Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: A QUITE INTERESTING DINNER HOUR

Previously: The captives' lunch is interrupted by maroons, who conduct an orgy, sodomizing random Bottoms and (literally) tossing them aside after multiple uses. The Tops are anxious, as four of them are to be made Bottoms at the final competition Wednesday night, but the Russians seem to have abandoned their elaborate plans involving a video and colored tablecloths. Alex wonders if it's related to a brief, mysterious stop at an island.

Unknown to the Tops, the stop was to pick up the Russians' principal client, the `Prince Regent', who has demanded that, instead of the four losing Tops surrendering their virginity, they are to be gelded. The Russians try to persuade the P.R. to choose the geldees in a way that protects the boys they most want as personal slaves. The Prince refuses, declaring that 'Fate' will ensure that the 'right' four boys are gelded - but he will allow the Russians' choices to receive slightly better odds of escaping that fate. His methods, however, remain mysterious.

Rhody visits Alex and confesses his love for him. Alex is conflicted; he refuses to admit that the erection Rhody had caused that morning was physical attraction. Rhody interprets his rejection as evidence that Alex is in love with Matti; they exchange their real names as a token of their friendship.

ALEX: WEDNESDAY, JUNE 15, DINNERTIME – INDIAN OCEAN

We went to dinner, more than a bit nervous after what had happened at lunch. And at first, everything was fine. There were eight maroons present, acting normally.

We Tops were all seated at one long table on the port side of the ship. Matti and I were at the stern end of the table, across from each other. Matti faced the port side of the ship; opposite him, I had a full view of the Dining Hall, including the Bottoms and Eunuchs.

Next to Matti was Del, then Noisy, Mississippi, South Carolina and Nevada, in order. To my left was Rhody, then Nodak, South Dakota, Oregon, and Wyoming, in order. Our seating arrangement was a perfect delineation of our relationships: Everyone was friends with the guys next to and across from him but the further away you got, the less friendly you were. Thus Matti and I were the furthest away from Nevada and Wyoming. We were all surrounding ourselves with the most comforting people to be around, because we knew what was going to happen tonight to some of us: Eight cocks up the ass.

After the abbreviated lunch, I should have been starving – but wasn't. But when the food appeared I found my appetite and ate nervously but well.

It was only when they brought out a peach cobbler for dessert that it happened: The maroons started to strip.

Was this a second coming of the orgiastic debacle at lunch or was this actually the start of the competition? Were they stripping so that they could rape four of us?

Joey was one of the eight now-naked maroons. He stepped up to the front of the room and barked orders to be silent.

We obeyed. When these guys order you to be silent, you get silent.

• Bottoms and Eunuchs – line up against the starboard wall.

My heart went out to them. They had finished their meal and had started to relax – everything was normal, their fears of further rapes had abated. And now that sense of calm had vanished. Terrified, thirty-two naked guys rose from their chairs and hurried to the right wall, anxious not to cause trouble.

Joey maneuvered them into a single line stretching for half the length of the dining room. Then, while still staring at them, he thrust his arm backwards, pointing a finger straight toward our table on the port side of the room.

• You!

He spoke without facing us, then swiveled his head to see whom he was pointing at – South Dakota.

• You – stand up.

South Dakota stood up.

• Face the wall.

South Dakota was a proud man, a fit, nicely-proportioned full-blooded Sioux, but at the moment he had been caught off guard and wondering why the hell he had been singled out, even though it was clear that Joey had picked him without knowing who he was picking.

• All Tops – stand up and face the wall.

What the fuck? If he wanted us all to do so, why did he single out South Dakota first? What was going on here? We didn't have time to dwell on it, we were out of our seats in an instant.

The next thing Joey said was possibly the last thing we would have expected.

• South Dakota – choose a number between 1 and 32.

I saw South Dakota involuntarily shake his head as a sort of double-take – he said what?? And I saw a vestige of hope that nothing dreadful was about to happen to him. "Eleven," he said.

• South Dakota your number is eleven. Nevada, pick a different number between 1 and 32.

Nevada chose 27. Each of us was called on in turn to pick a number. I chose 21, Matti 15 – our birthday dates.

• Bottoms and Eunuchs: Those of you whose numbers were called, get down on your knees and prepare to suck cock. Here are your assignments: Vermont, you will suck South Dakota's cock. Michigan, Nevada's cock . . .

He went through the list – I was assigned to Iowa, Matti to West Virginia.

• No injections tonight – your Bottom will have to get you hard. But unless you've been naughty, you haven't shot your load in forty-five hours, so you should be ready for action without much difficulty.

We left our seats and went to the starboard wall. Iowa was, indeed, twenty-first from the end. A handsome guy, he looked a bit like the actor Daniel Kaluuya. He looked up at me with trepidation. I mouthed the words "I'm sorry". I knew that if I voiced them, I would be in trouble.

Two persons to my right, Del had inserted his penis into Kansas' mouth. Kansas had lost his virginity two nights ago because he had chosen scissors when I chose rock. Had I chosen paper, that would be me kneeling on the floor. Instead, I had been his first fucker and now he was servicing Del.

Iowa had lost his virginity the same night and then was brutalized at lunch, inches away from me. I nodded encouragement to him; he nodded back in resignation and opened up. My cock started to get hard on its way to his mouth, and when it touched his velvety tongue its shaft lengthened at least an inch.

Iowa was a smart guy, and realized that this would not be the last cock he would ever be sucking; his future might depend upon his skill in doing so. So he didn't just sit there and let me thrust in and out of him – he got his tongue involved, pressing it tightly against my invading cock and wrapping around the sides. He took his hands and pressed them against my buttocks, both to steady himself and to guide my cock as he wanted to influence the tempo at which I fucked his mouth.

A few minutes into the blow-job, I heard Joey announce, "The remaining Bottoms and Eunuchs will suck OUR cocks!" And before I knew it, two naked maroons surrounded me, thrusting their engorged penises into the mouths of Maryland and Indiana, who were next to Iowa on either side.

I watched the brutality with which the maroons set about their task – Maryland was gagging frequently. Indiana, on the other hand, reacted with something approaching enthusiasm. He had been a Eunuch since that first catastrophic Monday and had spent nights in the company of the Russians – perhaps they had instructed him in the art of fellatio, because he certainly looked well-trained.

• Tops, you must shoot in the Bottoms' mouths. Bottoms, you must swallow it.

Iowa sensed that I was approaching climax, and without my grabbing his head, increased his tempo. My cock was in heaven as I felt the load building and building until at last it exploded into Iowa's mouth. My ejaculation lasted eight good spurts, and Iowa waited for all of them before swallowing. I pulled out, mouthed "Thank you" and he nodded in a way I couldn't interpret.

I stepped away and a white maroon – his nametag said "Bubba" – stuck a Q-tip into the Black man's mouth and swished it around. The Q-tip went into a machine, which somehow was able to confirm that yes, there was semen on Iowa's tongue, and it matched my DNA. Ain't technology wonderful?

• (Bubba, to me) You can return to your seat. (to Iowa) Not you.

Matti was already at our table – West Virginia was his Bottom, and I imagined that the man from Morgantown had efficiently given him a satisfying experience.

I wanted to ask Matti what he thought the implications of this surprising development were on tonight's competition. If they wanted to keep us on edge, they were sure succeeding.

DMITRI: The activity in the Dining Hall was observed by the Prince Regent from the Control Room, along with his doctor, my comrades, and our assistants. The Prince found this amusing and then announced:

• This is excellent. Now I'd like to inspect the stock in person.

• (Boris) What? While this is going on? It's not over, Your Majesty. There's more activity planned.

• Tell them to wait until I get there.

The P.R. announced this as if we were his subjects and had to obey.

We acted as if we were his subjects and obeyed. We sent Ricky to tell Joey to hold off until the Prince Regent arrived.

• (Yuri) Shall we all go?

• (P.R., smiling wickedly) I think that it will be more effective if I appear alone. You may, of course, watch and listen from up here.

Kind of you, Prince, allowing us to use our own equipment from our own Control Room to watch our own captives that we spent months collecting and ten days breaking, partly for your benefit. So generous.

ALEX: The assistant named Ricky entered the room shortly after South Carolina, the last of us, finished giving Arkansas a liquid dessert.

Ricky whispered something to Joey, one of the few maroons not getting blown. Joey looked surprised, but nodded. Ricky left the room while Joey went down the line of maroons and whispered to them.

What was going on?

A few minutes later, Ricky reappeared and Joey called out, "Okay, stop." Almost in unison, the twenty maroons withdrew from the Bottom's mouths, still stiff.

• All Bottoms who were fucked at lunch, move to the front of the room.

A majority of the Bottoms made the move. About ten remained along the starboard wall, with the four Eunuchs. The maroons made a careful inspection of both groups, to make sure that no one who had escaped earlier tried to hide among those who had been victimized. Everyone looked scared, particularly those who had gotten through lunch unmolested.

Suddenly, the Bottoms in the front of the room reacted – there was a tightening of the posture, and eyes darted from one to the other. Alabama and West Virginia grabbed each other's hands. The Bottoms on the starboard wall reacted as well – they were looking toward the entrance in the back right corner of the Hall – something was out there that they could see but, from our position on the port side, we couldn't.

And then we could. One of the Russians had garbed himself in a full Arab costume, complete with keffiyeh. What was this – a costume ball?

Only it was not one of the Russians. From his face, he clearly was an Arab. The only Arabs on the ship were the doctors, and this man was not one of the doctors. Whoever he was, I had never seen him before. He must have gotten on the ship when we stopped earlier this afternoon.

I did not like this.

Neither, apparently, did Rhody, who lost himself momentarily and said quietly:

• Who the fuck is that?

Not quietly enough, though. The Arab spun in our direction.

• (angrily) Who said that? Whoever said that, stand up.

• (Joey, perhaps kindly) There is a camera trained on you, so you will be easy to identify. If you are smart, you will confess.

Rhody's common sense restored, he stood up, bowing his head in deference. Whoever this dude was, he was important – more important than the Russians, perhaps, and we'd better toe the line.

• (Arab guy) That was – intelligent. Speaking without permission – that was foolish, and cannot go unpunished. (to Joey) You – are you the lead enforcer?

• I suppose so, Your Majesty. Although not officially.

Your Majesty? Uh-oh.

• Get two bottles of cooking oil from the kitchen. Also about twenty feet of rope, a measuring tape, and some duct tape.

While Joey went off in search of the desired materials, the Arab passed along the row of Bottoms along the starboard wall, as if evaluating them individually. He stopped in front of Florida, of all people.

• You – step forward.

Florida, being Florida, did no such thing. He had reverted to form, not having learned his lesson.

The Arab was shocked.

• Are you refusing me, boy?

• Yes I am.

The Arab slapped him hard across the face, something Florida must have been getting used to.

• Refusing me – denying one of my desires – is the same as stealing from me. Do you know what we do to thieves in my country? We cut off their hand. Refuse again and I will toss your right hand into the sea. But I will give you one more chance – step forward.

I think Florida could have accepted having his entire body tossed overboard, but not his severed hand. He stepped forward.

The Arab turned and scanned the maroons – then pointed at Tupu, arguably the best endowed of them all.

• Fuck this boy. Dry. I want to see blood streaming from his asshole.

Tupu approached Florida and picked him up as effortlessly as he would a small dog. He threw Florida over his shoulder and then flipped him face down over the edge of a table. Two other maroons grabbed Florida's arms and held him down as the big Polynesian stroked his thick cock to maximum length, kicked Florida's legs apart and positioned himself between them.

I heard a yelp simultaneously with a thrust from Tupu's massive buttocks as the maroon forced himself into Florida's anal passage. I could only see the back of Tupu so was spared the view of Florida as he was being speared, save his splayed legs framing Tupu's tree-trunk torso.

I heard his grunts, and those of Tupu, one of pleasure and one of pain as Tupu raped the young Latino without greasing him up.

The Arab motioned to Rumeal, who traveled to the other side of the table and thrust his meaty organ into Florida's mouth. Florida continued to scream but his yells were muffled by the thick cock filling his throat, as he was fucked simultaneously in both ends.

• (Arab guy) Thank you, gentlemen.

While the rape of Florida was going on, he returned to the row of Bottoms, who suddenly shifted their feet nervously.

• (pointing out Hawaii) I want this boy fucked. And this boy. And this boy. You decide who gets the honors. These may be lubricated beforehand. Oh, and this one, too – I want to watch him get fucked.

I saw that the additional unfortunates he had selected were New Mexico, Michigan, and Louisiana, and watched as the four of them were dragged over to the same table where Florida was being ravished and bent over the side. Soon I heard their grunts as two big maroons plunged their tools into their helpless rectums.

Then he looked back in our direction.

• (looking squarely at Rhody) I haven't forgotten about YOU. I'll deal with you when my materials arrive.

I definitely did not like the sound of this.

In the meantime, the rapes continued and when Tupu shuddered, the Arab motioned to Latronius to take his place. I had the feeling Florida's ordeal was far from over, and heard his cock-strangled grunt as my would-be rapist tore into his rump.

The Arab appeared bored, and decided that four suffering Bottoms were not enough, so Oklahoma was also sodomized for his entertainment. While this was going on, Rumeal pulled out of Florida's mouth, to be replaced by the equally well-hung Robinson.

Joey came back with the supplies the Arab had requested, and was instructed to lay down a three-foot long stripe of duct tape, another exactly fifteen feet away and a third another fifteen feet distant, creating a sort of lane thirty feet long, split into two halves. We watched in fascination – and dread – wondering how this related to some sort of punishment for Rhody, and what the remaining materials had to do with it.

The Arab walked over to Rhody.

• Which of the remaining boys has the nicest ass?

Rhody was completely caught off guard. Whatever he was expecting the Arab to say to him, it wasn't this.

• I don't know, sir – Your Majesty – they're all very nice.

The Arab grabbed Rhody by the chin.

• Choose!

• Maine, sir. Maine has the nicest ass.

I could see from his expression that Rhody regretted his answer instantly. Rhody was fond of Maine – perhaps in the same way he was fond of me – and his answer had been utterly and completely honest. The Arab knew it, too.

This was not going to be good for Maine.

The Arab turned to Joey and gave him some instructions, so quietly that none of us could hear. He spoke, just as quietly to two other maroons, who grabbed Maine from out of the line, and threw him to the floor. Quickly a piece of rope was tied around Maine's ankles, securing them tightly; another piece tied his wrists together. Poor Maine looked terrified; there was more to this – and there was a third piece of rope. The end of which was tied around his balls, leaving about eight feet of rope extending beyond the knot.

They moved him so that his butt was sitting just beyond the first piece of tape. Joey took one of the bottles of vegetable oil and poured its contents onto the floor in the area between the first two pieces of tape – fifteen feet in total.

I realized what was about to happen and cringed. Rhody was handed the end of the rope connected to Maine's balls.

• You're going to pull him until his balls reach the tape.

Rhody looked horrified. Maine looked terrified. The rest of us felt sick. But we knew that Rhody had no choice; fortunately the oil on the floor would reduce the friction and make his job easier.

Rhody took a deep breath and looked back at Maine apologetically. Then he closed his eyes, sighed, and began to pull. Maine worked hard to avoid crying out in pain but his face was scrunched up in a tight ball as he was pulled along the floor by his balls. I think the oil was the only reason he wasn't emasculated right then and there. But the oil also interfered with Rhody's footing, as the floor was slippery.

Rhody tried to keep a steady pace, wanting Maine's pain to be over as quickly as possible with the rope cinched tightly around his vulnerable scrotum. Maine started to pant, to dissipate some of the pain and to keep conscious, and slowly those pants turned into moans – when Rhody heard them, his face contorted with guilt.

In a couple of minutes it was over. He reached the finish line, and Maine was still intact.

But there were three pieces of tape, not two. Rhody had only pulled Maine halfway along the path from the first piece of tape to the last. The Arab had something else in mind.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the rope around Maine's balls was released. And then bit my lip a moment later as the same loop was retied – around Rhody's balls. The other end was looped into the knot tying Maine's ankles together.

• Now you're going to pull him the rest of the way, by YOUR balls.

Again, the path was greased with a bottle of cooking oil. I closed my eyes – I couldn't watch this.

I heard Rhody cry out in sudden agony and my eyes popped open. He had slipped on the cooking oil and fallen to his knees, the pressure on his testicles exploding but not sufficient to rip them free from his body. He was gasping for air, waiting for the pain to subside. He had pulled Maine all of two feet – thirteen left to go.

Rhody waited a full minute before the Arab spoke.

• Get moving, boy, or he loses those balls.

That panicked Rhody. Shrewd, I thought of the Arab: he'd sensed that Rhody would be more motivated by protecting Maine than himself. And it worked. Rhody slowly began moving his knees forward, keeping his body low for a better angle.

It took him three more minutes, but he pulled Maine to the finish line, tears streaming down his face by the time he completed his task. I couldn't imagine what his balls felt like – or what he was thinking in his head. When the rope was cut, he winced – I could imagine him thinking that the knife was going to sever more than the rope, but thankfully it didn't.

Free of the pressure on his balls, he rolled around on the floor in a mixture of agony and relief.

But the Arab was not done with him yet.

• Now you will fuck him.

I saw Rhody's mouth open to utter a protest – probably a profane one – and then shut again. It was opening his mouth that had gotten him into this situation in the first place, and that had been an innocent expression of wonder, not words of provocation. I saw him realize that any attempt at protest or refusal would result in a punishment that perhaps his manhood would not survive.

He slowly got up, nodded, and, despite the pain in his throbbing balls, tried to stimulate himself to erection. Failing, one of the maroons injected him while Maine was draped over a table. There was cooking oil all over his ass. Some of it was pushed inside him as lube.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Nevada take a bite of his peach cobbler. He was sitting at the far end of the table, out of my conversation range – and none of us was about to dare say a word after what had just happened – but he became the target of a few unbelieving stares, including from Wyoming: How can you possibly eat at a time like this? He just looked at the rest of us and shrugged: hey, nothing's happening while they wait for Rhode Island to get hard, so might as well eat. And took another bite.

Rhody, with the help of his right hand, got hard in less time than the ten minutes that the injection alone would have needed, and did his duty. We all saw him from behind as he plowed his dick in and out of Maine. I had to admit his glutes were spectacular; as well-defined as a body-builder's, his ass seemed to be pure muscle. Was it my imagination or did I feel something stirring in my own balls as I watched his ass thrust back and forth as he sodomized the hapless Maine?

My imagination, surely. But before I know it I felt my cock lifting. I have read that in men of my age there is a periodic surge of blood to the penis every few minutes, which sometimes results in those spontaneous erections which can be oh so embarrassing if they crop up at the wrong time. I guess that's what happened to me then, coincidentally while I was watching Rhody's heaving buttocks.

At that moment, the Arab walked over to our table.

• The first three of you to produce erections will be rewarded.

I had a bit of a head start, and it did not take me long to be the first to sport a boner. The Arab smiled and motioned me forward, encouraging the others. Wyoming and Mississippi joined me a few minutes thereafter.

Rhody had shot his load inside Maine's shapely butt, and the Arab turned to me.

• You will fuck him next.

This was my reward? The Arab must have read my thoughts, and said:

• Enjoy it. After tonight's competition you may not be the one doing the fucking. This may be your last chance.

Great. After everything that had gone on, I had almost forgotten there was a competition tonight. Allegedly the last one. Well, he was right. It might be my last fuck, and I had discovered I liked fucking ass. I resolved that if I were ever to return to my previous life I would ask any women I was dating for anal sex, there being something special about the way my penis fit into a rectum and how it felt.

So I positioned myself behind Maine and slid into him, his anal passage well lubricated by Rhody's sperm as well as the cooking oil. His guts felt silky smooth and I set to my task eagerly and vigorously. Maine didn't seem to mind – maybe after a week of being fucked he was used to it. In fact, he was pushing back against me as if he was enjoying it; maybe he was one of those contestants who were, in fact, gay, or partly so.

It didn't take me long to spill my seed into Maine's bowels, and I was replaced by Wyoming, whose cock was at least an inch and a half longer than mine; of the twelve of us Tops, only Mississippi's was more impressive – and Maine would take them both up his ass. While Wyoming was plowing away into the helpless New Englander, the Arab pointed toward the dozen or so remaining Bottoms who had been waiting along the side wall:

• (addressing the maroons) Well, men, there are still boys left who were not properly serviced during your lunchtime festivities. It is high time we rectify that situation. Fuck them.

A lusty cheer went up from the maroons and they began stripping down. And before I knew it, it was a repeat of the noontime orgy. All of the Bottoms untouched during lunch were seized by maroons, tossed onto anything convenient, and raped. There were maroons left over. The Arab spoke to them, and soon some of the Bottoms at the front of the room – those who had been raped earlier in the day – were again seized and put to the sword – er, cock.

I thought: Nevada, did you enjoy your peach cobbler?

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: THE FINAL COMPETITION]