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".