Date: Mon, 11 Aug 2003 18:05:22 +0100
From: Gerry Taylor <gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Kazakh's Story - Chapters 6 & 7

There are the 6th and 7th chapters of The Kazakh's
Story, a novel about slavery and gay sex in modern
times.

Key words: authority, control, loyalty, slavery,
punishment, re-training, and submission.

This story is entirely a work of fiction and all
rights to it and its characters are copyright, and
private to and reserved by the author. No
reproduction by anyone for any reason whatsoever is
permitted.

If you are underage to read this kind of material or
if this material is unlawful for you to read where
your live, please leave this webpage now.

eMail: gerrytaylor78@hotmail.com
Web:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Erotic_Gay_Stories

The Kazakh's Story by Gerry Taylor

Chapter 6 -- A first night

There are days you remember and days that you
don't. I will always remember my first night
in my Master's bed. We had gone to his room
together, at least for me to undress him.
Again, all his clothes of the day in a pile on
the floor. I will learn in time where the
laundry basket is.

That first night, I was well washed but
nothing more. While my Master had worked on
his papers, I had sprinted into my shower-
did you hear that - my shower! - and cleaned
myself up. There was one of those things
beside the toilet for cleaning up your hole,
but I did not dare use it on short notice. I
would need to try it out when I had the time.

But when my Master was finished with his phone
calls and papers, I followed him to his
bedroom. When naked, he stopped me from coming
into the bathroom. I think he preferred to
piss and shit on his own. When he came out, I
could smell mint of some sort. He had washed
his teeth! I had not!

Yuriy, you are a fool to hurry such things.
You must remember that you are here to please
the Master, not just your own whims. When had
I last washed my teeth? Three days ago, I
think. Will the Master notice? He noticed all
right.

The Master was limited on that first night to
what he could do or wanted to do, with only
one good arm, but it was an experience I shall
never, ever forget. He walked in from the
bathroom and climbed up on the bed. I was
standing there at rest at the end of the bed.
He patted the side of the bed beside him with
his left hand. How many times had I done that
to my military cot when a trembling city or
farm boy conscript was standing there for my
pleasure. Here the roles were reversed.

I got up on the bed beside him and with two
finger of his left hand, he pushed me back
down on the soft cover and the pillows which
were under my head. He wanted my arms over my
head and my legs slightly apart. My heart was
pounding and my eyes never left his face as I
tried to guess and second-guess his moves and
what was required of me. I found that the
Master could balance on the elbow of his right
arm but could not use the wrist or hand of the
arm itself, but his left arm was now over my
body just touching and feeling the warmth
emanating from me. I always seem to give off a
lot of heat. At least, that is what the lads
and Sergeiy have always said.

The Master's tongue is now touching my biceps
and working up toward my elbow, his left hand
just gently massaging a nipple. Suddenly I
give a jump as the Master's tongue touches
some spot in the crook of my elbow. The Master
smiles and says `One'. At least, that is what
I thought he said.

His tongue has come down my biceps where you
can see every single vein to perfection after
my five kilometre swim and now it is dangerous
close to my axilae. I am terribly ticklish and
what will the Master do if I jump up? But no,
he feels the tension building up in me, and
instead of licking my armpits, he is gently
biting them not with his teeth but with his
lips of all things. You can't bite with your
lips, yet he is doing it.

Oh, by the honour of the regiment where has he
touched in my armpit? I have felt a bolt of
electrical something run thought my entire
body and I groan at the pleasure of it. The
Master smiles not three inches from my face,
and says `Two'. He is counting!

I know the numbers in English. If he says,
three, I will know for definite that he is
counting, but what is he counting? My jumps?

His tongue is now working its way round the
hair in my armpits, but for some reason it is
not ticking me as it should. I should now be
on the floor thrashing about trying to get
away from the touch of anything...Oh by all the
saints, what was that he touched in my armpit.
Oh, please let him touch that spot again! I
hear `three'. Yes, the Master is counting and
it must be my jumps.

It is not fair to be talking about myself and
just about myself when I am in fact my
Master's slave and I should be worried and
concerned about my Master's pleasure. But my
Master was being just that on our first night
together. He was in charge. He was in control.
He was the authority in that bed. I was
submissive to his touches and caresses, to his
lips and to the fingers of his only good hand,
his left one.

The Master laughed and laughed when he sucked
my toes and I almost fell out of the bed I
jumped so high, but then I learned that
between each toe there lurked a secret place
when touched properly with a sucking mouth, as
like nothing on earth.

When the Master licked and sucked and rubbed
some spot just below the sternum of my middle
chest at the top of my belly so to speak, I
did not jump but groaned in the agony of
pleasure he was giving me.

He the Master was pleasuring the slave. The
slave whose job in life is to please the
Master, was being pleasured.

On that particular spot on my upper belly, I
had NOT had jumped, I had merely groaned as
wave after wave of pleasure ran through my
middle body. And the rouble dropped! The
Master was not counting my jumps, he was
counting my erogenous zones.

He was at twenty five and still counting. How
many zones does a man have? Will the night be
long enough for the all to be touched and
kissed and found and pleasured?

Is there a way of stopping time or clocks or
the motions of the moon and tides, so that
this wave after wave of pleasure can continue.
And the Master does not appear to be tiring?
He is like a person who is out shopping going
up and down the aisles of those big food
shops, touching this product, taking that
product, all the time moving on.

I would be totally remiss were I not to say
what happened when the Master said `thirty
four'. My hands were grasping the bedrail at
the top of the be for dear life. He had put
some white cream on the middle finger of his
left hand and had slide it up my chute.

This is supposed to hurt. I know when I did it
to the conscripts there was a fair bit of
shouting and crying out. But the Master's
finger laved my chute with this white cream,
and more white cream, and then a second finger
went in with the first. It should have been
hurting but it was not. I am twenty seven and
have never been stretched back there. I really
should have had an experience with a guy in my
late teens but never got around to it -- having
two girls on the fly at that time.

Then it happened. Somewhere inside me, deep
inside me by my reckoning, though afterwards
when we could speak of such matters, only
about three to four inches in, the Master's
finger made a direct hit on a spot and with a
shout that must have rocked the room, my body
literally left the bed. Had I not been holding
on to the bedrail, I certainly would have
fallen out.

By this stage, the Master had been touching
and kissing and caressing my body for about an
hour. It seemed with each minute to have been
a lot more, but it could not have been.

His sensitisation of my body was such that
when `34' was called out, he had hit my
prostate with his middle finger and literally
had sent me into orbit. For over thirty
minutes, following first contact with the
prostate, I whimper and begged for more, for
less, for sexual release, to stop, to
continue, to go harder, to go softer.

The Master was also gauging the reactions of
my cock, which had there been balalaika music
in the bedroom would have been conducting the
orchestra.

It was erect. It was hard. It was rock hard.
It was twisting to the right, to the centre,
to the left. The pressure inside me was such
on that such wonderful spot that I wanted time
and space to contact to expand, to do anything
it damned well pleased, as long as the
pleasure did not stop.

But finally stop it did. I looked at the
Master, a strange smile on his face. He closed
his eyes and put his head to one side to
indicate sleep. The Master was tired. He had
pleasured me. I had done nothing for him. I
was going to try and get up. His finger was
still so warmly embedded up my chute that I
never wanted it to come down again. But now
the Master took my cock in his mouth and right
on the spot which sends me over the top, just
behind the glans...yes, Master...oh, just there
Master...again, Master, just in that spot,
Master...the Master sucked the most tender skin
of my exposed cock head and with its hood
stretched way back down my shaft, the Trans-
Siberian bound for Vladivostok came roaring
out of the Urals, and my loads shot into the
Master's waiting throat.

I was physically shaking such was the force of
my sexual release. I was quite sure that my
legs would not have supported me on the floor
had I tried to stand but I had to do something
for the Master. I could not equal his skill,
his prowess, his technique in bed. I had but
one thing to offer my Master, which I never
offered to any man alive.

I turned over on my belly and raised my hips
high and spread my legs as wide as I could on
the soft quilt, and I offered my anal
virginity to the man who was now my one and
only Master. He had licked me there. He has
rimmed me there. He had fingered me there.

I wanted his manhood there, in my chute, there
where no one other had ever been.

But it was not to be. It was not that the
Master was not erect. He was rock hard, that I
could see. Maybe he was tired. Maybe his wrist
did not allow him to do what he wanted to do
whenever he would break me in and would rode
my virginity into past history.

But I felt, his two fingers on the upper arm,
and I let myself half-fall, half-roll over.
And with a circular motion of his fingers, the
Master indicated it would be another time,
another day.

The bed was a mess. I straightened out the
clothes on it and turned down the quilt. The
Master had gone into the bathroom and I heard
him piss again. He came out and firmly point
me to my bedroom. To MY bedroom.

My head touched the pillow, and it was
morning.

I had slept the sleep of the battle fatigued
soldier. My first thought was last night a
dream, but I touched the spots which my Master
had touched, some were still electric. When I
touched my chute, I nearly came there and then
and my erection was so hard that it was
hurting. If slaves were allowed to wank
themselves, I would have done it there and
then. But such is a Master's privilege.

The Master. The Master! Where is he? What time
is it? I rush to the door which adjoins our
bedrooms, but the Master is still asleep. It
is 04.35 according to the clock by his bed and
first light. I get up on the bed very quietly
and spoon him from behind. My arm embraces him
and rests over his chest. He breathes deeply
in his sleep and pushes back against my
morning hard-on, and breathes in and out
deeply in a restful sleep. He half-woke
twice, realised it was me beside him, half-
turned each time and gave me a kiss on the
forehead, in fact more on the eyebrow and
immediately fell back asleep.

I, Yuriy Obov, a slave, will watch over my
master, Jonathan Martin, in the early morning
light, and I ask myself, how can I server my
Master better today?

The Master disappeared, to work I presume, on
the second day of my being at his large home,
much the same as the first day. I did my
jobs. They were so easy. I did my five
kilometres in the pool and this time really
put my back into it as my drill sergeant used
yell. I ended up panting and out of breath
that end of my two hundred lengths. I would
never be so out of breath after five
kilometres of hill running. Is swimming a
harder exercise? Or am I out of condition for
continuous exercise? I must do better.

When it is 13.00 according to the Master's
bedroom clock, I go to the kitchen and I say
`good morning' to the Cook. I hope by being
polite he will remember maybe to feed me.

He points at the clock and has me repeat after
him `good afternoon'. I have to repeat it
various times but he is not satisfied. He
goes to the press and takes out my bag of
biscuits and shows me the half one left over
from yesterday and sighs deeply, shakes his
head and puts it back in the bag. He is about
to put the bag back in the press, when my
stomach rumbles loudly at the mere thought of
food, and Cook bursts out laughing.

He turns. The half biscuit is not in the bag
at all, but in his hand. He must be a
magician. He points to the floor and says
`good afternoon'. I sit saying `good
afternoon' in my best English and he gives me
the half biscuit.

Cook does not eat much during the day. In
fact, I do not see him eating really very much
at all. Today he seems to be preparing more
food than just for one. We peel and chop and
clean. He is a happy little man. When all is
ready, we go into the Master's eating area and
yes, I am correct, we set, rather I set,
places for two persons. He smiles at my
progress or at my memory, I know not which.

I have not been given the large knife to put
out. Cook hands me two identical strange
looking long flat blunt knives. I look at
them. Cook mimes that he is swimming. Ah,
the Master is going to eat fish and he will
use a different knife. How great it is to be
rich and to have two knives one for eating
meat and one for eating fish!

Cook brings me out to the outer courtyard and
hands me a different type of brush to the one
I have used for the leaves that morning. This
is for the dust in the courtyard and I set
about sweeping it all up. The Master must be
having someone important to dinner for all
this preparation.

Cook mimes that he is going to go to sleep for
an hour. So when I am finished in the yard, I
go back and have another swim, and this time I
really try to go fast. I love the feel of the
water on my naked body and particularly down
between my legs. It makes me feel alive.

I turn up in the kitchen again at 15.00 to see
what Cook is doing. Ah, he is starting to
prepare a cup of tea for himself, but he has
forgotten that he gave me a glass of water
yesterday. He motions me to go and sit in the
garden shade and when he comes out, he has his
tea in one had and my glass of water in the
other and a sprig of mint in it! I look in the
glass and there is ice. I smell the water and
there is lime in it. I am standing and I wait
for him to sit down, then I say `thank you'.
He makes me repeat it putting the stress on
the `thank' and not on the `you'. Cook is a
fine man and a good teacher. I sip my lime-
water, close my eyes and I could be anywhere
in the world!


Chapter 7 -- A good evening

When the Master returns at half past four, I
am there to meet him, and this time I say
clearly and without fear or stumbling, `Good
afternoon, Master' and he replies, `Good
afternoon, Yuriy.' My Master is such a
civilised man that he talks politely to
slaves. The driver call me over as there
were three boxes to be taken out of the boot
of the limousine. I take the largest one and
the driver follows with the smaller two boxes.

The Master has already gone upstairs and we
are to follow with the boxes, and go into his
bedroom. But the boxes he tells the driver at
not be left there but in my room.

I undress the Master or rather help him just
drop his clothes in a pile on the floor. He
takes a towel from the bathroom and wraps it
around his waist and I have to follow him out
and around and into the swimming pool area.

He drops the towel on a chair and jumps into
the water, surfaces like a dog and shakes the
water off his face and hair. I see that his
arm is in a new type of plaster which the
water is not harming. I am to get into the
pool with him at the side and he goes to one
end and waits for me to arrive. We are to
have a race!

The Master starts off but the plaster on his
arm makes his strokes very ungainly and off
balance. I barely propel myself through the
water using the frog stroke. Now the Master
has turned over and is only propelling himself
along with his feet and a one armed
backstroke. I do the same and he laughs when
he sees me doing it only with one arm.

When we get out, I carefully towel him down.
The arm is still very painful because at one
point he did something to it and I could see
the pain register on his forehead.

Having gone back to the bedroom, the Master
wanted to shave again, so I carefully wet and
lathered his face with shaving cream.

It was definitely the good work out earlier on
and the pleasant relaxing swim with the Master
just now, but as soon as I smelt the shaving
cream aroma, I knew I was in trouble. I
started to get a hard-on to beat all hard-ons.
You would think that I had not come in a week
and that last night had been a dream. The
Master accidentally compounded the matter when
he stretched up his chin for me to shave his
neck and he breathed out deeply. His breath
smelt of strong mint. Now I was in real
trouble. I could feel the hard-on beginning
to hurt and it was not even within the
confines of any clothes.

When we were finished the Master looked at me
and could not but help seeing my predicament.
He went over to the toilet bowl and took the
metal attachment from the wall. His foot
pressed a button on the floor and water
started to come out the top of the attachment.
He let the water run over the fingers of the
hand of his sore arm and the water tinkled
like piss into the toilet bowl.

With his head, he motioned me across and he
had me bend over. The backs of my legs were
against the toilet bowl and I was grasping my
knees at the back. The Master was going to
put that thing up my bum!

There was a slight push and it was in and then
I felt the flow of warm water. It just filled
me up and then some more. The pressure was
building up inside me. Oh Master, don't make
me hold on too long! I let a grunt, and the
nozzle was out of me. The Master's fingers on
my back pushed my bum onto the toilet bowl. I
did not need a written invitation, I can tell
you!

And then the Master did it again, for what I
would say about for about fifteen seconds. I
was poetry in motion sitting down on that
bowl, that was me!

The Master then held up a tube of something
which I did not recognise and gave it to me.
I was to put some of the clear gel like
substance on the Master's fingers which I did.
It was not like the white cream he had last
night. I think I got the message very quickly,
the Master was going to put his fingers up my
bum. Even the thought of anything going up
the Volga makes me clench so tight back there,
even though I had almost passed out with the
pleasure of it last night!

But the Master brought me into the bedroom and
had me kneel on the bed, with my ankles over
the side and my backside up in the air like a
baboon. He worked his middle finger in,
pausing, inserting, touching, pausing,
lubricating. I jerked when he touched my
prostate, as I now know it to be, which is
down and to the left in me. He did not touch
it again. I was kneeling there in passive
acquiescence to my Master.

The Master was now to take my virginity. He
separated my legs as far as they would go, and
put my two hands in the centre of my back. My
face and left cheek were touching the bed
clothes.

I did not resist my Master's entry which was
preceded by the light touch of his wet
cockhead on my flower bud centre. I could feel
that the Master was very hard and erect.
Holding my hands in the centre of my back in a
sort of inverted handshake, the Master
positioned himself, or rather his cock, and
with one firm thrust he was sliding inside
me.

They say that such penetrations hurt. His
penetration of me did not. There was no
pushing or shoving or groaning or grunting.
The Master's hand grasped mine firmly and I
moaned a little, but it was the moan of an
unusual feeling of intrusion, not that of
pain. He set up a gentle motion, never fully
coming out, but letting the tightness of my
anal passage and rectum beyond feel the
fullness of his cock's six inch circumference
and its seven and a half inch length.

The Master kept up this thrusting action for
some minutes and then the something magic
happened, the muscles of my chute just
relaxed. Just relaxed like that. It was as
if a switch was thrown which said don't be
tight, don't be afraid, don't clench, and I
and they did not.

The Master now directed all his thrusts down
towards the left and soon I was ecstatic. He
was hitting my prostate each time. His
breathing became ragged at the same time as
mine, but the Master had better control in
holding his emission and I unleashed the pent-
up semen in my balls in five or six gushes
which I could see looking right under me
splattering even the Master's thighs. My cries
of pleasure I could not hold on to them and
echoed around the room. I felt the Master's
cock grow inside me and he shot various loads
of his seed into to me.

The Master flipped me over with his good and
waddled up my body with his knees on either
side of my chest. I was perspiring like in the
desert of the border foothills of Kazakhstan
and my sweat was making body slick, though the
room was not hot. The Master slipped his still
dripping cock, wet with his own cum and my own
tastes and the remnants of the gel like
substance into my mouth. I sucked the Master
clean as if I were licking the palm of his
hand and not his most intimate and prized
physiological possession. I was so happy at
pleasing my Master that I let my tongue do an
extra little dance under his frennulum.

Our sex was over. The Master had taken my
anal virginity and I had loved it. I had
loved him in me and his shooting of his seed
up my tightness.

The Master reached across to the digital cloak
and set the alarm. He spooned up with me
behind him, and simply fell asleep. He would
tell me afterwards when I could speak the
language, that this was the `after-sex sleep
of lovers'.

It was only five thirty and I did not sleep as
I just held on to my Master and marvelled at
the smoothness and paleness of his skin
thought his tan. I memorised the curve of his
neck and the shape of his ears, and then the
alarm went and it was six o'clock.

The Master jumped up and literally ran into
the shower. Before I could set it properly,
the Master was under a hard cold spray and
pulled me under it as well, as much to say,
`if I have to do it, so do you.'

The Master was dressed carefully for dinner,
and putting on his watch, indicated that I
should leave him. I pointed to the boxes
still unopened in my room, and he remembered.
He told me to open the largest one, and I
understood the meaning of his gesture if not
the words.

It was a TV, no, it was a video monitor. The
second box contained a VCR with a remote
control and the third box, twenty videos and
twenty books. He held up the first book and I
saw the word ENGLISH. The Master had bought
me videos to learn English, and a video and a
VCR! No one ever had spent that amount of
money on me. Not even the glorious army when
I was made Captain and I received two fine new
uniforms!

The Master handed me a white book of
instructions in many languages set up the
video and I saw that one of the languages was
Russian. But I am Speznaz -- special forces -
and have assembled Kalashnikovs blindfolded
and even hanging upside down from a beam, I
could have assembled that video and VCR by
touch alone! I turned to say thank you to the
Master but he was gone, so I assembled the
monitor and the machine and left it ready for
whenever I was supposed to use it.

I actually moved it five or six times to see
the best angle of it. Would I sit on the
floor when viewing it, or on the bed, or
should I sit at all? The decisions that I
would have to make in learning English for my
Master!

There was nothing else to do, so I went across
to the kitchen and as it was just seven, I
was given my two biscuits. I noticed that
Cook barely gave me a glance as he followed
the bubblings of his pots and pans. I did
notice that I got my water in a plastic cup
and that the driver ran his hand through my
closely cropped hair. He gave me a thumbs up
sign and pointed to the courtyard. I think I
was doing part of his former duties and he was
pleased with how I did it.

I had nothing else to do until the Master
called me so I went back to the pool area to
do some of the Kazakh Air Force Academy
exercises. If only I could remember them all,
and I tried to visualise my old drill
instructors and the sequence of exercises
which they had put us through. Some of the
exercises are little more than high stepping,
but other can take your breath away. As I had
time on my hands, I did double each exercise
that would normally be done.

I was in the middle of a routine when the
driver came in and clapped his hands
indicating that I was to come with him
quickly. I hear the word `Master' and that
was enough. I was off at a trot after the
driver.

The Master's guest had arrived and they were
having drinks. I was still perspiring lightly
from my exercises, though I heard the word
`swim' and I realise that the Master was
telling his guest I had been at the pool.

The Master indicated to me to go close to his
guest and then to kneel down beside him. He
said something else to me which I did not
understand and he opened his mouth wide. I
did likewise. The guest had leant forward
and was looking in my mouth. He was a man in
his fifties, I would say, and looked fit and
professional with closely cut grey hair. He
said, "Ah" and I spoke back to the
international language of doctors with my own
`Aaaah". He had produced a small brown stick
and was now looking closely at my teeth, gave
me a pat on the shoulder. I looked at the
Master who indicated at me to get up and to
leave.

I waited in the kitchens until the meal was
over. Various plates had been brought in and
served by both Cook and the driver. As the
used items came, I put them into a washing
machine for plates and glasses. This house
has every type of gadget! Finally, the meal
was over and the guest had departed, and I was
called to the Master.

The Master was tired. I have said that he
goes to bed early, I think, because he gets up
early. But tonight, he was tired and I
thought he merely wished to go to sleep. He
got on his bed and lay back his beautiful body
displaying his egg sized balls and a firm cock
which had been so skilfully used earlier on
that evening.

With his left hand, the Master signalled my
room and then his bed, and then made that
gesture with his head which meant that he did
not know what I wanted. The Master was
letting me choose where I slept that night! I
bounced in one leap onto his bed.

That night the Master put me through my paces
in bed. That night I yelled and gasped in
ecstasy more than any other night and the
Master have found that of all my spots, my
choad is becoming a delight to lick and to
tease.

He took me for the first time on my back and
made me keep eye contact with him at all
stages so that, I think, he could judge my
reactions and his own success in performance.
My muscular legs rested lightly on my
shoulders, and me took him harder than the
previous night He stayed hard for so long that
I thought it impossible.

He flipped me over onto my knees and took me
doggie style which allowed him some very hard
penetrations. I thing that the Master likes
me best when my legs are back over my head and
my powerful buttock muscles cannot protect my
arse hole.

But he smiles when my legs are splayed wide on
my hands and knees and my pink asshole is
being well and truly furrowed and ploughed. I
find myself grunting a lot at the force of my
insertions, but I have never made a complaint
or effort to have the Master stop, which he
does at his own time and pace.

That evening however, I looked the Master in
the eyes and putting a hand on his chest, I
pushed him back onto the bed, he has half
twisted around me, but I then put my knees on
either side of his hips. The Master's cock had
not gone down. Sitting astride him, I reached
back and took it in my hand and brought it to
full erection, Then kneeling upright I brought
my portal of delight down to the Master's
cockhead and started to let the weight of my
own body force it inside myself.

The flange went in. I felt a bead of sweat
running down the side of my face, which must
have been a study in concentration. Little by
little, I lowered myself onto my girthed 16
centimetres of hard cock. The Master did not
move a muscle. This was my true act of
submission, of impaling on the altar of
worship.

All of two long minutes later, the Master was
fully inside me as a result of my own
manoeuvrings. For the next fifteen minutes, I
raised and lower himself on his manhood and I
feasted of his virile strength, that is until
I started to clench and relax my sphincter
muscles. That sent the Master over the edge
inside me.

When the Master was spent, I became inventive
and massaged his body for over an hour using a
combination of touch, frottage and light
unscented oil I had found in the Master's
bathroom. This is something that my Irina once
done to me and which left me in love with her
for life.

But as they say one favour deserves another.
That night, I had not ejaculated at all
despite over two hours of intensive love
making, so the Master took my ever still erect
cock in his mouth and working his tongue along
my glorious flange and frennulum, within
minutes I was clutching the bed clothes as I
groaned in pre-ejaculation ecstasy.

When I shot it was like my previous eruption
in the limousine, copious, pulse after pulse
which a less experienced lover than my Master
would have failed to cope with.

The Master also discovered another thing after
I had come. The tip of my entire penis is
extremely sensitive, so he took it again in
his mouth and every fifteen seconds or so ran
his tongue over and around it. I was half-
sitting up in the bed, my back hard up against
the top of the bed and the wall as if trying
to escape through the brickwork, as the Master
sucked away so sensitive was the cock-head.

When he raked his teeth lightly over my
cockhead, it was as if I had been given an
electric shock and I shuddered and erupted yet
again.

That night I learned to be submissive to my
Master's wishes, and when he made as if to
suck my cock head again yet again, I shook my
head so violently with a `No, Master. No,
Master' that the Master had to laugh. I would
not think that he have had the energy anyway.

Now the Master snuggled back and into the
curve of my body. I daringly put my arm over
his belly and then moved it down and lightly
held his cock. He looked back over his
shoulder at me, one eye closed and one eye
open as if quizzing me, breathed deeply and
was asleep, just like that!

I held the Master's organ warm in my hand
until I too fell asleep. The Master moving
woke me up and it was already morning!



That morning was very strange. When I had
breakfast, I was given only half a single
biscuit and a lot of water. I was told to go
and swim. This I did. At least an hour
later, my stomach rumbling its protests, the
driver came looking for me. The Master wanted
me. My stomach rumbled yet again when I went
in. The smell of the cup of coffee at his
elbow was sufficient to make it go on me yet
again. The Master got up and said, "Come,
Yuriy,' and he patted my stomach and said,
`ok, ok' with a smile.

The Master led me out to the outer courtyard
where there was a very large white lorry. The
man who had been at dinner walked down out of
the back of it. He was now dressed in green
just like a surgeon in a hospital. What was
the Master going to do to me? Or have that man
do to me?

We walked round the back of the lorry, and my
mouth must have dropped open. It was a
dentist's surgery where everything looked as
if it had just been unwrapped that very day,
and in the middle of it, a large blue seat.
The dentist pointed to the seat with his hand
and I went and sat in it. I wanted to look at
the Master, but he was behind the dentist. I
just don't like dentists. I don't trust them.

The Master came to my side, and said `Ok,
Yuriy? Ok?' and gave me a thumbs up sign. I
nodded and gave him back a thumbs up sign, but
I did not want to open my mouth under any
circumstances.

The dentist came over to me and I cold feel
the cool leather of the seat on my body.
There was air-conditioning on in the lorry.
Next minutes I heard Beethoven's Pastoral work
played. I know Beethoven when I hear it. The
dentist put a white mask over my nose and face
and the dentist's surgery faded away.



I opened my eyes to find myself riding over
the steppes in early spring. I knew it was
spring because of the flowers. The horse
underneath me was running fast and furious.
Why was I riding him bollocks naked? The sun
was up in the morning sky, I shaded my eyes to
look at it, and when I looked down from its
glare, who was in the saddle in front of me
but my Sergeiy Ivanovich, and he turned and
smiled and his laughter rang in my ears and
out over the steppes.

But he was not just in the saddle in front of
me, I was in him and up him, and as we rode
mile after mile the pounding of the horse's
hooves drove me harder and deeper into my
beautiful Sergeiy's posterior.

Suddenly, there is another horse and rider
coming down from the right, through the long
grasses and soon we are racing along at a
breakneck pace. I am alive and laughing at
the sheer joy of the day and the race.

I look across at the other rider and see the
smiling face of my Master, Jonathan Martin.
How can it be? How can he be out on the
steppes with me? I look away to see where we
are going, and my Sergeiy Ivanovich is no
longer in the saddle in front of me. I feel
that I am now forward in the saddle, that
someone is holding me tight, that I have been
entered, not violated, but filled and warmed
with every nerve ending crashing a symphony of
ecstatic feelings. I look over my shoulder to
see who is behind me and it my Master,
Jonathan. But that is not possible, he should
be on the other horse!

When I look at the rider of the other horse,
it is now my Sergeiy Ivanovich, and he is
smiling and laughing. I know it is he because
he has his hand on his chest over his heart
and his index and middle fingers are
intertwined, Yuriy over Sergeiy, Sergeiy under
Yuriy... and his horse veers away through the
blue and pink flowers in the long grasses and
soon he is lost from my sight.


To be continued ...