Goldfinch Chapter 7
USUAL DISCLAIMER
"GOLDFINCH" is a gay story, with some parts containing graphic scenes of sex between males. So, if in your land, religion, family, opinion and so on this is not good for you, it will be better not to read this story. But if you really want, or because YOU don't care, or because you think you really want to read it, please be my welcomed guest.
GOLDFINCH
by Andrej Koymasky © 2018
written on April 3, 1986
Translated by the Author
English text kindly revised by
Tom (chap. 1 to 4) and by Gilles (chap. 5 to 17)
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SECOND PART
CHAPTER SEVEN
**
The following morning, Patrick's father decided to anticipate the departure time, so he entered his son's room to wake him. As soon as he entered he saw the two sleeping half naked, in a slight embrace. He was dumbfounded. With an icy voice, trying to control the rage that was rising in him, he called his son's name. The two youths, at the sudden sound of that voice, woke up and looked at him. The father ordered Kutkhay to go back to his room. The boy quietly obeyed and, naked, without showing the slightest sign of shame, a little because he didn't consider nudity immoral, a little because, still drowsy he didn't realize the situation, he stole away.
As soon as they were alone, in a falsely calm voice Patrick's father asked: "How long has this... this shameful... affair been going on?"
Patrick sat up on his bed. Having a clear conscience, he didn't understand at once what he father was saying, so he asked: "What are you talking about, father?"
The man, offended, showed his indignation: "Don't pretend not to understand! Would you deny the evidence of facts? How long have you been having a carnal affair with your servant?"
Patrick finally understood and was flabbergasted. He got out of bed and stood up fiercely in front of his father, unaware of his morning erection tenting his underpants, but which his father didn't miss.
"What are you saying? There is nothing at all between me and the boy!"
His father said with a sardonic smile, his lips twisted: "Why are you trying to deny it? I caught you in the act! You were in each other arms, naked, on the same bed!"
"No, father, I repeat, there is nothing wicked between the boy and I! Nothing such as you are presuming!"
"Come on, my son, have the grace not to think me so naive. When I entered you had your servant in your arms, evidently sated after giving vent to your perverse instincts on that boy. Or is it perhaps him who gave vent to his wild instincts against nature on you?"
Patrick looked astounded and offended at his father, while feeling a dull fury growing inside him: "Please stop this nonsense, you don't know what you are saying!" he protested in a loud, vibrant voice.
His father seemed to regain his self-control and with an oddly calm voice said: "I know very well that some miserable people, even of good social class, indulge in such degenerated practices, have this infamous and defamatory vice, but I would have believed that you, blood of my blood, my only heir..."
Patrick was having difficulty in keeping calm: "I repeat, you are offending me with this absurd and arbitrary inference..."
The father then flew off the handle: "Shut up, scoundrel! At least have the common sense not to insist! You infringed every principle, be it religious or ethic or social... you committed a deed that the law punishes... but above all, if it were known... a De Bruine having an affair with a boy... a slave moreover! Are you aware? What would people say? Our good name dragged through the mire!"
"I swear that between me and the boy there has never been anything such as you fear! Why don't you want to believe me?"
"Shut up! Don't perjure yourself! Just look at yourself, you got up with a gaudy huge erection and you still dare to deny it? But this shame has to end, it has to, is that clear? And now I pray you dress and come downstairs as soon as possible -- the cabriolet is already loaded and I want to leave at once, without any more delay."
"Father, I besee..."
"Enough! I don't want to talk any more about this shameful and regrettable incident."
This said, the father, nervously fiddling with the gold chain of his waistcoat's turnip, turned and hastily went out of his son's bedroom, shutting the door behind him with a sharp thud. Patrick sat on his bed, his head between his hands, asking himself what to do, how to persuade his father of the truth of the facts. After a moment he called Kutkhay. The boy, from his room, had heard every word of the hard clash, but he couldn't grasp the sense of the speech, nor what the problem was. It was just clear to him that it concerned him too. When he entered his young master's room, he looked at him with a silent question in his eyes.
But the young man said only: "Fetch me the woolen checked pattern suit."
"Master, what's happening?"
"Nothing, don't worry."
"But, because of me the old master is unhappy?"
"I'll take care of that. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, understood?"
"As you say, sir."
Kutkhay took the clothes and helped Patrick to dress, then retired to his room, anxious. Patrick went downstairs. He tried again to make himself understood to his father, but the man didn't want to listen and cut him short saying: "To me, this subject is closed. I only hope you will never again make me face such a problem."
Patrick understood it was useless to insist at that moment, his father would not even listen to him. He thought that possibly, a few days elapsed, it would be easier to resume the subject, and he resolved to do so. He went back to his room and asked Kutkhay to help him to finish preparing his luggage.
The boy asked him: "Sir, what did I do wrong?""
"Nothing, don't worry. When I get back, I'll settle everything, be sure of it. You have absolutely nothing to be afraid of, my dear Goldfinch!" he concluded giving him a light caress on his cheek, and went away.
This tender gesture tranquilized the boy a little, and he went back to his little room, sat on his bed and started to read one of the books that his master had given him. When he heard the gig start, he leaned out of the window then he went back to his reading. Shortly after, the door of his room opened and Ulysses the coachman and Simpson the butler, entered. Ulysses had a rope in his hand.
The butler seized the boy's arm and just said: "Tie him!"
Kutkhay was just starting to understand that something was wrong but the two men were already tying him.
He wriggled, yelling, alarmed: "What are you doing? What do you want to do to me? Why..."
But the two men, sullen, didn't answer and continued to hold him fast and to tie him.
"Please... what do you want to do me?"
"Shut up, we are just executing our orders. Shut up, or I'll have to flog you." Simpson said grumpily. Now the boy was tied tight. Then the butler said to Ulysses: "Do what the master told you, hurry up. And see to it you do it all the right way."
"But, I don't like it..." the coachman weakly protested.
"The master's orders are not to be discussed." the other answered and went out of the room, frowning.
"What are you doing to me? What is happening?" the poor boy again asked the sturdy black coachman.
"Shut up, boy, don't make it more difficult for me. Be quiet, or I'll have to gag you."
"You have to kill me?" Kutkhay asked, afraid he understood.
Ulysses made a fast sign of the cross and said: "Jesus have mercy! No! I just have to take you away."
"But where are you taking me? What is happening? The young master doesn't want this..."
"The young master decided together with the old master to get rid of you."
"Get rid of me? Why? What did I do? The young master would never get rid of me, he can't want to get rid of me. I don't believe that, it is not true!"
"Anyway, it is settled. And be quiet or I'll have to gag you, or else you will have to taste the lash. You have never tasted the lash; till now, you have been lucky. But, unhappily, all has changed for you. It is bad, the lash..." the black man said with a sad expression.
"But I... I want to wait for master Patrick."
"The young master left and will be back in just three, four days. And you must be here no longer."
So said, the man lifted the boy up bodily and carried him downstairs. Kutkhay ceased to wriggle, to talk. He understood that it would have been completely useless. Just two tears silently came down from his half closed eyes. He had a confused glimpse of Annie at the kitchen door who, seeing him, made the sign of the cross and hastily went back to the kitchen. Ulysses put him on the bed of the provisions wagon, covered him completely with a rug, got in the driver's seat and started the horses. They galloped for a long while. Kutkhay realized they were leaving the town but couldn't determine in which direction they were going. The wagon rolled and jolted, traveling a long while and many miles. Kutkhay was as if paralyzed, weighed down with an indescribable anguish. It could not be true that his young master had decided to sell him. It had certainly been the old master. But why? What had happened that morning? To whom would he be sold? Would he never again see his young master? He was asking himself all these questions, when the chariot stopped. He heard Ulysses get down and after a while he heard him talking with somebody. Then the rug was pulled from over him, and two hands took him out of the wagon which immediately left in a hurry.
The man who lifted him down was a white man, a stranger, chubby but impressive and strong, dressed in expensive but not elegant clothes, who looked at him thoroughly.
Then the man said: "For what I paid for you, I was afraid you were worse than you are. What's your name?"
"Goldie."
"Goldie, master!" the man menacingly retorted.
Kutkhay kept silent.
The man beat him with a whip: "Goldie, master, you have to say!"
Kutkhay, stubborn, still kept silent.
The man shrugged his shoulders: "Rest assured, you'll understand." he just said and, lifting him up like a twig, took him inside a wooden shed, similar to a stable, where were seven people bound with iron rings and chains -- two black women, three men, and two mulatto boys. He put an iron ring on his ankle too and chained it to another ring fixed in a pillar. Then the rope tying him was taken off. Kutkhay massaged his benumbed arms and legs.
The man let him do it for a while, then ordered: "Stand up!" Kutkhay stood up. The man tested his muscles: "Medium muscles, not bad." Then looked at his teeth, turned his eyelids inside out: "You seem healthy."
Next he slipped his hand inside the boy's breeches and fingered his genitals, pulling them out and examining them. Kutkhay, completely disconcerted and dazed, let him do so, passively.
The examination over, the man grumbled in a low voice, thoughtful: "Who knows why he asked so little money?" and went out closing the door and bolting it from outside. The other slaves were looking at him in silence.
After a while, Kutkhay was finally able to regain his voice, and asked: "Where are we? What is happening? Is this a prison?"
One of the mulatto boys said with a low giggle: "We are at master Finchley's, the slave merchant. Where are you from, a breeding pen, or an estate?"
"But I am not a slave..." Kutkhay weakly protested.
One of the black men laughed aloud: "Tell that to your chains, that you are no slave! We are waiting to go to the South, where a market is to be held and where he will sell us. Even if you are a white mulatto, you are a slave like us, boy!"
One of the women added: "Never let them hear you say you not a slave, boy! Even if you seem white. They lash and thrash rebel slaves until they submit or die. And if you try to run away, they hang you. The only thing you have to learn is just say 'yes master', 'yes master'."
Kutkhay felt like fainting, started to tremble and, if he had not already been sitting on the ground, would have fallen down, so much had his strength abandoned him. He, sold as a slave! But then, was it was really so! He gave himself as a slave only to his young master who rescued him, whom he adored... he didn't want to be the slave of anybody else! He was born free, he had not been captured in a war. That was not fair! In what kind of a world was he now living, then? Was it possible that his father's world could be like this?
One of the black men asked him: "Your former master treated you fine -- you have clean clothes, not old ones, and are well fed. How come he sold you? You a rebel, or he have debts to pay?"
Kutkhay sadly shook his head: "No... it is not my master who sold me. I am not a rebel, and he has no debts to pay; on the contrary he is very rich. It is my master's father who had me sold, as he is angry... and I don't know why."
One of the mulatto boys asked: "Was he angry because you were lazy?"
"No, I always did all my young master asked me, fast and well."
"Then, you stole?"
"No, never!" Kutkhay said, scandalized at such an idea.
The questions filled his mind, but an answer didn't appear. Kutkhay had a great confusion in his head; all his world suddenly crumbled around him. But he was certain about of thing -- it had not been Patrick who decided to sell him, he would have never done such a thing. He felt it, he knew it. The young master surely had to be unaware about what had happened to him -- he had in some way or another to warn him. Then he told about the scene that the old master made that morning.
One of the mulatto boys nodded: "Ah, I see! Your old master was having fun with you, and when he catch you with his son, he become mad and sell you. To me too happened something like that -- my master took his pleasure using me and when he got tired, he sold me to buy a younger slave."
"Have fun? Amuse? What do you mean?"
"Yes, he had sex with you, as my master did..."
"No way! There has never been sex with my master, never!"
"Then, I can't understand."
But now Kutkhay was starting to understand what happened that morning -- it was all a mistake. If only it had been really so, at least he could have had the so much desired intercourse with his young master. But he was having insult added to injury as he couldn't even have a little bit of sex with his beloved master, then to be sold for that reason! Kutkhay curled up on the ground, closed his eyes and thought of his master -- he would miss his sweet caresses, even if nothing had happened between them. What would his future be, now? How would it be?
Two days passed. They remained in chains the whole time. Food was brought to them and Kutkhay was taken out twice a day to go to the bathroom in the open air, while a man with a rifle kept a close watch on him. Kutkhay felt deeply embarrassed and humiliated having to evacuate under the eyes of that stranger. But he thought that it was just the first, and possibly not the worst, of the humiliations he would have to undergo in his new life. The day after that all eight were loaded on a cart, chained, and they started a two day travel toward the South. They passed through villages and towns he didn't know, stopping just to change the horses, for a fast meal and to sleep. Kutkhay shut himself up in a gloomy stubborn silence that not even the soft songs of the others could mitigate. From time to time one of his companions tried to talk with him, but with his silence, at the end, they let him alone. Kutkhay was carefully watching the road, to try to remember it -- some day, possibly, he could travel back on it returning to his young master... but he didn't even know where the town was where he had been sold. He could possibly ask... but a slave, who would help him?
Finally they reached the outskirts of a medium-sized town. They were taken from the cart to a wide shed, already crowded with other slaves. He heard that the day after was to begin the market where they would be put on sale. Some of the slaves already knew each other and were talking. They exchanged news, and told what had been happening to them. All of them were born slaves, and they seemed resigned to their condition. There was also another middle-aged mulatto with a quite fair skin, chained not far from the boy.
"You have to be the son of a mulatto woman and a white man, or a bastard son of a white woman and a mulatto slave. Right?"
Kutkhay shook his head.
"Two mulatto, then?" the other insisted.
Kutkhay again shook his head.
"But... can you talk?" his neighbor asked, half way between annoyed and amused, and turned away.
The next day the market started and the slaves were put on sale. Early that morning the merchant with some helpers, made all the slaves undress, perfunctorily wash, then made the males wear very wide breeches of white cotton, tied at the waist with a thin rope, and the women wore a tunic of the same cotton, sleeveless, somewhat tight. Then, always in chains, they were taken into a wide tent where the bargaining and the sales would take place. Several buyers started to arrive, and began to check the "merchandise". The examination was the most humiliating Kutkhay had ever undergone in his life; it seemed that the slaves were considered more as livestock than human beings. Almost all the buyers were owners of large cotton plantations and were looking mainly for young and strong males. A few looked for women slaves for the domestic chores. Kutkhay was not judged strong enough to be bought for the plantations. Shortly before noon a man arrived, some fifty years old, elegantly clothed, inclined to obesity. He looked around and, as soon as he saw Kutkhay, he approached him. The merchant at once started to sing his praises.
The man, brusquely, said: "Yes, yes, I have eyes. You, boy, stand up!"
Kutkhay mechanically complied. The man looked at him for a long while from head to toe, then tested his biceps, felt his chest, examined his teeth and eyes, then lowered his hand, first fingering the small and firm ass, then, decidedly, slipping his hand in the breeches opening and, looking the boy straight in his eyes, starting to manipulate his genitals. Kutkhay couldn't avoid getting an erection and lowered his eyes in confusion, under the amused look of the man.
"How old is the boy?"
"Sixteen, sir. He is really a handsome male, the son of a mulatto women and a gentleman, he could almost pass for a white himself... and then, look, he has not even a mark or a scar on his body..."
"Yes, I see. How much do you ask?"
They started to bargain on the price. It was evident that the man wanted him, although he was trying to pay less than the merchant asked. They bargained for a long while, but at the end the man went away, refusing to pay the requested price. More buyers came, the slaves for sale were fewer and fewer, but Kutkhay had not yet been sold. In the afternoon, amongst others, came a client who seemed interested in the boy. He was a man around forty years old, tall, slender, very elegant, evidently really wealthy. He had a severe look that oddly contrasted with his almost delicate gait. His suit, of very fine lavender color silk, was very tight and showed his body's shapes like a second skin. He had splendid rings on his fingers, and a very elegant gold chain on his waistcoat. He wore shining black boots, a top hat slightly inclined to the right, and carried a thin walking cane.
He immediately approached Kutkhay.
"He is a very handsome boy, healthy, untouched. He is sixteen and is the son..." the merchant started to extol.
"I don't care. Lower his breeches to his ankles."
The merchant turned towards Kutkhay, untied the string and the breeches slipped to the ground.
The man slowly walked around the boy, without touching him, carefully looking at his body: "Not bad, a well propositioned physique. And well-endowed, for sixteen. But... is he docile?"
"Certainly, sir. He will do anything you request him."
"Was he born a slave?"
"Yes, certainly, sir." the merchant lied.
"And how is it that he is for sale?"
"Ah, gambling debts..." the merchant lied, continuing to carefully study the client. Then guessing from his look what kind of slave he was looking for, he dared: "He was the protégé of his master, who separated from him with real regret... he is a docile, hot, obedient boy and... really willing."
"I see, I see. What's his name?"
"Goldie, sir, because of his golden skin. Just look what a perfection of proportions, what a body..." the merchant insisted, now almost certain of his guess. The eyes of the man in fact were caressing the slender and sweet body of the boy, lingering in particular between his shapely legs, almost magnetized by what was showing, softly hanging, between them. He drew nearer the boy and caressed the velvety skin of his ass, his hand lingering there for a good while. Then he went on to examine one of the two mulatto boys. Finally he bargained with the merchant until they agreed on the price for both the slaves, and paid it.
Then he called aloud to one of his slaves who was waiting outside: "Jeremy, those two boys. Take them home in the cabriolet. Tell Moses to wash them thoroughly and instruct them properly. When I get back, I want to find them ready, understood?"
"Yes master, straightaway master!"
"And tell Moses also to take measurements for their clothes -- they have to start working as soon as possible."
"Sure, master. Do I have to wait for the master?"
"No! No, beast! I'll come back later, with my horse. Scram!" the man cut short and went out.
The black man called Jeremy, took from the merchant the ownership bills of the two boys, made them pull up their breeches and led them away by their chains. He put them in an elegant cabriolet, secured their chains, mounted the driver's seat and started. He crossed the town and went through the country for a couple of miles, amongst wide cotton plantations. Then he reached a wood cut by a secondary road which he traveled, until through the trees there appeared a beautiful and large country house. A tall wall with elegant wrought iron gates, enclosed part of the trees of the wood with the house. Stopping the cabriolet in back of the house, he took off the boys' chains and led them into a large kitchen where he entrusted them to another black man, wiry and with completely white hair.
"Curry them for good, Moses, and instruct them. Later the master will come and he wants to taste them both. And make their clothes ready as fast as you can."
"All right, Jeremy, all right." the old man grumbled and at once prepared a tub filling it with warm water. "Get stark naked and get in it. And wash yourself from head to toe, including your hair, ears, and assholes. And don't spill water around, since the one who'll have to dry up is me!"
The two boys complied in silence. Moses bustled a while around the cookers, then went near the tub: "What's your name?"
"Jimmy."
"And you?"
"Goldie, sir."
The man burst in laughter: "I'm just an old slave, not a sir!" then he looked carefully at the boys and asked: "How old are you?"
"Eighteen." the mulatto answered.
"I think sixteen." Kutkhay added.
"Good heavens, still a kid. But here you'll grow fast." Then the old man lathered his middle finger and tested the hole between Jimmy's buttocks, then that of Kutkhay. Both gave a start but let him do it, even if they were ashamed of each other.
"Mmhh, you are tight, especially you, Goldie. The master will be happy." he observed, nodding seriously.
"What will he do to us, the master?" Kutkhay asked, foreseeing the answer.
"He will take his pleasure with your nice little asses, my sons, before making you available to the customers. Here, we have all tasted the rod of our master. This is a luxury brothel for the gentlemen who like males, and there's no lack of business."
Kutkhay looked at the old man with an unbelieving air: "But I... I never..." said thinking that the time of his initiation didn't count, as it was a rite.
"You never took a cock in your little ass? I believe you son. Well, this will be your first, but not the last, be sure. The first few times our master's rod will hurt you, as it's really big. But you'll get used to it, you'll get used to it as we all did. You'll eat well, have elegant clothes, and above all, you don't have to work in the fields. It's dreadful, working in the fields -- it kills more people than the smallpox. Lubricate your hole well, especially the first weeks, and relax as much as you can. And you, Jimmy, did you take cock in your nice, firm, little ass?"
"A few times, from my former master's cook, in exchange for something good to eat..." the boy answered cheekily.
"Good, so it will be easier for you. Some of the gentlemen like also taking it in their ass, being mounted by a thoroughbred stallion, and then it could even be fun... But now dry up. I'll take your measurements, then I'll find you something temporary."
He guided them, still naked, to the wardrobe room, took their measurements then made them try on several clothes until he found for both two wide shirts of thin white silk, almost transparent, open at the chest, two pairs of black silk knee breeches that wrapped their lower bodies showing their little asses and their endowments, a short black silk waistcoat and white slippers.
"For the moment these will serve. Yes, you cut a good figure, you are sexy. And you Goldie are the first slave with a fair skin, you look almost like a white boy. I really think that our master will like you, and also our customers. You have also beautiful lips... did you ever suck a cock? Do you know how to give head?"
Kutkhay answered, barely hesitating: "Yes, as a kid, I did it with a friend..."
"Good, so you are already an expert. And you, Jimmy?"
"I, really, I never..."
"You will learn fast, the master will rough-hew you. He likes to get himself off in all possible holes. Make sure you please him, if you want to last here a long time, and to please our customers in every way. Anybody who doesn't do a good job is punished by shutting him in the cellars, in the dark and without food. Or in other ways not less unpleasant... Now, come with me."
He took them on the attic where he assigned them to side by side pallets, then gave them the grand tour of the house, explaining its structure and organization. From time to time they crossed other young slaves, all males and all rather handsome, who were doing the cleaning and tidying all the rooms for the guests-customers. At last he took them to a beautiful room on the second floor, where a huge tester bed towered.
"Here sleeps the master. Wait for him here. When he comes, greet him saying 'I'm ready, master'. And talk only if he asks you to. Never thwart him, readily obey and try not to make him mad at you. He is not a bad master, but if he becomes angry... you can pray for all the saints to help you! Don't pry or peep or nose around, don't touch anything. Now go sit on that sofa, but as soon as you hear him, stand up. Well, good luck Jimmy, and you too Goldie. Ah, I was forgetting..." he said slipping a hand in his pocket, and he handed them a small box, saying only: "Lubricant." and went out.
The two boys sat in silence. Kutkhay trembled slightly, not so much out of fear, but that he didn't know what life would reserve for him from now on, separated from his young master, and in the luxury brothel. He wanted to go back to Patrick; he wanted this with all his heart. But he understood, more from instinct than from reasoning, that it would be difficult, probably even impossible. He had to find a way to send a letter to his beloved master.
"Let's hope that here at least we can eat well..." at a certain point Jimmy whispered. Kutkhay looked at him amazed. The other quietly continued: "The cook's handle was big, I'm not scared by that of our new master. It's true, at the beginning it was really painful, but then you become used to it. But... tell me, you ever went with a woman, you?"
"I was married, I have a son..." Kutkhay murmured.
"Married? I tried with the daughter of the stable-boy, a really great girl, black, fifteen years old. But I didn't do so much. She didn't let me put it in, I mean, that one. She said she wanted to stay virgin. But she did me with her hand and a few times even with her mouth... oh, I liked it! But I could not even suck her tits... look here, just thinking of her, I got a hard on..."
Kutkhay looked at the light, tightly fitting breeches of his companion and saw they were swollen and throbbing. He put his hand there and fingered it outlining its shape and testing its hardness. "Good gracious, it's big!"
"Yeah." the mulatto said with a proud smile, and added: "To see him asleep, he don't seem... but when he wakes up he cuts a fine figure, he is really second to no one."
Kutkhay, at that short contact, felt a quiver of pleasure. He thought he was happy they had their pallets side by side... Jimmy had a really nice body, he had observed him well when they were bathing, and was thinking that it must be fun making love with him. At this thought, he too became aroused.
Jimmy noticed it and giggled: "Yours too is awakening... are you thinking of you wife?"
"No, I was thinking of you."
The young mulatto looked at him, taken back: "And... thinking of me has this effect on you?"
"Can't you see?" Kutkhay said with a barely sketched smile.
"For me... it never got hard for a male..." the other said with a perplexed air, but his hand went to finger his companion's turgidity. Kutkhay let him do.
"Anyway... honestly, I like touching it..." Jimmy said continuing to feel it.
"I too like how you touch me, but it will be better you stop, or I will cum and our master would be mad at me."
"Yeah, you are right. Anyway we will sleep side by side... we will have occasion to..." Jimmy said with a cunning smile, and Kutkhay thought that his companion was an easy boy.
Again both became silent. Through the curtains at the windows, they saw the sunlight was diminishing, a sign that evening was gradually coming. From the wood came sounds of animals and the strokes of an axe, rhythmic, far off. From downstairs came from time to time muffled noises showing how in the house they were proceeding feverishly with various activities. Then they heard the noise of a galloping horse that stopped in front of the house, and the two boys understood that their new master was back home. They were silent, tense, waiting. They heard his voice shouting something but could not catch a single word. They heard his steps coming up the wide wooden stairs, nearing the room, and at once the boys stood up, just a moment before the door opened.
The man lingered in the doorway, looked at them, then turned back and said to somebody: "Barney, light up all the lamps of this room, it's getting dark in here." He entered leaving the door open.
He went towards the wide canopy bed and sat on its edge, stretching out his legs, and only said to the boys: "Boots!"
Immediately the two boys knelt in front of him and each pulled off one of the boots. Meanwhile a young black man entered with a lit wick in his hand and one after the other lit the many lamps of the room so that it soon was filled with light. Then he went out and closed the door. The man continued to give laconic orders to the boys who, complying, were gradually undressing him. When he was completely naked, he got on the bed, sitting in its center.
"Naked, both!" he ordered.
The boys immediately carried out the order under the attentive eyes of the man who, as the two bodies were revealed to him in full light, was becoming visibly aroused. Kutkhay didn't lose sight of his new master, and saw that his was of a really remarkable size.
When they were naked, Jimmy remembered the instructions they received and with hesitant voice said: "I am ready, master." followed with a fraction of delay by Kutkhay's voice.
"Well, well, well... Come on the bed, you, mulatto. Come here." the man said spreading his legs and driving between them the boy's head which he had seized with both hands.
Kutkhay looked at the scene with widened eyes and, seeing the powerful pole of the man disappear between the lips of his companion, became aroused. After a while the master noticed his reaction and with a lusty smile signaled to Kutkhay to join them, seizing his arm and pulling him towards himself. Then, pushing down Kutkhay's head, he made him take the place of the mulatto.
Kutkhay sucked at that huge piece of meat with all his ability, worried about not giving the utmost pleasure to the man.
Then the master said to Jimmy with an amused air: "Lubricate your companion's hole, prepare him well, boy -- before tasting your ass, I want to have fun with this kid's little asshole."
Jimmy crouched behind his companion and did as he was ordered. Feeling Jimmy's finger spreading the cream on and in his hole, Kutkhay's excitement increased further. After all, perhaps what was happening to him was not so bad... He was just being submitted to a new initiation rite, in a way...
CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 8
Please, donate to keep alive Nidty site, that allows you to read these pages, Thank you - Andrej
In my home page I've put some more of my stories. If someone wants to read them, the URL is
http://andrejkoymasky.com
If you want to send me feed-back, or desire to help me revising my translation into English of another of my stories, send me an e-mail at
[andrej@andrejkoymasky.com](mailto:andrej@andrejkoymasky.com?subject=Your Stories)
(I can read only English, French, Italian... Andrej)