Date: 11 May 2000 09:49:55 -0700
From: poondu@members.gayweb.com
Subject: Sailing With Seven

                     Sailing With Seven

            by Thole <poondu@members.gayweb.com>


I remember one time up in the mountains of New Hampshire; was right
in the middle of one hellacious August thunderstorm, rain coming down
so you couldn't see the road. I managed to pull off in a little rest
area; thought I'd set a spell and have some ice cream, cup of tea,
let the storm blow over. I like rain. Especially the soft quiet kind
that falls of a summer evening, nice to sleep out in. But this thing
was a gully washer, not the kind of rain you'd want to be out hiking
in. Sure 'nuff, just as I was getting into the ice cream these two
bedraggled kids come out of the woods at the trail head and ducked
under the picnic table shelter. They dropped their packs on the table
and sat there shivering. Weren't wearing but shorts and sweaters from
what I could see. I gave a little toot on the air horn and waved to
them from the open door. They did the smart thing leaving their packs
on the table and ran for my door. They got as far as just inside the
door when I told them to leave off all their wet stuff and I'd get
them a towel. Well it sort of surprised me that they were so willing
and quick but it didn't take more than a minute before they were both
standing in my galley shivering in their skysuits. I told them as I
gave them a blanket that I'd not seen that particular style of
skysuit since I was 14 myself. Well they chuckled over that all the
way through two cups of hot cocoa each.

By then the rain had let up some and they were sort of hemming and
hawing about getting started. They had a ways to go to where they
could camp that night and on top of that if they had anything dry at
all it was outside in their packs. Well I hadn't much in the way of
plans, could park right there for the night as well as anywhere else;
so I told 'em they might just dash out there and get their kit and
then they could bunk with me that night and dry off proper. So they
did.

Two boys traveling like they were would normally be fair game for my
business but I'd noticed the summer's marks burned into their nates
and wordlock each wore on their calf. They weren't behaving like
runaways so more'n likely they already belonged to somebody and he
quite likely knew just where they were.  Besides, I had an
appointment up the road a piece for a black market purchase and
having these two around would only complicate matters especially if
they were runaways.

Its a complicated matter you see. The State regulates the raising and
selling of boys but there is a sizeable black market as well and
that's where I come in. Most boys are grown on farms; that's all they
do, crank out boys for the legit slave market. Outside of that, in
the population at large, only a certain number of free births are
allowed and a license costs the woman a finger; the birth, if it is
successful, costs her another finger as well. So you can see that
there is a ready supply of boys for my trade. Otherwise any
unlicensed birth will be fed back to the protein recycler for organ
recovery. Its a risky business for the mothers and my kind. They have
to keep the kid under wraps and well fed until they're old enough for
my clientele; that usually takes five to seven years. The key
difference between a black market boy and a farm raised lad is balls.
Except for their breeding stock the farms castrate what they send to
the slave market.

When the two lads returned with their packs I cranked up the heat and
helped them sort through their kit and spread out what needed drying.
The boys introduced each other finally. The older one said the
other's name was Telemon, his bathboy. The younger responded to the
cue by telling me his master was named Thole, their master's
catamite. I greeted them in the proper manner by yanking twice on
their cocks but left myself unnamed for the present.

--My master has given us leave, Thole said, to roam the woods for a
few weeks before we are needed to prepare for winter. He has placed
us at the service of whomever should give us aid.

Well spoken lad I thought, must have a good master who cares for him
more than just as a catamite. I prepared some grub and the boys sat
with me to eat; then I prevailed upon their service to do the
cleaning while I moved the bus to a better location. They were still
running around naked, as is the way with boys of their social class,
and since I enjoyed looking at them there was no need to comment on
it. The rest area was deserted and after twilight set in I suggested
we take a swim in the river that came down from the hills they had
been hiking in.

During swim I could tell from their whispering they were interested
in the fact that I had no summer's marks. These are hash marks that
are cut or burned into a slave-boy's arse at the ceremony of mid
summer day. Slave-boys don't celebrate birthdays. Thole had thirteen
scars, his bathboy had eleven. These boys were in their prime, most
of their kind did not survive beyond fifteen or eighteen summers.

When we returned to the bus the sky was dark and I invited the boys
to have a glass of wine with me before we went to bed. I stayed
undressed now and went about shutting down the systems we would not
need for the night. Following the wine and some idle chatter we went
aft to the sleeping loft where I told my guests I would partake of
their service once more. It was almost like I had turned a switch;
both boys were erect in a moment, Thole knelt and kissed my cock and
his bathboy followed. Thole asked what service they could perform for
my enjoyment and I replied that I wanted to watch them demonstrate
their knowledge and capabilities; I wanted them to do a slow dance of
the things they knew to do for each other. But first I wanted to rub
their lovely bodies with scented oil and have them do likewise to
mine.

Telemon went first. Thole on one side, I on the other; we laid the
youth on his front and rubbed the warm scented oil into his back and
legs until he glowed in the candle light of the loft. He was pliant
as a sapling, supple as well cared leather, and when we turned him
over his erection was exquisite even for its lack of balls.

Thole went next. They were a well matched pair and I wondered what
history they shared. When we turned him over I worked the oil into
his crotch and discovered one gonad held up snugly in a scared
scrotum. I caressed it gently and the boy smiled.

--I saved one from the cutter jaws, he said.

It was quite a performance. Thole started at the feet of his young
friend and mostly using his tongue and finger tips caressed his way
to the boys head.  Telemon responded with a sinuous writhing and soft
ululations. At one point on the way up he took Thole's cock in his
arse but only for a moment. Then they were standing face to face,
hands on each other's heads, cocks fencing. Now it was Telemon's turn
to do the stimulating and he worked over Thole's body from top to
bottom; on the way by he took the boy's cock into his mouth this time
but again only for a moment. When he reached Thole's feet he was
kneeling and his face was on the bed; he lifted Thole's right foot
and ended his part of the dance by placing the foot on his head in a
gesture of submission. Now Thole continued by taking the boy's hands
away from his foot and raising the lad to his knees and placing
Telemon's hands on his thighs he put his own hands on the slave's
head and guided the mating of cock to mouth for a climax. Thole's
orgasm was self controlled and protracted; Telemon, his own body
thrusting in sympathy, was unfulfilled as he sucked and swallowed his
little master's cum. Telemon sat back and Thole, one hand still on
this slave's head, turned to me and bowed low.

--Now I will be yours, Thole said, as I am for my master and you may
have Telemon as well if you will for his hardness awaits relief.

The two sat by me and proceed to pet and manoeuvre me. We rolled on
the bed and changed positions. Thole guided me into his arse as I
found Telemon to suck on and at the same time he was finding Thole
ready again to mate with his mouth. Their master was a man of good
taste and compassionate as well.

But Telemon did not relax from the rigidity of his orgasm. His
erection remained hard, his eyes staring, distant; his body, though
stiff, would twitch as if in a dream he would rather escape. Thole
said he would get that way at times.

--After coming in my mouth he would he would sit with my cum dripping
from his lips and that faraway look. He says the visions come from me
but only he can see them. They are not always good visions.

It was only a few minutes before the boy regained his senses but it
seemed longer. His story was grotesque even by my standards.

--I see through Thole's eyes. I am in a trap, hanging upside down by
a hook through my wordlock. Thole is looking at me, trying to untie a
rope when a shadow falls upon him. He turns to look and another hook,
on the end of an arm, strikes him and I can see no more. After a
while I know we are alive cos I sense he feels me near him but it is
dark and warm and we are tied.

--That is truly the worst vision you have ever had Telemon; I hope it
never comes to pass. Perhaps it is all a bad dream from the wine.

But I know of a man with a hook. A black market trader like myself
but whose methods are crude. It has been said that when he uses the
hook he is more interested in the meat on the boy's bones than in the
money a good slave would bring. I too hope the vision will not come
to pass.

In the morning the boys pack their kit, don their shorts and depart.
I can see from their tan they do not often wear anything. My journey
now takes me west across the mountains. I have three days to an
appointment for the purchase of a seven year old and it will take me
two of those days to get this old bus over the pass. Along the way is
a market where boys will be traded; there may even be a late summer
crop from one of the nearby farms. On the second day I stop there to
see what the legit market looks like and how the prices are running.

The parking area is a dusty hole of broken pavement, remains of a
before times plaza they tell us was a shopping mall. Acres of land
devoted to the temporary storage of wheeled vehicles. Only an empty
shell of the mall remains. I walk around the perimeter of this shell
to observe the stock. Boys offered by the large state run farms are
chained in clusters along facades which conceal corrals containing
the best for later. Always the dregs are sold first, seeded with a
few attractive lads who get the most handling but also have the
highest prices.  The boys are chained between posts in a manner that
keeps them standing in the sun with arms and legs spread for best
display. About the only movement they can make is to kneel to rest
but they must be on their feet at the approach of anyone. Their skin
shines with sweat and oil and the most attractive are in a near
continuous state of excitement from being fondled by every
prospective customer. Most of these boys are ten summers, a few are
eleven, fewer are twelve; the farm will not take them back after that
so they will sell for meat value only.

In between the farm stalls you will likely find a lone boy or two
offered by some old man or woman. These are at times as young as four
and five and usually are uncut by summers marks and still have their
balls. But the catch is that while a few might be parents or
relatives in such dire straits that they will sell their freeborn
sons into slavery there is likely a plant among them who will arrest
you for evading the tax. You see it is not unlawful to traffic in
flesh. Anyone can be sold. Boys between ten and thirteen bring the
highest prices. But the buyer is responsible to prepay the tax and
have the tax stamp available at time of sale. If you had a boy to
sell and could make your sale cleanly in the crowd both parties could
likely get away with it. The penalties are high if you get caught by
a sting.

The latest ruse the sting is using is to take a boy hide from one
sent to the protein reclamer and fit it carefully on an undersized
agent. You can get a long ways home with such a prize before the
arrest happens. It pays to be very careful.

I made the rounds. Poking here prodding there. Nodding at an
occasional acquaintance in the crowd; Hook was there holding two
fingers in his beard in a manner that meant he had as many for sale
but they were not with him. Some of these lads are mighty fine
specimens, the geneticists at the farms are getting better with their
fine tuning the muscle to weight ratio. There was one season where
they had gone so far that the typical offering was capable of
breaking his own bones in certain tasks they were so strong in
relationship to their bone mass. There is also a new breed of
hairless boy but I prefer my boys with balls, mongrel breed. The
farms castrate their boys to cut down on the theft of breed then do a
certain amount of trading among themselves to maintain the breeding
stock. With the exception of the occasional intelligent throwback
like Thole the best lads are to be had on the black market. That was
next on my shopping list. The deal was waiting; I returned to my bus.

Parked beside me when I returned was a battered old truck I
recognised as Hook's. The lot was not deserted and I was running a
risk to even look under the grimy tarp but there were his two sales,
Thole and Telemon, blindfolded gagged and bound together head to
foot. I whispered to Thole that I would rescue them then stooped to
open middle bellybox of my bus. A quick look around satisfied me the
risk was minimal so I rolled the boys from under the canvas and
stuffed them still tied among the detritus in the bellybox. Hook's
old canvas was so stiff with dirt and oil that it still held the
shape of the lads when I drove away.

An hour later in another deserted turnout from the highway I stopped.
The lads were bruised and scratched from their ordeal but he had not
tried to use them. I put a spell on the bus and blended it into the
foliage as we walked away to the nearby river to bath. Telemon looked
back and was astonished to see it was gone.

We sat in a pool of cool water and I helped them wash and applied a
healing salve to their wounds. Their adventure was just as Telemon
had perceived from Thole's vision. On the afternoon they left me they
were taken in a trap along a popular trail frequented by the free
boys from a nearby school. Well there was little I could do now
without exposing my own part in the game so this gambit would have to
go unchallenged for a while at least.

But now to get these to back to their master. Thole said they had
only three days left before their wordlock collars would begin to
remind them they should be home. Every day that reminder would become
more forceful and I'd seen what that force can do to a slave-boy. It
produces a mental anguish so strong and complete that the boy's
impression is that the flesh is being stripped from his leg. There is
no real pain and the leg is unharmed and functional but the
impression is devastating if not relieved quickly by the master.

In the meantime I had my appointment to keep. A woman still a day
away was waiting to sell me her son and from there it would be two or
three days to Thole's farm. The boys agreed to risk the way with me
in that they had no kit and now no proof of leave. If caught now they
would be treated as runaway slaves and depending on the scruples of
their gaolers might just as well be ransomed or sold as returned.
However if I got caught in my transaction they would be accomplices.

The next evening we were parked off a narrow road at the edge of a
copse looking out across a field of hay waiting to be mown. The boys
had been behaving as my slaves for more than twenty--four hours and
the bus was cleaner than it had been for a long while; even now they
worked whilst I watched. As the first stars came out two figures
appeared walking between the rows of new hay. I stepped away from the
bus into the wood and when the two passed me I could hear the woman
telling her son he was going away to school.

--Bring the boy here, I said stepping near to the edge of the wood.
Take off your cloths lad, I want to see what you are up close.

The boy must come with me bringing nothing of his former life, not
even his name. The boy was standing in underwear and sandals,
clutching a stuffed bear, shivering with fear.

--Everything kid! Strip! I said, knocking his bear away.

He kicked away the sandals as the woman patted his head and whispered
something kind to him; then he stripped away the briefs. I knelt
beside him and proceeded to feel him down carefully. When I snarled a
question of his age he spoke with a steady voice and said seven.

--Ok Seven, I'll take you, I said, snapping a wordlock around his
calf.

I paid his mother and took the boy's hand to lead him away.

--What about my clothes? Can I have my bear?

--You won't need clothes. You won't need a bear. Leave them for your
little brother.

The boy cried as I dragged him away. The mother cried as she picked
up all that remained of her son. That's the way it is in my business.

Inside the bus I handed the boy over to Telemon.

--Here is a virgin boy for you to break in, tell him how happy he
will be and show him what to expect and how to respond. Thole, you
sit up here with me and tell me about your master and how to find
him.

We drove for a few hours a staggered route through the night until I
was tired. Thole explained how he came to escape the jaws of the ball
snatcher and how his master found him. He told me of a slave-boy
named Bedwin who raped the others in their household until the
horsemaster put an end to him. Then we slept. Telemon and Seven were
wrapped up together so I took Thole for one more night.

In the morning my guests were in a cold sweat struggling with the
calls of their wordlocks. Thole broke away from comforting Telemon
from time to time to give instructions to find his farm. A lot of the
time I had to make do as he was familiar only with horse trails or
roads suitable for a ground car not a bus. As we closed on the farm
the pain grew less but at one point when I had to go out of the
direct approach they were writhing on the deck crying in pain. Seven
stood by mute, already bonded to Telemon and unable to help him.

--What is wrong? What is happening to them?

--They are slave-boys; that's what happens when they cannot come to
their master's call. The same will happen to you if you try to run
away from me or do not answer my call. Go and hold their hands now
for this time the pain is not their fault and you can help them by
sharing it.

We arrived at the horse farm a day beyond their leave. Their master
was as I had judged and hugged them both as one when they emerged
from the bus. He told them there would be time for stories at the
evening meal and sent them to the baths. I related a little of the
adventure, only saying that I had found them in bondage at a slave
market then he offered me a bath as was the custom of his house.

My slave-boy received a good start from Telemon in the few hours
they'd had together and performed well in the bath for a beginner. It
was my first occasion to look at him carefully and I was happy with
this purchase and happy that I planned to keep this one for a while
at least.

--Do you want to suck me now master that I am clean and ready for
you? Which end of me do you want for your pleasure?

--What experience do you have?

--Only what Telemon showed me last night master. But he is smaller
than you and did not test me as you will.

--I will suck you now Seven to show you what I expect of you later;
but your service can wait. In the meantime, while we are guests here
you will always stand at my right hand; never sit unless I tell you
to; do not speak unless spoken to. Keep an eye on Thole and copy his
manner.

We stayed for two days. During that time Seven learned to ride a
horse and Thole provided him with an ample supply of the slippery
cream he used along with lessons on its best use. My new slave-boy
learned quickly what his life as a catamite would be like. I had time
to listen to Thole and Telemon describe more than once the trap they
fell into and to think twice about going back there and putting Hook
out of business.

We drove west from there and for two years meandered about buying and
selling, testing new markets and new strategies. Every night Seven
would go to sleep impaled on my erection and every morning I would
tickle him awake and suck him dry. By the time he was nine he was a
fair cook and a good mechanic.

In some of the small towns it was a simple matter to find delinquent
or homeless boys who could be purchased or lured in for a meal. Seven
was often put to work in this latter area. There was always the risk
that I might loose him but as much as I enjoyed his company I tried
to maintain sight of the fact that he was purchased as a tool and
tools sometimes break or get lost and have to be replaced. He would
dress in something appropriate for the time and place and go into the
streets posing as a homeless waif looking for a bed and a meal, if
necessary offering his body in payment but always careful not to be
taken anywhere. Instead he would listen for news that there was no
good place and then bring his acquaintance to me.

In another town I might strike a deal with an over crowded orphan
home or a gaol. They were more than willing to sell a boy or two
cheap to help make ends meet. Each boy would be processed as he
arrived, I never let more than two get together. Occasionally Seven
would bring a boy with him that would be good for a trick or two
before we put him down.

The process mainly involved keeping the boy relaxed and unsuspecting.
Tension and too much awareness only made the stasis more difficult to
take hold. The first ploy would be to get the lad to undress and
shower; if that worked he would be gassed. Some boys wanted to eat
first and then they would submit to a fucking; these would be drugged
in their food. The main thing was to get them naked, clean and
sleeping without the use of force or too much work on my part. Once I
had achieved those ends Seven would inspect and dispose of their
clothing; saving out anything that might fit him and was in good
repair. We would keep any papers and of course money; and some of
these runaways were surprisingly well off with credits sewn into
false hems and inside pockets or worn inside of a tight codpiece.

The clean, naked youth was injected with a complex drug that induced
stasis by slowing metabolism, heartbeat and respiration; then the
body was placed in the forward belly box and maintained at five
degrees. A boy prepared that way would be viable for a month and
usually I would have him delivered by then.

Then we found a boat and took up sailing.

I shifted my operations to a coastal city where I could leave the bus
in a secure warehouse while my catamite and I sailed short cruises
among the nearby islands. At first it had been Seven's idea. He
suggested that we might accomplish the same ends with a boat and we
could bring the slave-boys back to the city and move them to market
from there. Suffice it to say that the idea worked out well and we
continued in that mode for another two years.

My slave-boy Seven was now eleven and as much as I tried to disavow
it there was a fondness I felt for him that went beyond his
performance as a bed toy. He had taught himself a certain fluency in
the local dialect that enabled us to broaden the base of wares we
could offer. There had been a couple of occasions where I had
actually suggested he wear shorts or a tunic so as to play the part
of my son rather than my slave; I had a bit of a difficulty bringing
him back into line after the second such instance.

We had returned to the bus from dinner with a long time business
associate and his family--he had two free--sons and maintained no
slaves--when Seven, obviously continuing to play the role to which he
had just been exposed and quickly absorbed,  proceeded to help
himself to a glass of water and sit at the galley table. I enabled
his wordlock and gave a command that jolted him writhing to the deck.

--Return to your proper station at once! Get out of that tunic and
clean up the water you have spilt!

He crawled crying to my feet but I refused to acknowledge his
entreaties until he was naked as a slave-boy should be and only then
released him from the pain of my command.

--You will remember always that playing the roll of my son is only a
roll you play, albeit one you fit well, but a roll nonetheless; you
are slave-boy first.

The next week I put the bus in storage and we set out on a long
cruise. The boat was a relic from an earlier time. She was a well
appointed ten metre sail powered craft, rigged for one to handle with
cozy accommodations for two. However this was not entirely a pleasure
cruise, Seven and I were not alone; there were three slave-boys in
stasis, on ice, packed in the keel. After the first day out I left
off getting dressed for watch. Seven and I drifted in and out of the
father--son aspect of our relationship; he was wary of this game,
confused, and sometimes, I sensed, bitter. If I took him as my free
son there could be no disposing of him when his usefulness as a
slave-boy came to an end. In his present status he had perhaps two
years left. Giving him the freedom and responsibility of filial
relationship was fraught with risk and expense beyond the minimal
upkeep required to maintain a slave-boy. We had words to parry and
there was plenty of time to think about the promise that would be
required of each of us to change the present arrangement.

In the meantime the weather held and we sailed with the trades south
and west while our life assumed an almost courtship ritualism. I
began to ask him for his assistance, request the favours of his sex,
seek his advice and opinion. He responded cautiously with an
occasional decline or a contrary idea; we danced about the embrace of
what both of us wanted. As the days went by he became more responsive
and more demanding as a sexual object. I would often be awakened by
him probing me at which ever end he found opportune; it was hard for
me to fathom if he was trying to curry favour or satisfy his own
curiosity, imagination, or appetite.

When we were ready to bring the three slave-boys out of stasis prior
to landing them I removed Seven's wordlock and allowed him to wear
shorts. He took each of the new boys in the arse whilst the others
watched and then commanded they perform a circle suck for his
amusement. On the quay we were met by their buyer who examined his
purchase carefully. He petted each lad to an erect condition and
brought them off by hand, catching their cum in the palm of his hand
which he held up for them to lick clean. Only then did he pay for his
purchase and accept the keys to their wordlocks.

--So, looks like you've come prepared with your own catamite, he said
eyeing Seven who was standing ready to cast off. Perhaps he too is
for sale; I'm sure he is an adept in the service I require.

--Seven is my son, I said. He is not for sale.

We parted with a handshake and an order for three more young boys.
Next stop was a day away at a small atoll for some rest before
sailing back to the mainland. That evening Seven was rather subdued.
Finally after an hour of pacing and fretting he stood up to me with
tearful eyes.

--You told that man I was your son but you have not told that to me
yet. Is it to be another trick to keep me in my place?

I took him in my arms and hugged him and kissed him; I apologised and
begged him to forgive me. Our world changed that night.

In the morning we slipped through a gap in the reef and anchored in a
shallow, protected lagoon. It was a short swim to the spit of sand
that served as home to barely an acre of palms and there we slept
soundly for the first time in nearly two weeks. When I woke on the
sand it was to the usual ministrations of Seven's mouth on my
erection but his service was cut short by a scimitar who's point was
brought against his balls from behind at the same time another was
laid against my neck. The boy nearly castrated himself when he jumped
back; the sword moved as he fell over and came down again to pin his
chest.

--My what a pretty sight we have here, the voice behind me said. --
Slave and master, catamite and pederast, engaged in savagely
despoiling our sacred island. Stand up slowly catamite. Put your
hands on your head.

The sword pinning Seven to the beach moved and began to prod his back
and legs, drawing blood as he complied.

--Piss on your master slave-boy. Quickly! Before I cut off your
balls and feed them to you.

Seven looked down at me, his eyes wide with fear and let the pee run
out of himself onto my chest.

--Now my dear catamite let me see if your cock works as well in its
other job. Masturbate for your master; let your cum fall upon him
that he might have something to remember you by.

Seven made a break for the water, running as fast as he could, but a
whip snapped around his ankle and he sprawled in the sand.

--Bad catamite. You will sting for that foolishness. And the whip
snapped again across his thighs; his blood spattered the sand.

--Crawl back here and get on your knees catamite and try again to get
hold of your self.

Seven crawled to my side and stood on his knees, blood caked with
sand on his thighs as he began to stroke himself slowly. I moved a
hand to touch his leg. Tears were running down his cheeks and he
choked words.

--I love you Father, I love you.

His cum spurted onto my chest and the voice behind me laughed.

--Bind him and take him away.

Two boys who did not look much older than Seven, naked but for
feathered and bejeweled codpieces came into view. They placed a cock
ring around my boy's cock and balls with short chains to bracelets
that were placed on his wrists and ankles. The chains kept his hands
together at his cock and those to his ankles were so short he could
not stand upright but had to hobble along stooped. One boy placed
another chain around Seven's neck and led him away from me.

--Now you old man; roll over and bury your face in the sand.

The scimitar at my throat pointed the way and before I was fully
turned sand was being piled upon my back until I was quite buried. By
the time I had myself dug out there were only foot prints and a few
drops of dried blood where Seven had knelt over me. I searched around
the atoll and found where a small boat had been dragged up on the far
shore; it was but a speck on the horizon now.

I returned to my boat and motored after them, keeping just on the
edge of visibility and as night fell began to close on them with no
lights running. It appeared they were in a small boat, perhaps an
inflatable, powered with an outboard. I set the autopilot to follow
them and went over the side with scuba gear and a Tethered Electric
Underwater Propulsion device. They were in a small inflatable and I
was able to come up under them and slit their keel and main tubes. In
the panic that ensued they forgot about Seven who was able to roll
over the side as their boat was pulled under by the weight of the
motor and extra cans of gas.

Seven's cock and balls were bruised and tender for a few days from
the torment of the ring and chains but he was able to stand watch and
before the week was out was as good as ever. On the voyage back to
the mainland I removed his wordlock and we entered a new phase in our
relationship; he took a new name, Peter, and we talked of impressing
a new young slave-boy into the service of both of us.

We wanted a slave-boy familiar with the sea and so stopped at every
island along the way to explore the markets which were not as well
organised or controlled as on the mainland. If we could find a
suitable lad it would be no problem to forge the necessary documents.
On the island of Matu--Rapa there is the kind of crowded coastal
community and depressed economy that fosters the sale of children. We
put in there for water and supplies.

Peter saw what we were looking for in the canoe of one of the local
fishermen and with his uncanny ability with languages was able to
ascertain the lad was an orphan thrust upon an already large family
by indigent relatives. The boy was most certainly for sale; they
would have given him away just for the knowledge he would be fed. He
was of small stature, seven years, brown skinned with brown eyes and
long straight black hair; standing among several other boys who were
likely his cousins, not much older and all wearing only pareus or
loin cloths. I could have found a ready market for the lot of them.
It was interesting to see the look of dismay on the face of the lad
who appeared to be next youngest when the boy of our choice stepped
out of the canoe onto the floating dock and handed his pareu back to
the old man making the deal. He came to them naked and the old man
wanted the cloth for the next of his own sons.

Peter named our new slave-boy Ma--hitu which meant more seven in the
boy's tongue and I installed the wordlock before we left the dock.
Ma--hitu was like a monkey in the rigging and seemed quite happy
learning new words as we sailed away from his homeland. However, once
we out of sight of his island and Peter and I removed our shorts a
change came over him. He was morose, fawning, and, strangest of all,
very aroused, erect, and while he did not use his hands to masturbate
he would stand close to what ever he could and rub against it. When
Peter called to him the boy did not answer at first; only after a
while did he say that Ma--hitu was not at home. Eventually Peter was
better able to translate that "at home" meant "in here"; that the
boy's name, as near as we could make it, was something like
gimmeeheresuckmouth. And now it made more sense why the lad in the
boat was so unhappy over the sale; we had taken away the family
catamite and that position would revert back to him who had no doubt
only recently been relieved by Ma--hitu.

But what was this change of personality? When Peter sat on the deck
the boy stood in front of him offering himself. When I tried to nap
the boy came and laid beside me with his head on my thigh. It was as
if our undressing was an invitation or a demand for him to perform
and he was not worn out by our use of him but would rebound after
only a few minutes.

That night the boy taught Peter a new trick, to fuck him in the arse
and suck him off at the same time. Peter had often wondered what it
might be like to suck himself; this is the closest he'd come to that
goal. But the slave-boy was not calmed and spent much of the night
sucking on Peter even while they both slept. Only when we dressed the
next day did he revert to his former self and when Peter and I took
turns being naked the boy would fawn over which ever one that was.
Some rigorous use of the wordlock was necessary to get this
insatiable youth to stay at any task that did not involve sex. In the
course of our journey we were able to instill in him the need to be
responsive to our call but to otherwise mind his own tasks regardless
of what we were wearing.

                               --30--