Date: Tue, 27 Feb 2007 05:38:36 -0500
From: carl_mason@comcast.net
Subject: INDOMITABLE SPIRIT - 4

INDOMITABLE SPIRIT - 4

Copyright 2007 by Carl Mason

All rights reserved.  Other than downloading one copy for strictly personal
enjoyment, no part of this story may be reproduced or transmitted in any
form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, except for reviews, without
the written permission of the author.  However based on real events and
places, "Indomitable Spirit" is strictly fictional.  Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.  As in real life, however, the sexual themes unfold
gradually.  Comments on the story are appreciated and may be addressed to
the author at carl_mason@comcast.net

If you would like to read additional stories by this author, please turn to
the "Authors/Prolific Authors" link at the beginning of the Nifty Archive.

This story contains descriptions of sexual contact between males, both
adults and teenagers.  As such, it is homoerotic fiction designed for the
personal enjoyment of legal, hopefully mature, adults.  If you are not of
legal age to read such material, if those in power and/or those whom you
trust treat it as illegal, or if it would create unresolvable moral
dilemmas in your life, please leave.  Finally, remember that maturity
generally demands safe sex.


CHAPTER 4

(Revisiting Chapter 3)

When their basic training was completed, concern shifted to how best to
reintroduce the boys.  The two coaches agreed completely.  After supper one
night, they were simply moved to a room in a new building that neither had
seen before.  As Mike entered the room and saw Larry, the two of them stood
facing each other for, perhaps, a full minute.  Their lips open, they ran
their hands over the other's face and collapsed into tears, smiles, and
laughter.  Before the evening was out, they had come together in passionate
sex.  The staff allowed them two weeks working and living together before
they were turned over to the buyer, a planter who owned vast properties on
an autonomous island in the Indonesian archipelago.

(Continuing Our Story - Dirck Van Klaassen)

>From the moment they awoke in the steamy shack on the Eiland van Scheuren
[Island of Tears] in the South Pacific, the boys agreed that the Dutch
planter had to be the most vile human being they had ever met.  In the
first place, he was personally a pig.  Most of his day was spent slumped in
a chair on the open porch, his ample stomach usually rumbling from misuse.
His cheap, partially open shirt was stained and blotched with remnants of
his last bottle of Genever [Dutch gin, more like a juniper-flavored schnaps
than the English variety] and God knows what else.  Despite the impossibly
hot and humid climate, he never seemed to wash and, hence, smelled like a
particularly cheap gin mill.  Secondly, he was anything but humane in his
treatment of the (mostly Asian) slaves who worked the fields that supplied
the Indonesian capital of Jakarta with coffee and most of its vegetables.
He could act as he would, for the island was an autonomous part of the
nation that had been the Dutch East Indies before World War II.  On Eiland
van Scheuren, in short, he was God, albeit a boozy, disgusting, and
inhumane god.

The boys met him as they awoke from the drugged air freight trip via Aruba
in the Dutch Caribbean.  He had opened the wooden crates, but he had
neither released them from their bonds nor sponged away the sweat and dirt
that clogged their skin.  Rather, as they gradually came to, he sat beside
the bed simply watching them with his lecherous little pig eyes.  They were
first aware of him when he fondled their awakening bodies, delighting in
the flesh that he had seen advertised in the videotape and pictured in the
reports from the Caribbean.  It had been so long since beauty had been seen
in this hellhole at the end of the earth!  These fourteen-year-olds were
everything that the advertising said they were...and more.  The price had
been outrageous, but that was the way of the world.  It was a
once-in-a-lifetime expenditure.

"Goede dag, de heer," [Good day, sir] Mike managed to rasp through his
phlegm-filled throat and cracked lips.  "Good day to you, Michael," Van
Klaassen replied.  "Here, let me remove those ties on both of you.  When he
had completed that task, he went into the bathroom and fetched glasses of
water and a pan of cool water with which he sponged the boys down.  "Oh,
sir, that feels so great," Larry whispered, aware that their new owner had
noticed his growing erection.  "Good!" the Dutchman responded, lifting the
boy's heavy scrotum and balls.  As Larry raised his muscular legs, he
sponged the hidden areas of his body.  "UH-H-H..." the boy moaned as his
new owner leaned down and took the beautiful piece of flesh into his mouth.
When he had enjoyed his snack, he wouldn't move away for a second until the
lads had showered and he had rimmed Mike and then nearly pounded him into
the thin mattress.

As he made ready to leave the room, he suddenly stood and mumbled, "Do not
think for an instant, my young ones, that this will be a vacation.  I have
heavy responsibilities for you, and there are also my own needs.  If,
however, you obey instantly and without question, if you give everything
you have - reserving nothing - to each task, I think we will get along...at
least most of the time.  When you have completed your toilet, come out onto
the porch and I shall set some food before you."  With that, he turned on
his heels and departed the room.

"Cleaning up" in this climate obviously presented its problems.  The boys
would no sooner wash and dry themselves off than the sweat would again be
pouring down their bodies - or their hair, carefully combed, would be
plastered against their skulls.  It was one of those times when they were
delighted they didn't have to contend with clothing!  Nevertheless, having
done their best, they headed out to the porch.  The scene was idyllic...in
a 1930s colonial sort of way.  The furniture was all made of a heavy rattan
finished to a golden hue; the fabrics were of intense colors and
interesting materials, probably handmade.  Great overhead fans kept the
breeze moving, such breeze as existed on the rim of a valley spotted with
laborers at work.  A delicious luncheon had been laid out by an old Malay
servant, including an unfamiliar meat, a delightful cold vegetable salad,
and a hearty bread.  It was followed by a fruit compote. One could choose
either Dutch beer or a bit of Genever.  Watching Klaassen down half a glass
of the latter, Mike actually tried a sip.  WHOA!  That stuff was deadly and
clearly deserved respect!  He'd stay with beer or a little water in the
future.  He did ask their new owner about the meat which he found tasty, if
a bit tough.  "Oh, yes," he chortled, "meet the old man of the forest
himself, Mijnheer Orangutan [Mister Orangutan].  Personally, I think the
natives taste better and they're sure a hell of a lot more tender, but you
know..."  Mike and Larry were already coughing into their napkins,
wondering which was worse: eating an endangered primate or tasting human
flesh!  "Don't be so horrified!"  the Dutchman continued.  "When an
orangutan is killed or when an illegal cannibal feast is interrupted by my
police, I have the meat delivered here...for variety.  Just be careful
where you go walking on this island.  All is not as it seems and, frankly,
I'd much rather have you in my bed than on my table!"

Lunch completed, discussion continued over coffee and, of course, more
Genever.  Van Klaassen was painfully clear.  He had strong sexual needs and
he was thoroughly tired of natives - and the grade of whites that you could
purchase in these islands.  He expected 24/7 service of highest quality and
without question.  The boys knew they could deliver, although they would
have much preferred delivering to "Coach" than to Van Klaassen!  The other
part of his program was more promising.  With heavy colonial naivete, the
boss expounded on how the native workers always had to be watched.  They're
like little children . . . " he droned on endlessly.  (Mike and Larry
almost retched, proud that the Civil Rights struggle had already borne some
fruit in their native land.)  "We are actually doing them a service when we
correct them," he continued.  "If they, or at least their children, are
ever to get a decent job in their country, many changes are needed in their
attitude and production.  And that, gentlemen, is going to be your job!
Soon you are going to be my head overseers!"  Michael gulped.  Since
reading UNCLE TOM'S CABIN in English, the character Simon Legree had
disgusted him, even a overseer-grade Simon Legree!  (Author's Note: Simon
Legree was the vicious slave owner in this pre Civil War novel that had a
major effect on abolitionist sentiment in the North.  It was his overseers
who killed Uncle Tom.)

(The Far Side of the Island)

"Do not think me naive," Van Klaassen continued with a sneer.  "At your
age, I realize few whites will have learned the skills of keeping natives
in check and productive.  Therefore, I am going to send you to the other
side of the island to serve under two of my most effective overseers.  They
will be told only that you have been bought as slaves and that I want you
shaped up.  They're not perfect.  All too often, they kill the errant slave
rather than correcting him and returning him to productivity.
Nevertheless, you will learn much in the only way that you can possibly
learn.  You must learn, for I can't always be around to protect you.  There
are things on this island about which we shall speak later."

The boys had some real doubts about this one, but, after all, they had
opted for life with all of its uncertainties.  They could have hung it up a
long time ago.  In the morning, therefore, they accepted being shackled and
loaded aboard an old truck that headed for the highlands on the far side of
the island.  After a trip of several hours, they finally reached a
mountainous area, the hillsides of which were planted with coffee trees
under the protection of much larger shade trees.  The area was a beehive of
activity wherein the red beans, the island's most productive cash crop,
were being picked selectively as they ripened by hundreds of slaves and
dried.  They were not impressed by the two men who awaited them at the
overseers' camp.  Words such as powerful, cruel, greasy, dangerous, stupid,
and the like ran through both their minds as they were tossed down onto the
ground from the back of the truck.

"Ah, look at the little boys that they're sending us these days," the one
who carried a coiled whip on his belt sneered.  "Yeah, boss," the second
man, an Asian, chortled, as he removed the ties from the boys arms and
ankles.  "You!" the boss said, pointing to Mike.  "I like that blond hair,
Chang!  That's the sign of a good fuck.  But where's the rest of it?  He's
got less hair than my old woman!  Bend over, you whore!"  With no further
chitchat, he opened his pants, grabbed Mike's hips, and vigorously fucked
him, contemptuously kicking the boy down onto ground when he was finished.
"Cheap goods," he sneered.  "Chang, take this whore up onto #3 and get him
and his little girlie pal to work."

Tears came to his eyes, but Mike had learned something: Sex could be used
to hurt.  Concealing his support, Larry squeezed his buddy's arm to let him
know he was there for him as he helped him to make it up the hill.  Before
the light waned, the boys were barely able to drag themselves around, let
alone the heavy bags filled with the raw coffee.  This was indeed the
island's main cash crop.  Only the ripe "cherries" were harvested, i.e.,
picked individually by hand.  Pickers rotated among the trees every 8-10
days, choosing only the cherries that were at the peak of ripeness.  It was
not an inexpensive operation, but, then, the prices charged for the coffee
weren't low either!

The day wasn't over for many of the slaves.  In order to prevent the
cherries from spoiling, the contents of the sacks had to be immediately
spread out on large surfaces to dry in the sun.  (The planter also used
great heated drying barrels, but his finest coffee was processed by hand at
every stage of its development.)  After they had been raked and turned
throughout the day, then covered at night, or if it rained, to prevent them
from getting wet.  Depending on the weather, this process might continue
for several weeks for every batch of coffee.  When the moisture content of
the cherries dropped to eleven percent, the dried cherries were moved to
warehouses and stored.

As they came down off the hill for the final time, the boys were not
allowed to go to their shacks and either collapse from fatigue or fix a
simple supper.  Rather, the head overseer called them out of the line and
put them to work raking the great field of cherries one more time.
Frankly, Larry was alarmed when he saw the look on the overseer's face.  He
had seen more than one higher status male take an instant dislike to
another male and make his life a hell.  In his eighth grade, it might have
been due to the other male having suddenly grown taller, or having suddenly
developed larger equipment.  Envy, fear of losing status, just plain
cussedness - there could have been so many reasons.  In any case, as the
alpha male approached, he remembered the heavy musk smell as many of the
eighth graders began licking their lips and yelling, "Fight!  Fight!
Fight!"  With adults, particularly big and mean, ones with power, the
potential outcomes were even less desirable and fraught with danger for
everyone.  On this late afternoon, Larry saw it coming as the overseer made
his way slowly behind Mike whose attention was fixed on the task of getting
all of the cherries turned over.  Suddenly, he reversed the heavy wooden
rake that he was carrying and jammed the handle into Mike's spine, knocking
him flat on his face among the cherries.  The overseer then proceeded to
work the end of the handle well up into Mike's ass, ever- deeper, up and
down, back and forth as if it were a heavy and particularly thick cock.
The fact that the lad writhed and screamed in pain made no difference.  If
anything, it increased the overseer's vigorous thrusting and the pleasure
stamped on his face and in his posture.  Finally, he pulled the bloody end
of the rake handle out of Mike and disgustedly gestured for Larry to take
him away.

It wasn't over when Larry half-carried, half-dragged the sobbing boy back
into camp.  As they struggled past, Chang tripped Larry.  Standing
threateningly over the lads who sprawled in the dust, he snarled to those
around them, "I don't think this crap is with the system.  They've been
trying to get others to do their work all afternoon.  Guess it's time to
give them a little taste of the feeding tree!  'Berto!  Han!  String the
big one up in the tree.  If our friend, the old leopard hasn't been able to
hunt, maybe he'll take our offering and leave the workers alone!"  Larry
stood guard over his buddy throughout the night.  He didn't know about
leopards, but he was getting a good education about human predators in this
part of the world!  In the light of a half moon at about 2:00 am, he
watched a native approach.  In his hand he carried the paw of a dead big
cat, its vicious claws unsheathed; in the other, a wicked looking knife.
He never made it closer than ten yards from Mike.  It was the first time
the boy had killed, let alone killed another human being.  In truth, he did
not overly regret it in this case.

That, of course, was not an end of the "welcome" that Mike and Larry
received.  They were whipped; they were starved when they refused to play
the overseers' favorite game, fighting for food at chow call.
Nevertheless, the week finally came to an end.  The two overseers saw the
boys off, as they had welcomed them...by raping them.  As they tossed their
bound bodies on the truck, they yelled, "Be sure to tell the boss that we
can shape people up!  Tell him that we'll restore the coffee production in
no more than one more year!  At least the boys knew that they could not
treat other human beings as they had been treated.  Further, in the long
run it not only failed to produce profit, but it actually reduced profit!
Other than that, however, what the overseers said held little interest.  It
was now clear that the planter had not concealed their status from them.
Thus, he was personally responsible for much, if not most, of the treatment
they had experienced!  As they bounced along in the truck, they wondered
how in hell to get out of this mess.

For some unknown reason, the planter left them alone for several days.  He
wasn't around when the ate; he didn't claim his rights over their bodies.
When he did finally speak with them, his face was solemn.  "I have decided
that you two are dangerous," he muttered.  "I can't have people around who
are both disloyal to me and capable of killing.  I have decided to sell
you.  None of my friends want you around either, so I'm going to loose tens
of thousands of gulden."  His voice quivered with self-pity.

Larry interrupted him, saying that he wasn't necessary for him to sustain a
sizable loss.  As the pig's eyes lit up, he continued, "If you act within
the next few days, it should be possible for you to resell us to the
Institute from which you bought us - and for close to what you spent.  I do
not know for sure, but I suspect that you paid hundreds of thousands of
dollars for each of us.  If you wait, however, or if more damage is done to
us, we will soon be worthless."  "Go," the planter said.  "Do not let me
see your sorry faces until I discover what can be done."

The boys never saw him again.  One day they were simply shown to the
basement by the old Malay retainer.  Two wooden boxes awaited them.

(In Transit - South Florida)

Both Mike and Larry initially thought they were in transit back to the
Caribbean island...  and Coach, probably having made a stop in Aruba.
Given their one quick glance at the pastel houses, that wasn't the worst
possible guess.  In fact, they had been returned to Institute headquarters
in South Florida.  Following several conferences with Institute personnel,
they were soon moved to an isolated beachfront estate on the way to Key
West for an intensive reconditioning program.

Having just concluded a rigorous workout in the gymnasium, the boys were
lounging on the terrace that overlooked the water.  Suddenly, there was a
knock on the frame of the double door in back of them.  A young attendant
appeared and asked them to report to the Director.  As they entered, the
Director, still punching some numbers into his PC, nodded for them to take
seats.  "I have the feeling that you boys would like to get back to work,"
the Director finally remarked as he put his notes away.  "Well, it's time.
The Board has approved the sale of your contract to a German Count who
lives on Croatia's Dalmatian Coast. We trust that it will prove a much
happier match than your previous assignment in Indonesia.  The Board
cleared you of any culpability in that unhappy situation, by the way."

They would leave the United States just weeks after the midpoint of Mike's
sixteenth year.


To Be Continued