Date: Thu, 3 Mar 2011 04:18:10 -0800 (PST)
From: Bill <bil47_new@yahoo.com>
Subject: Boys in the King's Navy, 1807 ? Part 3

The barge slowly approached the quay at Gibraltar Town,
rowed by eight muscular bare-chested men of assorted
nationalities. The wide flat vessel was carrying at least
three dozen sailors, Marines, and ship's boys who were
coming ashore for a few hours of leave after being at sea
for over a month.

Benjamin Kitts glanced back at the HMS Apollo, lying at
anchor in the harbor.  It had been his only home during the
3 years that the boy had served aboard the Royal Navy
frigate.

"She's a fine ship; ain't she, Kitts?" said Angus MacDade,
the Royal Marine corporal sitting beside Benjamin.

"That she is, Angus," said the boy, looking up into the
smiling face of the man to whom he had grown so close in
the 5 weeks since they had shipped out from Portsmouth.
Benjamin tried to return the smile, but his nervousness
showed clearly in his expression.

"Are you still game for our little adventure, Kittsy?  We
can do something else if you'd rather.  How about we take
us a hike to the top of the Rock?  Quite a view from up
there, so they say."

"No; I want to do it.  Just got me some jitters."

"Well who wouldn't be nervous before his first time?
You'll do fine, matey."

As the passengers climbed off the barge onto the wharf,
they found themselves in the midst of a busy open-air
market selling various foods, clothing, and knick-knacks.
Making their way through the market, Benjamin and Angus
bought and devoured a loaf of Gibraltar's distinctive
calentita bread, skewers of seasoned grilled lamb, and mugs
of cheap red wine to wash it down.  But eating wasn't their
primary aim.  Working their way through the maze of
Gibraltar Town's narrow streets and alleys, they came to
the neighborhood where brothels were permitted to operate
freely.  Angus chose an establishment at random, and they
went inside.

"Welcome, gents!  Come on in!" said the proprietress, a
buxom middle-aged woman with a London accent.  "You've come
to the right place."  She looked at the handsome Marine
with a lascivious leer... and then, with barely-disguised
amusement, at the young boy. "Take a seat," she said,
gesturing to a small table with four chairs.  I can fix you
up with a drink before I fix you up with two of my girls.
Wine is only thruppence, and a measure of fine Jamaica rum
for sixpence."

"Thanks, but we're just here for the girls," said Angus.
"It's my friend's first time. Let's see what you've got for
us to choose from."

Benjamin blushed and said nothing.  He'd had plenty of
sexual experience with men and boys -- first at the
workhouse where he'd grown up, then considerably more in
the 3 years since being sold to the Navy at the age of 11.
But he'd never had a woman or girl, and with the onset of
puberty he had become increasingly curious to discover the
pleasures that the sailors were always talking about.

"First time, eh?" said the woman.  "Ain't that precious!
Let me bring out all my available girls, so's you can take
your pick."  She went to the inside door and bellowed out
"Juanita! Maggie! Tessa! Josefina! Alice! Nazirah!"

Six bored-looking whores of various ethnicities straggled
out from the back.  They ranged in age from their late-20s
well into their 40s.  Their faces were garishly made-up
with too much rouge and bright lip-color, and their cheap
gaudy dresses displayed over-abundant cleavage.  They posed
suggestively, all of them eying the Marine and treating
Benjamin as if he weren't there.

"Go ahead and pick, lad.  It only costs a shilling for a
good time with one of these beauties.  You too, soldier;
don't be shy."

Benjamin looked more uncomfortable than ever.  "Angus," he
murmured to his friend. "I don't think I want any of them.
They're all so old!"

"You got any younger ones here?" asked MacDade.  The six
women all huffed at the affront, but the madam hushed them.

"I've got some other girls what's takin' care of customers
right now.  So how young you want `em?"

Benjamin finally found his voice and spoke up.  "I'm 14.
You got any that ain't twice my age?"

"Well, now!" said the woman, looking a bit startled.
"You'd be wise to pick an experienced woman to break you in
right.  But I got a cleaning girl who sometimes takes
customers... when a gent wants to rob the cradle, that is."

"Bring her out then," said Angus.

"Rosalinda!  Get on out here!" bellowed the woman.

A young girl, smaller than Benjamin and wearing a plain
peasant-dress, came out from the back room carrying a
bucket and mop.

"Put those things down, girl.  This young customer wants to
take a look at ya."

Angus took one look at the girl and said, "Uh; I don't
think my friend meant THAT young!  How old is she anyway?
Does she even got hair down below?"

"She's 13," said the proprietress.  Then she told the girl,
"Show the gents what ya got, dearie."

The Spanish girl blushed slightly as she pulled up the hem
of her ankle-length dress.  Her hips were boyishly slim,
and her girl-slit was adorned with a scattering of soft
brown hair.  She lifted a foot onto the seat of a chair and
ran her middle finger several times between the labial
lips, then used two fingers to spread the lips apart to
offer a peek at the pink inner flesh and slightly-
protruding clitoris.  Her pussy was attractively youthful,
but well along in adolescent maturity and evident sexual
experience.

Benjamin looked up at Angus, wordlessly seeking his
approval and smiling with excitement.  The Marine nodded.

"I'll take her!" said Benjamin with genuine enthusiasm.
"And Angus... could you, maybe, come with me to do this?
We can do her together!"

"Hold it just a bloomin' minute!" said the proprietress.
"You want this girl to take both of you together?  What
kind of house do you think I run?"

"Maybe we'll just take our business elsewhere," said Angus.

"Alright; alright.  If you insist.  But it'll cost the same
as having two girls -- two shillings for the both of you.
And you only get her for the usual time -- half an hour."

"She's the blinkin' cleaning girl!" exclaimed Angus.  "Make
it one-and-six, for a full hour, and you've got a deal." He
gave Benjamin a subtle wink.

A brief back-and-forth of haggling concluded with an
agreement of two shillings for an hour.

"Damned sailors!" the woman muttered as she took the money.

The girl led them upstairs, where there was a warren of
small rooms.  Some had their doors closed, and the sounds
from behind them -- creaking bed frames and vocalizations
of lust -- could be heard in the hallway.  They entered a
room furnished with a bed and a small table with an oil
lamp and two sand-clocks of different sizes.  The sounds of
the street, but not much sunlight, came through a small
window.  The girl turned over the larger sand-clock and
then turned to the boy.  They stood looking at each other
tentatively but neither make the first move.

"Come on, then," said Angus, as he started removing his
uniform.  "You've got to get bare-arse if you're going to
do it proper-like."

Benjamin pulled off his sailcloth shirt, exposing his
smooth, wiry-muscled torso, but he fiddled hesitantly with
the knotted rope that held up his trousers.  His
concentration was focused on Rosalinda as she reached
behind to unbutton the top of her dress.  In an instant,
the dress slid down her arms and body and fell to the
floor, leaving her completely naked.  Rosalinda's
Mediterranean complexion gave her an all-over tan, and her
chest was adorned with budding breasts tipped by dark brown
nipples.  Her slender hips and lean boyish frame excited
Benjamin far more than did the bodies of the plump and
voluptuous older whores.

Rosalinda brought her hands up to her breasts, smiling
shyly but with a teasing twinkle in her eye.  She ran her
fingertips across the nipples, making them stiffen.  The
girl watched as Benjamin untied the rope that held up his
too-large trousers, the legs of which that had been cut off
at the bottom to fit.  In a moment he was naked as well,
his penis already fully erect, and they stared at each
other's youthful barely-adolescent bodies.  Benjamin wasn't
completely sure what he was supposed to do with her, but he
was totally familiar with the feelings of lust that surged
through his body and brain.

"Give the girl a snog," prompted Angus, as he finished
stripping off his own clothing.

Benjamin and Rosalinda both moved toward each other, and in
a moment their bodies were touching... her small breasts
pressing against chest... his slender erection pressing
against her downy-haired mound.  The girl tilted up her
face slightly, and Benjamin cautiously brought his lips to
meet hers.  Rosalinda's tongue playfully darted out and
slithered between the boy's lips.  She reached for his hand
and brought it up to her breast, and he fondled the soft
flesh and the stiff nipple.  Then the girl's hand snaked
between their bodies to grasp his boyish erection.  As the
girl began stroking his rigid cock, Benjamin's moans were
muffled by their aggressive tongue-kissing.

"Time to get between her legs and take a ride, Kittsy,"
said Angus.  "Let yourself go this first time.  Give it to
her hard and fast, and don't hold back your cum.  Then
you'll be in good shape to take it slow and enjoy some
special fun on your next go-round. And knowing your horny
cock and balls as I do, you'll be good for a third cum
before our hour's up.  I'll show you some fine ways we can
both fuck her at the same time."

The Spanish girl got on her back on the bed, with her legs
spread.  Her hands wandered sensuously across her breasts
and then down to her slit, toying with her pussy and
rubbing her clit.  Her face and voice expressed sexual
desire that might not even have been feigned, as she
beckoned the boy to enter her.

Benjamin knelt on the bed between the girl's legs, gazing
at female sex-parts for the very first time.  He cautiously
inserted his finger into the glistening pink slit.

"Get to it, boy!" said Angus.  "I'm getting hot for my
turn!"

Benjamin brought his body down onto the girl, and his hips
made several random thrusts as his cock unsuccessfully
sought its target.  Rosalinda reached down and guided the
pubescent erection into the sleeve of hot self-lubricated
flesh, and the boy understood instantly why the crewmen
spoke so highly of fucking a woman.  It wasn't nearly as
snug as fucking a boy's ass, but the warm slipperiness that
surrounded his penis felt indescribably good as he thrust
urgently between her legs.

Benjamin followed his mentor's advice, letting his youthful
desire run wild.  As he fucked in rapid strokes, the girl's
legs wrapped around his haunches, and her fingernails dug
into his back as she urged him to pound her fast and hard.
The two of them grunted and cried out with raw lust as the
man watched, slowly stroking his stiff cock.

Before long, Benjamin had shot the first of his boy-spunk
into the girl.  He rolled off her, temporarily sated.  But
she was primed for more and practically writhed on the bed
as her fingers stroked her freshly-fucked cunt.

"Métemelo!" she begged Angus.  "Put it in me!"

"Here I come, lassie!" said Angus with a chuckle.  "Spread
your wings for me." He got atop her and eased his cock in.
"Ahhh; that's a nice tight cunt you've got, gal!"  He
quickly established an even, steady pace of his thrusting
hips. "Watch how I'm doing it, Kittsy.  You can keep a fuck
going for a good long time if you slow it down."  Looking
over at Benjamin, he was pleased to see that the boy's
penis was already stiffening again as he played with
himself while watching the Angus fuck the girl.

Angus had only been going for 5 minutes when a clamor from
out in the street intruded.

"Crews of the Vigilant, the Apollo, the Unicorn!  Back to
your ships!"  A bosun's mate was shouting into his brass
speaking-trumpet as he walked briskly through the
neighborhood of taverns and brothels, repeating the
announcement.

"Damnation!" muttered Angus.  "Just when things were
getting fun and we were paid up for a whole hour.  Why in
blazes would they call us back now?  Tell you what Kittsy;
reach back and grab hold of my bollocks, and give 'em a
good squeeze whist I hurry it up and shoot my spunk into
the gal's twat."

When they returned to the quay, abuzz with the returning
crews of several warships, the rumor mill was spinning a
variety of explanations, none of them correct.

The full crew of the Apollo eventually assembled on deck to
be addressed by the Captain.

"Seems the Mohammedans in Algiers have broken their treaty
with the King, no doubt bribed by the devilish Bonaparte.
They've begun attacking our merchant ships, and it's up to
the Royal Navy to set things right... show the Mohammedans
the error of their ways and get them under treaty again.
Are we ready to engage the heathen and teach 'em a lesson?"
A cheer went up from the men and boys.  "Are we ready to
earn some prize money?"  Even louder cheering erupted.

The Apollo set out from Gibraltar harbor in the late
afternoon on a light but favorable breeze, heading east to
sail along the North African coast.  Their orders were to
attack any Algerian corsairs that they might encounter
along the way, and the rendezvous with other British
warships to impose a blockade when they reached the port of
Algiers.

They sailed all night without encountering any ships of the
new enemy.  But as dawn broke, the lookout up in the crow's
nest shouted down to the officer of the deck that there
were sails to the east, heading toward the Apollo.  A
senior midshipman climbed high up in the rigging and
shouted down his findings.

"It's a French ship-of-the-line!  Three gun decks!  And the
smaller boats appear to be Algerian galleys; ten of them!

The Apollo would be no match for a ship-of-the-line from
Napoleon's navy.  The 118 guns of the sea-going behemoth
included 32-pounders that would overwhelm the Apollo's 38
cannons, all of them 18-pounders.  The small boats
accompanying the French ship were powered by both oars and
lateen-rigged sails.  Their maneuverability against the
wind could give them a tactical advantage, even though
their cannons were few in number and size.

"Come about, bosun!" ordered the captain.  "Take us back to
Gibralter and the protection of the shore guns.  We must
pick our battles, and this one would be suicide.  At least
we might draw them away from the rest of our fleet
assembling at Algiers."

But heading in the opposite direction meant heading into
the wind, and the African coast hemmed them from the south.
The oar-driven galleys were soon within range, and their
bow-mounted guns began lobbing cannonballs into the British
frigate.  Chain-shot -- two cannonballs connected by a
length of iron chain -- spun through the air like bolos,
ripping out sails, ropes and spars, slowing the Apollo even
more.  And then a lucky shot hit the ship's rudder, making
the Apollo veer out of control.  The galleys now hung back
as the French ship came up and began pouring lead into the
helpless British ship.  Canister-shot from the top tier of
cannons, along with sharpshooters in the rigging, mauled
the deck crew of the Apollo.  Massive cannonballs smashed
into the gun deck, sending deadly splinters flying through
the air.  But Captain Westmoreland stubbornly refused to
surrender.

Now the French ship hung back while the ten galleys swarmed
in like angry hornets.  Algerian sailors with razor-edged
curved swords scrambled aboard and soon overwhelmed the
British crew in hand-to-hand fighting, while French
sharpshooters continued to take a deadly toll.  With
startling suddenness the fighting ended, as the British
threw down their weapons and surrendered, almost
simultaneously.

It quickly became clear that while the French would claim
the British ship as a prize of war, the Algerians would be
getting the human prizes.  After the dead and seriously
wounded were thrown over the side, there were 190 men and
boys in captivity.  The various Algerian captains or their
representatives came aboard to divide the captives among
themselves in accordance with pre-arranged ground rules.
The prisoners were divided into groups from which the
selections would be made: officers (who could be ransomed),
seamen (who would be sold into slavery for a short and
brutal life of hard labor), and boys (whose slavery would
typically entail work of an entirely different nature).

The person picking on behalf of the largest and most ornate
of the galleys was a young man who had handsome Northern
European features, but was dressed in North African attire
and fluently spoke the local dialect of Arabic.  It was
evident that he had the privilege of picking first from
among the three groups.  He chose the most ransom-worthy of
the officers: the captain and the immaculately-tailored
Midshipman Grosvenor.  He also picked the strongest-looking
of the seamen and the two most comely of the ship's boys,
Benjamin and Davey.

The 19 British prisoners were brought aboard the galley and
taken under heavy guard to a large room below-decks, where
the ship's captain would be evaluating the selection.  The
finely dressed middle-aged Algerian aristocrat sat in an
ornate chair, giving particular notice to the three boys
among the captives.

Captain Westmoreland, with a hateful look in his eyes, was
brought in front of his opposite number.  The Algerian
captain murmured in Arabic to the young assistant who was
now sitting next to him at a small writing table, and the
younger man translated the words to English... in the
accent of a middle-class American from Massachusetts!

"I will need your name and information about your family's
wealth, Captain, so you can be quickly ransomed."  Then he
added in a casual voice: "My also master admires your fine
boots, and he requires that you give them over."

Captain Westmoreland was momentarily dumb-struck; first by
the fact that the Algerian who addressed him spoke like an
American, and secondly by the demand for his boots.

"What's YOUR name, Yankee scum?" demanded the captain
haughtily.  "And what is your station aboard this heathen
pirate vessel?"

A momentary coldness passed over the young man's face, but
he did not lose his composure.  "My name is Samir, and I am
Captain Zidane's secretary.  What you have disrespectfully
referred to as a pirate vessel is the flagship the Algerian
Navy, in service to my master's illustrious cousin, the
Pasha Ahmed ben Ali.  And you are a prisoner, in no
position to refuse my master's demand for your information
and your boots."

"I shall NOT!" shouted the British captain.

There was another whispered conversation between Samir and
Captain Zidane.

"You are setting a very bad example for your men, Captain,"
said Samir.  "So now you must become a good example."

Samir gave an order in Arabic, and four of the burly
sailors who were guarding the prisoners sheathed their
swords and came forward to seize Captain Westmoreland.
They quickly wrestled off not only the captain's boots, but
all of the rest of his clothing as well, tearing some of it
in the process.  They forced him face-down onto a sturdy
table and tied his wrists and ankles with ropes that were
already attached to the table; then they stepped away.

Another order was issued, and a large black-African sailor
came forward holding a slender punishment rod, of the kind
a British school-master might wield.  The muscular man
commenced to administer a rapid and methodical beating to
every part of Captain Westmoreland's back-side, from his
shoulders all the way to the soles of his feet.  The
captain's angry protests quickly turned to yelps of pain,
and then to pleas for mercy.  After several minutes of
whipping, the entire back of his body had become a crazy
pattern of overlapping welts, and the man was sobbing
uncontrollably.

Another order was issued by Captain Zidane and transmitted
to the crew by Samir.  The guards shifted the British
captain's position on the table so that his legs hung over
the edge of the table, spread apart, and his ankles tied
off securely to the table-legs.  The bare-chested black man
set down the rod and lowered his baggy trousers, revealing
a massive cock that was already half-hard.  It became fully
erect when he pulled back his foreskin, spit on his hand,
and stroked the broad eggplant-colored glans a few times.
Westmoreland looked back over his shoulder, and his eyes
widened in terror as the African stepped up close and aimed
his monstrous cock at the captain's exposed asshole.  When
the sailor thrust forward, a howl rose from the captain's
mouth as the thick cock-head forced its way into the
tightly clenched anus.  The captain's shouts of pain
continued until a cloth was stuffed in his mouth.  The big
black man was soon thrusting the entire length of his cock
into the middle-aged man's tight ass. As the brutal fucking
continued in full view of the wide-eyed British prisoners,
the only noises in the room were the satisfied grunts of
the black-skinned giant and unearthly-sounding muffled
squeals from Captain Westmoreland's throat.

When the anal rape was finally over, Captain Westmoreland
was hauled to his feet and brought back to face his captor.
Samir again translated for his Algerian master.

"My master says that you will compose two letters; one to
your government and another to your family.  You will
convince them to send a ransom of 2,000 gold guineas for
your release.  The faster they send it, the faster you will
escape the discomforts of your captivity.  The letters will
be carried through normal channels by our French allies.
Is this clear, Captain?"

"Yes... clear," mumbled the thoroughly-broken man.  A trail
of blood-streaked semen emerged from his dilated asshole
and slowly flowed down across the cross-hatching of angry
welts on his thigh.  Westmoreland was led from the room,
barely able to walk, supported on each side by an Algerian.

Captain Zidane now turned his attention to the beautiful
blond midshipman, Chauncey Grosvenor.  He spoke softly, and
Samir translated.

"Strip nude, boy."

Chauncey hurried to comply, and in a moment the 14-year-old
was standing naked before the approving captain.  The boy's
hands modestly covered his crotch, but the rest of his body
was on display.  Captain Zidane spoke to him in Arabic.

"My master directs you to approach him so that he can
examine you more closely," said Samir.  "No need to be
modesty, boy.  Put your hands behind your head, and stand
next to his chair."

Chauncey did as he was told.  He would do anything to avoid
the treatment that Captain Westmoreland had just received.

When Chauncey stood beside Zidane, the man ran his hands
over the boy's arms, chest, flanks and buttocks.  The pale
flesh was smoothed by a slight plumpness that contrasted
with the tanned and wiry leanness of the two ship's boys
who stood several paces back.  Then the captain's fingers
went to the boy's barely-adolescent penis, causing it to
rise quickly to erection, as the man's other hand fondled
Chauncey's soft ball-sack. The upper-class youth quietly
gasped with involuntary arousal.

"He is worthy of the Sultan's boy-harem in Istanbul!"
Zidane said to his secretary in Arabic.

"He is truly a magnificent example of boy-beauty, Master."
While saying this, Samir's focus was not on the undeniably
beautiful midshipman, but instead on Benjamin, standing
behind Chauncey.  Samir was strongly drawn to the bare-
chested ship's boy, and only reluctantly brought his
attention back to what Captain Zidane was saying.

"Quite so," said the captain, caressing Chauncey's perfect
young erection one more time.  "Send him to my cabin, and I
will examine him more thoroughly as soon as I am finished
with these other prisoners."

"Yes, Master," said Samir, and he gave instructions for the
midshipman to be led away, still naked.

The 15 British seamen were dealt with quickly.  They would
become slaves, sold at public auction in Algiers.  But two
of them were needed to fill out the complement of 60 slaves
who manned the galley's 30 oars, replacing men who had
collapsed from exhaustion during the recent battle.  The
malingerers could not be persuaded by flogging to return to
their rowing, so they were beaten to death in view of the
other galley slaves.

Zidane picked out two sturdy-looking British sailors and
directed that they be taken down to the oar-deck of the
galley.  There they were stripped naked, like the other
galley slaves, and their ankles were shackled to the floor
beneath a rowing bench.  The two new rowers were each given
a half-dozen unwarranted lashes across their backs by the
overseer, providing a taste of the brutality of their new
lives.

When the rest of the sailors were led away to a holding
cell, only Benjamin and Davey remained in the room with
Zidane, Samir, and several Algerian crewmen.

"I want them both naked," said the captain, and Samir
translated the instruction.  The two boys wore only their
sailcloth trousers, held up by a length of rope, so they
were nude in an instant.  Samir questioned them for their
names and ages, while the captain explored their bodies
lasciviously with his hands, paying particular attention to
their penises and balls.

"This younger one is just the right age to be fixed," said
Zidane as he lifted Davey on his lap, kissing and fondling
the little boy intimately.  "Do you agree?"

"Yes, master.  He would fetch an excellent price from the
right buyer!" said Samir with feigned enthusiasm in his
voice.

"Have it done now," said the captain.  "I always enjoy
watching."

Samir gave the orders.  A brazier that had been in the
corner of the room was brought forward, with the blade of a
sharp knife buried in the hot coals.  Davey was taken to
the table on which Westmoreland had been whipped and raped,
and he was tied down on his back by the sailors.  A
specially-shaped block of wood was slipped between the
boy's legs, snug-up against his crotch, with the boy's
scrotum lying atop it.  A sailor held Davey's small slender
penis against his belly while the fingers of his other hand
stretched out the 11-year-old's immature ball-sack.
Another sailor got the knife and examined its red-hot
blade.

Benjamin stood beside Samir, watching these preparations
with a growing sense of horror.  Samir pulled Benjamin into
an embrace and turned the boy's face away.

"Look at me, Benjamin; not at your friend.  What is about
to happen will not hurt him for more than a moment.  He'll
be alright soon.  Understand?"  The boy nodded. "I want to
protect you, Benjamin; to keep you aboard this ship with
me," Samir whispered. "You seem a clever lad, and you must
use all your wits and charm if this is to work.  Follow all
of my instructions without hesitation, giving every
appearance of doing so eagerly."  Benjamin nodded again.
He was confused, but feeling a bit of hope for the first
time since his capture.

But just then, Benjamin's ears rang with the sound of
Davey's scream, and his nose caught the scent of burned
flesh.

When Benjamin turned back to look, it was already over.
Davey was falling into shock and felt no pain.  The wound
was cauterized by the heat and would be unlikely to become
infected.  And the castrated boy's price at auction was now
almost double what he would have fetched if his testicles
were intact.  (He would fetch far more if his penis had
been removed as well, but the mortality rate was vastly
greater, and the recovery time slow.)  Davey would likely
become a household servant somewhere in the Ottoman Empire,
where European eunuch-slaves were always a fashionable
accessory.  Or perhaps he'd be purchased by the owner of a
brothel, where he would service customers who had a fetish
for submissive eunuch-boys.

When Davey was removed from the table and carried away in
the arms of a strong sailor, Captain Zidane turned his
attention to Benjamin.

"What do you think, Samir?  Should this one be fixed as
well?"

"I would advise that he not, Master.  His masculine parts
are too far along in their development, and he would not
make a satisfactory eunuch."

"What do you suggest, then?"  The inflection in the
captain's voice suggested a knowing amusement.

"Have you considered whether you would like a regular bed
companion again?" Samir himself was taken to the captain's
bed with dwindling frequency, as the man's primary
attraction was to younger teenage boys.  "This one is...."

"He reminds you of yourself, Samir my love, when you first
came to me."

"Yes, Master," said the younger man, blushing that his
thoughts had been so transparent to the captain.  Five
years before, he had been in the same position as this
boy... a frightened captive after the merchant ship that
his father owned and captained had been seized and his
father slain in the brief fight.  There had been no
insurance, and his family back in Massachusetts was
bankrupted by debt, unable to ransom the boy's return.  But
Captain Zidane was more than happy to keep the 13-year-old,
whose real name had been Samuel, as his catamite slave.

"I know you well, Samir, just as you know me.  Bring him
back to my cabin, and we will try him out, along with our
exquisite blond young officer, all four of us taking
pleasures together in my bed!"

"Yes, Master."

The end of Part 3.

Want more?
Write to me at bil47_new@yahoo.com
You can find all of my stories in the "prolific author"
list on Nifty, under the author name of "Bill".