Date: Sat, 7 May 2016 18:34:41 +0000 (UTC) From: Koos Smit Subject: Beach-Front-Boy - 15 Beach Front Boy Part 15 Some time before dawn the wind came up and it quickly freshened to a steady 15 knots, prompting Johan to get the sails up. Both the off-watch Skobbejak boys and the slave boys were woken and called up on deck to haul on the thick halyards that lifted the sails aloft. I was still soundly asleep in my cabin at the time, but woke to the altered motion of the ship and the rhythmic thudding of hard bare heels on the deck planks overhead as the boys hauled up the heavy canvas sails. They heaved rhythmically to a cadence that Dirk called out, marking the rhythm playfully with stinging snaps of a rope's end against the straining backs of both crew and slave. The light was still on in my cabin and, as I surfaced slowly from the depths of unconsciousness, I became aware of John's warm body lying beside mine, with his tousled blonde head nuzzled against my chest, one arm lying across my belly and one leg hooked over my thigh, his knee in my crotch, as he slept the deep, nearly comatose sleep of the utterly exhausted. We had been sleeping for barely an hour or so and my mind was still foggy, but the touch of the boy's smooth naked skin on mine triggered an instant recollection of the two high energy hours of hard sex and mind-numbing pleasure that we had shared before we both passed out next to each other, tired, happy and sated. My cock stirred at the memory, swelling and stretching up my belly like a filling hosepipe until it lay hard and bobbing against my navel. I pulled his thigh further up so that it was lying over my lower belly and my swollen cock. Then I slid my hand down over his well-rounded calf muscles until I was able to cup his hard leathery heel in my palm. I massaged and played with his foot for a while, loving the rough feel of the thickly callused skin on the sole of his foot and toes. I felt a small depression on the top of his foot and looked down at it to find a small round scar, like a puncture wound. I twisted his foot over to look at the sole and found another similar scar which seemed to confirm that something sharp had punctured his foot all the way through. Could it be a bullet wound? I wondered. I slid my hand slowly up and down his supple young back, enjoying the feel of the hard bulges of muscle under his deeply tanned skin. I felt the thin ridges of several scars scored into the otherwise smooth skin of his back by the lash of the rhino hide sambok favoured by the slave handlers of the diamond diggings. I looked down as I ran a finger along the length of one of the scars where it traced a clear lighter coloured line across the deep brown of his skin, crossing over several others. I felt a surge of compassion for the boy and I hugged him closer to me as I thought of the continual terror he would have felt, often for his very life, day and night over the last several years. I thought, too, of the back-breaking, muscle ripping labour he would have been forced to do over that time and the unimaginable pain he would have had to endure when the sambok sliced the searing and bloody furrows through his flesh that had healed into the scars I was now stroking. Even as I cuddled him, though, my thoughts of his sufferings stirred not only compassion for the boy and a desire to protect him; they also stirred those deeper urges that got the tip pf my cock throbbing. Far from disfiguring the boy in my eyes, the latticework of whip scars that permanently marked his beautiful young body seemed actually to emphasize the musculature of his back and buttocks and greatly enhance his sexiness, in the same way that tattoos can often add immeasurably to the sex appeal of the body. After a while I ran my fingers lightly down the long valley formed by the thick muscles on either side of his spine until I reached his firm round buttocks. My long middle finger slipped naturally into the cleft between the mounds, still slick with cum and lubricant. I probed until the tip of my finger found the eager elastic opening to his well-used fuck channel. Smoothly my finger entered his yielding bumhole, eliciting a satisfied sleepy murmur from its owner as I explored that warm and slippery place. John stirred and his head swivelled against my chest until he was looking up at me, a sleepy smile of pleasure on his face. I fucked his compliant hole with my fingers until John began to croon softly with pleasure and I felt his little cock harden where he was humping it slowly against my thigh. After a while John rolled his body over on top of mine and then wriggled himself up until he could take my tongue into his open mouth. We tasted each other's lips and mouths vigorously for a long while until John suddenly broke contact and sat up, straddling my belly with his knees planted on the bed either side of me. He pushed up on his knees and reached behind him to grip my straining cock and guide its tip into his succulent channel. The breath rushed out of me as he lowered himself onto on my bone-hard cock, taking the whole of it all the way inside him with the practised ease of a seasoned professional. By the time I came up on deck with John in tow, still dribbling cum down the inside of his thighs, Skobbejak was gently heeled over under full sail, cruising comfortably at 6 knots about ten miles off the Mozambique coastline. The slave boys were squatting on deck, enjoying their breakfast of `pap en vleis (a thick maize porridge and meat)' under the watchful eyes of Andre's armed guards. The Skobbejak boys were having theirs in and around the wheelhouse while Dirk was on the helm. `You can put John down as a definite "1" on the list for me', I told Tiaan, `He's a great find ... I will put my cock on the block there's no one better!' `They all good fucks, Uncle Jonathan!', Tiaan replied, `But we also found a coupla outstanding ones!. Just a few more to try out!' `Well, you have another six hours to do it in', I said, `We should reach Inhaca about noon if the wind holds.' `Cool', he replied, `That's plenty time.' `You know, Dad', Dirk said, more than a tinge of jealousy in his voice, `These guys been doing it since they were little! You `n me `n Josh are rookies compared with them!' 'Sure', I said, `But just think what else they have gone through in the years they've been prisoners of the rebels ... You have a lot to be grateful for!' `I feel sorry for them, Uncle Jonathan.' said Stefan, `It's not really fair what's happened to them.' I ruffled his crew-cut blonde hair. `I know, Stefan, I know', I replied, `Unfortunately, there's a lot about life that isn't fair. Life doesn't care. Life just happens. It wasn't fair that they were taken as slaves by a warlord who probably murdered their parents ... it wasn't because of anything that the boys did! Now they've been rescued from that terrible life ... but that wasn't because of anything that they did either! There are many other young boys are still being worked to death on those diamond fields right now ... and that's not fair either. We have to just make the best of whatever hand we are dealt!' `Yes, Uncle Jonathan', Stefan said, `But they still slaves, just like the boys at the beach villa. An' then later they gonna be sold to other people ... just like the boys at the beach villa gonna be sold at the auction soon.' `Oh, so you know about that?' I said. `Sure, Dad', said Dirk, `They told us.' `What do the boys think about?', I asked, curiously. `They think it's cool', Dirk replied. `And what do you think about it?', I asked. Dirk thought a moment. `I think it can maybe be cool for them,' he replied, `Much better than where they were, anyway.' `If you think about it' Johan added, `They not much different from us.' `Why, Johan', I asked, `Do you feel like you are a slave?' `No, Uncle Jonathan', he laughed, `I mean they kinda "lost boys" just like us ... They got rescued by Andre, just like you rescued us ... They have to work at the villa to earn their keep, just like we have to work on Skobbejak ... If they misbehave they get whipped, just like us ... They get to have a lotta sex, just like us. Only difference is they are owned and can get sold' `Who says I can't sell you?', I chuckled. `Well, I s'pose you bought us from Henk, so maybe you can sell us too!', Johan chuckled back. `Ja', said Stefan, `When you explain it like that I suppose there's not much difference ... while you still a kid anyway!' By now the slave boys had finished their breakfast and were washing their utensils in one of the zinc tubs that they had bathed in last night. When that was done, Johan picked up the rope's end that Dirk had been using earlier to spur the boys hauling on lines to greater effort. `Might as well keep `em busy', he said, snapping the rope's end through the air as he went forward to organise the slave boys into groups to scrub the wooden deck planking. From the smiles and laughter among the slave boys I gathered that scrubbing the decks with soapy water was a lot more like play than work for boys accustomed to humping sixty kilogram baskets of gravel from dawn to dusk in the blazing African sun. Johan's playful efforts at instilling some order with the rope's end simply elicited more mirth and splashing. The sting of the rope's end probably felt like mosquito bites to backs and bottoms accustomed to the skin-slicing slash of the sambok. Laughing, Johan gave up and played along, soon to be joined by the other Skobbejak boys, leaving me to take the helm. Eventually the rough-housing settled down and all the boys, crew and slave, bent their backs to getting the decks scrubbed. It struck me as I watched them that at a little distance there was not much to distinguish between the boys of the two groups as they mingled together, soaping, scrubbing and mopping the decks. The Skobbejak boys, because of their good diet and relatively easy, though active, lives, were a little bigger, heavier and more `meaty' than the slave boys, whose poor diet and gruelling physical labour made them leaner and more wiry, though hard-muscled and extraordinarily strong. But beyond that, both groups were naked, tough-footed, tanned all over, muscular and sexy as hell. The decks cleaned and drying rapidly under the hot sun, Dirk, Tiaan, Joshua and Jul carried on their task of interviewing and cataloguing all the slave boys, calling them down to the saloon one by one for the purpose. Johan, who hadn't had any sex in twenty-four hours, eagerly went after them to assist with the sexual performance assessment but, seized of a sudden idea, I called him back and handed over the helm to him while I pulled out a larger scale chart of the coastline between Limpopo River mouth and Limpopo than the one we had been using and pored over it, consulting the Sailing Directions and doing some calculations. Then I pondered for a while and made a decision. I worked out a course change and gave the course change to Johan. He looked at me curiously. `Where we going?', he asked. `Sao Martinho Lagoon', I replied. `Oh, I saw that on the chart', he replied, `It's not so far from us. Is it safe?' `Well, it's closer to Maputo and has been in the hands of the revolutionary government for some time, so it should be relatively safe.' I replied. `What we gonna do there?', he asked. `We're going to give our young passengers the first beach holiday they've had in years ... maybe ever!' I replied. A wide grin stretched across his broad, handsome face. `That's cool!' he said. Then he added: `I remember the mouth looked a bit dodgy, though. Will we get in?' `I think so ... I hope so ... with the rains they've been having it should be open. We'll heave to offshore and you can take the rubber duck in to check it out. `Cool!' he said, with another big grin and a sparkle in his blue eyes. Then I got on the radio to let Andre know that we would be delayed a while. `What do you mean "delayed"?' the radio crackled. `Nothing to worry about', I replied, `We're just exploring the coast a bit'. `So how long will this take?' he demanded, testily. `As long as it takes!' I replied, unhelpfully, `I'll let you know my ETA when I know!' `No, Jonathan, I'd much rather you ...' was all that came through before I switched back to the listening channel. I chuckled as I pictured him swearing at the set in a minute or two when he realised communication had been cut. With some time on our hands before we would arrive at Sao Martinho, I chatted to the two security contractors who had accompanied us. They were tough, hard men of mixed race, who appeared to be highly proficient at their profession. They had seen service during the colonial war as members of the Mozambique Commando Companies, part of the Portuguese Special Forces who had been recruited from among both white and black Mozambicans. Under the new dispensation their past service for Mozambique's colonial rulers had made them persona non grata, and they now operated as contractors for a private military company (PMC) that hired out trained operatives to anyone who could pay for them. I asked one of them, Jose, what he thought of the enslavement by rebel forces of the white colonial children whom they had previously worked so hard to protect. A shadow passed over his face as he replied: `The Portuguese abandoned us at the end. They did not care what happened to us or our children ... why should we care what happened to their children?' His bitterness was almost palpable. I was silent as I digested the import of his words: Here was a man who had given his all for a white colonial regime that had abandoned him and his family to the tender mercies of their enemies when they pulled out of the country. It was hard to imagine a greater betrayal. The fact that these particular boys appeared to be mostly South African or Rhodesian rather than Portuguese would have made no difference to Jose. A few hours later we arrived off the mouth to the lagoon. There was a line of breakers some distance off the mouth but we could see what looked like an opening into the lagoon on the other side of the surf line. We dropped the sails and held a position under power in the deeper water while we lowered a rubber duck over the side. Johan and Dirk jumped into the water from the rail and then pulled themselves into the duck. A minute later they were roaring off toward the surf line. After circling about for a while, assessing the break, we watched the boat breach the line and head into the swelling water of the gap. Half an hour later they were back to report that the channel was wide enough and just deep enough to admit Skobbejak into the lagoon. I knew that once we were in the lagoon there would be no problem as the depth reached 50 metres according to the sailing directions. As the tide was low and rising, they recommended that we wait a few hours to make absolutely certain, given the rise and fall of the water in the gap as a result of the wave action. So we headed a little further out and dropped anchor to wait. I set the two security contractors to watch for sharks with their rifles at the ready and then allowed the boys to jump over the side for a cooling swim. I was concerned that some of the slave boys might not have had the opportunity to learn how to swim, but it appeared that they were all able to swim quite well ... this would probably turn out to be another clue to their origin and background, I thought. Later, Dirk and I took over the shark watch and allowed the very grateful security contractors to strip off and dive into the sea as well. By late morning we had taken Skobbejak on a rollicking ride through the surf and through the twisting channel into Sao Martinho Lagoon, with Johan and Dirk escorting us in the rubber duck and then nosing ahead of us like scouts until we dropped anchor in the clear still water of the lagoon about 100 metres off the inside beach. Then, leaving Tiaan and Stefan on board with the security contractors to maintain an anchor watch, we ferried everyone else ashore with the rubber ducks, together with sleeping bags, food, fishing rods, bats, balls and everything else needed to have fun and camp on the beach under the stars. The boys spent the rest of the day just having fun. They took the rubber ducks and explored part of the lagoon; they went body-surfing in the waves on the seaward side of the mouth; they fished off the beach and from the boats; they wrestled and romped; they played soccer and volleyball. In the evening we fed them all with meat and pap cooked on the braai (barbecue) and cold drinks brought ashore in cooler boxes. Then they all sat around the fire, joking and telling each other stories until, one by one they went off to flop onto their sleeping bags to settle in for the night. My plan was to return to the ship to sleep in comfort rather than sleeping under the stars on a sandy beach. Before I did so, I walked around to check that the boys were all fine. I found that, despite their highly active day, almost none of the boys, Skobbejak crew or slave, was doing much sleeping. They had nearly all thrown their sleeping bags together in twos, threes and fours, and were deeply engrossed in various stages of enjoying sex with each other. Only one seemed to be on his own, sitting up on his sleeping bag with his knees raised and his arms wrapped around his knees. He watched me as I moved through the dark towards him, picking my way through the groups of rutting boys. As I came up to him I saw it was John. `All on your own, John?', I queried. `I was waiting for you, Baba', he said softly, standing up and wrapping his strong arms around my waist. I felt his hard little cock prodding at my thighs and I put my arms around him. `Thank you for thinking of me, John', I said and we stood like that for a while. `Okay, then, you come back to the ship with me', I said, closing my hand around the back of his neck and leading him down to the water's edge. We walked a few steps and then he darted back to pick up his sleeping bag, rolling it up quickly and stuffing it under his arm. Back on board Skobbejak, we passed through the saloon on the way to my cabin. Bent over the saloon table was the brawny MMA fighter, Stefan, with the equally muscular gymnast, Tiaan, behind him, both of them grunting and sweating profusely as the black-haired Tiaan vigorously pistoned his big cock into the blonde boy's arse. Both of them grinned broadly. John's little cock, which had deflated somewhat on the way over, suddenly stiffened into erection again with excitement and expectation. I paused behind Tiaan and laid the palm of my one hand on his upper back, enjoying the feel of his back muscles knotting and releasing rhythmically under his smooth, sweat-drenched skin as he rocked in and out of Stefan. I reached down between his smooth thighs with my other hand and slid it up into the sweaty cleft between his pumping buttocks. He was slick with running cum and I realised that Stefan must have just shot his load in Tiaan's arse. My middle finger found his slippery, clenching pucker and gained immediate entry. Tiaan looked back and grinned at me over his shoulder as I finger-fucked his arse in rhythm with his fucking Stefan. I did this for a while until I became aware of John plucking at my arm, trying to get me to move toward my cabin. I gave Tiaan a playful slap on his hard round arse and followed John out of the saloon. The moment we entered my cabin, John scampered up onto my bed, rolled over onto his back and pulled his knees up to his shoulders, his forearms resting on his thighs as his hard brown hands pulled his butt cheeks apart to expose his pinkish brown, well-used pucker, already flexing wide open in anticipation of being entered. Then I saw that he had the small round puncture scar that I had noticed earlier, not only on both feet but also on both hands. I was intrigued but thought I would leave it to another time to ask about them. Instead of getting up onto on the bed right away, I walked around to the bedside cabinet and pulled out a tube of lubricant jelly. John watched me curiously as I smeared it all over my shaft and then got onto the bed to lubricate his bumhole with it. `What's that, Baba?', he asked. `It's lubricating jelly ... so my cock can slide into your arse easier', I replied. `Oh', he said, `In the bordello we jus' use spit'. `I noticed that last night ... it's okay ... but this is better ... you'll see!' I replied. Then I stretched out on the bed with my head between his legs and took his quaveringly erect little cock into my mouth. The boy gasped with pure pleasure, initially almost embarrassedly trying to lift my head off his cock. When I persisted he dropped his head back on the pillow and left his hands resting on my shoulders. `No Baba ever done that for me before', he said huskily. After a while, when I felt from his hard fingers digging into my shoulders that he was about to climax, I stopped sucking and pulled my lips off his cock. He grabbed at my head to try and hold me there, but he was not strong enough. I got up onto my knees and shuffled forward, holding my straining cock ready to shove into John's welcoming hole. I lifted up his pelvis and pushed a couple of pillows under him to lift him up to the right height. I bent over him, supporting my body on one arm as I used my other hand to guide my cock head into the deep concave leading to his pucker. Eagerly, John grabbed my cock with a hard, work-roughened hand and guided my cock in himself. Firm, but elastic and compliant, his fuck-hole seemed almost to suck me instantly all the way in. Once again the practised eleven year-old fucked my cock hard and well, inventively prolonging the pleasure while all the time steadily building it to an exquisite explosion of ecstasy that had me bellowing in delight. John's staying power was exceptional, as was his power of recovery. He evidently had the stamina to keep going all night and this was the second night in a row. It seemed that he quite literally could not get enough cock up his arse or down his throat. After a couple of hours of the most outstanding, but also the most exhausting sex I had had in months, I was lying back on my bed, trying to get my breath back as John's head energetically bounced up and down my shaft. Suddenly, the cabin door opened and both Tiaan and Stefan scurried in and jumped onto the bed. They had been sitting about in the saloon for the last hour, listening to what was going on in my cabin and, unable to stand it any longer, came to join in. Truth to tell, I was actually glad to have them shoulder some of the pressure. As for John, their arrival seemed to give him even more energy, if that could be imagined, and the four of us fucked and sucked well into the night until we all passed out one by one in the master cabin's big bed. I woke at dawn and went on deck, leaving the three boys still fast asleep. As I was standing at the rail, looking out over the still lagoon and enjoying the fresh morning air, I heard the other rubber duck approaching at speed and I walked idly over to that side of the ship to see who it was. I looked down on Dirk, who was alone in the boat as it came alongside, bouncing gently against the hull. He beckoned agitatedly when he spotted me. `You gotta come quickly, Dad!', he called, `Two of the boys have run away!' `Oh crap!' I thought, but to Dirk I said: `Okay, calm down, I'm coming.' I woke the security contractors where they were sleeping in a hammock on the foredeck and told them what had happened. They rushed below and appeared a short while later kitted out as if they were going on a combat patrol. `Do you really need rifles?', I asked them, `They're just a couple of young boys!' `It's not for the boys', said one, `We never know what we may run into here!' On the way in Dirk explained that, when he had woken up to start a breakfast fire he had noticed that two sleeping bags lying side by side were empty. At first he had assumed they had gone into the treeline to relieve themselves. Later he and Johan had gone looking for them but, when they could not find them, they realised they must have run away. Johan had sent him to call me while Johan and Jul searched for tracks. Johan met us at the water's edge. He told us that they had found two sets of footprints exiting the treeline almost at the bluff on the western side of the lagoon mouth and that the tracks headed west along the beach. He led us to the point where he and Jul had turned back, realising that it was going to take a more sustained effort to find the missing boys. The security contractors left a mobile radio with us and set off after the runaways at a trot, their tracks being easy to follow on the sandy beach. We watched them go until they were specks in the distance and then returned to make sure the others all got breakfast and carried on as if nothing had changed. We found all the slave boys huddled together and in a very sombre mood. `What's the matter with you lot?', I asked. My query was met with silence and averted eyes. I looked from face to face until I caught the steady grey-blue eyes of one of the older boys, a ginger blonde who held my gaze, almost defiantly. Here was a boy with some spirit, I thought. I called him out and led him a short distance away. `Why are you guys so glum?' I asked him, my hand on his shoulder, `Those men will find your friends and bring them back ... you don't have to worry about them. He stared at me incredulously for a moment and then answered: `We not worried about them! We worried about us! They arseholes to put us in such trouble!' `What do you mean, put you in such trouble?' I asked, puzzled. He stared at me again as if I was an idiot. `When anyone runs away, the ones that stays behind always gets punished real bad! You gonna whip us all, right?' he said angrily. `Of course not!' I replied, `You did nothing wrong ... Why on earth would I whip you?' `We never did nothing wrong before but we all got whipped when a boy ran away at the mine!' he replied. `Well, this is not the mine', I said, `No one is going to whip you if you do nothing wrong!' He looked at me in amazement. Something then occurred to me. `If they whipped you when you didn't run away, how did they punish the ones that did?' `Dunno', said the boy, `They didn't never came back. The soldiers always said they killed them when they caught them and left them for the hyenas to eat. That's why those guys got guns, right?' `No, no, no ... the guns are to protect themselves', I replied. `From what?' the boy asked cheekily. My heart skipped a beat as I pondered the possibilities and I began to wonder if we would see the missing boys again. `Don't worry about it', I said to the boy, `Go back to the others and have your breakfast.' Obediently, the boy turned to trot back to the others. `Wait a moment', I said, `What's your name?' `Red', he replied. When I cocked my head quizzically at him, he explained. `For my red hair.' `Okay" I smiled. `Can I go now, Baba?' he asked, bowing slightly with palms together at his chin. `Yes, you may go', I replied, and then, `No, wait a moment ... what are the runaways' names?' `The one is "Smiley" ... for the scar on his cheek ... and the other is "Ballas"', he replied. `For his big balls?', I asked. `Yes', he chuckled, `And `cause he got a lot of guts!' I remembered the boy with the thick white scar that extended onto his cheek from the corner of his mouth, making him look as if he was smirking permanently. When I had asked him about the scar he had told me that a drunken soldier had cut him with a knife one night in the bordello. I went for a walk down to the lagoon mouth. When I got back the slave boys seem to have recovered their spirits, no doubt aided by the news that they were not going to be whipped for their comrades' sins. Towards evening the two security contractors came into view, with the two runaways in tow, literally: Each of them led a boy by a rope looped around the boy's neck. Their wrists were bound behind their backs. We all stood and watched them coming. The boys were clearly exhausted and staggered up to collapse onto the sand at our feet. The contractors untied them, surprisingly gently I thought, and called for some water. Johan ran up with a couple of water bottles and the contractors knelt beside the dehydrated boys to sprinkle water gently on their faces and dribble small quantities of it through their fingers onto the boys' lips. `If we had left them they would have died on that beach in a few days ... no water and too stupid to find food!' said Jose, `We surprised them sleeping under a rocky overhang. They were so terrified they couldn't even get up. They thought we were going to shoot them. They just sat on the sand and pissed themselves.' In an hour the runaways had recovered somewhat from their ordeal and they hungrily wolfed down some food, not having eaten since the night before. As we would be leaving early the next morning, we broke camp and ferried everyone back on board the ship. The two runaways were locked in the rope locker for the night, just be on the safe side. Soon after dawn the next morning saw Skobbejak at sea once more. I left Johan to set course for Inhaca and sent Dirk to release the runaways from the rope locker while I called Andre up on the radio. Andre was mightily relieved to hear we were on the way. When I told him about the two runaways, the radio was silent for a while. `Andre? You still there?', I asked eventually. `Yes, I'm here', the radio hissed, `So what happened?' `Your security guys tracked them and brought them back', I replied. `Shit!', he said, `Those runaway kids are always trouble ... you should have left them there!' `They would've died, Andre!', I replied. `Teach them a lesson!' he said. `I think they learned their lesson', I replied. `I don't care if those little shits learned their lesson; it's about making sure the rest of them learn that running away is not an option'. `I understand', I replied. `Okay, but remember ... this wouldn't have happened if you didn't go on your little jolly ... so you get to keep those two as part of your cut ... I sure don't want them!' `That's fine', I replied. I stepped out of the wheelhouse. The runaways were sitting disconsolately on the deck with their backs against the front of the wheelhouse. As I stood in front of them they scrambled up onto their knees and then bent over forward to touch their foreheads to the deck before sitting back and putting their hands together at their chin, their eyes cast down at the deck. I looked at them in silence until they nervously twisted their heads and looked up at me sideways, their eyes blinking nervously as if expecting to be struck. `Are you going to kill us, Baba?', Smiley asked, a tremor in his voice. I almost laughed, the question seemed so absurd. But then I remembered where they had been the last several years and I realised that, to him, the possibility of being executed for running away was all too real. It gave me a terrifying glimpse into the horrors of their lives as mine slaves. `No, I am not going to kill you!', I said gently. My assurance had precisely the opposite effect of that which I had expected: Both boys began to wail pitifully. `Please, Baba, don't cut off our hands and feet! Please, please, Baba, rather kill us than that!' Smiley howled, `We will be good slaves, Baba, we will never run away again! Please Baba! Please!' Ballas just glared at me defiantly. Shocked to the core, I could only stare at Smiley as he sobbed and pleaded for mercy. `For goodness sake!', I eventually said, `I'm not going to cut off any of your body parts! Where on earth did you get that idea?' Jose, who had been watching from the rail, came closer. `Cutting off hands or feet, or both, is a common punishment for these mine slaves', he explained, `It is a sentence of death, but a slow one and painful, as they cannot work, either on the mine or the bordellos, and they have to rely on charity to live, and there is not much charity there. They do not survive long' `Good grief!', I said, `What absolute savages those people are!' `They learned from their colonial masters', he replied. `Get up, both of you!' I said to the boys. They quickly jumped to their feet. `You will both be punished with a very severe whipping!' I said. They looked as if I had given them ice cream. `Is that all, Baba?', asked Ballas, incredulously. `Yes', I replied, a little uncertainly, `But understand it will be a very hard beating!' They both dropped to their knees and threw their arms around my calves. `Thank you Baba! Thank you!' they repeated over and over until Jose came over and gently pulled them to their feet. `Thank you, Jose', I said, `Might as well get this over with now!' I called Johan and Dirk. `I want you boys to take these two forward and give them each a sound flogging with The Snake. Make sure you tie them tightly to the mast ... these are not Skobbejak boys who are going to stand still and take it!' `Cool!', said Johan excitedly. I chuckled when I noticed how his prodigiously long thick cock was already filling and expanding with expectation. `How many lashes?' he asked. `Thirty lashes each. Try not to break the skin, but I want to hear them scream!' I said 'Cool!', he said again, his extending cock already standing out horizontally. 'I'll try not to make `em bleed too much but I promise they gonna scream!', he added with a grin. I saw the look of dismay on the runaways' faces at the sight of Johan's erecting cock. They obviously had experience of men who get aroused when inflicting pain and they had evidently just realised they had drawn the short straw as far as that was concerned. Dirk and Johan led their two trembling charges forward, eager to get on with the whipping. There was no need to make any formal announcement of the punishment. Boys the world over are naturally cruel and have an innate lust for blood. However angelic they may appear, they can be savage at heart and many, probably most, are irresistibly drawn to the spectacle of human pain and suffering. The moment it became known that the two runaways were being strung up for a whipping, all the boys on board, including my own, scurried forward to enjoy the thrill of watching one of their number squirm under the lash. Even the slave boys, for whom the sight of one of them being whipped must have been a daily occurrence, scrambled forward eagerly, elbowing one other out of the way to get a good view, their stiffening cocks signalling the pleasure they anticipated to derive from the coming entertainment. For the next hour the deck echoed to the screams of the boys being whipped, punctuated with the sharp meaty crack of The Snake against the bunched muscles of their backs. When the second boy eventually stopped screaming I left Jul on the helm and went forward to see what was going on. I found Smiley, the first boy to be flogged, lying on his belly on the deck, his upper body raised up onto his elbows with his forearms stretched out in front of him, his hands palm down on the deck. His head was raised and he stared unseeing straight in front of him, his blue eyes awash with tears of pain. He was snivelling and moaning softly, his body covered from shoulders to buttocks with thirty livid red welts, some of them lightly smeared with drying blood. His legs were spread apart and a little puddle had formed where Johan's and the other boys' cum had dribbled out of his bumhole onto the wooden deck planking. I took a closer look at his back and buttocks and was pleased to see that, although many of the whip welts oozed tiny droplets of blood, Johan had broken skin only at two or three places where the welts crossed. The freshly whipped Ballas, with back and arse similarly lightly bloodied, was now bent over with his legs spread apart and his muscled arms clasped around the mast. He was grunting loudly in between sobs as Dirk roughly punished his arse with his thick log of a cock. Tiaan and Stefan were lined up behind him, expectant grins on their faces and cocks quiveringly erect as they waited their turn to fuck the boy. Standing to one side was Johan, a deeply satisfied smile on his face, his sated cock just beginning to droop after having rogered both boys. Their cocks were all slippery with cum and shit, and their groins and bellies lightly smeared with blood where they had come in contact with the lacerated back and buttocks of the whipped boys. Behind them most of the slave boys were fingering their erections enviously. By now my own cock was hard and erect. Johan grinned as he spotted it. `Can I take care of that for you, Uncle Jonathan?' he asked. Without waiting for an answer he bent down in front of me and took my swollen cock into his mouth. As if this were some kind of signal for a general orgy, every boy on that foredeck was either fucking or being fucked seconds later. John the slave boy, who, like a lost puppy, seemed to have adopted me, scurried over and wriggled himself between my legs to take Johan's freshly enlivened cock down his throat. Once Tiaan and Stefan had both given Ballas a hard rogering, the boy was allowed to go and lie on his belly next to his partner in crime and recover from his punishment. With the resilience that seems characteristic of boys their age, no doubt aided by the stimulus of the frenetic sexual activity going on around them, they recovered quickly. By the time that I was done with Johan, Smiley and Ballas were both sitting up on their haunches and were observing the activity with great interest, their cocks already erected and hard. Smiley's cock was a quite remarkably long thin tube that stood out at a 45 degree angle, rather like a flagpole. His foreskin had retracted to reveal a perfectly proportioned acorn-shaped cockhead, glowing a healthy pinkish purple. His testicles, a beautifully symmetrical pair, were the size and shape of walnuts and hung down low, almost touching the deck where he squatted. Ballas's cock was almost as long but was exceptionally, almost absurdly, thick and plump. It was surmounted with a large plum-shaped head, now swollen purple and shiny from engorgement and only half emerged from a fleshy foreskin. His testicles, which were responsible for his nickname, Afrikaans slang for `balls', were absolutely prodigious for his age and size. They would not have disgraced a breeding bull. They hung down between his thighs like a pair of apples, the one hanging slightly lower than the other. Just as well, I thought, or he would not have been able to walk properly. The runaways immediately aroused my own interest and, leaving Johan and John to continue their enjoyment of each other's bodies, I motioned the two of them to get up. They jumped to their feet and looked at me nervously, biting their lips anxiously as their worried eyes flickered from my face to my hugely swollen cock and back. `Come with me!', I told them. The two boys walked with me to my cabin, obviously fearful of what further terrors may await them. I noticed, however, that their nervousness seemed to have no effect on their erections, which remained unwaveringly hard. From the way they kept eyeing my erected cock, I suspected that they had deduced that they were going to get fucked. The fact that they appeared to relish the prospect was very promising, I thought. I got them to lie across my bed side by side on their bellies. They kept looking at me anxiously over their shoulders, their faces tight with despair and every muscle in their bodies knotted and taut. I realized that they thought they were about to receive another whipping. I left them wondering as I fetched a first aid kit out of a cupboard. I found a large tube of wound salve and I knelt on the bed between them as I squeezed out the ointment and gently applied it to the burning welts that criss-crossed their back and buttocks. Each of them jerked violently at the first touch of the cooling cream, and I guessed that this must be the first time that either of them had received any kind of treatment or care for the hundreds of whip stripes they had received over the several years they had spent in captivity as mine slaves. Soon, however, they were both wincing and purring with pleasure as my fingers gently traced their whip welts and rubbed the soothing salve into the tortured flesh. By the time I had finished treating both boys, however, my own growing lust for their hard-muscled, whip-wealed young bodies had completely eclipsed my compassion for their pain. Unable to restrain myself any longer, I mounted Smiley as he lay on his belly and roughly rode his beautiful arse hard and long. Taken by surprize, Smiley gave vent to ear-splitting screams as I first entered him. I felt his strong young body squirming and thrashing desperately under me as my cock rammed repeatedly into his fuck hole. Seasoned young whore boy that he was, though, his arse quickly accommodated to the exceptional length and girth of my cock and his screams soon turned to moans and grunts of satisfaction and pleasure. Ballas had more time to prepare himself and he used the time wisely, working globs of saliva into his bum hole and finger-fucking himself with one, two and then four fingers in an effort to get his sphincter ready to take my cock. By the time I was ready for him, the boy was lying on his back with his knees drawn back to his shoulders as he energetically fisted himself, such was the degree of stretch that the little slut was capable of. I took my straining cock in hand and shuffled over on my knees to insert it into his hole. He reached down to his arse with both hands and pulled his butt cheeks apart as hard as he could while flexing his hole open wide enough that I could have inserted my thumb without touching the sides. I noticed that his hands had the same small round puncture scars that John had. Out of curiosity I quickly checked his feet and they also had the small round scars. My raging lust immediately drowned my curiosity, however, and I gave it no more thought. Despite the boy's preparations, I watched Ballas's eyes widen in shock as I rammed my cock down his fuck channel. Then he shut his eyes and opened his mouth wide in pain, although no more than a long drawn-out groan welled up out of his throat. Soon, though, he too was whimpering in pleasure, rocking and rolling his bum around my cock and trying his best to draw me deeper into him. Finally, with a bellow of ecstasy, I shot my load deep inside the boy and rolled over onto my back, panting. Like a flash both boys were onto my still erected cock, hungrily sucking and licking me clean, their heads bumping in their eagerness to satisfy. When finished they sat up on the knees on either side of me, fingering their quivering erections and darting expectant glances at me and at each other. I guessed that they were awaiting permission to have their own sexual release and I nodded. `Go ahead!', I said. For the next half hour I watched the two strong, hard-bodied young boys engage in rough, even ferocious sex until finally, sated and exhausted, they flopped down to lie on either side of me, their still swollen cocks slimy with cum, saliva and the detritus of less than pristine boy's bumholes, their chests heaving and their bodies glistening with sweat. I put an arm around each one's brawny shoulder and pulled them in against me, cuddling them and enjoying the wiry hardness of their bodies against mine as we relaxed together. It was dark by the time we anchored off the beach villa on Inhaca Island a few hours later, and I decided we would all sleep on board until morning before going ashore. After checking that all was well and organising the boys into an anchor watch for the night, I went back down to my cabin to join the two sleeping boys. While they slept I checked their feet and hands and saw that they both had the small puncture scars that I had first observed on John. Burning with curiosity by now, I climbed onto the bed and wriggled myself between them. They showed no signs of waking from their deep sleep, so I tried to waken Smiley by tickling the soles of his feet. The skin of his soles was so thick, stiff and leathery, however, that he must have lost all sensitivity of touch there and my attempt to waken him in that way was unsuccessful. I then tried to wake him by playing with his long thin cock, now slack and hanging down with its tip touching the bed as he lay on his side. I was soon rewarded as his cock sprang to life, stiffening and swinging up parallel to the bed as it lengthened to bob against the ridged muscles of his lower belly with the quickening pulse of his blood. Soon a smile crept onto his face and his eyes flickered open as he awoke. He rolled over against me and lifted his leg over mine, slowly humping his now bone hard cock against my thigh as he reached over to clamp his work-roughened fingers around my own thickening shaft. I turned my attention to wakening Ballas in the same way that I had wakened Smiley. After another hour of great sex we lay together on my bed, myself in the middle and the boys on either side of me. I reached down and took Smiley's hand in mine, bringing it up in front of my face to look at it. I touched the small round scar in the middle of his palm with the forefinger of my other hand and asked him: `What is this from? I see you both have these marks on your hands and feet?' Smiley scowled and yanked his hand out of mine, putting it behind his back. Immediately a look of terror crossed his face. He quickly thrust his hand back in mine. `I'm sorry, Baba, forgive me, I forgot my place! Please forgive me, Baba!' I stroked his hand placatingly, and then I hugged him close to me. `That's okay, that's okay', I said gently, `You don't have to tell me about it if it causes you pain.' He flung his arm over my middle and hugged me tightly, nuzzling his shaggy blonde head against my chest, saying nothing. After a long while he released me and rolled back slightly. He raised his head. His deep blue eyes peered through his ragged blonde fringe and looked me earnestly in the eye. `I will tell you our story, Baba', he said. He sat up on the bed next to me on crossed legs and, as Ballas lay on the other side of me with his chin on my chest and one hand absently fiddling with my cock and balls, began to tell me the story.