Little Big Man

LITTLE BIG MAN – a serial novel by Travis Creel

[Author's Note: due to a submission error on my part, Chapter 62 was, for a few hours, posted as Chapter 63. It is now correctly labeled as Chapter 62; this is the real Chapter 63.]

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE: CHAOS

Previously: Now that the house has a second slave (Matti), Alexei expects to have fewer household and sexual duties, until Dmitri explains otherwise. Grigory, back in the house, lashes out at Alexei for fingering him as the embezzler, until Alexei explains what happened. A group of colleagues wonder how LBM Europe will coordinate with LBM America, until Dmitri explains how it will work. And Nurbek wonders how he and Ruslan will achieve their goal of obtaining Rhody and Alexei for themselves, until Ruslan explains the rest of `Plan Ruslan'. Their conversation is interrupted when Ruslan is summoned to the conference room by Dmitri, who informs him that someone has arrived at the gate. Who? Dmitri doesn't explain.

ALEXEI: FRIDAY, 27 JANUARY, LATE AFTERNOON – MASTER'S BEDROOM/CONFERENCE ROOM

On Fridays, after Master Ruslan has fucked me and I complete my work, I simply report back to Master, who either has duties for me or – as is usually the case – I wait quietly in the corner until it's time to help Henri with dinner.

Such was the case today. I stood quietly, contemplating the fact that during the time Master Ruslan had been fucking me, Master had been fucking Matti. It was odd that I was bothered by that. Matti had been fucked by dozens of Men at the Royal Palace, including every day by the young prince. And yet the thought of Master's cock inside him made me feel protective of him, as if he had been wronged. Even though by now, both Matti and I accept that these Men have the right to use us however they please.

How I wished that we could switch Masters – although I had no idea how Matti would feel about such an arrangement. Master's cock was by no means small, but it was easier to take than Master Ruslan's tree trunk. Surely I was an exception to have preferred the handyman's fucking to Master's. And I was a little jealous of Matti for having that privilege on a daily basis. But of course, there was no way I could ever suggest such a switch.

This afternoon, Master had been on a video conference with one of the assistants from the boat, DeJuan Brooks, talking about Little Big Man. He was doing a lot of that sort of thing lately – often during the hours I spent in his presence, late in the day, because of the time difference to America. Part of me wondered if he intended for me to overhear these conversations, to remind me that he had the option of replacing me with whoever caught his fancy at this year's event – and then selling me to a new Master, maybe even to the Royal Palace.

The most interesting thing I had learned this week was that Master was going to take me with him on the boat this year, and keep me hidden away in his cabin so that the `cargo' never saw me. It sounded like Rhody was going, too. Was that a sign that they wanted to keep us? Not necessarily. They could take us with them and still replace us with this year's Vermont or Iowa. Shit, for all I knew, Master might have had Jackson squirreled away in his cabin last year, and then handed him over to the Prince Regent the moment we got to Somalia.

But today's conversation was boring – should the California contest be in Fresno or San Diego, now that last year's venue in Oakland was unavailable. Yawn.

Then Master got a call and spoke in an agitated manner in Russian. I heard Pyotr's name, and wondered what was up with that. He abruptly ended his video call with DeJuan Brooks and left the room. I followed him, obeying protocol in the absence of an instruction to remain in the room. When he saw me enter the conference room, he looked mildly irritated, but didn't order me to leave. Anything I overheard would probably be in Russian anyway.

It wasn't. To my astonishment, Master pressed a button under the table and the door to what I had always thought was a safe swung open, revealing a monitor. The image displayed was of a car pulled up at the gate at the entrance of the estate. I had thought only Pyotr controlled the gate, but apparently there was a control in the conference room as well. The Man in the driver's seat looked familiar, though I couldn't place him immediately. Master Ruslan showed up a moment later – without Matti.

He and Master talked briefly in Russian, and I heard Master Ruslan suddenly say `Bill Tompkins', like an American name. Suddenly, it clicked. The Man in the car was the American who had been with us on the plane to the Royal Palace. Master Ruslan addressed him, in English.

• (Ruslan) Bill? Is that really you?

• (Bill) Hello, Ruslan. Nice to see you with your clothes on.

• (Ruslan) Bill, what are you doing here?

• (Bill) Prince Abdullah wishes to see Mr. Malenkov.

• (Ruslan) Prince Abdullah? He's with you?

• (Bill) Yes.

• (Master) Ask His Highness to show himself to the camera.

I watched as Tompkins got out of the car and went back to open the door to the rear seat. A Man got out. Yes, it was definitely Prince Abdullah, although he was wearing Western clothes.

Master swore violently in Russian.

DMITRI: What the hell was he doing here? How could he show up without notifying us in advance? If he was with this Tompkins fellow – whom Ruslan recognized as an employee of the Palace (I guess he looked vaguely familiar, but to be honest I don't pay much attention to attendants on planes) – then he must be here officially, with the sanction of his father.

But why hadn't the Prince Regent informed me in advance of his arrival?

Something strange was going on – and not a great something strange.

• Your Highness.

• Mister Malenkov. And Ruslan, I see as well.

• What are you doing here?

• We'd rather explain that in person, if you'll let us come in.

• Us? You want your driver to come in as well?

• We may need to be here a while. Do you have any spare bedrooms?

• You want to stay here? You and your driver?

• . . . My brother is with me.

• What?

• And a slave.

• WHAT??!

This has gone from not a great something strange' to shaping up to be a disaster'. Whatever was going on, it was clear it shouldn't be resolved with a conversation over a security camera.

My head was spinning. I had a dozen questions. What did he want? Why did he bring his brother? Why did he bring a slave? Was it Ilya? Did his father know he was here? If so, why didn't he tell me in advance? If the Prince Regent knew and hadn't told me in advance, did that mean he meant to sandbag me with Abdullah's sudden appearance? Was this another ploy to get Alexei into his hands? Was he hoping to exchange Ilya for Alexei? And if the Prince Regent DIDN'T know he was here, how did Abdullah get here without his father's knowledge? And why? And how would the Prince Regent react when he found out – if he found out?

Looking at the above paragraph, I see that I indeed had a dozen questions. Literally.

I told Pyotr to hold him for fifteen minutes and then admit him. I needed those fifteen minutes to prepare. I texted the entire staff and summoned them to the conference room immediately. I told Henri to prepare four extra meals and set three more places for dinner – it was only courtesy to let Tompkins eat with us before I figured out how to get rid of him – and his royal companions. I did not want them staying overnight.

Nevertheless, in the event I was unsuccessful in driving them away, I told Ivan to have Matti prepare the Peach and Lavender rooms for the princes, assuming Tompkins would stay in a hotel, and Nikolai went to unlock the playroom – where we would store Ilya (assuming it WAS Ilya) rather than give him the run of the house. Abdullah might object, but he would have to do without the services of his slave at least until we got this all sorted out. I told Pyotr over the phone to bring the slave in through the slave tunnel and sent Daniil out to assist him, in case the slave gave any resistance. That was unlikely if Ilya had adjusted to his slavehood, but Ilya was strong-headed, and might object to being ordered about by my servants, Men that he knew well and had probably considered inferior when he was a Man himself.

I instructed Alexei to greet the guests when they arrived at the house and show them to the conference room, after which he was to go immediately to the kitchen to help Henri. The conversation would undoubtedly be in English, and it was probably best for Alexei not to witness it, in case it involved him. I had just gotten a positive change in attitude from him, and didn't need that ruined by him worrying about a return to the palace. Though the very presence of the prince, with a slave in tow, had probably already planted that thought in his head.

ALEXEI: I did not know what was going on, but I knew it was bad. Prince Abdullah – Matti's former Master – had shown up. With a brother and a slave. A few minutes later the doorbell sounded and, my heart in my mouth, I went to answer it, wondering if the person I was greeting would soon be my new Master. The only thing that gave me any kind of comfort was the fact that Master and Master Ruslan were obviously not expecting his arrival. This was not any kind of pre-arranged sale or exchange. I had to hope that they would not agree to whatever the young prince wanted.

I admitted the three Men – the two princes, who were both younger than me, and the American who was probably older than my father – and displayed for them. I heard a voice behind me: "You have a pretty ass, slave. It is obvious why my father wants to acquire you."

Wants. Not wanted. Danger, Will Robinson!

The young prince bid me rise and I took them to the conference room. The servants had gone to their assigned tasks, but Sasha and Oleg remained present with Master and Master Ruslan. A business transaction, then? I wanted to stay and find out, but I had my orders: Go assist Henri in the kitchen.

Henri had no idea what was going on, either. He peppered me with questions, figuring I knew more than he did. Well, I did – slightly. I knew it was Prince Abdullah, and presumably his brother, and I knew who the American was. But as for their purpose in being here, I had no clue. Well, no substantive clue.

Henri groused about having to prepare four extra meals but fortunately he was preparing a roast large enough to accommodate everyone – there just wouldn't be the leftovers he had anticipated using as an ingredient in a future casserole. Noting that only three additional places were to be set at dinner, he asked if one of the guests had brought a slave – the only reasonable explanation for the discrepancy.

I confirmed his suspicions, but was unable to further enlighten the curious Frenchman.

• Royal palace coming here? And the boss doesn't know about it? This smells worse than rotted cabbage, Alexei. I hope it is not about you. . . . Now make the salad.

I also hoped it was not about me. And made the salad.

DMITRI: I looked them over. Abdullah was a jumble of emotions. He was angry and a bit scared, I think. On edge. He looked like he couldn't decide how assertive he wanted to be – he clearly wanted something, but was uncertain how to go about it. Well, the boy was only nineteen or maybe twenty by now.

Jamal, his brother, stood a couple of feet behind Abdullah, not looking directly at any of the rest of us. Had Abdullah coerced him into coming? It almost looked like that.

Tompkins' body language was making it clear this was not about him. I'm a professional, just doing my job. But there was a certain wariness in his eyes, as if he was expecting trouble.

I invited them to sit down. Tompkins did, and then, gingerly, Jamal. Abdullah remained standing, too agitated to sit.

• (Abdullah) Where's Matti?

• (Ruslan, deciding to play it coy) Who? You mean 4387?

• (Abdullah) Is he here? He's here, right? I want to see him.

• (Ruslan) Is that why you came? To pay a social call? Say hello to your former slave? I emphasize the word `former'. He's my boy now.

The Prince was fighting an impulse to retort angrily at what Ruslan had said. And then something changed. A look of sadness overtook him, and for half a moment I thought he was about to cry.

• (Abdullah) I'm sorry. I – I got off to a bad start. Can I – can we start over?

• Maybe it would be best if you calmed down, took a seat, and let's talk like adults.

He wasn't officially an adult yet, but he was old enough to have a slave, and old enough to have somehow gotten here, so I'll forego the technicality. Abdullah nodded, and took a seat next to his brother.

• I think we can arrange for you to see Matti, if that's all you want.

• (Abdullah) It isn't, but . . . thank you.

I texted Ivan and told him to send Matti here.

• Now, Your Highness, would you tell me why you are here?

• (Abdullah) I want Matti back.

• (Ruslan) You can't have him.

• (Abdullah) You made me give him up. You told me to have him lose that contest. I told him, and he obeyed me, and I lost him. I want him back.

• (Ruslan) Impossible. Matti is here now, and he's safe. Had he won that contest, he would have gone on trial, and he'd be up on the dome right now. You take him back, the same thing would happen.

Abdullah's response was delayed by the sudden appearance of the second slave in my household. Matti appeared, obviously expecting to have been summoned for some routine duty, and the shock on his face when he saw the two princes was nothing he could hide. It took him an extra couple of seconds for him to drop to the floor and present his ass to the room.

• (Ruslan) Up, boy. Well, Your Highness, there he is. You've seen him. You aren't getting him back, it would be his death sentence. I think you can leave now.

• (silence)

• Not so fast, Ruslan. There is more to this story than is apparent, isn't there, Your Highness.

• (Abdullah, reluctantly) Yes.

• You brought your slave. Did you expect us to take Ilya back in exchange for Matti? Or even for Alexei, like your father wanted?

• (Abdullah) Ilya? No, not Ilya. He . . .

There was a reaction from Jamal at the mention of Ilya's name. Anxiety spread over the boy's face and Abdullah didn't complete the sentence. What had prompted that?

I had assumed that the slave Abdullah had brought had been his personal slave, Ilya. Had he brought another slave instead?

I called Pyotr, who, by now, should be back in the garage at his post. We spoke, of course, in Russian.

• Pyotr, did you escort the slave to the playroom?

• Yes, Boss, Daniil and I did. Nikolai locked him in. He's secure.

• Was it Ilya?

• Ilya? No. It was a large boy, as tall as me, strong. Older, maybe Sasha's age.

• Did he give you any trouble?

• Oh, no, Boss. Very compliant. A well-trained slave.

I called Nikolai and told him to bring the slave upstairs.

• You brought someone else's slave with you, instead of your own personal slave?

• (Abdullah) Well, technically all the slaves belong to my father, I don't really own any of them. But I have authority over any of them – all Men do, but especially the Prince Regent's oldest son.

This was true. Abdullah was not a member of IAMSO, and wouldn't be until he ascended the throne. Among the palace residents, only the Prince Regent was an actual member of IAMSO. In case you're wondering about the practicum – after all, he was a monarch and a huge benefactor of the organization – IAMSO didn't waive the requirement, but minimized it as much as they could. He did have to spend two days in the nude, and on each of those days a penis was partially inserted into his rectum for a few seconds, thus nominally satisfying the requirement that he be fucked daily, as a slave would be. But during those two days no one ordered him around, made him suck their cocks, or subjected him to discipline. And there was no traditional gang-bang to commemorate the end of his practicum. Such a thing to royalty would be unthinkable – and he wouldn't be nearly so generous with his funds if he were humiliated to that extent. To shield his family from similar (or worse) humiliation, all slaves at the palace officially belonged to him – he just loaned them out to his relatives.

• Why did you bring this one?

• (Abdullah) I thought he might appeal, that is, if I offered him in exchange for Matti, that you might . . .

RUSLAN: That last phrase was addressed at me. It hit me like a stone in the forehead. I was never particularly good at mathematics, but I could add two and two together. A large slave, older, whom Abdullah thought I might accept in exchange for Matti, could only mean one thing: Declan.

Dear God, don't tell me he brought Declan. Declan, whose hunky body I had cuddled with, the only slave who had ever penetrated me – and the only one I would ever have welcomed inside me. The thought of whom made me horny even at this very moment. And yet to see him would be painful indeed.

Dmitri noticed my reaction. I explained, in Russian.

• Boss, there was a trusty I met during my practicum. I was attracted to him, and when we went back two weeks ago I took my pleasure with him. The prince knows about this. I suspect that –

He was interrupted by Nikolai, who was accompanied by a large naked body. I couldn't help myself, but at least I spoke in Russian.

• Shit, it really is you.

For the second time in two weeks, the blood drained from Declan's face as he laid eyes on me. I had no idea if he knew why he was here, but it was clear he was not expecting to see me again, and certainly not at this moment. Like Matti minutes before, it took him a few seconds before he recovered and fell to the floor to present his ass.

• (to Abdullah) Why did you bring him here?

• (Abdullah) I'll give him to you if you'll give me Matti.

This wasn't playing fair. In three years, his head and ass were destined for mounting on a wall. If I owned him, I could spare him that fate and send him to Slave Island on his fortieth birthday. And yet I did not want him as my personal, full-time slave. Fucking a man close to my own size was an enjoyable variation, a novelty, a specialty dish to vary the diet, not the meat-and-potatoes of everyday life. I wanted a small slave for regular fucking – like Matti. Or Alexei. Well, frankly, I wanted Alexei.

But I was getting hard looking at Declan's naked body. This was going to be distracting. I asked Nikolai to return him to the playroom.

DMITRI: So this was Abdullah's game. He had spotted Ruslan's interest in this trusty and thought to trade him for Matti. But it still didn't make sense; Matti at the palace was a dead proposition – literally – in a few months unless Khalid and Mustafa had somehow had a change of heart. But they'd been so intent on putting Matti on the dome, and so gleeful when they thought they had achieved this goal, that I couldn't imagine them not taking advantage of the opportunity to do so.

Anyway, there was a major flaw in Abdullah's proposal, from a legal perspective. It was time for me to point that out.

• Your Highness, as you just mentioned, you don't own this slave. Your father does. Aside from the fact that this trusty wasn't even assigned to you, you don't have the authority to make this trade. Did your father authorize this transaction?

• (silence)

• I see he didn't. Does he even know you're here?

• (silence)

• I see he doesn't. But somehow you got here. Mister Tompkins, did the Prince Regent authorize you to fly his son here?

• (Tompkins) He authorized use of the plane, Mister Malenkov. His Highness – Prince Abdullah – directed me to fly here instead of the original destination.

• What was the original destination?

• (Tompkins) Turkmenistan.

• And you didn't verify the change with the Prince Regent?

• (Abdullah) I'll take responsibility for that. I lied to him – and to my father.

• Your father thinks you are in Turkmenistan?

• (Abdullah) There's a Junior IAMSO convention there. That's where he thinks we are.

Ah, yes, Junior IAMSO. An organization for young Men, usually between 15 and 21, who are preparing to come of age enough to own slaves. It was designed to familiarize them with the rules and regulations of slave ownership, instruction on appropriate Master/slave relationships, workshops on punishment techniques, and so forth. The kind of thing that prospective IAMSO members go through, only at an introductory level. And plenty of slaves available for use.

Abdullah, having grown up at the palace, would not need any of the education provided at such a conference. But it was good for him to build a network of peers, as well as giving him a good time, lots of sex, and a rare chance to travel. I suspected an ulterior motive for the P.R. was to educate Jamal and give him more experience, as, according to Ruslan, his enthusiasm for slave ownership was in need of some shoring up.

Turkmenistan was an unexpected place to hold such a convention – it's one of the most repressive and homophobic nations on the globe – but it's also widely corrupt and out of the public eye, which is why such an event can occur there without anyone knowing, as long as it enriches the coffers.

• (Abdullah) So I told him that the location of the convention had been changed at the last minute, and he should fly me to St. Petersburg. It was only after we got in the car that I told him the truth, that we were coming to see you.

• You've put Mr. Tompkins in a very awkward position.

• (Abdullah) I'll square it with father.

I looked at Tompkins, whose face said, "I sure to hell hope so because otherwise I'm in deep shit."

• Were you expected to bring a slave to the convention?

• It was optional.

• And what did your father say when you took this trusty – Declan – instead of Ilya?

• Is that his name? Father just calls him `boy'. Or 3914.

• You didn't answer the question.

• Father . . . may not have been aware that I took 3914.

• You took him without permission?

• (silence)

• You're going to be in big trouble when you go back to the palace.

• I'm not going back to the palace. Ruslan can have 3914 and I'll take Matti, and we'll go live someplace else, away from my father.

• And are you going to let your little brother explain to your father why you didn't go to the IAMSO convention? And why you, and not Tompkins, should take full responsibility for that?

The silence that followed was longer, deeper, and more troubling than I would have anticipated. Particularly I noticed a dour, fearful look on Jamal's face. There was something they weren't telling me, and it involved Jamal.

• What are you not telling me, Your Highness?

• (Jamal) There's another reason he didn't bring Ilya.

• (Abdullah) Jamal!

• (Jamal) No, he has to know.

• (Abdullah) . . . Jamal is not going back to the palace either.

• (Tompkins) Wait! You're going to send me back there without either of you and expect your father to accept that on my word? You might as well cut off my balls right now and skin me alive, because that's what's liable to happen if you send me back alone. Mister Malenkov, if they're going to do that, I'm officially requesting asylum.

Like that's going to happen. My internal temperature was reaching the boiling point, but I was holding my tongue, trying to find a diplomatic way of expressing my anger. Nikolai, however, had no such inhibitions, and said exactly what I wanted to say.

• (Nikolai) Jesus Fucking Christ! Forgive the blasphemy. Young man, you may be a member of royalty, and I shouldn't be speaking to you like you're a spoiled child, but you're behaving like one. You're being completely irresponsible.

• (Abdullah) I'm not.

• (Nikolai) Shut up!

• (shocked silence)

• (Nikolai) You cannot hang this man out to dry! And you cannot put Dmitri in the position of granting him asylum. What do you think will happen? Your father will just say, oh well, another employee lost? Of course not. He'll hunt him down and, at the very least, throw him in prison -probably worse than that. And what will happen to Dmitri? Will your father overlook this? Will he ever buy another slave from him? Right now the only thing keeping Little Big Man going is the fact that your father has no idea that you are here. What will happen when he finds out? And he is going to find out, be assured of that. Because you are going to tell him. You are going to clean up this mess. You are going to accept your losses, turn your sorry ass around and go back and face your father with your tail between your legs. You are going to take your brother and your slave with you and you are going to explain the whole sad story to him and apologize to Mr. Tompkins in front of your father for what you have put him through. And you will ask your father to call Dmitri to confirm that you have done this. If we don't get that phone call within twenty-four hours, we will call him ourselves and make sure he knows exactly what happened, adding on the fact that you were supposed to have told him all this yourself, but didn't.

Bravo, Nikolai. My turn to pitch in.

• My friend Nikolai has expressed his feelings a little more bluntly than I would, but his advice is solid. Forget this crazy idea of leaving home. Forget this crazy idea of exchanging Declan for Matti. Apologize to Mr. Tompkins and to your brother for having dragged them along into this misadventure and go home and take out your frustrations on Ilya.

There was an awkward silence, Abdullah and Jamal looking at each other, each expecting the other to respond, and neither wanting to. They were spared from having to do so because the next sound we heard was that of a cell phone ringing. Tompkins reached for his pocket, looked at it, looked startled, and answered it. He spoke in Arabic, so I had no idea what he was saying. After a couple of minutes, he turned to me and spoke in English.

• The Prince Regent is on the other end of this call. He was contacted by the convention in Turkmenistan after his sons didn't show up. He wants to know where the hell they are. What should I tell him?

[COMING UP NEXT: CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR - FULL HOUSE]