Movie Data Base under Richard Connell for a list of titles based on his short story.

Readers who like these stories might want to try my 'Daphne Boy' historical tales or my 'Jungle Boy' series of tales in a modern setting, posted in the Gay/Authoritarian section of the archive. Also, please try my futuristic 'Track and Field' stories in College and my 'Mer-Boy' stories in Gay/Beginnings. For links to my stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.

Comments and feedback welcome.

Chapter 1. London 1731

"Stop thief!" cried an excited male voice easily heard over the crowd.

Jamie Sandys turned to find a yellow-haired youth dressed much like himself in dark breeches and loose fitting white shirt rushing toward him. As the other youth ran past, he tossed the surprised boy a small object. Automatically, Jamie snatched it from the air. It was a netted purse, the kind men kept in their pockets to carry their money. While the lad was trying to puzzle this out, the same voice shouted.

"There he is! Grab him."

Hands reached out to seize him. Jamie was helpless against two strong men, bewildered, and more than a little annoyed.

"Caught red-handed!. See, that is my purse with my initial on it."

Realization dawned on Jamie.

"No! No, it wasn't me. It was another boy. He took your purse then tossed this to me as he ran by. He must have been afraid you would catch him with it."

"A likely story. Some other boy, eh? Another pretty blond boy in brown breeches and white shirt who happened along the same time you did. I don't think so."

"But he wore black breeches! I saw him. I am not the thief, sir. You must believe me."

But of course they did not have to believe him, and they didn't.

....

It had all started promisingly enough, one fine June morning. Jamie had skipped along a cobbled lane, happy to get away from the book shop for a while on an uncharacteristically sunny day. The streets were crowded with sailors, soldiers, servants, and artisans of all sorts, not to mention businessmen and gentlemen and ladies in their finery. Carts and wagons and carriages disputed the right of way. It was noisy and colorful and exciting though often smelly. Jamie had little trouble slipping past the traffic whether four footed or two. He was a slight lad, an inch under five and a half feet. If he was small for his age, five months past sixteen, that made him quick and nimble as he negotiated the crowded byways of the great city of London, capital of the United Kingdom and the British Empire.

His agility stood him in good stead when the wind blew the tricorn hat off a prosperous gentleman's bewigged head. Jamie scooped it up before it could get soiled with the detritus of the streets and returned it to his owner, earning himself a shilling. Inserting this lucky coin into the 'secret' inside pocket of his breeches, he turned down the alley leading to the warehouse district, close by the river. It was darker and cooler in the shade of the high roofed warehouses.

It was good to get outdoors in the fine weather, to stretch his legs, take in fresh air, or as fresh as it could be in the heart of a great city. It was not that Jamie didn't like his work at the shop. It was pleasant enough, and it gave him the opportunity to read books, Jamie loved books, especially tales of exploration and adventure. His master Saul Fleming had sent him with a message to the printer demanding immediate delivery of the book reprints he had ordered. The print order was late. Fleming did no printing himself. He just sold books in an independent shop.

The hue and cry had gone up just as Jamie neared the print shop.

...

At magistrate's court Jamie faced a stern judge who had little use for pickpockets and sneak thieves. He might well have sent Jamie to the gallows but for the complaint from his accuser that only a third of the money that had been in his purse before the snatch was still there.

"Where is the rest of it boy. Speak up or it will go hard for ye."

"Can't you see. That other boy has the man's silver. If I really were the thief, I would have it all, wouldn't I?"

The magistrate allowed that argument carried some weight, though Jamie might still be a partner of the other boy, a spotter maybe or a cut-out, and not just an unwitting dupe. The fact remained that the purse was in his possession and at least some of the stolen money. Taking in the element of doubt, and the good report from shopkeeper Fleming, the judge sentenced Jamie to be transported to the West Indies, there to serve an indenture of seven years. Any difference between the price he sold for there and the cost of transport would go to the man whose purse had been taken, with any surplus reverting to the court.

That was how little Jamie Sandys became a convict at sixteen.

While awaiting transport to the Indies, Jamie was kept in a large cell with other unfortunates. Each had his tale of woe, and all were innocent of their crimes, to hear them tell it. So the boy got little sympathy and not a little abuse. His physical appearance ensured he was not ignored.

Jamie was a comely lad, his fawn-like physique graced with a wiry musculature, toned and taut from hard work. He was girlishly pretty with a delicate beauty: straight nose, high cheekbones, and large green eyes topped by a blond thatch.

Some of the men were interested in his favors and said so openly. The boy rejected all of his suitors angrily. He had never slept with a man, just fumbled a time or two with some of his fellow apprentices, mostly just stroking each other off. He wasn't about to take a lover for the first time from among jailbirds. He said as much. A tactical mistake, of course, since it marked him as one of those pretty boys who preferred his own gender and a virgin.

"You'll see boy." one of them said coldly. "A lad alone is just a mark, nothing more.

He soon found out what that meant. Some prisoners demanded small services of him, like a servant boy: bring a cup of water, give up his spot by the window, plump up the straw for a bed, etc. These rough men were clearly ready to use their fists if he did not comply. One brute demanded he hand over his stout shoes and stockings. When Jamie refused, indignant, the man slapped the boy in the face for his 'insolence' then punched him in the gut. While Jamie lay gasping and helpless, the big man's protege, a young man a couple of years older pulled off the boy's footgear and put them on his own feet, under the watchful eye of his protector. That left Jamie's lower legs and feet bare. The next day, Jamie lost his fine linen shirt in a similar incident, getting kneed in the groin for his attempt at resistance. The man even chuckled as he bared the boy's torso, calling it an unveiling.

The guards had already taken away Jamie's belt so all he had left were his breeches, which he wore without small clothes underneath. The breeches were actually hand me downs from his master, worn threadbare in the seat, much too large for his small waist, riding very low on his narrow hips, exposing his flat belly down to his pubes and barely covering his cleavage. They threatened to slip off entirely if the waistband ever lost its grip on his rump.

At first Jamie paced the cell in frustration, pained to be caged like an animal, yearning for room to run and jump, and dance for that matter. For all his sedentary profession, Jamie was an athletic lad, just a much at home out of doors as behind a book stall. After a couple of days, he could stand it not longer and resumed his regular exercises.

Since his breeches really were likely to slip off without a belt, and to keep his only garment clean, Jamie had to do his daily calisthenics in the nude -- just like the ancient Greeks had done. The youth had learned calisthenics from his dancing master some years earlier, before his well-off parents had died and left only crushing debts behind. Jamie learned not just formal dancing but more exciting steps like Russian folk dances and the ballet though he did not try to rise up on his toes.

The man had always stressed the need for regular exercise to maintain and improve strength and flexibility which would help prevent injury. As for nudity, the man simply told the boy that dancers should never be body shy. Indeed they should be proud of their bodies; it was their instrument, as much as a violin or a trumpet was a musician's instrument.

Calisthenics originated in ancient Hellas, and the word is a combination of their words for 'beauty' and 'strength'. This was a set of simple movements, without weights or equipment, designed to increase body strength and flexibility, using one's own body weight for resistance like pulling up while hanging by the arms from a brace. With arms shoulder-width apart, legs bent slightly, Jamie drew himself up again and again, his arm, shoulder, and belly muscles flexing enticingly.

The calisthenics gave the other prisoners a good look at the rest of his delectable physique. Jamie had virtually no hair on his body, just wisps under his arms and at the fork of his legs, with a dusting on his lower legs and arms. His genitals were ample for his size, his cock a smooth tube the color of ivory, the hood of the foreskin covering all but the tip, with the slit at the end just visible. In back he had a firm round rump.

Jamie worked hard to maintain his fitness, despite the bad food, not knowing what the future might bring. He only wished he could walk or run to keep up his wind. He also practiced acrobatics, balancing on one foot, doing headstands and handstands and tumbling, stretching and twisting his legs and arms and slender torso every which way. His most dramatic display of acrobatics was the backward arch with feet flat on the ground, body bent backwards in a half circle resting on arms extended past the head and then to the ground fingers pointing back to his feet.

This spectacular acrobat's position displayed the human form at its finest. It left the hollowed belly and hips topmost and vulnerable, head nearer to the ground, with feet and hands wide apart for stability. Muscle bundles stood out on his shoulders, particularly the deltoids and the quads. His buttocks clenched hard, the entire frame of the slender youth shaking a bit till he got himself centered and steady. How striking the way his body narrowed at the waist between the rib cage and the pert buttocks. His waist couldn't have been much more than 20 inches (half a meter).

Although not intended as such, the exercises and acrobatics were erotic and arousing to everyone who watched it.

At night, without anything else that would serve, the boy had to take his breeches off and fold them for a pillow, lying there on the straw stark naked for all to see. Yes he had always slept in the nude, disliking nightshirts, but not with an audience. Not that anyone else really minded. They were getting use to the sight of the boy unclothed, and indeed preferred him that way.

The large cell was served by a water pipe, the outflow of a public fountain up the slope. Prisoners shared a dipper to drink from, filling it as the water dropped into a large stone basin resting on the floor. A grate in the floor fed a drain to the river. Too bad the hydraulic flow was too little for a water closet. The prisoners had to settle for more primitive sanitary arrangements.

Jamie had given the guard his hidden shilling to purchase a large bar of rough laundry soap, so harsh to the skin that few would care to use it for bathing. The coin was actually worth much more, but the prison staff always got their cut. Still the soap let the boy scrub himself standing on the grate, splashing water out of the basin with his hands to rinse off. Working up a healthy sweat with his exercises was one reason Jamie liked to bathe daily, though in prison he stretched that to every other day to make the soap last.

The other prisoners were amused by his devotion to his ablutions. Few of them bathed so regularly, certainly not every other day! With nothing else to use for a washcloth and towel, Jamie sacrificed the bottom half of the legs of his breeches. Now their ragged edges barely reached mid thigh. It didn't help that when he was bathing some wag split the rear seam of his 'shorts' with a small blade, leaving an opening a hand-span long. With no way to sew the tear, he had to go around flashing his bare rump at everyone. The final straw came a couple days later when he found the side seams split too -- practically all the way up. Jamie held up the slashed garment, now little more than a loincloth and burst into tears. Shouting angrily:

"Is that what you want, to keep me naked? Then there!"

He flung the ruined garment at the crowd and sank onto a bench, face buried in his hands. A big man sat down beside him and put his arm around his shoulder.

"It looks to me lad, that you would be needing a protector. You know by tomorrow they all will take you if you haven't chosen one."

Jamie looked at him miserably but nodded. He knew what the man meant, what the implicit bargain was, but he was at the end of his rope. Alone, naked, every hand against him, he needed someone who would protect him. The man, who had introduced himself as Will Jenkins, picked up his discarded shorts and said.

"I'll just keep these safe for you, for when we leave this prison for the ship. "

This from his protector who had taken his only garment into custody. That meant he himself intended to keep Jamie naked for the remainder of their incarceration.

Will stroked the trembling boy, soothing him but not refraining from taking considerable liberties with his nude body: running his fingers along the bumps of the spine, stroking his rump, slipping the blade of a hand into his cleavage, running his hands over the ribs, tweaking the tiny red nipples even fondling Jamie's manhood, while the other inmates looked on eagerly. He sniffed his skin, liking the smell of clean boy.

Jamie had always looked forward to losing his virginity to a man. He had never had the slightest interest in girls, but he had imagined himself and a fine looking young man maybe a couple of years older in a romantic setting. Will was thirty four, clean shaven, lean and with a strong build. Not bad looking really, but not a romantic figure.

Of course there was no privacy in the cell. Jamie's deflowering would of necessity be a public spectacle. He started crying softly but made no resistance as the man touched him everywhere, cupping and weighing his ballsac, skinning back his foreskin, and running his thumb over the helmet of the boy's cock. The stimulation had its intended effect. Jamie was a teenager with raging hormones, after all, and his body responded as its nature dictated. His manhood plumped up and lifted off, darkening with the infusion of blood.

Will could tell that for all his initial anger and regret, the boy was a natural submissive, a bottom boy who in his heart knew that he belonged on his knees worshiping a superior male, a boy who knew his fate was to pleasure a strong man with his body and especially his orifices. Some boys even enjoyed an audience whether for actual sex or just running around naked. He had the feeling that little Jamie at least liked to display himself. After all, bathing like that in front of everyone, sleeping and exercising in the nude. What did that add up to?

Will was excited by the small youth he held in his arms. The boy was a treasure, and he had the key to it! From his tiny red nipples to a deeply indented navel, to narrow hips framing a surprisingly ample manhood for one so slight in build, he was real beauty. He carried so little body fat that his flat belly showed a tracery of downward pointing veins just under the skin. The beat of his heart showed on the left side of his chest. He was virtually hairless, only a tiny tangle of blond hairs surrounded the base of his cock, with none on his smooth ballsac.

Will set Jamie on the floor in a kneeling position opened his pants and presented his cock to the younger male for servicing.

"Get it wet" he told him. "Or it will really hurt, and neither of us wants that. And no talking."

While Jamie took Will's cock in his mouth, Will leaned over and used some butter to lubricate the boy's hole. A first fuck can be painful enough, but a dry fuck for a virgin would be murder. He didn't want to injure Jamie, just fuck him and turn him into his bum boy. He had nothing against the lad, after all, he just wanted pleasure from him. After a while Will pulled his cock out and started dick slapping Jamie's face, making him reach for it, to stick out his tongue and lick it, getting him in a hungry and submissive mood before inserting it again and having Jamie suck some more. Will did not keep his cock in the boy's mouth too long. Jamie's real lessons in cock sucking were for later. To establish his property rights, Will was going to give him a proper fuck first.

He pulled Jamie up and laid his torso onto the bench resting on his elbows. Kneeling behind the lad Will grabbed Jamie's asscheeks and squeezed. God those small cheeks were so firm and muscular; all that exercise. He pushed Jamie forward till his head was on the bench and put his thumbs into the hole and worked them around, penetrating and spreading. He worked a thumb in and out while stroking Jamie's cock with the other hand. Jamie whimpered, overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through him. His head was spinning. Here he was naked on his knees in front of twenty men. Yet there was a fire in his belly and his cock was hard. Will's ministrations made him feel incredibly slutty.

The big man worked his cock up and down Jamie's crack then put the cockhead against the hole. He pushed in firmly letting the boy feel it and letting him understand that his asshole was now an entrance not just an exit. He pushed just enough to get the head past the sphincter then stopped. Jamie writhed in the sudden pain and humiliation. He was getting fucked. Another male was penetrating him.

Will had popped a cherry or two in his day and paused to let the boy get used to him. No sense traumatizing the lad. With any luck he would soon look forward to getting fucked daily rather than dread it. He gradually fed more and more cock into the warm clutch of flesh. God, Jamie was tight. How great it was to be his first.

Will pushed in deeper, almost halfway in. Jamie struggled to accept it, knowing he had no choice, trying to relax his hole till Jenkins told him to force himself open like he was trying to expel a turd. That actually worked, lessening the pain and letting Will slip in further. Jamie looked back gratefully, strands of his blond hair plastered fetchingly to his forehead by his sweat. Will smiled and stroked his hair in an intimate caress.

Some men would have grabbed his hair roughly to control him but not Jenkins. He could see that the boy was willing enough; his rigid member showed that. He just needed training, and was willing to follow Jenkin's lead. On that basis Jenkins was ready to meet the boy halfway, to take it slow and easy, breaking the boy in gently but thoroughly. He stroked the boy's cock with his right hand, knowing a boy who came at the same time as his master did, would always associate penetration with the supreme pleasure of ejaculation. That was the way to a boy's heart and head. Through his cock.

Truth to tell he went far easier on the lad than many another prisoner would have. In that respect, Jamie was lucky in his choice of protector.

Will stiffened and drove his hips forward impaling the young lad completely. Rough pubic hair and cloth scraped against smooth ass-cheeks. He held it there for a long moment savoring the warm tightness. He pulled out leaving just the head in, then plunged in again. With ever increasing speed and power, he started pumping regularly in and out, slapping the boy's ass and calling him names, describing him in unflattering terms, most of which passed Jamie by as they were in Jenkin's native Welsh. No matter, he got the sense of it right enough.

Will really wanted to make this fuck last, but it was just too exciting, taking a boy's cherry, especially such a pretty thing as Jamie. With loud grunts he started spurting deep in Jamie's bowels, shot after shot, bringing the boy to his own climax with a final tug on his cock. The boy's head spun as the dual sensations coursed through his body, the pleasure of one merging with the other. Afterward, Will bent over and lay his chest on Jamie's back, breathing heavily. He stayed inside the boy for a long time, taking in the warm afterglow, feeling and petting the boy's sides and flanks, complimenting him on how well he had done, gratified to see not shame and humiliation on the boy's face, but acceptance. Good the boy was a natural. Always better than a lad who had just been forced contrary to his nature. Better for both of them.

Both males mostly ignored the comments and critique from the audience. For Jenkins, their attention just affirmed his superior masculinity; he had taken the boy after all. For Jamie, it was both embarrassing and titillating, the thought that so many had watched a man deflower him, putting his aroused member into both his orifices, stimulating Jamie himself to moan and carry on like a cheap whore. Was there anything more shameful than a boy on all fours moaning like any bitch of the streets, with cum seeping out of his orifice?

For the second round Will lay the lad on his back on the bench straddling it himself, with the boy's slender legs on his shoulders. Now the boy would get a fuck face to face. It was more intimate that way, being able to see each other, to talk, to kiss. Now that the boy's hole was loosened Will thrust in without such elaborate preliminaries forcing himself all the way in, eliciting a groan from the lad, a groan of pleasure; he could see that for himself. Face to face, Will used a different technique, preferring to attack from several angles rather than go straight in all the time. This paid off as he soon found Jamie's prostate.

The reaction was all he could hope for. The youth's whole body shuddered with lust. He had never felt such sensations when he had pleasured himself. Will did it again. Another shudder that started at the hips and traveled upwards caused Jamie him to beat his head lightly against the bench. He had lost control of his body. Will was in charge of it, carrying him to new heights of sensation.

Several times Will pulled the boy's cock down so it pointed straight towards him. Every time he let go, it slapped around against the boy's belly. The second time the boy actually giggled, earning a smile from his master. Jamie's cock never went soft during his anal ordeal. Yes, this is what the boy was born for. He was a natural submissive and had found the right man to tame him.

Will lunged one more time and shot his warm wetness into the boy for a second time, lying on top till they both got their breath back. He pulled out and presented his cock to the boy's mouth.

"Clean it." he said simply.

Will made the boy sniff and lick and taste and swallow the man's gism and the boy's own juices from the cock that had just been up his ass. Jamie's mind whirled as he tasted and sniffed rancid butter and sweat and himself along with a less identifiable flavor from the milky fluid that now coated his tongue. It did not really smell good, but the thought that the big cock was coated with both of their juices made Jamie's head whirl. He sucked and licked and slurped. He did make a bit of a face when Will made him lick off, chew, and then swallow each of the little pieces of shit left on the cock. First time could be a little messy. Will told him to behave or he would give him a piss chaser, pinching his nose to force him to swallow it. Then, seeing the pained expression on the boy's face, he added in a gentler tone:

"Look boy, I do understand. Next time, I'll show you how to cleanse yourself beforehand. So you won't have to taste your own turds, unless you want to. Some boys do."

Jamie just shook his head to show he was not one of them. Fair enough. That was something Jenkins would never force on a boy. There were limits, insistent though he could be about his rights with a boy.

The next morning, Will took a razor to Jamie's armpits and groin, denuding them, depriving the boy of those first tokens of incipient manhood. It made little difference in Jamie's case. He had had just wisps to start with and not for very long anyway. Will knew that it would be a long time for anything much to sprout down there again. He then lathered and shaved Jamie's lower arms and legs. Not that he really needed it. All the boy had there was the very lightest of dustings, practically invisible really, but it had to go, if only for the symbolism. Will liked his lads completely smooth and naked, and a boy does not get any more naked than utterly hairless.

Jamie couldn't help the tears as the man stripped away whatever dignity he had left after his public deflowering along with the last few years of maturation. He took a comb to the boy's tangled hair, combing it neatly, an effect calculated to make him both prettier and less manly. Slight, hairless, naked, sweet smelling, coifed like a girl. What does that say about a boy?

The boy suffered all these indignities since he had no choice. The other prisoners applauded to show their approval. About time someone put the choosy kid in his place.

Chapter 2. The New World

The voyage to Jamaica went well except for initial seasickness. Jamie had never before been to sea. Will was true to his bargain, protecting Jamie's ass from the attentions of the other transportees and the sailors. Nobody wanted to cross a man said to be a notorious highwayman, though the court had not been able to prove that, just simple theft. The other prisoners were petty criminals, the real bad men having been hanged on the gallows. Jamie knew he could have been a lot worse off, though it took some time to get used to thinking of himself as a bum boy. Aside from when he wanted the boy in bed, Will had little time for the lad, spending his free time playing cards and talking with cronies.

At least Jamie's breeches had been sewed shut in the back, though with all but an inch or so of both legs cut off now and the sides still split. Jamie resigned himself to being on display even when 'dressed'. The garment rode so very low on the hips it just covered the base of Jamie's cock, and would have shown his pubes if he were allowed any. It did show at least an inch of cleavage in the rear. That was when they were allowed on deck for sun, fresh air, and exercise. Otherwise, below decks, Jamie had to shuck off, like at the prison.

In the crowded hold Jamie often found hands roaming over his body, petting and patting his delectable physique. Jenkins drew the line at actual penetration, but otherwise let the rest of them play with his boy even to the point of bringing him off. Jamie found himself both annoyed at all the attention and aroused. The lustful males would not leave him alone, with frequent touching and stroking, sliding the blade of a band into his cleavage, fingering his hole, weighing his ballsac, fisting his cock. To them he was a plaything, a toy, not a person in is own right. On the other hand, Jamie could not deny his physical response to their attentions. Erection and ejaculation were undeniable signs of arousal.

Jamie seldom was allowed to awaken with morning wood. Instead, seeing an opportunity, lustful men quickly took advantage of the boy, several holding him down, spreading him while a mouth or slick hands got to work. Their tongues forced their way into his mouth for lascivious kisses. Eventually they brought him to climax, letting him spurt his seed onto his own chest and belly, as other men standing around him shot their gism on his belly, genitals, and face. They spread the fluid of life all over his torso, rubbing it into his mipples, his armpits, his groin. Then they offered their fingers afterwards to suck clean.

Several men liked to play with Jamie's balls, rolling them between their palms, forcing them to the bottom of their ridged sac, encircling the top of the scrotum with thumb and forefinger and tapping the trapped balls with the other hand, sometime inserting a thumb into his bunghole as the closest thing to a cock which Jenkins would allow them to insert.

One man found how sensitive Jamie's tiny red nipples were, licking, tonguing, sucking, biting. It was like a nerve ran directly from his nipples to his groin and his ass. The boy was helpless as a wave of lust left him almost swooning.

It was in the hold of the ship transporting him to the New World that Jamie more or less resigned himself to a future as a sexual submissive, a boy for men to play with and to humilitate, to be kept naked and on display, to be available in the first instance to serve other males. What other fate could Nature have reserved for an unmanly pretty boy like himself, small, hairless, and naked?

The transportees went on sale at the slave market in the port of Kingston, not yet the colonial capital, which was at Spanish Town, inland and to the west of the main port. Just white male indentures were on sale that day. Once they were within the compound, the guards released them from the coffle that had linked the prisoners together by their necks. To display them at their best, the auctioneer did not have them manacled.

Jamie drew a lot of attention for his striking looks and for the way he was (barely) dressed. Potential buyers sized him up, questioning him, feeling the muscles of his arms and shoulders, running their fingers over the corrugations of his belly down to and well past his navel. Some even checked his teeth and gums, as if he were a pony. Some questing hands slipped into the split sides of his abbreviated breeches to stroke his asscheeks. This in a public place with ladies looking on and some even bidding on indentured servants! It was embarrassing for a young male teen, not matter how he had been trained not to be body shy.

Along came a couple of young bravos. Earlier Jamie had heard them chatting. As young men do, they boasted of their romantic conquests among the fair sex. Now they were looking Jamie over, feeling him up, touching him suggestively. No, they were not looking for a bum boy. They did not want to bed him. They just liked to tease a powerless lad for their own amusement. He thought he would just about die of embarrassment when they called the auctioneer over and said.

"A fine looking colt, but let's see the rest of him."

The auctioneer gestured peremptorily. Face turning red, Jamie wriggled his hips and let his very abbreviated garment slip off and settle about his ankles.

"Step out of those."

He did so, now totally exposed, as one of the bravos flicked the shorts out of reach with his walking stick. Jamie brought his hands together in front of him, but the auctioneer thwacked his wrists with his stick.

"None of that now."

One of the bravos used his walking stick to lift the lad's cock and balls while the other grabbed one of Jamie's buttocks and gave it a squeeze. Jamie shut his eyes, shamed and embarrassed, knowing there were ladies present, drawing a chuckle from the two young blades who even stepped to one side to give others a better view.

The bravos were soon arguing with the auctioneer about Jamie's particulars.

"Sixteen and half, you say. Balderdash! He's a smooth boy, completely bare down there. Just look at him."

The auctioneer made no firm representations other than to tell the men and any other prospective buyers what age Jamie 'claimed'.

Now Jamie knew that even before his denuding he had looked young for his age. Here he was, closer to seventeen than sixteen, with grown men arguing whether he were really fourteen. One well-dressed lady in her late thirties ventured her own opinion and in a tone that brooked no gainsaying. Dropped into a momentary pause in the hubbub, her words carried to all.

"I will have you know that I have raised no less than six sons, and I can tell a lad of thirteen when I see one, especially when I can see ALL of him!".

Her remark drew general laughter. Poor Jamie could only hang his head in shame as a full body blush spread all over his pale body. Of course that only provoked further hilarity at his expense. This seemed to be his fate these last months. If he had escaped actual physical abuse, his life of late was one of imprisonment, sexual submission, and humiliation: naked, hairless, helpless, a butt for everyone's jokes.

The auctioneer knew a good sales angle when he saw one, so he put Jamie up on the platform nude, not the usual procedure with whites, and had him walk around. The bidding was surprisingly good for a lad with few particular skills. Yes he was literate and knew his numbers, he could dance rather well too. The auctioneer had the boy do a few steps for potential buyers. The men could see for themselves not only how gracefully the lad moved but also how erotic those movements were, his butt cheeks flexing and dimpling, muscle bundles in his slender thighs twitching, hands lifted in a pose showing not only the firm muscles of arms and shoulders, but also that his armpits were as bereft of body hair as the rest of him, even, or most especially, at the fork of his legs.

Of course, small as he was, he would be no good for heavy work nor would he ever grow up or fill out. As Jamie himself candidly admitted, all the males in his family line were slight of build, and he was unlikely to grow any taller. Well at least they did not publicly refer to his skills as a bum boy, though he knew that the auctioneer was aware of his recent history in that respect.

Finally the bidding stopped when a very tall dark-haired man in his early thirties doubled the highest bid, ending the bidding. No one cared to to go higher, so Jamie's bond was made over to him. Several of the other bidders shook their heads ruefully. Yes there he was again, the baronet, snatching a beauty right from everyone else's fingers. He seemed to buy one or two every year though it had been a couple of years since the last one. What did the man do with all those pretty boys? It was known he had once been married, though as a very young man.

The auctioneer offered Jamie his garment but his new owner used his riding crop to stay his hand.

"Get rid of that rag." he told the auctioneer, then lead the boy to a wagon pulled by a team of four.

"Get aboard."

A middle-aged black slave decently dressed in pants and shirt nodded to the boy as he fastened a shackle to his ankle, fixed by chain to the wagon bed. Indentured servants were normally kept under restraint only for the few days, until they got used to their situation. It was so tiresome to track down the newly arrived who bolted at the first opportunity. Actually it also protected the newly indentured from the folly of a headlong flight and inevitable recapture.

Not that Jamie had any such intention. Where would he go? Jamaica was an island after all. Jamie was alone again, what with Will Jenkins sold off who knew where. He was naked, unarmed, and penniless, and bound by the law to serve his new master for the next seven years. He had to go along, at least for now. Nothing else for it.

The master rode a horse back to his plantation. The wagon was fully loaded so the auction must have been their last errand.

"Samson, I's called Samson" the black man said in a friendly tone.

"Jamie, Jamie Sandys" the boy replied with a grateful nod.

"Don't you worry lad. He is not a bad master. I have never seen him use the whip, though he expects much from his servants. He feeds us well. Do your job, and you will be all right. Cross him and you will be sold on to much worse. Tha's what I says to you boy. 'Stand?"

"Yes, thank you Samson. What is your, that is, our master's name?"

"Didn't introduce hisself, no, o'course not. Not to a bound boy. To free persons he is the soul o' courtesy. His name is Andrew Colfax. Sir Andrew is what you calls a baronet. Now hush boy, the next section o' road is tricky with this heavy load -- all up and down hills on this miserable excuse for a road. Lie down in back if you want to; the chain will reach. The shade will keep the sun off your pasty white skin. This is going to take most of the rest of the day."

Eventually after negotiating several ranges of hills and crossing three rivers, only one by bridge, they arrived at Colfax's sugar plantation, set in a valley in the foothills of the Blue Mountains, in an isolated section of the island. Jamaica is a large island, the third largest in the Caribbean nearly 150 miles long (235 km) and one third as wide at its widest. The center is a range of rugged hills and mountains, with the Blue Mountain Range in the east the highest, tall enough that from the highest peak the island of Cuba was visible 130 miles away (200 km). These mountains were the stronghold of the rebellious Maroons, descendants of runaway slaves and native Taino Indians, then at war with the British over slavery.

Samson released the boy so he could help unload the wagon into a warehouse. Then they took the rig to the stables and took care of the horses, with Jamie tasked with mucking out of the stalls and putting fresh straw in them before they closed the stall gates behind the horses.

Jamie did not know a lot about horses, but he was impressed with the care the animals got. Clean stalls, feed grains, and physical care too including picking out the feet, to remove mud, and rocks from the hoofs, to prevent thrush, a common hoof ailment. Samson also brushed their coats with a curry brush.

Afterwards, as arranged, Samson led the boy to his master his hand resting lightly on his shoulder. Colfax was seated on the verandah. The black man gave his master a sign as he nodded at his charge.

"Thank you Samson. Good work. You are done for the day. See Beulah in the kitchen. She has hot food for you and a tankard of beer, and her company. I know how welcome that is to you, Samson."

"Thank you suh." the man said with a smile and a quick bow of his head then turned and left the two males alone.

Two males of the white race could hardly have been more different. One was an aristocrat, though baronets are not peers and occupy a hereditary rank between a baron and a knight. Rich, sensibly dressed in serviceable boots, coat, breeches, shirt and coat, his riding crop on the table in front of him, Sir Andrew Colfax had every advantage: wealth, social position, education, political influence, a powerful body, robust health, good looks, and a sharp intelligence. The other was a naked boy, beardless, hairless except for a tiny bit of stubble here and there, small, penniless, unsure, and apprehensive. The man was extraordinarily handsome with an aristocratic air, firm chin, raven hair pulled back into a queue, with a fine straight nose and grey eyes. The boy was pretty, exceedingly so, rather than handsome, blonde, green eyed, petite and almost elfin in appearance though with a wiry well muscled physique. Maybe not much in quantity but good quality.

"You are called Jamie are you not?"

Yes sir, Sir Andrew. Jamie Sandys... er, sir."

"Too many 'sirs' there, little one. Just say 'sir' when I am talking to you. If you have to call out or speak to me first, then it is 'Sir Andrew' to get my attention. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Jamie said with a shy smile. There he had done that right.

"Fine. For your part, you are Jamie. Just Jamie. Now as to the rules. Do not run away. You cannot get very far along the road before pursuit overtakes you. If you run into the hills, the Maroons will kill you, as they kill all whites, even runaways. Talk with Samson and my other servants. They will have stories about those who did not accept that as the truth, even before the current war. Yes we have been at war with them for the last three years. You are perfectly safe in this valley, even beyond the first range of hills. They would never dare attack here, and we have an understanding. They know that I wish the government would make peace, and stop this pointless war."

"Yes sir." That drew an approving nod from Colfax, presumably taking the boy's 'yes' as a commitment not to flee rather than a seconding of his master's political opinions.

"Your indenture is for seven years. You will work at any duties you are assigned. To ease your natural apprehension, you will not be sent to work in the sugar fields. A boy like you would be useless there. I want you to work in the cornfields and the kitchen gardens where we grow bananas, coconuts, breadfruits, mangoes,and ackees and kitchen vegetables for the big house. Also in the decorative gardens. You will never set foot in this house unbid unless maybe to shout that it is on fire. The verandah out back and the porch out front are as far as you go. Understood?"

"If you work with a will and perform conscientiously you will find that I have a light hand with the help, but don't test my patience. After seven years you will gain your freedom and your freedom dues: a sum of money, a set of tools, and clothing. Till then you will not wear clothing -- ever, for any reason. You will stay as you are now, naked. The climate is tropical so it should do you no injury though the rain showers can leave a chill. Be careful of the sun till you are adequately bronzed. Your initial duty assignments will be chosen to keep you in the shade during the worst part of the day for a pale skinned lad like yourself. If you feel your skin burning or turning red, speak up. You are not here to be punished but to work. We have no wish to harm you."

"Yes, sir and thank you, Sir Andrew."

"I am fully aware of how you survived in prison and on the long ocean voyage, with a protector to whom you gave yourself."

Jamie flushed.

"You do not need to do that here. If anyone demands it of you, speak to me. You may of course indulge yourself with others of your choice but never with the blacks or females of any persuasion though there are only a few here. A white boy is off limits to such, though I will grant you some of the black bucks on the plantation are attractive enough."

"In the fullness of time, after you get settled here and are recovered from the effects of your incarceration and sea voyage, I will begin your training to improve your physical conditioning beyond what can be achieved with hard work, good food, and fresh air. I will also train you in how to pleasure a man. Whatever amateur notions you may have are nothing to what you will learn here. I can, though I will likely not, sell your bond to another man of means who appreciates a good looking boy. I rather fancy you for myself. Do you find that prospect repugnant?"

"No sir, not at all!" Jamie replied with complete sincerity, drawing a nod of satisfaction from the handsome baronet.

"Now go to the end of the verandah. The red haired man you see standing there is Richard Morgan, Mr. Morgan to you. He is in charge of the gardens, fields, and grounds around the big house. He will set you straight on your duties. Serve me faithfully, and I will treat you well. Dismissed."

Jamie knew better than to ask questions after being dismissed. He turned and presented himself to Morgan who motioned for the boy to follow him. They stopped just inside a large shed full of garden tools and supplies with a corner given over to a small office for Morgan. He sat down in the only chair.

"All right boy. I am Mr. Morgan or sir, as Sir Andrew should have mentioned. You are Jamie or boy or laddie. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"I can see you are one of his naked ones. Usually two of you are around at any one time. Haven't had one of you here for two years, near on. I dunno why."

Jamie wanted to ask what Morgan had meant by 'one of his naked ones' beyond the obvious. From the lugubrious tone Morgan had used it sounded like something more than just the sexual service the baronet had spoken of, but he did not want to get off on the wrong foot with Morgan. Not only was the man his boss, but also a very good looking man about five years junior to the baronet.

"First off, this clay pot has a lotion I want you to spread on your skin everywhere below the neck, and I mean everywhere except the soles of your feet. Spread it on but don't rub it in. Make sure you do not get any in your eyes or mouth. With your youth, I am sure we shall not have to worry about your beard for several years. After a few minutes the potion will itch though not too badly. Do not scratch. That can inflame your skin. Remember everywhere, between your toes and fingers, and especially where most boys have a bit of fluff on them. Understood? Oh and before you start, take a piss. Then don't take another till after we get the lotion off you. Trust me on this. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." The word 'understood' seemed to be a refrain in these parts.

"Uh, Mr. Morgan, is this to protect me from the sun?"

"No." Morgan said with a finality that precluded any follow up question. Jamie got the feeling that there were a lot of questions the staff at the plantation would not answer and information they would not volunteer to a new boy, but they likely would not lie, just tell him no.

The lotion turned out to be a rather unappetizing shade of greenish yellow with an unpleasant odor. It felt a little funny putting his own hands on himself everywhere, more ever than even Will Jenkins had done. Jamie felt self conscious as he presented himself to Morgan thus slathered. Morgan filled in the spot in the very middle of his back which even a flexible boy like Jamie couldn't quite reach ,though it was very small. The boy must be extraordinarily limber. That would make him terrific in bed.

Morgan had Jamie lift his arms to check his armpits. Then he took the jar from Jamie and spread a bit more on the youth's private parts, working it into the ridges of his ball sack, the base of his cock, into his crack, and around his bunghole, mostly wherever his fingertips told him there was a bit of stubble. That told him that someone had been shaving the boy smooth but also how little he had needed it. He also spread some on the boy's shaft, really for his own titillation.

When Morgan turned his attentions to the soft testicles, the boy reacted with a quick intake of breath. Jamie was embarrassed but excited at all this attention to his genitals. Once again a man was touching him everywhere, even intimately and proprietarily just as Will Jenkins and the prisoners had. With Will, Jamie had come to like having his body touched, even or especially with others looking on. It made his feel so naked and naughty and sexy, especially since with Will it was just the preliminaries to being taken carnally in front of everyone. His fellow prisoners could see all the action, hear all the sounds of lovemaking, the moans, the squelches, the whimpers. Jamie had wound up feeling like the worst of wantons, someone who got excited by being on public display even in the most intimate of moments.

So Morgan's ministrations were both welcome and exciting. The boy felt the heat rush to his belly as the big man squeezed his balls gently between his fingers, rolling them back and forth, gratified to play with the very sources of the youth's masculinity. The boy made no objection, trusting that this stranger meant him no harm. How could he, a mere lad, object to the attentions of such a handsome and virile man. which were no more than implicit compliments to his boyish sexuality. Jamie knew that he was meant to be played with. It was so arousing to think that the baronet planned to train him for just that role in life.

With such thoughts racing through his mind, it was only natural that his body reacted to the stimulation of his genitals. Within moments his ball sac was pulled up tight to the fork of his legs, his engorged cock jutting straight out with a fleshy purpled glans shaped like an arrowhead at the end, a droplet of fluid glistening on its tip. Morgan nodded approvingly. Yes he liked the boy like that, aroused and just bursting with youthful male assertiveness. But this was not a time for frolic, especially with that lotion on him.

Still it was pleasant to spread a bit more of the lotion around the head of the boy's cock, fully emerged from its sheath as it was, running the tip of his finger along the rim of his glans, then over the top, swirling around -- but not into -- the piss slit with its sensitive tissues. The boy pratically swooned with the frisson of his own naughtiness.

"Oh, yes, please. More." he begged the overseer. The big man smiled. The boy was as putty in his hands. Jamie really wanted the man to insert one of his fingers into his hole to stimulate him, but he knew that with the caustic lotion that was not possible, not this day anyway.

Jamie started leaking pre-ejaculatory fluid. Just as well, the slow discharge would keep any of the slightly caustic lotion from getting inside. Soon there was a clear thread hanging from the tip of his cock. Morgan was careful not to dislodge it with his ministrations, watching as it lifted and shifted with the slow currents of air in the shed. Its movements were intoxicatingly erotic.

What he really wanted to do was scoop the thread up on a finger tip and bring it to his own tongue. It would also be fun to wait for further seepage and scoop that up and present it to the boy himself. With his mouth opened wide, Morgan would spread the fluid on his tongue with his finger. Too bad his hands were covered in lotion too, and, even if they weren't, the possibility of contamination just from the light coating on his cock head was not worth the risk. No it wasn't likely to make him sick, but it would taste horrible.

Morgan also fingered the loose skin just behind the cock head, again not from any real need but because he enjoyed it, manipulating the most intimate portion of a male's anatomy on the most beautiful lad he had ever laid eyes on. The dozen or so 'naked ones' who had preceded Jamie were stunning in their own right, but Jamie put all of them in the shade.

It was almost a religious experience to look upon Jamie's beauty for the first time. A man of the Enlightenment, Morgan was skeptical of revealed creeds, leaning strongly toward Deism. Jamie was so breathtakingly beautiful, he seemed to be an argument for the existence of the Deity. If such beauty exists, surely there is a God. The rational part of his mind realized the fatuity of such an argument, but the emotional side responded fully to it.

Jamie's stomach chose that moment to grumble, complaining about being empty. Morgan looked at the lad, apologetic.

"I am sorry lad. I should have realized you would be hungry after the long ride from Kingston. We take pride in feeding the help well here, never think not. I cannot let you touch food with your hands. The lotion is safe enough on the skin but poisonous if ingested. A little likely won't kill you, but it would make you sick and miserable. Here, let me get a small meat pie from the kitchen for you. That will tide you over."

He did just that and though he had just washed his hands, out of caution had one of the cooks feed it to the boy, though he himself from time to time held up a small mug of cider to the boy's lips to wash it down. Jamie nodded, grateful for the man's thoughtfulness. Whatever this place was, it was not one of pettiness and callousness. Here he was newly arrived, stark naked, a penniless indentured servant, and one of the top men on the plantation had gone out of his way to remedy an inadvertent oversight, even apologized for letting him go hungry.

Both were in a better mood as Morgan took him around the gardens, orchards, cornfields and grounds of the house. Also the servants lodge where he would live.They saw others on the staff. The few whites merely nodded to Morgan. The blacks knuckled their brows. As far as Jamie could tell, none of the blacks seemed surly or disaffected. Nor did they speak servilely to Morgan, but in a straight-forward manner, forthright and to the point with none of the excuses and malingering he had always understood slavery induced in its victims. They all smiled at Jamie, both for his nudity, with his cock still plumped up if not fully extended, and the green lotion. When he saw Samson, the black man held his nose at Jamie then winked in a friendly fashion.

Morgan not only showed Jamie where all the sheds and ricks, and presses were physically located, he showed him their locations on three maps or plans of the inner plantation, the area where Jamie would be working. The rest of the plantation, the vast majority of the acreage planted to sugar cane was not Jamie's concern. By the time the tour was done, almost two hours had passed. Checking his pocket watch, he lead the boy a distance off to a stream and gave him a sponge, telling the boy to sit in the water and clean himself off completely. That done he threw him a bar of soap and told him to wash, checking him twice before he was satisfied.

"The stream empties over a low cliff into the sea less than a mile away, running through wasteland. We do not want this compound contaminating the ground or water. It is not good for growing things" he said, laughing as he realized he had made an unintended joke.

He then gave Jamie leave to take a piss, watching the golden stream arc out of the boy's shapely cock. Well Jamie had been performing all his bodily functions into slop buckets for months, so no big deal. Still, being nude for seven years. That was like being a little less than fully human, perpetually naked like, well, livestock -- a horse maybe, or in his own case, a filly, given all the mountings that lay ahead of him.

Jamie sighed. These last months in prison and aboard ship had been a good indication that he was one of those boys who wanted people to see him naked, to desire him. He realized that the lotion was part of that, to suppress the growth of body hair, to make him as naked a lad as it is possible to be. He rather looked forward to total and perpetual nudity. Somehow he realized he was born for it.

Still he hoped he didn't run into any more opinionated ladies like that one at the auction. It wasn't just that she had seen him totally naked but what she had said. He had nearly died of mortification. All right he was just a kid, small, hairless, pretty, and naked, but he liked to think his manhood wasn't that far off, two years, maybe three, however much he had been, and in the future would be used by more manly men in the female role.

Chapter 3. Planting 1732

Two months later, Jamie was whistling a tune while he worked in the vegetable garden. He worked conscientiously tending to the new plantings. Jamie had found that, city lad though he had been, he genuinely liked farm chores: hoeing, weeding, pruning, staking, watering. He doubted he would like tending farm animals, they were messy and smelly and contrary, but this was all plants. It was deeply satisfying to tend to green things, to make them grow, to grub his hands in the soil piling dirt around celery stalks so they would turn white.

Some of his work required him to haul a cart around to remove weeds, carry dirt to repair earthen banks, or to bring the harvest to the two kitchens on the grounds. With two large wheels and a cross bar between the shafts to push against it sometimes was quite a chore. Loads could weigh four times what he did. Sometimes one of the black slaves lent a hand, though usually only when Samson motioned for them to do so.

Samson liked the lad and admired the way he worked uncomplainingly, not caring much that he was so very low on the social pecking order. Aside from his special status as one of the master's naked ones, or maybe because of it, his status was visibly lowly. After all, the boy's deep tan made him something less than fully white. His absolute poverty -- he literally owned nothing -- put him on the very bottom of the scale of wealth and property. Then there was his small physique and girlish beauty: long hair, delicate features, eyelashes so long they could never have been meant for a boy, plus his hairlessness. Those factors and his use as a sexual toy by males made Jamie very much less than fully male himself.

So when Samson saw Jamie straining, hauling on the cart, sweat pouring off his wiry frame, muscles standing out in relief as he tried to get the cart rolling as it sat in mud or loose earth, he tried to help. The boy was grateful, never gave himself airs, and never cared that his work in the gardens left him sweaty and dusty or muddy.

"It's just clean dirt," the boy said. "Nothing to fuss about."

Jamie knew that it would wash off. At least they weren't stingy with soap around the plantation. Sometimes he just stood out in the rain and washed himself. Rain never bothered Jamie at all except for the mud that made it harder to get around.

Samson did have to correct the youth about addressing even a senior slave like him as sir. Naked and branded and set to hauling like burro though he might be, little Jamie was still white.

Morgan liked to walk up behind Jamie when he was at work, to observe him kneeling on the ground, brown cheeks resting on bare feet, his lithe torso bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent as, trowel in hand, he worked at his mundane tasks, the firm muscles of his petite physique playing under his skin. He looked so alive, a fine specimen of the human animal.

Jamie rubbed his butt absently; his brand still itched a bit. Not really a cattle brand burned in with a red hot iron, it was really a green tattoo, inked into his right 'haunch'. It was about an inch and a half across (4 cm), in the form of the numeral 3 back to back with a capital C inscribed in a circle, showing he was indentured, bonded, owned in effect by the Third Baronet Colfax. The same brand was used for the baronet's cattle and horses. The brand rather put the boy in his place among the livestock.

By now Jamie's skin was uniformly bronzed from the kiss of the sun. With barely a touch of sunburn, his pale figure had darkened to a sleek tawny gold. His skin was smooth thanks to the smelly lotion which had made his hair follicles close up, their ability to generate body hair turned off. The glands were still there, just permanently asleep. The treatment left his skin smooth as a baby's though not so soft nor vulnerable to injury.

The sebaceous glands associated with the hair follicles were likewise dormant. The boy would still sweat easily enough to cool off, but his skin now produced only the sweeter sweat of the glands on the hairless portions of the body, which meant everywhere except the armpits and groin. It was sweat from those regions, normally hairy, that could turn smelly.

Of course none of the men of that century understood these matters as moderns do. They just knew that the voodoo potion imported from nearby Haiti actually worked and what it did. Hair stopped growing, skin turned smooth, pores closed, boys smelled sweet. Anyone could see that for himself with a magnifying glass. No one knew how it worked. This was long before chemistry was scientific, before the discovery of oxygen even.

As his health and stamina recovered, the boy resumed his calisthenics. Morgan loved to watch when he wasn't busy. Jamie's rhythmic movements made the muscles of his back and shoulder girdle bunch and shift erotically under the baby smooth skin. The stretching and reaching were suggestive of positions during sexual congress. Then there was the arch -- with feet flat on the ground, body bent backwards in a half circle resting on arms extended past the head and then to the ground fingers pointing back to his feet.

It was all Morgan or anyone who saw it could do not to rush over and grab the boy as he presented his stretched out body in such a totally vulnerable and lascivious fashion. The backward arch was a lubricious display of concupiscence, amounting to a silent cry of "Here I am. Take me!"

Jamie's runs around the footpaths displayed his athletic physique in motion: the slender torso with its corrugated chest and belly, the play of muscle bundles in his thighs as he loped along, the flexing and dimpling of his buttocks. His body in motion was visual poetry, a lyric in celebration of youthful male beauty, crying out some powerful male to seize this lovely youth and take him to a soft bower and there to pleasure him and to use him for pleasure as nature so clearly intended.

As each week passed the boy grew ever more desirable. Morgan wanted Jamie badly, and what male who appreciates a beautiful boy would not. Technically Morgan, as a free white male, had that right. From long experience with Colfax and others before him, Morgan had learned that just because you had a right to do something, did not mean it was a good idea to do so.

So he waited on Colfax to train Jamie and to initiate the boy, to take him to his bed, to enjoy him exclusively long enough not to be overly possessive. It was the same with the other naked ones. After a while, usually a few months, Colfax positively enjoyed seeing his young lovers branch out, to use all the skills and tricks he had taught them. It all reflected well on his training, his dedication, and yes, his generosity with the others on his staff. The baronet did not demand exclusivity, that was a relic of the procreative model of sexuality and its obsession with virginity and the purity and certainty of blood lines. But the baronet did demand priority. He went first.

Besides that, Morgan knew for a fact that the baronet was a bad man to cross. To Morgan's certain knowledge, at least two others must have agreed with him in their last moments, just before Colfax dispatched them to Hell, where they belonged. True the law might have called it murder. Good riddance Morgan said. He knew the particulars and did not blame Colfax in the least. Then there were the rumors about his wife and father, though it was unclear to Morgan what actually happened.

Forced into a marriage at eighteen after his tyrannical father had caught him for the third time in as many years with a stable boy or a footman, Andrew had been miserable. Unable to perform for his new bride, he became an object of her scorn and then a cuckolded husband. He wouldn't have cared about her affairs except when her second lover smirked at him. He knew then that she had told her lover about his 'impotence'. Soon the tale would spread. To prevent that and in revenge for her betrayal, he waited for his chance to catch them in bed together, his own marriage bed no less, then ran both through with a sword. The coroner's jury took two minutes to return a verdict of death by misadventure, based on the unwritten law. His father, who later discovered the truth, died of apoplexy during their final confrontation. In effect he killed all three of them.

The one serious reservation Morgan really had about Colfax was with his naked ones. Morgan had long wondered about the ultimate fate of those pretty boys, most of them quite likable lads, though one or two were nasty pieces of work. That was true of those he had met in his five years working for the baronet. Jan Van Wyck had known most of the boys, having been one of the earlier ones himself.

Regardless, their sexual promiscuity wasn't their fault. Helpless after their indentures had been purchased, they had been stripped and plucked and forced into sexual servitude. Most accepted their roles willingly enough. Those that had not did not last long. Colfax tolerated no long faces around him.

After a couple of years or rarely three Colfax sailed away with a naked one (or sometimes two) for some weeks and always returned alone. His explanations for where the boys had gotten to were perfunctory, to say the least, more designed to stifle discussion that enlighten. Well he was the master, a baronet, rich, and with friends in high places, starting with the colonial governor, some relation or other. Some things were better not looked into too closely.

Morgan grew more and more attracted to the boy Jamie, working with him every day, often in proximity to his delightfully nude body. The attraction was not exclusively physical. The boy was diligent, hardworking, and cooperative. He was chatty as a noisy chipmunk and had a fine sense of humor. Above all he was a nude, sleek sexual being, on public display as he paraded around the plantation. Morgan knew that Colfax did not mind minor sex play with his naked ones, anything short of a cock penetrating and cumming in the boy's nether orifice. Otherwise, his luscious body was in play.

"Mr. Morgan, sir. Is everyone on this plantation a boy lover?"

"Ha! Hardly, lad. No just the hand picked cadre of overseers and their assistants. The white staff and the master himself, of course.

As for the rest, the blacks, we leave them alone and never touch their women or any youths with kin among them. They have it better here than on any other plantation on the island and they know it. They live in solidly built cabins, each with a wood floor and a window with real glass in it and fly screens made of open weave cloth. The slaves eat well and are treated decently. They even draw a small wage, especially the artisans, so they can buy little fripperies and such. Why should they mind what their betters get up to. They know better than to say anything or even to look askance."

Morgan did not add that the decent treatment of the slaves kept the number of runaways to the nearby Blue Mountain Range to a minimum and greatly eased or prevented the resentments that might lead to a murderous and bloody slave revolt. As far as Morgan knew, no one actively hated the master. Colfax slept untroubled by such worries, and, to be fair, deservedly so. In effect he appropriated for himself a smaller portion of the wealth that his slaves produced with their labor than any other landowner on the island. It helped that the plantation was only one of his investments and not the largest.

Jamie nodded and resumed his puttering, looking absolutely scrumptious, kneeling, bent over working with this hands so he really was on all fours, digging, weeding, thinning. His light brown back with its spinal bumps were the stages that led from his graceful neck to the bifurcation of his buttocks. Morgan put his work basket on the ground next to Jamie's and knelt down next to the boy, running his hand over his back, his hips, his ass. The youth liked a man's hands on his body, touching, stroking, probing, and prodding. It took just a touch of a hand on the inside of his thighs to turn Jamie's attention from his duties to sex, as his legs spread themselves almost automatically to give better access.

He giggled softly as Morgan planted a series of kisses from his shoulder blades to his cleavage. He stopped working entirely when man grabbed his buttocks in his hands and used his thumbs to stretch Jamie's bunghole. He reached back when the big man tugged on his ballsac, but got his hand lightly slapped.

"Keep still boy, and keep your paws on the ground."

"My paws?"

"That's 'my paws, sir', to you." Morgan remonstrated with a light slap to the boy's rump. "On all fours like that, you look like a bitch in heat, a boy bitch with her ass in the air."

Jamie rolled his eyes. He could guess what was coming.

Morgan ran the blade of his hand into Jamie's cleavage. He stroked the hairless crack and circled the crinkly ring with the tip of his finger. It twitched open hungrily. Jamie groaned as Morgan inserted a finger, frigging him, in and out, then added another finger, stretching his hole. Blood rushed to the fork of his legs. Heat filled his belly. The man withdrew and circled the crinkly ring with his thumb. It twitched open. Then Morgan took the boy's cock in his hand and and pumped it.

"Tell me what you want. Say it boy. Shall I play with your hole or with your cock?" the man asked.

"Both, sir" Jamie pleaded, "Please. You are right, sir. I am a bitch, a boy bitch, your bitch."

Morgan chuckled. The moment he had been waiting for. He reached for a long cucumber he had in his basket, already oiled, and inserted it into the twitching hole, bringing a wail of surprise from the youth as the bumps on its skin sandpapered his anal ring.

"Oh no. Not the cucumber again! Please sir, spare me that. You know how it scrapes my hole, my poor tiny boy hole."

The man enjoyed the hint of a whine in the youth's voice, knowing that the lad was exaggerating. Morgan knew that the minor roughness would never shed a drop of his virgin's blood. In truth the boy got off on the thought of how helpless he was to protect his boy hole. It really was deliciously tiny, yet it could stretch far enough for any conceivable use a lustful male might make of it.

"And it so big and slick. What if you lose your grip and let the whole thing slip inside me? What if I could not expel it? How could I face anyone ever: the boy with a cucumber stuck up his ass?"

"Hush now. Never fear lad. You are in good hands."

As for losing the green tube into the trim ass, Morgan didn't tell the boy that he had strung a loop of strong twine through the cucumber near the end, as a precaution, in case he had to pull it out, or rather guide the small end to the exit and let the boy expel it with a contraction of his inner muscles. The lad looked so cute, turning his worried face back, trying to get a glimpse of this latest exercise in sexual humiliation. Trembling with both fright and arousal, his small body spread wide and vulnerable, little Jamie had seldom looked so delectable.

Then using both hands, left hand for the hole and the right for the boy's cock, now rigid and up against his belly Morgan renewed the stimulation. The boy moaned. Morgan toyed with the boy for quite some time, getting him more and more aroused till, just as he was about to climax, he stopped and let the boy cool down, contenting himself with languid caresses, turning part of his attention to his own erection, till it was time to tease the boy once again. After several such cycles of arousal and deflation, the boy wailed.

"I need to cum, sir".

"Tut tut, little one. Not so fast. Before we plant the seed we must plow the furrow."

He stroked the inside of Jamie's thighs and spoke to him in French, the language of love, and one the boy had some knowledge of.

"Ecarte-toi. Tu comprends?"

Jamie nodded to show that yes, he did understand, then spread his legs wider apart, as he had been instructed. the end of the cucumber jutting obscenely out of his hole.

That brought his hips closer to the rich turned earth, close enough for his 'ploughshare' to reach.

Morgan grabbed the tool from between his legs and bent the rigid cock back painfully. The head scraped the earth making a short furrow, digging a little deeper and longer on the return stroke. Morgan pushed on the boy's lower back, in effect telling him to get his belly closer to Mother Earth. Jamie spread his legs wider. Yes, that was better. With the plowshare properly positioned, Morgan described an arc with it, with the head in contact with the crumbly earth. This left a longer furrow.

"Please, sir" Jamie moaned. "I am going to shoot. The earth is rubbing my cockhead, it is teasing my sweet spot on the backstroke. I'm gonna cum."

"No. Not just yet, boy. Not till we finish this furrow. And you are not going to come, you are not going to shoot. You are going to plant your seed. Got it?"

"Yeeeesss." he moaned.

"Just yes? Morgan questioned sharply, chuckling as he smacked the boy's rump with the flat of his hand and kept his hand there, no longer frigging his hole.

"No sir, yes sir, please sir" Jamie moaned.

"What do you mean, 'No sir, yes sir, please sir'? You are one very confused youngster."

Jamie groaned. "Please fill my hole and pump my cock...sir."

He grinned at the boy's discomfiture, as he pulled on the long green tube trying to angle it to his joy spot. Jamie's head spun, his body burned with desire especially his hole and his cock. He had to come. The big man had to let him come.

Morgan gave the furrow one final pass with the boycock plowshare. He felt it swell up to its ultimate diameter and start to spew. Shot after shot spurted forth, guided by Morgan's hand so the seed fell into the furrow. The contractions forcefully expelled the long green cucumber from the boy's ass.

"Uuungh" the boy moaned. Then several more times. "Uuungh, Uuungh, Uuungh".

His chest sank to the earth, his head between his arms, spent, his entire torso dripping with perspiration.

"There you see. Your seed in planted right in the furrow. Now all we have to do is turn the earth to bury the seed."

To Jamie, the man's chuckle of satisfaction sounded more like a fiendish cackle.

With the boy's belly now even closer to the ground, Morgan was able to use Jamie's cock, still partly tumescent though shorter now, to push loose dirt to cover his white gism. The sensation on the boy's ultra-sensitive cock head defies description. Pain and pleasure alike shot through his belly. His head swam, overwhelmed by bodily sensations.

"Nooooooo, pleeeease" the boy wailed in his high tenor.

But the boy was small, tiny really compared to a big man like Morgan, and so he had his way, with his cock as with his hole. To finish, he gave his own cock a few final strokes and shot his gism all over those incomparable cheeks. Finally he lifted the boy's limp body from the earth and brought his face close to his own. The boy gave him a weak smile. Morgan hugged his slender body to his own, then kissed the boy on the lips tenderly.

Looking two parts happy and one part relieved, little Jamie slumped against Morgan's chest, cradled in his strong arms. Their experience had been sublime. Maybe Morgan could not take the boy entirely the way he wanted to, at least not yet. But he could take the boy to new heights of sexual satisfaction.

This was their pattern in the weeks that followed. Both males got satisfaction while respecting the limits set by their master, Sir Andrew. Fortunately so, for they were occasionally under observation either by telescope or directly when the baronet used his hunter's stealth to approach the lovers unawares.

Colfax was supremely gratified to hear the boy complain about the 'baronet's diffidence', quite a mouthful for a lad with an interrupted education.

"Oh when, oh when is that man going to fuck me? What is he waiting for? It has been ages since I had a real fuck."

It struck Jamie that no cock has filled his hole since his time with Will Jenkins, still the only man who had ever fucked him!

"I would love to fuck you little one, but the baronet gets first call. Droit de seigneur and all that. That is French for 'he is the boss'. Besides you haven't started your training, much less finished it."

"How much training does a boy need to get fucked around here?"

"Ha, ha, ha, ha. You will soon find out," he chuckled.

"It can't be too soon for me. Don't take this wrong Mr. Morgan, sir. As handsome and sexy as you are, and as good as you play with my sweet body, I really want to wait for Sir Andrew. He is the ultimate stallion. I cannot imagine anything sexier."

"I can." murmured Morgan, but too softly to register with the wrung out boy, though not with the keen hunter's senses of the grinning baronet.

As time went on and others took little Jamie and had their fun with him, the baronet looked on tolerantly, secure in the knowledge that all would observe the proper limits. It would be he, Andrew, Third Baronet Colfax who would be only the second man to fuck beautiful Jamie in the ass. And for the occasion, following the rigorous training program the baronet had in mind, Jamie would be even more beautiful, more delectable than he had ever been before.

[Concluded in Part 2]