Date: Thu, 16 Jan 2003 19:55:33 -0800 (PST)
From: Bill <bil47_new@yahoo.com>
Subject: Chesapeake Boy, 2203 A.D.  Part 3

The burly dark-skinned merchant signed over the indenture papers
and slipped $26 -- five gold coins and a silver dollar -- into
the pocket of his vest.  Without saying a word, he turned to
leave.  Before he reached the door, however, the man turned
around and looked back at the slave he had just sold.

"Boy..."

"Yes, Master?"

"No, boy. I'm no longer your master, so you needn't address me
such. But I wanted to say... you did well.  And for that, I give
you my thanks." His eyes scanned quickly down the body of the
slender 12-year-old, naked save for the narrow slave collar
around his neck.  The lad's physical attributes and intuitive
grasp of sensuality had just earned the man a quick 400% profit
at the Norfolk City slave auction.  He again thought to himself
that this was the prettiest white boy he'd ever seen.  Almost as
alluring as the best of the young brown-skinned boys he'd bought
and sold over the years.

"Well, good luck to you, Billy." It was the first time the
merchant had referred to the boy by name.  Billy smiled, and felt
a surge of pride, but said nothing as the slave-trader turned
again and walked through the door.

Billy Mfume was now alone with the man who had just purchased his
indenture - the contract that bound the boy to servitude until
his 18th birthday.  The indenture had been drawn up just the day
before, and already it had been transferred twice to new owners.

"So, lad; you're fresh off the farm, eh," said the gentle-voiced
young man, as he ran a hand through Billy's soft, straw-colored
hair. The new master was handsome, with tawny brown skin and a
hint of effeminacy in his manner and speech.  Billy thought him
surprisingly young to have spent so much money on a slave.

"Not a  farm, Master; my people are watermen.  Up along the
Choptank River." Billy had lived his entire life on the Eastern
Shore of the Chesapeake Bay, catching crabs and fish and oysters
to help feed his family... until he was sold into indentured
slavery by his Pa, to pay the taxes.

"Ah! I stand corrected... a waterman, then," said the man with a
friendly wink.  "I should tell you from the start that I'm not
your new owner.  That would be Mr. Nkomo, the proprietor of the
Blue Boy Club in Williamsburg.  My name is Spinks... Cleavon
Spinks. I'm Mr. Nkomo's... mmm... his assistant.  You'll refer to
me as 'master', though, just as you as you will any free man who
has authority over you, including your customers at the Club.
Perhaps, after a time, you'll earn the right to call me
'Cleavon'.  I take care of the training and discipline of
Mr. Nkomo's boys, and I'll assure you I know how to deal with a
slave who disobeys.  If you conduct yourself right, though,
everything will be just fine."

With an arm around Billy's shoulder, he looked down at Billy's
hairless genitals.  He found them quite attractive in soft
repose.  The flaccid penis was relatively plump in girth and, at
about 3 inches, was the length of the man's finger.  It pointed
downward, with a short foreskin that revealed the very tip of the
pink cock-head.  His balls were nicely filled out for a 12-year-
old, hanging just a bit lower than the end of the penis.  Cleavon
reached down and began to fondle the penis, sliding the foreskin
back to reveal the slightly-flared glans.  Billy didn't flinch at
this intimate touch.  In fact, his face instantly displayed a
mask of utter lust... eyes closed, mouth open, tongue flicking
across his lips, moaning with exaggerated eroticism as his penis
stiffened to a perfectly formed 4-inch erection.

Cleavon laughed out loud. "Well aren't YOU the sexy little slut!
I'd swear you were about to cum the moment I touched you! You'll
need to forgot some of what you learned up Eastern Shore way,
selling services to the country bumpkins.  At a high-class
bordello like the Blue Boy Club, you'll need to be more subtle
when the man first caresses you... more reserved.  Usually a hint
of shyness from a lad your age is pleasing to the customer."
Then Cleavon smiled and kissed Billy's cheek. "But your
intentions and your spirit are good, Billy.  VERY good.  We'll
just have to work on your presentation."

Billy blushed in embarrassment that Cleavon had found his efforts
so transparently counterfeit, but smiled at the man's words of
approval.

"So... how many years have you worked at pleasuring men? Was it
the older lads who taught you how to suck so skillfully? Did your
family have you whoring in some crossroads tavern before you got
sold?" Cleavon had been among the prospective bidders who had
sampled Billy's oral talents prior to the auction.  He'd been
well-impressed,  though it had lasted less than a minute before
the slave-seller had ended the demonstration.

"Begging your pardon, Master, but I'd never been with any man...
in the way you mean, that is... until last night with the master
who just sold me. Nor with another boy until night before that.
But I promise I'll try my best to please."

Cleavon raised his eyebrows in surprise.  "New at pleasuring, eh?
You've got natural talent, then.  Mr. Nkomo should indeed be
pleased with how I've spent his money."  Still holding Billy in a
light embrace, he leaned down to kiss the boy, flicking his
tongue at the Billy's lips and receiving the lad's tongue into
his mouth in return.  Cleavon continued to gently fondle the
barely-adolescent erection and ball-sack, feeling his own cock
starting to swell.

"Mmmm... I've a feeling you'll be one of my favorites, Billy,"
said Cleavon, as he broke the long, wet kiss.

The boy looked up into the man's friendly face and beamed with
pride.  Billy decided immediately that he liked the man... his
new owner's handsome "assistant" (whatever that meant).  And when
Cleavon hugged Billy closer and kissed him again, the boy wrapped
his arms around the brown-skinned man's neck, and returned the
kiss with affection that didn't require play-acting. Their
tongues merged as Cleavon's hands roamed over Billy's ass cheeks
and back, drawing the naked youngster even tighter.

"You'll need  some clothing, my sweet," he said at last.  "I'll
not have you wearing those filthy rags."  Billy's homespun
trousers and shirt -- his only possessions from home -- were in a
bundle on the floor. "I made some purchases yesterday for the
Club's stock of work clothes... sexy little garments to display a
boy properly... genuine antiques they are!  Let's see how they
look on you."  He opened a large leather satchel that sat on the
floor and pulled out a pair of boy's underpants, still inside
plastic packaging that said on the label "Star Wars: Episode 1".
He took them from the wrapping and handed them to the boy.  As
Billy pulled them on, they were quite snug, showing the outline
of his erection as a prominent ridge and clinging tightly to his
slender rounded ass. The briefs were bright white cotton.  They
had a dark blue waistband and piping of the same color around the
legs and on either side of a cleverly-sewn flap in the front.
Cleavon stood back to admire the image and clapped his hands
together.

"Excellent! Turn around, Billy.... Let me see your ass."

After turning his back to the man, Billy teasingly bent over and
wiggled his butt and giggled.  Cleavon reflected that this
garment must surely have been made for just such a purpose in
ancient times... to show the charms of boys who served as whores
or concubines.  The picture that spread tightly across the ass of
the tiny garment showed a man holding some sort of glowing sword,
pointing upward from his crotch.  And the sword was rounded and
distinctly phallic, like a massive dildo poised to enter Billy's
tight asshole.

"Do I look sexy, Master?" asked Billy with a sly smile as he
turned back around to face the man.  Trying hard to achieve an
erotic look in his eyes, he ran his hands teasingly from his
chest down across his belly, rubbing sensuously at his crotch and
then caressing his inner thighs... and then ran his fingers back
to his slender butt.

"You look beautiful, my love! Just how I knew you would," said
Cleavon, speaking with a slight lisp. "How pleased your new owner
will be to see you thus!"

Cleavon marveled at how Billy embodied every element that could
be desired in a brothel-boy.  His slender, unmuscled build... his
perfect, round butt... his beautiful face... his exquisite cock,
right at the dawn of adolescent and able to spurt seed (as Billy
had demonstrated during the auction).  And it was capped off by
his smooth white skin and silky blond hair, so rare in this land
whose inhabitants came in a variety of shades of brown, but
rarely white.  As a feudal culture had gradually replaced the
anarchy of the past, many in the ruling class of brown-skinned
aristocrats had developed a near-fetish for taking their sexual
pleasure with whores and concubines (whether boys or young
wenches) who were whities.

As Cleavon gazed at Billy with growing arousal, he murmured
almost to himself, "So beautiful... So desirable... I could
just...."

Instead of finishing the thought with words, he finished with
action, dropping to his knees in front of Billy.  His fingers
maneuvered the boy's half-hard penis through the flap in the soft
cotton briefs and brought his mouth down onto it.  The erection
stiffened fully as Cleavon ran his tongue over the immature head,
toying with the foreskin.  Drawing back the skin completely, his
lips and tongue savored the glowing red acorn of aroused flesh.
The boy's hips lurched forward as his soprano voice cooed with
pleasure, and his hands delicately caressed the man's thick brown
hair.

Yes! This was good, thought Cleavon... the ultimate thrill for a
man who appreciated the allure of a boy at the earliest budding
of adolescence.  Cleavon's lips rode up and down the full length
of the 4-inch boner as his hands wandered over Billy's
underpants-covered butt.  The man knew he must stop soon or the
boy would shoot his spunk. Mr. Nkomo had always made it clear
that he wanted the first taste of each young slave he bought,
with a full a load of boy-cum if the lad was of age.

Reluctantly, Cleavon rose to his feet.  Although the boss would
have the lad in his bed tonight, Cleavon would begin training him
tomorrow morning... providing numerous opportunities to fully
savor the boy's charms.  He kissed Billy gently and said "Now
let's see what we can find for a shirt."

Cleavon reached into the old leather satchel again and pulled out
a sleeveless shirt of white material with red lettering. "Put it
on," he directed.  When Billy slipped the polyester garment over
his head, it clung tightly to his taut stomach and unmuscled
chest. The armholes and neck plunged low, exposing Billy's
armpits and upper chest. But the jersey was made for a smaller
boy, and its bottom didn't even meet the waistband of the
underpants.  Across the front were the words "Clear Creek
Elementary School Basketball".  Neither Billy nor Cleavon could
read, but even if they were literate, the words would be
meaningless. Schools hadn't existed for 200 years (save for the
private tutoring that the sons of aristocrats received), and the
words "basket" and "ball" would not have made sense linked
together.  Organized sports were long-extinct in the culture that
now existed in the year 2203.

"The shirt goes quite nicely with the pants, Billy! So there you
are... your first costume for working at the Club.  Do that dance
you performed during your auction.... Yes! Like that!  Ah, the
customers at the Club will fall all over themselves to pay for
your services. Now we'll head for the docks.  We've still got
plenty of time to catch a boat upriver to Williamsburg."

The man draped his arm around the boy and led him out into the
street, holding the satchel in one hand and leaving Billy's old
clothing behind. It was late afternoon on a pleasant day in
October, and the sun still warmed the air. Billy wondered what
the townspeople passing by thought as they glanced at him,
dressed only in these revealing garments.  What the people
perceived, no doubt, was exactly what he was... a slave-boy who
had been purchased at the weekly auction, destined for sex work.
The slave collar around his neck (a narrow band of cloth-covered
metal, with a hasp to which a lock and chain could be attached)
advertised his servitude, and the tight cotton briefs that
emphasized his ass and genitals was a give-away that he was
destined for work in a boy-brothel.  (An aristocrat's concubine
boy would not be so blatantly displayed on the street.)

They walked several blocks to the wooden piers at the edge of the
James River.  Although Norfolk City seemed enormous to Billy's
eyes, it contained a population of less than 3,000 who dwelt and
worked among crumbling ruins left from the Golden Age.  Although
civilization had disintegrated 200 years before, when the Global
Plague nearly brought an end to the human race, this place seemed
to hold an inexhaustible supply of salvage from which to fashion
the relatively modest material needs of present-day city
dwellers.

There was no scheduled ferry service to Williamsburg - the other
major population center of the city-state ruled by the Duke of
Norfolk - so Cleavon walked along the wharf until he came to a
small coastal schooner of the kind that typically made the run.

"How much to take us up to Williamsburg today?"

"Not interested.... What breeze there be is from the Nor'west. It
would be on the nose all the way up. If you want to make the run
tonight, you'll need oars instead of sail. There's a Navy galley
down the wharf a ways... see the masts? I'll wager they'd break
out the longboat to row you up there for the right price."

"Thank you kindly, Captain.  Come along, Billy."

Around a bend, they came upon the sleek fighting ship, over 100
feet in length, with eight cannon mounted on the deck. Two masts
would provide plenty of sail, and a ten stout oars that could
extend from the sides supplied propulsion when the wind was
unfavorable or too light.  The Duke's Navy saw relatively little
action these days... there having been peace among the three
city-states of the Chesapeake region for over two years.  But
pirates and privateers from outside the Bay -- from the nation
called Philly to the north or the little-know but powerful
country of York farther up the coast -- sometimes raided shipping
and coastline areas in these parts.

At the foot of the gang-plank stood a sailor, dressed in a
slovenly semblance of a uniform, to whom Cleavon described his
needs. The man disappeared onto the boat and returned with the
captain. He too was dressed in a casual approximation of official
garb and smoked a black cigar.

"A run to Williamsburg, eh? Any cargo besides your slave and
satchel?" he grumbled, ogling Billy as he spoke. "Let's see... a
long-boat, four rowers, and my bosun's mate. About 3 hours to get
there, a bit less back with the breeze at the stern and two fewer
bodies in the boat.  I'll need a dollar and 5 silvers for the
trouble." (The amount would be stated $1.50 by the ancient
reckoning.)

The asking price was too high, and Cleavon knew it would all go
into the captain's pocket. There was no cost to him in freeing up
a longboat and five idle crew-members for the evening, and a few
minutes of canny bargaining resulted in a price of 7 silvers, and
5 coppers (75 cents). The captain took the money, and in a few
minutes the 22-foot longboat was slicing through the dark green
water into the channel of the James River... oars moving in well-
disciplined unison.

Cleavon and Billy sat side-by-side on a bench seat at the bow of
the sleek boat, facing backward.  The bosun's mate, a handsome
man barely out of his teens, sat at the stern holding the tiller.
To Billy's eyes, the sailor looked as handsome as Cleavon, but
more masculine. A short leather whip and a stout bludgeon lay
beside the young man in case he had any trouble from the rowers.

Four buck slaves manned the four oars. A length of medium-weight
chain was attached to the bare metal band around each man's neck,
running down their backs and secured to the benches on which they
sat.  The chain permitted free movement to row, but the slaves
would be unable to stand up or move from their benches. All four
wore only tattered and grimy trousers.  Their bare backs showed
scars from years of whippings, as well as a few fresher scabs and
welts.

Billy shivered slightly... a reaction to both the gruesome sight
of the slaves' backs and to the cool breeze blowing across the
open water. Cleavon reached into his satchel and pulled out a
long cloak of dark cloth, putting it around his shoulders.  Then
he shifted back on the seat and beaconed Billy to sit between his
spread legs.  As Cleavon wrapped the cloak around the boy, he
wrapped his arms around Billy as well.  He leaned forwards to
kiss the back of the boy's neck, inhaling the clean scent of
Billy's freshly-washed body.  When he glanced up, Cleavon caught
the stare of the bosun's mate, and he immediately recognized the
look of barely suppressed lust.  But there was also a twinkle in
the sailor's eyes, and a sly half-smile on his mouth as his gaze
locked onto Cleavon's.

Cleavon had always had an erotic fixation on sailors.  He knew
from a number of intimate encounters with sea-faring men that
they were largely immune to society's informal taboo against
sexual relations between two adult men.  This sailor was
especially sexy in Cleavon's eyes, and he pondered whether he
might be able to convince the bosun's mate to stay long enough in
Williamsburg for a tumble in bed.  Cleavon had free access to the
boy-whores at the Club, but getting his ass fucked by a strong
and handsome young sailor... now THAT would be a special treat!
He decided to play with the man's libido, using Billy's sexual
charms as a tool.

He opened the front of the cloak a bit to reveal his hands
caressing the boy's barely-clothed body.  His fingers slid back
and forth across the crotch of Billy's underpants, making the
boy's penis quickly rise to erection. Though his eyes remained
fixed on the sailor, Cleavon's lips returned to the boy's neck...
and then explored Billy's ear... then his jaw-line... then the
incredible softness of his silky blond hair.  The sailor smiled
broadly and shifted in his seat to adjust the prominent bulge in
his tight trousers.

For his part, Billy had snaked his right hand back to gently rub
the hardness at Cleavon's crotch.  And he craned his neck around
to offer his mouth to Cleavon's kisses... an offer that was
accepted at once.

When two oars knocked together, disrupting the rowing, Billy
noticed that one of the slaves was glancing back at him with a
look of almost-pained desire. In a moment, the whip was in the
sailor's hand, and it cracked as its tip caught the buck-slave on
the shoulder.

"You pay no never-mind to the private business of a free man, or
you'll feel a dozen of my best on your back.  Now row, you dogs,
and keep your eyes looking down."

Billy winced at the reminder of his own condition of servitude...
of how close he'd always be to receiving a whipping.  Even as he
willingly exchanged affection with Cleavon, he knew that any
reluctance to do so could be punished severely.  Billy resolved
that he would never provide an excuse to be whipped... he'd do
whatever was within his power to please his masters.  So even as
his thoughts were clouded by apprehension, Billy's tongue was
snaking inside Cleavon's mouth, his hand pressing tighter against
the erection inside Cleavon's trousers, and little moans of lust
were emanating from the boy's throat.

"Nice one, ain't he," said Cleavon to the sailor in a knowing
voice, after he broke the kiss. He parted the cloak all the way
to display Billy's body more fully.

"Aye... that he is, sir... for a fact."

"What's your name sailor?"

"Jenkins, sir... DeWan Jenkins, Bosun's Mate on the Duke's
frigate 'Devastator'... at your service."

"Mine's Cleavon Spinks.  I help run a gentlemen's sporting club
up in Williamsburg, featuring boy-whores of the finest quality.
Bringing this young beauty up to join the stable of lads.  Any
chance you'd want to over-night in Williamsburg before heading
back to Norfolk?  I'm sure I could talk my employer into giving
you a complementary session with one of our boys... we've got an
even-dozen to choose from, if you include Billy here.  And we can
secure your rowers for the night in the barn."

The sailor thought for a few moments, with an agonized expression
on his face.  "Wish I could say yes... but Captain would skin me
it I didn't come right back. Probably think these here slaves
skedaddled and left me floating belly-down."  (If the four rowers
were listening to that comment, they made no overt sign of it.)
"But I thank you kindly for the offer."

"If you ever come up our way and have some time, look for me at
the Blue Boy Club, right on Gloucester Street near the Duke's
Winter Palace.  I'll show you some proper hospitality." Although
the words were courteous, his face and tone of voice conveyed the
intended innuendo.  And if Cleavon couldn't lure DeWan to spend
the night, he could at least give him a show to keep him thinking
about a return trip next time he was on leave.

Cleavon's playful caresses of Billy with hands and lips resumed,
evolving gradually into more of a passionate clutch.  Then he
directed Billy to stand.  As the boy stood passively, Cleavon
raised the basketball jersey up.  Tight as a sausage-casing, it
stayed up, bunched above the small tan nipples on his slender
chest.  And then Cleavon's fingers slid beneath the elastic
waistband of the briefs, just in front of Billy's hip-bones, and
slowly eased the underpants down, exposing the pretty 4-inch
erection and young-adolescent balls that were half-way pulled up
in reaction to the cool evening air.

Billy knew full-well that Cleavon wished to arouse the sailor.
He didn't know exactly why this was so... only that it was his
duty as a slave to anticipate and fulfill his master's wishes.
Billy's gaze met the sailor's, and he imagined that he was trying
to seduce the man, just as he had been taught last night by his
previous owner.  The boy's eyes burned with shameless desire and
wanton sensuality. He mimed a kiss, in the manner of a coquette,
and left his lips slightly parted.

All the while, Cleavon was gently masturbating Billy's cock and
peeping around the boy's torso to watch DeWan's reaction.
Predictably, the sailor was at the cross-roads of agony and
bliss... drinking in the utterly pornographic vision, while
painfully aware of the throbbing hardness at his crotch, craving
relief.

"Just because you can't come by the Club, doesn't mean you can't
have a little pleasure... eh, DeWan?  Can I offer you the
services of my slave to pass the time on our trip upriver to
Williamsburg?" asked Cleavon, his words tinged with devilish
humor.  "He's got a fine way with his mouth."

"I swear by the God of the Sea that I'd enjoy that mightily,"
said the sailor.  "Would it be to much to ask you to trade places
with me and take the helm for a time?" Cleavon grinned and nodded
his assent. Then DeWan hefted the whip that rested on the seat
beside him, and said "You'll need to use this if any of these
bucks slows the pace.... You OK with that?"

"Oh, sure.... I've used a slave-whip before.  I'll have no
hesitation to lay on some stripes to keep up the pace."  Cleavon
knew that would be unnecessary.  This was merely a ritual to let
the rowers know he was capable of it.

"Er... and not to abuse your hospitality or nothin', but would it
be alright for me to pet the boy a bit before he sucks me off?"

"Enjoy him all you like, but I'll not have you fuck his ass and
he's not to shoot his seed."  And then addressing Billy: "You
hear that last part, lad? You save up your cum 'til we get to
Williamsburg, and Mr. Nkomo has the chance to try you out."

"Yes, Master. I understand."

Cleavon put the cloak around Billy's shoulders and threaded his
way down the length of the boat between the four rowers until he
got to the stern.  As he sat at the other side of the stern from
DeWan, he placed his fingers lightly on top of the sailor's hand
on the tiller.  For his part, DeWan brought his free hand to
Cleavon's knee and stroked his thigh lightly.  As they looked
into each other's eyes for a long moment, Cleavon was confident
they had an informal bargain, with repayment to be made in
Williamsburg... sometime in the future... in Cleavon's bed.

"Go on and take your pleasure with the boy. I'll be fine here.
Take your time," said Cleavon.

The sailor skittered toward the bow and sat next to Billy. He
silently guided the slave-boy to stand, facing him. Without a
word, he removed the cloak and pulled the shirt over the boy's
head.  The underpants were already around Billy's knees, and
DeWan pulled them the rest of the way off.

"Sit on my lap, boy.  You look light as a feather," he said,
patting his thighs.

"Yes, Master," said the boy, glancing back to Cleavon and
receiving the slight nod that affirmed he was indeed to call the
young sailor "master" for the present.

Billy sat sideways across DeWan's strong thighs and wrapped his
arms affectionately around the man's neck. With no hesitation or
prompting, Billy kissed the sailor and opened his mouth to
DeWan's probing tongue. The man stroked and fondled the pretty
boy's body, his hands wandering freely.  His breathing became
ragged with sexual energy as he toyed with the young-adolescent
erection and satin-smooth balls.  Then his fingers slipped
farther down to stroke Billy's anal flesh, and the muscle flexed
open slightly at his touch (unlike most young boys he'd bedded,
whose initial reaction was usually to clamp shut). DeWan felt
such a strong surge of desire as his finger worked its way into
the warm orifice that his whole body trembled slightly.

"Hop off for a second, lad, whilst I remove my britches. You've
got me hotter than an iron cook-stove!"

Billy knelt passively on the floor-planks at DeWan's feet as the
sailor stood up and pulled his trousers down and off. Cleavon's
eyes were trained on DeWan's crotch... a fact fully noted by the
sailor. Pulling his shirt up, he gave Cleavon a full view of his
7-inch erection and gave it a few easy strokes. Like the sailor
himself, the phallus was handsomely masculine... slender, yet
powerful... a sturdy spear rather than a club.  When the two
men's gazes met, they each smiled.  Cleavon winked an eye... a
gesture that was answered by an even bigger smile from the
bosun's mate.  Yes; they understood each other perfectly.

"Sit back down, boy... facing me with your legs astride my
waist," said DeWan as he pulled Billy to his feet. "Don't worry;
I won't fuck you... I just want to feel up your body and taste
those lips of yours for a while more."

Billy positioned himself on the sailor's lap, his arms wrapped
around the man's neck and his knees resting on the seat on either
side of DeWan's hips. The boy's cock pressed against the man's
erection and slid back and forth against it as Billy rocked his
hips. DeWan's hands caressed the smooth warm skin of the boy's
shoulders and back... and then cradled Billy's slender butt
cheeks, pushing the round globes together, then pulling them
apart and running his fingers along the crack. Their lips and
tongues tasted and nibbled and slurped... in a leisurely manner
at first, but with gradually increasing hunger and urgency.

Finally DeWan whispered in Billy's ear "By the gods, you're as
sexy as any boy or wench I've ever bedded!  Get down on your
knees, and give me good suck.  Nice and slow, now. Let's see what
a fancy boy-whore can do."

"Yes, Master."

Billy slithered his way down the front of DeWan's chest, kissing
and gently nipping at the young man's neck and chest and belly as
he went. When he came to the sailor's rigid cock, he held it
lightly in his fingers and ran the tip of his tongue up and down
along the smooth shaft. The scent of manly musk stirred Billy's
excitement, as he took the elegant cock-head between his lips.
His flicking tongue and nibbling lips teased the sensitive flesh
of the foreskin and glans, as Billy's fingers toyed with full
balls that dangled below.

"Ahhh.... That's good, lad," DeWan hissed in a near-whisper.

Billy sucked with hungry lips and tongue up and down along the
top of the sailor's hot cock as his hand pulled the skin of the
shaft back and forth in the same rhythm. DeWan's fingers entwined
through Billy's silken hair, taking control of the pace and
applying downward pressure.  As he pushed more of his cock into
Billy's mouth, he purred: "Do it, boy... take me in deep... take
it all!"

Billy was a novice cocksucker, but the hours of training he had
received the previous night, combined with his innate sense of
how to apply those lessons, made it seem as if he had been
servicing cocks for years.  The boy's lips slid down the rigid
stalk, letting the head graze against the ridged roof of his
mouth before slipping into the narrow confines of his throat.
Just 24 before, as the boy was receiving his first instruction
from the slave-merchant, it had seemed impossible to take all of
a man's hard cock.  But with patient training from his master,
and Billy's persistent desire to succeed, he had finally mastered
the technique.  And then, prior to this day's auction, Billy had
taken some 20 cocks to the hilt, one after the other as the
bidders inspected him and sampled his skills.  Though the lad's
throat was still a bit sore from that work-out, he knew he could
easily accommodate DeWan's handsome erection without gagging. He
took the last two inches in a quick plunge, causing DeWan to moan
with pleasure.

Then Billy went to work, rising up to take a breath through his
nose and driving his mouth down again, pressing his lips against
the bush of curly black hair. Bobbing up and down on the
impressive cock, the boy's mouth circled in spirals along the
length of the shaft... holding the cock-head captive for a few
moments as his throat constricted around it... then rising up to
lavish his tongue all around the cock-head, burrowing into the
slit, as saliva ran down the throbbing pole and onto DeWan's
balls.

Billy worked hard at giving his first "customer" the most
energetic blow job he could create, knowing that Cleavon was
watching and judging him... knowing that it was a boy-slave's
duty to pleasure men to the best of his ability.  But when he
felt the man's balls pulling up close to his body, Billy eased
back on the intensity of the stimulation, remembering DeWan's
instruction to make it last.  With slow deliberation, he moved
his mouth around the cock-head... teased it with his lips and
tongue while he caressed the wet shaft with his fingers... and
then slid down again, very slowly, until his lips pressed against
hair.

The sailor leaned back against the gunnel and splayed his legs
out, closing his eyes and drinking in the sensations flowing from
his crotch. Yes... this was a fine way to travel up-river! When
his eyes opened again and he looked over at Cleavon, sitting in
the stern, he was not at all surprised to see Cleavon's eyes
taking in the scene with eager and undisguised lust, his hand
rubbing his crotch. DeWan closed his eyes again and sank back
into the world of erotic bliss.

Billy was carefully trying out every technique he'd been
taught... and even adding a few new ways to use his mouth and
fingers.  He found that pleasuring a man wasn't a chore; rather
it was an exciting challenge.

As he worked his slow but intense magic, Billy heeded his former
master's instructions about how to tell when a man was close to
shooting his seed... how his balls would draw up tight and the
muscles of his legs would quiver and tense.  Each time DeWan's
orgasm drew near, Billy reduced the level of stimulation. He kept
the sailor near the edge, but carefully withheld the prize.

Though he was a mere slave, it seemed to Billy as if he were in
complete control of the situation... drawing forth moans of
pleasure that sounded almost as if he were torturing the man. And
perhaps this was torture... denying the man a quick orgasm
through delicious, slow, sexual agony.

On and on it went until finally DeWan could take no more.

"By the gods! Finish me off, boy! I can't take it any longer!"
The sailor bucked his hips up with desperate urgency, driving his
cock into Billy's mouth. Billy grabbed the throbbing penis in his
right hand and fisted it up and down, as his mouth went wild with
twisting sucks of his lips and rough licking all around the
sailor's cock-head.

In 30 seconds, the dam bust.  Billy's mouth filled with spurting
cum that he struggled to swallow down, as some of it trickled
down his chin.  As the pulses of hot fluid waned, the boy sucked
and licked at the oozing slit at the end of the engorged phallus.

"Agh! It's too much!" grumbled the sailor at last, pushing
Billy's head away. Then he smiled down at the exhausted lad
kneeling on the floorboards of the boat and added: "That was a
mighty good cum you gave me, boy.  You're as good a cocksucker as
I've ever had."

As he buttoned his trousers and made his way to the stern of the
small boat, DeWan said to Cleavon: "Much obliged for that sir.
And if I may be so rude as to ask... how much does your
establishment charge for a go-round with a boy like that one?"

"The standard fee for an hour with a lad is 5 silvers.  Some of
our more desirable boys warrant more... and there are some
'special services' for which extra is charged."

The sailor whistled in a long, low tone. "Half a dollar! That's
more than my pay for a week!... And I always thought I was being
wastefully extravagant to pay ONE silver in a whore-house."  As
he sat down on the bench at the stern, on the other side of the
tiller from Cleavon, DeWan added in a low voice: "anything I can
do for you to repay the favor?"

"Like I said before... you can come up to Williamsburg on your
next leave. I've a good soft feather-bed that'll fit the two
comfortably." There was a hopeful gleam in Cleavon's eye that was
answered by DeWan's amused leer and nod of agreement.  "And if
you would," continued Cleavon, "how's about a kiss to seal the
bargain?"

DeWan glanced over at the four rowing slaves. All were smart
enough to have their eyes downcast and clueless expressions on
their faces.

"What the hell," DeWan muttered, and he brought his mouth to
Cleavon's and the two exchanged a long, sloppy tongue kiss.
DeWan's hand slid up Cleavon's inner thigh and lewdly grabbed at
the half-hard cock that pressed against the man's tight trousers,
gauging its length and girth.

When the kiss broke, there were no further words as Cleavon
scooted back to the bow, where Billy still knelt on the floor,
naked and shivering a bit.

"Here now, lad. Get your costume back on.  And let me get a
sweater from my satchel."  Cleavon pulled a green wool sweater
from his piece of luggage and handed it to the slave-boy. It was
many sizes too big, but Billy looked all the more appealing... a
combination of innocence and young-adolescent eroticism.

Meanwhile, Cleavon was lowering his trousers and jacking his cock
to a handsome medium-thick 6-inch erection that he made sure
DeWan could see and admire.  Sitting down, he said: "Now, lad;
give me the same as you gave the bosun's mate."

Billy's jaw and tongue were tired. His throat was sore. But he
knew this was his duty....  This was going to be his life for
years to come. He positioned himself between Cleavon's spread
legs and lowered his mouth onto the straining pole.  Hmmmm.... It
actually felt good to have a cock in his mouth!  And as he went
to work, he was immediately rewarded with the feedback of
pleasure-noises that Cleavon was making.

As the longboat made it's way upriver, the oars pulling and
rising in a steady unison, Cleavon leaned back to enjoy a long,
drawn-out interlude of pleasure.


... Two and a half hours later...

The boat pulled up to a dock on a small creek off the James
River, two miles from town of Williamsburg.  Only a single oil-
lamp shone from the dock.  A carriage waited on shore, and its
driver climbed down and took the mooring lines of the longboat.
He was a lanky 17-year-old, wearing a slave collar around his
neck... nearly an adult, with faint beard stubble on his chin and
upper lip.  Mr. Nkomo usually sold off his boys to be plantation
field hands when they got to be 15 or so and no longer as
desirable to customers.  But this one he kept around, to do
chores and to take customers who wanted "special services", which
usually consisted of men who wanted to be physically dominated by
a teenager... and men who wanted to get rough on a boy

"Good to see you, Cleavon!" said the youth. "Brought back a
pretty package from the city, I see." He reached down as Cleavon
transferred the sleeping boy into his arms. "Cute little whitey,
he is!"

"Aye, Seth... a cute one.  And a natural at using his mouth. I
think we may have a replacement for Ganymede.  We'll get him
trained, and I wager the gents will pay a full dollar for a
chance at him."

"That would please the boss mightily, Mr. Cleavon.  We ain't had
a dollar-boy at the Club since the Duke came in and took that
Ganymede to be his concubine.  A shame the boss didn't have no
choice about selling the lad."

"You don't say no to the Duke of Norfolk.  That's for sure," said
Cleavon with a sigh.

Cleavon bade farewell to DeWan, slipping an exceedingly generous
tip of five silvers into his hand, and hopped into the carriage.
He watched as the long-boat pulled briskly away from the dock and
into the moon-lit darkness.

"Alright then Seth.... On to Williamsburg to show Mr. Nkomo his
new boy-whore."

The two horses slowly clomped up the hill away from the river, as
Cleavon held the sleeping lad to his chest, breathing in Billy's
wonderful boy-scent.

"And starting tomorrow I'll take my time teaching him the
skills," murmured Cleavon, almost to himself.


End of Part 3 (to be continued)

Like it? Write to me at bil47_new@yahoo.com

The first two parts of "Chesapeake Boy", and all my other
stories, are on Nifty Archive (www.nifty.org). Look on Nifty's
"prolific net authors" page, under "Bill".