Date: Sun, 28 Sep 2008 22:00:03 -0500
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthier@verizonmail.com>
Subject: Dangerous Game Pt 1

				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]