Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT: WHILE THE CAT'S AWAY

Previously: taking a break from Alex's narrative, Dmitri recalls a conversation with his German friend Horst, encouraging him to join IAMSO – the International Association of Male Slave-Owners. Dmitri details his experiences with Alex's predecessors and answers Horst's questions about slave-owning. He fondly recalls his first slave, Vyacheslav ("Slava"), whom he sent into a form of retirement on a remote Pacific Island. This chapter will resume Alex's narrative, and he himself will establish the background.

FLASHFORWARD: MONDAY, NOVEMBER 14 – ST. PETERSBURG, RUSSIA

ALEXEI: Master had ordered me to write about the three events most important to me following the early days of my slavery. The first one follows below, but I am extremely nervous about it. I have previously withheld telling Master that Pyotr has a boyfriend in town that he sometimes sneaks in late at night. When Master reads this account tomorrow, Pyotr might get in trouble, and I like Pyotr – but Master has insisted upon honesty and it's a risk I'll have to take. Someone else might also get in trouble – worse trouble – but he deserves it.

ALEX: WEDNESDAY, JULY 6, EVENING – MASTER'S BEDROOM

At Saturday night's party, I had been awarded as a prize to the winner of one of Master's games, who had his choice of me or the slave of one of the four outside guests. At the time, I didn't notice who it was, but since he chose me it was likely an outsider. I was too sore for Master to allow him to collect his prize the next night, but on Monday and Tuesday I approached the evenings with anxiety, only to have them emerge normally.

But on Wednesday, Master ordered me to his bedroom immediately after dinner. Was this it?

• Is going to be trip.

This was it. A trip. So it was one of the outsiders.

• Go to storage room. Get suitcase – black one, one on far left.

A suitcase? I needed a suitcase?

Fear seized me like a boa constrictor wrapping around its prey. Why would I need a suitcase, I have no clothes to pack. Was this suitcase large enough to fit inside? Master couldn't display me naked in the open air – would he pack me inside a suitcase to transport me? My claustrophobia had been bad enough in the trunk on the plane.

I arrived at the storage room and found `black one, one on far left'. It was too small! No way could I fit inside it. I returned to the room, relieved.

• Open suitcase, I tell you what to pack.

Two business shirts, two ties, two pairs of boxers and two pairs of dress socks. Then two polo shirts, a pair of khakis, a pair of white tennis shorts, two pairs of white athletic slacks and his sneakers. Also two jockstraps. Plus one of his suits in a hanger bag. Business and casual wear, both. And his tennis racquet.

Whoever won me was one of Master's business associates. This was evidently a two-day trip at which Master expected to mix business with pleasure, including tennis. I was sure I would be his ball-boy in more than one sense. It looked like he was extending my one-night stand into a second night. Master wasn't saying, and naturally I couldn't ask. He simply ordered me to clean out, fucked me, and went to bed. I curled up in my doggy-bed on the floor.

THURSDAY, JULY 7, EARLY MORNING – DINING ROOM

Breakfast is a busy time for me. After helping Henri with the preparation, I have to serve the servants, including Henri, watching carefully for when each Man has finished his plate and then clear it. I also have to keep a close eye on their coffee cups and refill them without asking (unless I am waved off) and make sure there is enough buttered toast for the table. Otherwise, I just stand in the corner and wait – after all, I am a waiter.

This morning, it seemed like Master was holding a staff meeting. The business assistants were present, which normally they aren't, arriving about nine to begin their work day. Of course, he was talking in Russian so I had no idea what he was saying, but I presumed he had called them in early to give instructions to his staff before we left.

There was an odd moment at which Master posed something and the servants – except for Ruslan – each gave one-word responses, in order of their seating around the table. It sounded like they were stating numbers, but with my infinitesimal knowledge of Russian, I wasn't sure. And then Master said something and Pyotr broke out in a smile. The others looked disappointed and made jocular comments which only made Pyotr grin even more. I couldn't figure out what that was about.

I started to clear the dishes. On my last trip to collect plates, Master told me to return to the dining room rather than wash the dishes immediately. I presumed he was getting ready for us to leave.

I put the dishes in the sink and returned immediately to the Dining Room. Ruslan and Ilya were still at the table, but the others had gone on their way.

• Boy. I am going on business trip.

• (I kinda knew that.)

• Sasha and Oleg also.

• (Wait, wait – Sasha and Oleg? What about Alex?)

• Pyotr drive us to airport but he coming back. I return Saturday in time for party.

• (Oh, good, I wouldn't want you to miss that. But wait – why are you telling me when you will returning? It sounds like – )

• This is what happen while I away.

• (So I'm not going? You're leaving me alone with - )

• You perform usual duties except, of course, you cannot serve me if I not here.

• (Wow, Master made a joke. Kinda.)

• While I away, Ilya in charge. Is good for him learn how to take charge.

• (Oh, joy. Ilya. So that's why he's still here at the table. And Ruslan is here because . . .?)

• You spend night in Ruslan room.

Oh, shit. That sucks. Master is going away and I can't catch a break. My ass isn't fully recovered and you're going to shove that baseball bat up my ass both nights?

I wasn't the only one displeased with that information. Ilya was scowling. Clearly, he wanted that privilege and was pissed that Ruslan had it. Especially if he was supposed to be `in charge' – shouldn't he have the role of Master while Master was away? I was certain that Ilya had already been told this, in Russian – but hearing it again didn't seem to make Ilya any happier.

• You go about day normal. Today you go Ivan morning, Grigory afternoon as usual. Times on schedule you report to me – instead you report Ilya. He give you work. You obey him like you obey me. He tell me you not obey and you have punish when I return.

• (Ilya's look said, `You better believe it, boy.')

• Of course, Ilya can demand blow job but not allow to fuck except at party.

• (Another scowl.)

• Since tomorrow Ruslan day for afternoon fuck, he give afternoon away because he fuck you at night. We have little contest just now. Pyotr win.

• (Ah, so that's why he was so happy. They were playing the old "I'm thinking of a number between 1 and 10" game to see who gets to fuck me tomorrow. I'm the prize in all sorts of games.)

• Is clear?

• Yes, Master.

I accompanied Master back to his bedroom and carried his suitcase, hanger bag, and tennis racquet – awkward to manage simultaneously – downstairs, through the slave tunnel and out to the car, where Pyotr, smartly dressed in his chauffeur's uniform and looking as handsome as ever, was waiting alongside the Rolls. He unlocked the trunk and I loaded Master's things inside and waited until Master arrived. Then I went back to the house and lugged Sasha's and Oleg's luggage (well, that's why they called it luggage) to the Rolls as well.

And then Pyotr drove the three of them away, leaving me alone outdoors.

Alone outdoors. With Master away and everyone else in the house. And the one Man who had access to the video cameras had just driven away in the Rolls. If there was any time I could make a run for it, it was now.

Okay, I was naked. A disadvantage if you wanted to escape.

But I was also by the garage. Maybe Pyotr had some work clothes in the garage, something I could use to cover myself. And then over the gate and –

And what? Ask for help – in English? Call the cops? Whom Master has probably paid to look the other way. While I'm trying to explain why I'm wearing pants that are six inches too long and –

And when I'm returned, I lose my balls like Jackson did – if Ilya is telling the truth. But it was credible. Master was not squeamish about castration – twelve guys had lost their nuts on board the boat.

There was no point in trying to escape. Maybe this was a test of my obedience. Maybe this was my way of showing I was a good slave. I sighed, and headed back through the slave tunnel to the house. No one seemed surprised or relieved to see me. They just took it for granted. I was a slave; slaves obeyed.

THURSDAY, JULY 7, AFTERNOON - GREENHOUSE

After Master left, the day had proceeded normally. I returned to the kitchen, but Henri had already started the dishwasher. I reported to Ivan for cleaning-and-laundry duty, served lunch, and cleaned out my insides in preparation for the deep fucking I was to receive from six-foot-seven Grigory.

When I arrived at the greenhouse, however, I found not only Grigory, but Ivan, Henri, Pyotr, and Ilya as well. Everyone except Ruslan. Henri told me later that Ilya had ordered them to be there at 2:20, and since he was – temporarily – `the boss', they had to comply.

What was more, they had all stripped.

Ilya noted my reaction.

• Surprised, bitch? No, we're not all going to fuck you. We're not allowed. But you're going to suck all of our dicks while Grigory fucks you. And if he comes in your ass before we're all finished, he's going to fuck you a second time. You're going to be spit-roasted, Boy.

I looked at him in horror. Two weeks ago, Grigory had wanted a blow job while Pyotr was pummeling my ass; according to Grigory, Pyotr had denied it because `Boss say spit roast not allowed yet'.

As it hadn't happened yet, I was betting that spit roast was still not allowed yet. Of course I couldn't point this out to Ilya. I looked desperately around the greenhouse, looking for support. Henri gave me a sheepish shrug – that's life. Grigory just grinned. Pyotr and Ivan looked away.

• (Ilya) Take him outside.

I could have walked, but Grigory tossed me over his shoulder, reminding me of maroons in the boat hoisting Tennessee and Alabama in a fireman's carry up to the gymnasium on D-Day. It was humiliating.

Someone pulled out a three-foot stepladder, and Grigory bent me over it before going off somewhere for something. Ilya, fully erect, presented himself inches from my face.

• Let's see how you like this when our gardener is occupying your other end. With no choice, I opened up my mouth to admit him. His cock was average size but had a slight curve in it, a curve that went the opposite way my mouth did, which made sucking him not the easiest of experiences. I always gagged a couple of times when taking Ilya, even though he was no match in either length or girth for Pyotr or even Ivan, much less the two monsters Grigory and Ruslan.

Ilya laughed.

• He doesn't like it and Grigory hasn't even entered him yet.

I saw Grigory approach out of the corner of my eye and Ilya spoke to him. A conversation followed; from their tones, attitude, and what happened next, the conversation must have gone something like this.

• (Ilya) Put that down.

• (Grigory) What?

• (Ilya) We don't need that.

• (Grigory) How are we going to lube him?

• (Ilya) We're not. You're going to fuck him dry.

• (Grigory) I don't know about that, Ilya. The Boss –

• (Ilya) I'm the Boss today, don't you forget that.

• (Grigory, sarcastic) Aye-aye, Sir. (Puts the lube away.)

• (Pyotr) Ilya, he'll bleed. Grigory's hung like a horse, he'll damage him.

• (Ilya) He's a slave. Since when do we care about what slaves feel? If he bleeds he bleeds. Who the fuck cares? He's there for us to use however we want.

• (Grigory) Well I want to use him with lube.

• (Ilya) And I'm ordering you not to. And you're going to use a condom so the second time you fuck him he won't be greased then either.

A moment later the six-seven gardener had his hands on my hips and pushed his twelve-inch cock past my sphincter. It took effort without lube and he had to thrust hard to get in. He slowly eased it in until there was no more room for it to go. And then he seemed to find some and plunged the rest of his twelve inches in; I felt his pubic hair brush against my ass. Meanwhile, Ilya had grabbed my ears and was raping my mouth, pushing his cock deep into my throat.

I started to cry from the pain and from an inability to breathe. Whenever I gasped at a thrust from Grigory, Ilya would take the opportunity to counter-thrust and fill my throat with his manhood. I accidentally bit down as a reflex action and, after Ilya withdrew, he slapped me. So hard it made my head spin.

Ilya swore at me first in Russian and then in English. In English he ordered Pyotr to hit me in the face with his fist. While Pyotr was not Ruslan, he could still knock out half of my teeth if he used as much force as Ilya just had. In the meantime, Grigory was fucking my ass to kingdom come, and I was sobbing with the pain. I had been fucked seven times since Saturday night's marathon but my ass had bled in that ordeal and with the repeated invasions it had not healed. Every fuck was excruciating – and Master had not eased off any in consideration of my condition.

I closed my eyes in preparation for an impending date with unconsciousness – which, considering what was going on in my other end, might have been welcome. I just didn't want to wake up with half of my teeth missing.

Grigory stopped thrusting – his cock buried to the hilt – to watch what was going to happen to me.

Pyotr said something in Russian. Ilya responded, sharply, and the two of them went at it for a bit. Henri tried to intervene, then Grigory chimed in – not sure what his agenda was.

Then I heard Ilya say something in a disgusted tone and the next thing I knew I was slapped five times, left-right-left-right-left. When I looked up, it was Pyotr's hand that hovered near my face – an apologetic look on his face.

• You lucked out that time, bitch, but if I feel your teeth again, I will make sure you have fewer teeth to bite with.

And with that Ilya re-entered my mouth and I finished blowing him. And Grigory resumed sawing away at my bowels.

Ilya was followed by Ivan and then Henri. Grigory shot his load while I was sucking off Henri, then pulled off, waited a minute, pulled off his condom, slipped on a new one, and plunged back in, fucking me dry a second time, as solid a missile as ever. I was sure he had opened up the wound in my ass and that I was bleeding again.

Pyotr's substantial phallus was the next to touch my lips. Pyotr was well-endowed and always fucked – in either orifice – with vigor, but somehow there was a tenderness about it as well. A weird contradiction. Of all the staff, Pyotr's cock went down easiest when it was in my mouth. He fancies you, Henri had said. Well, why not? The world seemed to be full of people who fancied me. At least, if I was going to be fancied, I'd rather be fancied by someone who was attractive. And Pyotr was definitely a handsome guy.

Then came the most difficult sexual moment of the afternoon. Ilya produced a Ruslan-sized dildo and pushed it into my mouth while Grigory's length pummeled my rectum. Ilya did not force it all the way down; he just placed it on my tongue and let me chow down on it. Nevertheless, Grigory's relentless thrusts had the effect of pushing me onto the dildo so far that I was deep-throating it passively. And the dildo was bigger than my throat. I thought I was going to pass out from lack of breath and sheer pain; I started to get dizzy. Grigory pounding my helpless colon while my mouth was gagging on the dildo.

Tears were streaming down my cheeks and I wanted it to end. My ass was on fire as the lining of my colon, which had never fully recovered from the thirteen-bang last Saturday night, was getting shredded. I felt something wet on my leg, and realized it was blood dripping from my anus.

Pyotr said something semi-urgent that I was hoping meant "Hey, ease up, can't you see he's bleeding?" It might have been that, as afterwards the intensity relaxed and soon afterwards, I felt Grigory pull out of my tortured hole.

I felt hands holding something like a cloth against my anus.

Then Ilya said something, to which Grigory responded "nyet", and then Ilya said something stronger, and then before I knew it, I was presented with Grigory's cock. Which was red with my blood.

• Ilya say clean it.

Grigory was making it clear this was not his idea.

I took his cock into my mouth and washed it with my tongue; to my eternal gratitude he did not get hard a third time. But while he was inside I felt something push against my ass.

• Thought you were done, didn't you?

Ilya. I felt him push inside.

I heard Pyotr say, "Ilya" and then stop. I knew what he wanted to say: `Boss not allow Ilya to fuck except at party'. Master had repeated that in my presence that very morning. But Ilya was the boss now and Ilya was allowing.

And, as Ilya was pummeling my guts, a horrible thing happened. Grigory, standing on the other side of me from him and watching him rape me, began to get hard. He pulled out, only to have Ilya spot his erect member and (I can only assume) ordered him back in.

• Sorry, you have to suck.

It was the first time I had ever heard Grigory voice anything approaching empathy for this hapless slave.

THURSDAY, JULY 7, LATE AFTERNOON – KITCHEN

Henri confirmed what I had concluded. God bless Henri – without him I would never know what was going on in this household.

Ilya had ordered them all to appear, Pyotr had objected to hitting me with his fists, Grigory was initially all for getting their rocks off at my expense, no matter what, but then got pissed off at Ilya's arrogance. Ivan stayed on the sidelines, keeping on Ilya's good side.

Henri himself, however, was too much of a coward to say anything – he admitted it. He knew there was no way he could change the situation, so he kept his mouth shut. If Grigory and Pyotr couldn't change his mind, Ilya was not going to be influenced by the likes of a chubby fifty-year-old Frenchman.

Henri had, however, been the one to press something against my anus to stanch the flow of blood. As we were outside and there was nothing like a towel or a tissue, he had used his own underwear. Tomorrow I would see that pair of bloody briefs in the laundry.

THURSDAY, JULY 7, EVENING – RUSLAN'S ROOM

And now here I was, in Ruslan's room, walking gingerly after having given myself my enema. My nightly requirement. Master insisted on my being fucked every night.

I posed on all fours and spread my legs. Ruslan poked his finger into my hole to lubricate me. I winced with the pain.

• What wrong? Is just finger.

• I – had a rough afternoon, Sir.

• Grigory hurt you?

• Yes, Sir.

• He use lubrication when he fuck you?

• No, Sir.

He paused, withdrew his finger, and looked at it.

• You bleeding.

• (I'm sure I am).

• I not want to fuck you tonight. Your ass – very bad shape.

• ("Thank you, Ruslan", I wanted to shout to the skies. But couldn't.)

• But –

• (Oh, shit.)

• Boss tell me to fuck you every night. I cannot disobey Boss. I have to do job. You understand?

• (Yes, like I understand that horses get sent to glue factories. Doesn't make it right.) I understand, Sir.

• Bend over bed.

Steeling myself for the invasion of the baseball bat that was Ruslan's penis, I got into position and screamed as he pushed himself into me. He thrust twice and then pulled out.

• There. I fuck you. Boss tell me to fuck you, I do. He not say I have to come.

I nearly collapsed in gratitude. I even let my lips form the words `Thank you' but I did not say them.

• Now we go to bed.

I got up and looked around the room. There was no doggy bed on the floor for me to sleep in. Damn – there was carpeting but it was not plush. This was going to be uncomfortable.

• What you look for?

• A good place to sleep, Sir.

Ruslan laughed – the first time I had ever heard him laugh.

• You sleeping with me, Boy. Get into bed.

Bed?

It was the first bed I had been in since the last night on the boat. With covers and everything. I felt like the lap of luxury. It almost – almost – compensated for what I had suffered in the afternoon.

FRIDAY, JULY 8, PRE-DAWN/POST-MIDNIGHT – RUSLAN'S ROOM

I dreamed a pleasant dream.

I was in a cave but it wasn't cold and dark. Instead, there was a warm fire in the corner and a cozy glow. And a furry body next to me. I looked over my shoulder and found I was being held by a grizzly bear. But he was not aggressive, he was keeping me warm. His fur felt good and it was comforting. And then he whispered, "I love you, Wisconsin" and I discovered that the bear had morphed into Rhody.

The realization made me wake up, to find Ruslan's arm around over my shoulder and his torso pressed against my back. His hairy chest must have translated into the furry bear. Before they shaved him, Rhody had had a chest like that.

Shit. I was hard.

But wait – it was a piss hard-on, nothing to be ashamed of. I just needed a piss. But this was not Master's suite with its own bathroom. A problem.

I sat up, wriggling away from Ruslan's paw on my chest, trying carefully not to wake him. Unsuccessfully.

• Boy.

• (Not a question. Stay silent.)

• What is?

• Excuse me, Sir, I need a bathroom.

• Down hall. Second door on left.

• (I knew where it was – I had cleaned it. But am I allowed to use it?)

• (as if I had asked that aloud) Is okay. No one care you use.

I got up and entered the hallway. There was a light on somewhere downstairs and I heard a noise. Then the light went off and I heard giggling. Male giggling. Sounding like it was coming from the staircase.

I scurried down the hallway and found the bathroom, hoping whoever it was didn't walk in on me.

I pissed and flushed the toilet. Quiet voices in the hall, in worried tones, as if the sound of the toilet had startled them. Footsteps. I silently nudged the door open and peaked out through a slim crack. The door to the room across the hall was open and two figures stepped inside. A light switch flipped on, flooding the space with light for perhaps a second before the door closed. The light flashed in my eyes and for a moment I was afraid I had been exposed, but they were facing away and didn't see me.

But I saw them. One was Pyotr. The other was a young Man who looked like a taller version of me.

A scene flashed through my mind: Ilya explaining that Pyotr liked' me: You remind him of the boy he sneaks in here at night once in a while. . . . Come in late at night, when everyone's in bed, through the slave tunnel, up the back stairs to Pyotr's bedroom, then out again before dawn.'

So this was Pyotr's toy boy. While the cat's away, the mice will play.

I returned to the comfort of the soft mattress, and the warm bedclothes. Ruslan wrapped his arm around me, buried his head near my neck and pressed his torso up against my back. He smelled wonderful and I got hard again. Dammit.

FRIDAY, JULY 8, AFTERNOON – GARAGE

My rectum seemed to be slowly repairing itself, although emptying my bowels in the morning wasn't fun. But the afternoon enema wasn't excruciating, and I headed through the slave tunnel to the garage for my appointment with Pyotr, grateful that it wasn't Ruslan today.

When I arrived at the garage, Pyotr looked at me with a face that read disgust. Not the usual reaction for someone who supposedly had a crush on me and had been thrilled to have won the afternoon fuck away from Ruslan.

I soon saw the reason why. Ilya.

Ilya, and three Men I had never seen before.

• Pyotr will not be fucking you this afternoon. It seems he snuck his boyfriend in here last night, which is against the rules. But the Boss need not know about it, right, Pyotr?

Pyotr looked up at the sound of his name. Ilya and I both knew that Pyotr didn't understand a word of English. But he knew what Ilya was saying anyway.

Which explained the presence of Ilya's friends. Only Pyotr had the ability to admit visitors to the estate, and it required approval from Master. But Ilya had clearly threatened to reveal Pyotr's occasional nighttime guest to the Master – and Pyotr had no choice but to let Ilya's friends visit.

• And your Master need not know about what happens this afternoon either, right, Boy?

• Not unless he asks me, Sir.

• Do I need to remind you of anything?

Ilya was pulling out his phone. Which contained a video of me running away in an apparent escape attempt.

• No, Sir.

• So you won't tell him that Pyotr didn't fuck you this afternoon, correct?

• Not unless he asks me, Sir.

I resolved to stand firm. My loyalty, such as it was, was to Master and not to Ilya. If Master caught me in a lie, it would be disaster. It was not something I could risk. I could withhold things, but I could not deliberately lie.

Ilya paused for a moment, seeing the resolution on my face, and smiled unpleasantly.

• I changed my mind.

He followed that with something in Russian to Pyotr. Pyotr brightened and started stripping off his clothes.

• Let's have you over the Maserati, Boy.

Do I get lubricant today? Evidently not. A minute later, I felt Pyotr's generous endowment forcing its way in. The pain returned, in spectacular fashion. Pyotr thrust into me once and then Ilya said something sharply.

Pyotr stopped, buried deep in my guts, and the two exchanged words before I felt Pyotr withdraw.

• Now, Boy, you can tell the Boss that Pyotr fucked you.

Like I can tell him that Ruslan fucked me last night. In both cases, I would consider the brevity of the experience a blessing, if it weren't for the fact that in the afternoons I was fucked without lube and –

• And now you're going to entertain me and my friends. Anatoly works for Boris, who was on your ship with the Boss. Boris lives in Moscow, but he's in Sochi at the same meeting as the Boss. So Anatoly came up here for a visit. Bogdan and Daniil are Anatoly's friends, and have become my friends. Bogdan knows someone who knows you.

My head, flat against the hood of the Maserati, jerked up involuntarily. Someone who knows you.

This consumed my brain while Ilya sodomized me (unlubricated, with a rubber). Boris's slave could be Matti. Matti or Rhody or Noisy or Nodak or Wyoming or Nevada or South Carolina. Was that who Bogdan knew? Could he give me word of them? Could he tell them that he saw me and that I was suffering but okay?

Wait. Anatoly worked for Boris, not Bogdan. But Bogdan was the one who knew someone I knew?

My ass got increasingly sore as Ilya was replaced by Anatoly, who was replaced by Daniil who was replaced by Bogdan. I knew that blood was again oozing from my asshole.

The round-robin finished, there was a pause. I waited for permission to raise myself, wondering how well I would walk. Instead, a blindfold was wrapped around my head.

• You're not done yet, Boy. The best is yet to come.

I waited tensely. Had they persuaded Ruslan or Grigory to ravish me with their monster cocks? Or was Ilya going to stick something else up my ass, like the huge dildo he had put in my mouth yesterday? Or – God forbid – a fist? Surely I couldn't do that. Ilya might not care how I felt, but Master would. Would Ilya risk that? The damage would be too obvious to Master when he returned, surely –

• (a voice) Hello, bitch. Miss me?

A flash of panic waved over me. I knew that voice.

Latronius!

[COMING UP NEXT - CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: A PROMISE KEPT]