Date: Wed, 15 Sep 1999 07:44:49 +0900
From: Andrej Koymasky <andrejkoymasky@geocities.com>
Subject: goldfinch 7

----------------------------

GOLDFINCH
by Andrej Koymasky Copyright 1999
written the 3rd of April, 1986
translated by the author
English text kindly revised
by Tom (chap. 1 to 5)
by Gilles (chap. 6 to 17)

-----------------------------

USUAL DISCLAIMER

"GOLDFINCH" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of
sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so
on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story.
But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think
you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.

-----------------------------

CHAPTER SEVEN

The following morning, Patrick's father decided to anticipate the
departure time, so he entered his son's room to wake him. As soon as he
entered he saw the two sleeping half naked, in a slight embrace. He was
dumbfounded. With an icy voice, trying to control the rage that was
rising in him, he called his son's name. The two youths, at the sudden
sound of that voice, woke up and looked at him. The father ordered
Kutkhay to go back to his room. The boy quietly obeyed and, naked,
without showing the slightest sign of shame, a little because he didn't
consider nudity immoral, a little because, still drowsy he didn't
realize the situation, he stole away.

As soon as they were alone, in a falsely calm voice Patrick's father
asked:

"How long has this... this shameful... affair been going on?"

Patrick sat up on his bed. Having a clear conscience, he didn't
understand at once what he father was saying, so he asked: "What are you
talking about, father?"

The man, offended, showed his indignation: "Don't pretend not to
understand! Would you deny the evidence of facts? How long have you been
having a carnal affair with your servant?"

Patrick finally understood and was flabbergasted. He got out of bed and
stood up fiercely in front of his father, unaware of his morning
erection tenting his underpants, but which his father didn't miss.

"What are you saying? There is nothing at all between me and the boy!"

His father said with a sardonic smile, his lips twisted: "Why are you
trying to deny it? I caught you in the act! You were in each other arms,
naked, on the same bed!"

"No, father, I repeat, there is nothing wicked between the boy and I!
Nothing such as you are presuming!"

"Come on, my son, have the grace not to think me so naive. When I
entered you had your servant in your arms, evidently sated after giving
vent to your perverse instincts on that boy. Or is it perhaps him who
gave vent to his wild instincts against nature on you?"

Patrick looked astounded and offended at his father, while feeling a
dull fury growing inside him: "Please stop this nonsense, you don't know
what you are saying!" he protested in a loud, vibrant voice.

His father seemed to regain his self-control and with an oddly calm
voice said: "I know very well that some miserable people, even of good
social class, indulge in such degenerated practices, have this infamous
and defamatory vice, but I would have believed that you, blood of my
blood, my only heir..."

Patrick was having difficulty in keeping calm: "I repeat, you are
offending me with this absurd and arbitrary inference..."

The father then flew off the handle: "Shut up, scoundrel! At least have
the common sense not to insist! You infringed every principle, be it
religious or ethic or social... you committed a deed that the law
punishes... but above all, if it were known... a De Bruine having an
affair with a boy... a slave moreover! Are you aware? What would people
say? Our good name dragged through the mire!"

"I swear that between me and the boy there has never been anything such
as you fear! Why don't you want to believe me?"

"Shut up! Don't perjure yourself! Just look at yourself, you got up with
a gaudy huge erection and you still dare to deny it? But this shame has
to end, it has to, is that clear? And now I pray you dress and come
downstairs as soon as possible -- the cabriolet is already loaded and I
want to leave at once, without any more delay."

"Father, I besee..."

"Enough! I don't want to talk any more about this shameful and
regrettable incident."

This said, the father, nervously fiddling with the gold chain of his
waistcoat's turnip, turned and hastily went out of his son's bedroom,
shutting the door behind him with a sharp thud. Patrick sat on his bed,
his head between his hands, asking himself what to do, how to persuade
his father of the truth of the facts. After a moment he called Kutkhay.
The boy, from his room, had heard every word of the hard clash, but he
couldn't grasp the sense of the speech, nor what the problem was. It was
just clear to him that it concerned him too. When he entered his young
master's room, he looked at him with a silent question in his eyes.

But the young man said only: "Fetch me the woolen checked pattern suit."

"Master, what's happening?"

"Nothing, don't worry."

"But, because of me the old master is unhappy?"

"I'll take care of that. You have absolutely nothing to worry about,
understood?"

"As you say, sir."

Kutkhay took the clothes and helped Patrick to dress, then retired to
his room, anxious. Patrick went downstairs. He tried again to make
himself understood to his father, but the man didn't want to listen and
cut him short saying: "To me, this subject is closed. I only hope you
will never again make me face such a problem."

Patrick understood it was useless to insist at that moment, his father
would not even listen to him. He thought that possibly, a few days
elapsed, it would be easier to resume the subject, and he resolved to do
so. He went back to his room and asked Kutkhay to help him to finish
preparing his luggage.

The boy asked him: "Sir, what did I do wrong?""

"Nothing, don't worry. When I get back, I'll settle everything, be sure
of it. You have absolutely nothing to be afraid of, my dear Goldfinch!"
he concluded giving him a light caress on his cheek, and went away.

This tender gesture tranquilized the boy a little, and he went back to
his little room, sat on his bed and started to read one of the books
that his master had given him. When he heard the gig start, he leaned
out of the window, then he went back to his reading. Shortly after, the
door of his room opened and Ulysses the coachman and Simpson the butler,
entered. Ulysses had a rope in his hand.

The butler seized the boy's arm and just said: "Tie him!"

Kutkhay was just starting to understand that something was wrong but the
two men were already tying him.

He wriggled, yelling, alarmed: "What are you doing? What do you want to
do to me? Why..."

But the two men, sullen, didn't answer and continued to hold him fast
and to tie him.

"Please... what do you want to do me?"

"Shut up, we are just executing our orders. Shut up, or I'll have to
flog you." Simpson said grumpily. Now the boy was tied tight. Then the
butler said to Ulysses: "Do what the master told you, hurry up. And see
to it you do it all the right way."

"But, I don't like it..." the coachman weakly protested.

"The master's orders are not to be discussed." the other answered and
went out of the room, frowning.

"What are you doing to me? What is happening?" the poor boy again asked
the sturdy black coachman.

"Shut up, boy, don't make it more difficult for me. Be quiet, or I'll
have to gag you."

"You have to kill me?" Kutkhay asked, afraid he understood.

Ulysses made a fast sign of the cross and said: "Jesus have mercy! No! I
just have to take you away."

"But where are you taking me? What is happening? The young master
doesn't want this..."

"The young master decided together with the old master to get rid of
you."

"Get rid of me? Why? What did I do? The young master would never get rid
of me, he can't want to get rid of me. I don't believe that, it is not
true!"

"Anyway, it is settled. And be quiet or I'll have to gag you, or else
you will have to taste the lash. You have never tasted the lash; till
now, you have been lucky. But, unhappily, all has changed for you. It is
bad, the lash..." the black man said with a sad expression.

"But I... I want to wait for master Patrick."

"The young master left and will be back in just three, four days. And
you must be here no longer."

So said, the man lifted the boy up bodily and carried him downstairs.
Kutkhay ceased to wriggle, to talk. He understood that it would have
been completely useless. Just two tears silently came down from his half
closed eyes. He had a confused glimpse of Annie at the kitchen door who,
seeing him, made the sign of the cross and hastily went back to the
kitchen. Ulysses put him on the bed of the provisions wagon, covered him
completely with a rug, got in the driver's seat and started the horses.
They galloped for a long while. Kutkhay realized they were leaving the
town but couldn't determine in which direction they were going. The
wagon rolled and jolted, traveling a long while and many miles. Kutkhay
was as if paralyzed, weighed down with an indescribable anguish. It
could not be true that his young master had decided to sell him. It had
certainly been the old master. But why? What had happened that morning?
To whom would he be sold? Would he never again see his young master? He
was asking himself all these questions, when the chariot stopped. He
heard Ulysses get down and after a while he heard him talking with
somebody. Then the rug was pulled from over him, and two hands took him
out of the wagon which immediately left in a hurry.

The man who lifted him down was a white man, a stranger, chubby but
impressive and strong, dressed in expensive but not elegant clothes, who
looked at him thoroughly.

Then the man said: "For what I paid for you, I was afraid you were worse
than you are. What's your name?"

"Goldie."

"Goldie, master!" the man menacingly retorted.

Kutkhay kept silent.

The man beat him with a whip: "Goldie, master, you have to say!"

Kutkhay, stubborn, still kept silent.

The man shrugged his shoulders: "Rest assured, you'll understand." he
just said and, lifting him up like a twig, took him inside a wooden
shed, similar to a stable, where were seven people bound with iron rings
and chains -- two black women, three men, and two mulatto boys. He put
an iron ring on his ankle too and chained it to another ring fixed in a
pillar. Then the rope tying him was taken off. Kutkhay massaged his
benumbed arms and legs.

The man let him do it for a while, then ordered: "Stand up!". Kutkhay
stood up. The man tested his muscles: "Medium muscles, not bad." Then
looked at his teeth, turned his eyelids inside out: "You seem healthy."

Next he slipped his hand inside the boy's breeches and fingered his
genitals, pulling them out and examining them. Kutkhay, completely
disconcerted and dazed, let him do so, passively.

The examination over, the man grumbled in a low voice, thoughtful: "Who
knows why he asked so little money?" and went out closing the door and
bolting it from outside. The other slaves were looking at him in
silence.

After a while, Kutkhay was finally able to regain his voice, and asked:
"Where are we? What is happening? Is this a prison?"

One of the mulatto boys said with a low giggle: "We are at master
Finchley's, the slave merchant. Where are you from, a breeding pen, or
an estate?"

"But I am not a slave..." Kutkhay weakly protested.

One of the black men laughed aloud: "Tell that to your chains, that you
are no slave! We are waiting to go to the South, where a market is to be
held and where he will sell us. Even if you are a white mulatto, you are
a slave like us, boy!"

One of the women added: "Never let them hear you say you not a slave,
boy! Even if you seem white. They lash and thrash rebel slaves until
they submit or die. And if you tries to run away, they hang you. The
only thing you have to learn is just say 'yes master', 'yes master'."

Kutkhay felt like fainting, started to tremble and, if he had not
already been sitting on the ground, would have fallen down, so much had
his strength abandoned him. He, sold as a slave! But then, was it was
really so! He gave himself as a slave only to his young master who
rescued him, whom he adored... he didn't want to be the slave of anybody
else! He was born free, he had not been captured in a war. That was not
fair! In what kind of a world was he now living, then? Was it possible
that his father's world could be like this?

One of the black men asked him: "Your former master treated you fine --
you have clean clothes, not old ones, and are well fed. How come he sold
you? You a rebel, or he have debts to pay?"

Kutkhay sadly shook his head: "No... it is not my master who sold me. I
am not a rebel, and he has no debts to pay; on the contrary he is very
rich. It is my master's father who had me sold, as he is angry... and I
don't know why."

One of the mulatto boys asked: "Was he angry because you were lazy?"

"No, I always did all my young master asked me, fast and well."

"Then, you stole?"

"No, never!" Kutkhay said, scandalized at such an idea.

The questions filled his mind, but an answer didn't appear. Kutkhay had
a great confusion in his head; all his world suddenly crumbled around
him. But he was certain about of thing -- it had not been Patrick who
decided to sell him, he would have never done such a thing. He felt it,
he knew it. The young master surely had to be unaware about what had
happened to him -- he had in some way or another to warn him. Then he
told about the scene that the old master made that morning.

One of the mulatto boys nodded: "Ah, I see! Your old master was having
fun with you, and when he catch you with his son, he become mad and sell
you. To me too happened something like that -- my master took his
pleasure using me and when he got tired, he sold me to buy a younger
slave."

"Have fun? Amuse? What do you mean?"

"Yes, he had sex with you, as my master did..."

"No way! There has never been sex with my master, never!"

"Then, I can't understand."

But now Kutkhay was starting to understand what happened that morning --
it was all a mistake. If only it had been really so, at least he could
have had the so much desired intercourse with his young master. But he
was having insult added to injury as he couldn't even have a little bit
of sex with his beloved master, then to be sold for that reason! Kutkhay
curled up on the ground, closed his eyes and thought of his master -- he
would miss his sweet caresses, even if nothing had happened between
them. What would his future be, now? How would it be?

Two days passed. They remained in chains the whole time. Food was
brought to them and Kutkhay was taken out twice a day to go to the
bathroom in the open air, while a man with a rifle kept a close watch on
him. Kutkhay felt deeply embarrassed and humiliated having to evacuate
under the eyes of that stranger. But he thought that it was just the
first, and possibly not the worst, of the humiliations he would have to
undergo in his new life. The day after that all eight were loaded on a
cart, chained, and they started a two day travel toward the South. They
passed through villages and towns he didn't know, stopping just to
change the horses, for a fast meal and to sleep. Kutkhay shut himself up
in a gloomy stubborn silence that not even the soft songs of the others
could mitigate. From time to time one of his companions tried to talk
with him, but with his silence, at the end, they let him alone. Kutkhay
was carefully watching the road, to try to remember it -- some day,
possibly, he could travel back on it returning to his young master...
but he didn't even know where the town was where he had been sold. He
could possibly ask... but a slave, who would help him?

Finally they reached the outskirts of a medium-sized town. They were
taken from the cart to a wide shed, already crowded with other slaves.
He heard that the day after was to begin the market where they would be
put on sale. Some of the slaves already knew each other and were
talking. They exchanged news, and told what had been happening to them.
All of them were born slaves, and they seemed resigned to their
condition. There was also another middle aged mulatto with a quite fair
skin, chained not far from the boy.

"You have to be the son of a mulatto woman and a white man, or a bastard
son of a white woman and a mulatto slave. Right?"

Kutkhay shook his head.

"Two mulatto, then?" the other insisted.

Kutkhay again shook his head.

"But... can you talk?" his neighbor asked, half way between annoyed and
amused, and turned away.

The next day the market started and the slaves were put on sale. Early
that morning the merchant with some helpers, made all the slaves
undress, perfunctorily wash, then made the males wear very wide breeches
of white cotton, tied at the waist with a thin rope, and the women wore
a tunic of the same cotton, sleeveless, somewhat tight. Then, always in
chains, they were taken into a wide tent where the bargaining and the
sales would take place. Several buyers started to arrive, and began to
check the "merchandise". The examination was the most humiliating
Kutkhay had ever undergone in his life; it seemed that the slaves were
considered more as livestock than human beings. Almost all the buyers
were owners of large cotton plantations and were looking mainly for
young and strong males. A few looked for women slaves for the domestic
chores. Kutkhay was not judged strong enough to be bought for the
plantations. Shortly before noon a man arrived, some fifty years old,
elegantly clothed, inclined to obesity. He looked around and, as soon as
he saw Kutkhay, he approached him. The merchant at once started to sing
his praises.

The man, brusquely, said: "Yes, yes, I have eyes. You, boy, stand up!"

Kutkhay mechanically complied. The man looked at him for a long while
from head to toe, then tested his biceps, felt his chest, examined his
teeth and eyes, then lowered his hand, first fingering the small and
firm ass, then, decidedly, slipping his hand in the breeches opening
and, looking the boy straight in his eyes, starting to manipulate his
genitals. Kutkhay couldn't avoid getting an erection and lowered his
eyes in confusion, under the amused look of the man.

"How old is the boy?"

"Sixteen, sir. He is really a handsome male, the son of a mulatto women
and a gentleman, he could almost pass for a white himself... and then,
look, he has not even a mark or a scar on his body..."

"Yes, I see. How much do you ask?"

They started to bargain on the price. It was evident that the man wanted
him, although he was trying to pay less than the merchant asked. They
bargained for a long while, but at the end the man went away, refusing
to pay the requested price. More buyers came, the slaves for sale were
fewer and fewer, but Kutkhay had not yet been sold. In the afternoon,
amongst others, came a client who seemed interested in the boy. He was a
man around forty years old, tall, slender, very elegant, evidently
really wealthy. He had a severe look that oddly contrasted with his
almost delicate gait. His suit, of very fine lavender color silk, was
very tight and showed his body's shapes like a second skin. He had
splendid rings on his fingers, and a very elegant gold chain on his
waistcoat. He wore shining black boots, a top hat slightly inclined to
the right, and carried a thin walking cane.

He immediately approached Kutkhay.

"He is a very handsome boy, healthy, untouched. He is sixteen and is the
son..." the merchant started to extol.

"I don't care. Lower his breeches to his ankles."

The merchant turned towards Kutkhay, untied the string and the breeches
slipped to the ground.

The man slowly walked around the boy, without touching him, carefully
looking at his body: "Not bad, a well propositioned physique. And
well-endowed, for sixteen. But... is he docile?"

"Certainly, sir. He will do anything you request him."

"Was he born a slave?"

"Yes, certainly, sir." the merchant lied.

"And how is it that he is for sale?"

"Ah, gambling debts..." the merchant lied, continuing to carefully study
the client. Then guessing from his look what kind of slave he was
looking for, he dared: "He was the protege of his master, who separated
from him with real regret... he is a docile, hot, obedient boy and...
really willing."

"I see, I see. What's his name?"

"Goldie, sir, because of his golden skin. Just look what a perfection of
proportions, what a body..." the merchant insisted, now almost certain
of his guess. The eyes of the man in fact were caressing the slender and
sweet body of the boy, lingering in particular between his shapely legs,
almost magnetized by what was showing, softly hanging, between them. He
drew nearer the boy and caressed the velvety skin of his ass, his hand
lingering there for a good while. Then he went on to examine one of the
two mulatto boys. Finally he bargained with the merchant until they
agreed on the price for both the slaves, and paid it.

Then he called aloud to one of his slaves who was waiting outside:
"Jeremy, those two boys. Take them home in the cabriolet. Tell Moses to
wash them thoroughly and instruct them properly. When I get back, I want
to find them ready, understood?"

"Yes master, straightaway master!"

"And tell Moses also to take measurements for their clothes -- they have
to start working as soon as possible."

"Sure, master. Do I have to wait for the master?"

"No! No, beast! I'll come back later, with my horse. Scram!" the man cut
short and went out.

The black man called Jeremy, took from the merchant the ownership bills
of the two boys, made them pull up their breeches and led them away by
their chains. He put them in an elegant cabriolet, secured their chains,
mounted the driver's seat and started. He crossed the town and went
through the country for a couple of miles, amongst wide cotton
plantations. Then he reached a wood cut by a secondary road which he
traveled, until through the trees there appeared a beautiful and large
country house. A tall wall with elegant wrought iron gates, enclosed
part of the trees of the wood with the house. Stopping the cabriolet in
back of the house, he took off the boys' chains and led them into a
large kitchen where he entrusted them to another black man, wiry and
with completely white hair.

"Curry them for good, Moses, and instruct them. Later the master will
come and he wants to taste them both. And make their clothes ready as
fast as you can."

"All right, Jeremy, all right." the old man grumbled and at once
prepared a tub filling it with warm water. "Get stark naked and get in
it. And wash yourself from head to toe, including your hair, ears, and
assholes. And don't spill water around, since the one who'll have to dry
up is me!"

The two boys complied in silence. Moses bustled a while around the
cookers, then went near the tub: "What's your name?"

"Jimmy."

"And you?"

"Goldie, sir."

The man burst in laughter: "I'm just an old slave, not a sir!" then he
looked carefully at the boys and asked: "How old are you?"

"Eighteen." the mulatto answered.

"I think sixteen." Kutkhay added.

"Good heavens, still a kid. But here you'll grow fast." Then the old man
lathered his middle finger and tested the hole between Jimmy's buttocks,
then that of Kutkhay. Both gave a start but let him do it, even if they
were ashamed of each other.

"Mmhh, you are tight, especially you, Goldie. The master will be happy."
he observed, nodding seriously.

"What will he do to us. the master?" Kutkhay asked, foreseeing the
answer.

"He will take his pleasure with your nice little asses, my sons, before
making you available to the customers. Here, we have all tasted the rod
of our master. This is a luxury brothel for the gentlemen who like
males, and there's no lack of business."

Kutkhay looked at the old man with an unbelieving air: "But I... I
never..." said thinking that the time of his initiation didn't count, as
it was a rite.

"You never took a cock in your little ass? I believe you son. Well, this
will be your first, but not the last, be sure. The first few times our
master's rod will hurt you, as it's really big. But you'll get used to
it, you'll get used to it as we all did. You'll eat well, have elegant
clothes, and above all, you don't have to work in the fields. It's
dreadful, working in the fields -- it kills more people than the
smallpox. Lubricate your hole well, especially the first weeks, and
relax as much as you can. And you, Jimmy, did you take cock in your
nice, firm, little ass?"

"A few times, from my former master's cook, in exchange for something
good to eat..." the boy answered cheekily.

"Good, so it will be easier for you. Some of the gentlemen like also
taking it in their ass, being mounted by a thoroughbred stallion, and
then it could even be fun... But now dry up. I'll take your
measurements, then I'll find you something temporary."

He guided them, still naked, to the wardrobe room, took their
measurements then made them try on several clothes until he found for
both two wide shirts of thin white silk, almost transparent, open at the
chest, two pairs of black silk knee breeches that wrapped their lower
bodies showing their little asses and their endowments, a short black
silk waistcoat and white slippers.

"For the moment these will serve. Yes, you cut a good figure, you are
sexy. And you Goldie are the first slave with a fair skin, you look
almost like a white boy. I really think that our master will like you,
and also our customers. You have also beautiful lips... did you ever
suck a cock? Do you know how to give head?"

Kutkhay answered, barely hesitating: "Yes, as a kid, I did it with a
friend..."

"Good, so you are already an expert. And you, Jimmy?"

"I, really, I never..."

"You will learn fast, the master will rough-hew you. He likes to get
himself off in all possible holes. Make sure you please him, if you want
to last here a long time, and to please our customers in every way.
Anybody who doesn't do a good job is punished by shutting him in the
cellars, in the dark and without food. Or in other ways not less
unpleasant... Now, come with me."

He took them on the attic where he assigned them to side by side
pallets, then gave them the grand tour of the house, explaining its
structure and organization. From time to time they crossed other young
slaves, all males and all rather handsome, who were doing the cleaning
and tidying all the rooms for the guests-customers. At last he took them
to a beautiful room on the second floor, where a huge tester bed
towered.

"Here sleeps the master. Wait for him here. When he comes, greet him
saying 'I'm ready, master'. And talk only if he asks you to. Never
thwart him, readily obey and try not to make him mad at you. He is not a
bad master, but if he becomes angry... you can pray for all the saints
to help you! Don't pry or peep or nose around, don't touch anything. Now
go sit on that sofa, but as soon as you hear him, stand up. Well, good
luck Jimmy, and you too Goldie. Ah, I was forgetting..." he said
slipping a hand in his pocket, and he handed them a small box, saying
only: "Lubricant." and went out.

The two boys sat in silence. Kutkhay trembled slightly, not so much out
of fear, but that he didn't know what life would reserve for him from
now on, separated from his young master, and in the luxury brothel. He
wanted to go back to Patrick; he wanted this with all his heart. But he
understood, more from instinct than from reasoning, that it would be
difficult, probably even impossible. He had to find a way to send a
letter to his beloved master.

"Let's hope that here at least we can eat well..." at a certain point
Jimmy whispered. Kutkhay looked at him amazed. The other quietly
continued: "The cook's handle was big, I'm not scared by that of our new
master. It's true, at the beginning it was really painful, but then you
become used to it. But... tell me, you ever went with a woman, you?"

"I was married, I have a son..." Kutkhay murmured.

"Married? I tried with the daughter of the stable-boy, a really great
girl, black, fifteen years old. But I didn't do so much. She didn't let
me put it in, I mean, that one. She said she wanted to stay virgin. But
she did me with her hand and a few times even with her mouth... oh, I
liked it! But I could not even suck her tits... look here, just thinking
of her, I got a hard on..."

Kutkhay looked at the light, tightly fitting breeches of his companion
and saw they were swollen and throbbing. He put his hand there and
fingered it outlining its shape and testing its hardness. "Good
gracious, it's big!"

"Yeah." the mulatto said with a proud smile, and added: "To see him
asleep, he don't seem... but when he wakes up he cuts a fine figure, he
is really second to no one."

Kutkhay, at that short contact, felt a quiver of pleasure. He thought he
was happy they had their pallets side by side... Jimmy had a really nice
body, he had observed him well when they were bathing, and was thinking
that it must be fun making love with him. At this thought, he too became
aroused.

Jimmy noticed it and giggled: "Yours too is awakening... are you
thinking of you wife?"

"No, I was thinking of you."

The young mulatto looked at him, taken back: "And... thinking of me has
this effect on you?"

"Can't you see?" Kutkhay said with a barely sketched smile.

"For me... it never got hard for a male..." the other said with a
perplexed air, but his hand went to finger his companion's turgidity.
Kutkhay let him do.

"Anyway... honestly, I like touching it..." Jimmy said continuing to
feel it.

"I too like how you touch me, but it will be better you stop, or I will
cum and our master would be mad at me."

"Yeah, you are right. Anyway we will sleep side by side... we will have
occasion to..." Jimmy said with a cunning smile, and Kutkhay thought
that his companion was an easy boy.

Again both became silent. Through the curtains at the windows, they saw
the sunlight was diminishing, a sign that evening was gradually coming.
>From the wood came sounds of animals and the strokes of an axe,
rhythmic, far off. From downstairs came from time to time muffled noises
showing how in the house they were proceeding feverishly with various
activities. Then they heard the noise of a galloping horse that stopped
in front of the house, and the two boys understood that their new master
was back home. They were silent, tense, waiting. They heard his voice
shouting something but could not catch a single word. They heard his
steps coming up the wide wooden stairs, nearing the room, and at once
the boys stood up, just a moment before the door opened.

The man lingered in the doorway, looked at them, then turned back and
said to somebody: "Barney, light up all the lamps of this room, it's
getting dark in here." He entered leaving the door open.

He went towards the wide canopy bed and sat on its edge, stretching out
his legs, and only said to the boys: "Boots!"

Immediately the two boys knelt in front of him and each pulled off one
of the boots. Meanwhile a young black man entered with a lit wick in his
hand and one after the other lit the many lamps of the room so that it
soon was filled with light. Then he went out and closed the door. The
man continued to give laconic orders to the boys who, complying, were
gradually undressing him. When he was completely naked, he got on the
bed, sitting in its center.

"Naked, both!" he ordered.

The boys immediately carried out the order under the attentive eyes of
the man who, as the two bodies were revealed to him in full light, was
becoming visibly aroused. Kutkhay didn't lose sight of his new master,
and saw that his was of a really remarkable size.

When they were naked, Jimmy remembered the instructions they received
and with hesitant voice said: "I am ready, master." followed with a
fraction of delay by Kutkhay's voice.

"Well, well, well... Come on the bed, you, mulatto. Come here." the man
said spreading his legs and driving between them the boy's head which he
had seized with both hands.

Kutkhay looked at the scene with widened eyes and, seeing the powerful
pole of the man disappear between the lips of his companion, became
aroused. After a while the master noticed his reaction and with a lusty
smile signaled to Kutkhay to join them, seizing his arm and pulling him
towards himself. Then, pushing down Kutkhay's head, he made him take the
place of the mulatto.

Kutkhay sucked at that huge piece of meat with all his ability, worried
about not giving the utmost pleasure to the man.

Then the master said to Jimmy with an amused air: "Lubricate your
companion's hole, prepare him well, boy -- before tasting your ass, I
want to have fun with this kid's little asshole."

Jimmy crouched behind his companion and did as he was ordered. Feeling
Jimmy's finger spreading the cream on and in his hole, Kutkhay's
excitement increased further. After all, perhaps what was happening to
him was not so bad... He was just being submitted to a new initiation
rite, in a way...

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CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 8

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In my home page I've put some of my stories. If someone wants to read
them, the URL is

http://www.geocities.com/~andrejkoymasky/

If you want to send me feed-back, please e-mail at

andrejkoymasky@geocities.com

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