Locked in Love

WARNING: The following story contains descriptions of sexual activity between men and minors, especially boys. If you are under 18 years of age, READ NO FURTHER. If you are an opponent of the First Amendment of the U. S. Constitution, or are morally opposed to sexually explicit fiction involving minors, READ NO FURTHER. The following story is intended for fantasy only and is not intended to contribute in any way to illegal actions by the reader, nor is it intended to contribute in any way to harmful acts toward children. The following story is inspired by Anne Rice's brilliant novel Cry To Heaven. It is set (due to the laziness of the author) in a fantasy world somewhat similar to Italy in the 18th century. Locked in Love by Boys-stir-us Chapter 1. Stephen strolled among the Cardinal's gardens, hands clasped behind his back, his brow furrowed. At age 35 he was celebrated as a war hero, but he had no guiding force in his life. His wealth and government office were the rewards for saving his government and country from invasion, but he was no longer a soldier. What was his life to become? He had no love of women, and though he had occasionally advantages of some of his friend Ledio's eunuchs, he found none of them appealing beyond the beauty of their pale, weak flesh. He had no hope for love. In a few moments, he would meet the woman he was to marry, a woman he had never met. Blossoms budded on the shrubs the Cardinal's gardeners so carefully maintained. He paused to stare at a small marble statue of a warrior which had so often given him a sense of awe. A naked youth brandished a sword, his lithe limbs straining as though in the throes of battle. He was indescribably beautiful and cast in stone forever in his mid-teens. Stephen sighed, wishing that boys could stay boys. What was the point of loving a boy when he would grow so quicklly into manhood? A page wearing a long orange cloak approached from the stone arch at the entrance to the gardens. Stephen looked to him sadly. He was being summoned. He swiped at the lace that tickled his neck and patted his hair. As always, he eschewed the white wigs so many nobles wore, preferring the natural luster of his reddish brown shoulder length hair. It fell in gentle curls to his straight slender shoulders. He had often been told how strikingly handsome he was, though it gave him no great pride. After all, what had he done to earn or deserve his good looks? The page led him to the drawing room where already an assemblage awaited. The Count LeFarge and his wife stood next to their seated daughter, Alexia, the bride-to-be. Stephen stopped at the threshold and greeted the Cardinal, kissing his ruby ring during a deep bow. The introductions, circling around the room beginning with the remotest of family and working toward the awaiting Alexia, went tediously on. Stephen endured, smiled at the right times and paid no attention to anything that was said. He occasionally glanced at Alexia; however, she was studied in her appearance, her gaze deferred. At last he took her hand and complemented her beauty (and it was not a lie). She smiled shyly and complimented his great reputation as a general. "My reputation preceded my office, I fear. And I have not done one important thing in over a year." He smiled as he spoke, inflecting none of the self-effacement the words contained. "I wasn't told you were modest." She actually blushed. "Or clever." "None wants to be the liar on such a crucial occasion, for one only has a single opportunity to make a first impression upon one's wife." He paused for a moment. "Exactly what were you told?" He smiled warily. She tittered in a very controlled ladylike manner, her face averted. "Only the most essential secrets." Her father cleared his throat, clearly as appalled as his daughter was amused. She laughed musically, with all the modest self-control any lady must possess. The cleft of her bosom, pearl white and enticingly ample caught his eye and he looked away in distress, lest he be caught examining the goods. She was, of all things, a painter! He could not imagine her with a brush in hand, her hair in disarray, her clothing smeared with oil. A boring dinner, during which they could share no private words, ensued. A string quartet played softly in one corner of the great dining hall, and he briefly wished he were one of the musicians. Stephen returned to his room at Ledio's palace exhausted and even more melancholy. This marriage would be a disaster. He might have made it work if Alexia had lived up to her billing as an old maid who would refuse any suitor. A bland and spiritless woman might not see the lack of passion in him, might bear him several children and leave him mostly alone. This woman would never be stifled, for her spirit was graceful and obdurate. He wished he could love her, but he knew well where his passions lay. Ledio met him at his chamber door and dismissed the servant, holding the candlestick himself. "And how do you like your wife-to-be?" Ledio, himself a general and rather lusty man of the senate, smiled a little cruelly. "She is rather too much the woman for me, friend. I fear I am doomed." "Quite the opposite, I think. You are blessed." "What do you mean?" "I shall not say imprudent things of a royal lady. You must know me better than that. But the marriage will be a huge success. Mark my words." Stephen pushed open the door to his bedchamber. "Oh, leave a tortured soul in peace." Ledio caught his wrist, placing the candlestick in his hand. "I have a surprise inside for you. . ." Stephen knew it was another eunich--beautiful in flesh, dead in spirit. "Not tonight, Ledio. I am exhausted . . . " "His name is Pablo. He sings opera in Rontind and is coming to Vendal to try to win the world. He is all the rave and only 13 years old, so young his voice does not need the knife to assist it." "He has not been cut?" "Of course. Six years ago." You bed him. Tonight I am not the man for it. No. This lad is special. You won't find another like him in your life. He is a gift to my dear friend who fears that marriage will destroy his passion. Take from him all the passion you can. He has told me that he is eager to taste the nectar from a god. So he thinks me a god? Stephen could not get used to the adoration heaped upon him by the entire land. As does every mortal who lives due to your genius. Is he skilled in the art of love? I don't know, Stephen. I've not tasted this bud. He has assured me that in exchange for the honor of a night with you he will surrender himself to me for the duration of the opera. A gelded lad with his beauty is sure to have a wealth of experience. Go in and look upon him. He awaits you. Stephen entered and slid the bolt behind him. Three tapers burned in the room, all on the writing desk which was littered with his papers. On the giant bed lay a small waif with shoulder length hair and breeches. He wore no shoes or shirt and his milky skin glowed in the candle light. The boy rose quickly but with measured grace as Stephen entered. Good evening, Excellency. Call me Stephen, he said rather curtly. He quickly warmed to the sight of the boy, who possessed a beauty any woman would be jealous of. His long blond hair hung in rivulets of curls. Widely-spaced, oversized brown eyesdominated the face. The reed-thin nose was perfectly straight and without upturn, the lips pale but voluptuous. The boy bowed low, and quivered visibly before raising ever slightly and saying in a golden light voice, Do I offend thee? What is it you seek here, Pablo? His tone had become gentle as the lad's beauty began to work its charm. The boy blushed. I want nothing more than to lie next to you, perhaps even to bring you a few moments pleasure. And why have you removed your shirt? he asked, setting the taper next to the bed before sitting wearily. He sighed from fatigue, though every moment in the presence of this rare youth kindled his small spark of lust to a greater flame. The boy looked ready to cry. Master Ledio told me you might be reluctant to grant me your favor. He said it would entice you to look upon my bare chest. Are you completely free of guile to speak so plainly? Stephen began to think the boy might be emotionally intact, an unusual quality in a gelded boy. Most were bitter or angy, or worse, dead inside from the knowledge they were objects of desire--whether it be desire for the arts or desires of the flesh--and would never have the life of a man. Excellency, I am awed by your presence. . .I can't. . .couldn't imagine speaking to you without an open heart. If you have removed your shirt to make me wild with lust, why have you not removed your breeches?" The boy looked around the room as if to take flight. He was locked securely within. I didn't want to offend. I am perhaps not beautiful enough. And I have been...I am castrato... so that I may sing longer. . . . But my body. . . .I am mutilated. Will you yield to me? Stephen knew he was being cruel and hated himself for it, but after being so powerless in the Cardinal's drawing room and at his table he felt his blood warming. Plus, he reveled in the sincereity, the particular type of vulnerability that comes from the flux of pride and submission. He enjoyed seeing this youth as a youth--not a eunich. In all ways, my lord. First, call me Stephen. Yes, Excellency, the boy said with bowed head. Do it. Yes, Stephen. His voice, for the first time sounded strained instead of musical. I would like for you to seduce me. I miss your meaning, the boy muttered in confusion. First, show your sex to me. Sir...? Undress completely. The boy trembled for a moment, then began unbuttoning his breeches. He discarded his clothing on the floor and stood, a small and trembling child, offering himself to the man's inspection. Above the shriveled empty sac, a penis no bigger than a 6 year old's drooped lifelessly. Stephen gazed for a long time, feeling the thrum of his pulse within his breeches. Before him stood beauty as surely as in the lifeless statue in the garden. But this beauty was hot with life. And eager to yield. The boy stifled a sob and turned away and Stephen was filled with the beauty of two narrow orbs of exquisite shape. The thighs were slender, no thicker than the bones of the knee. Only the feet seemed oversized, having grown in anticipation of the ascent to manhood which was, of course, to be mostly thwarted. Stephen snapped out of his silence, and tenderly said, Why do you weep? I am not worthy of you and I cannot bear your rejection. It is I who feels unworthy. You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. Only in paintings and statues have I seen a form to equal yours. Your beauty has stilled a deep water inside me and released a thousand snakes of lust upon this room. I am caught between responding to those two forces. The boy looked at him and smiled and Stephen felt amazed that such beauty could emanate from a living thing. Will you sing for me? Of course, Excellency. Petulantly, he asked, Pablo, when I have ravished you, will you then call me Stephen? Stephen laughed lightly, his artificial tirade having been as shocking to the boy as he had hoped. Pablo gasped. Then I may stay here with you for awhile? Tonight and tomorrow and tomorrow. Stephen spread his arms dramatically. The boy beamed, took a step tentatively toward the bed. Pablo, will you seduce me? Again, I don't take your meaning, Excellency. Will you sing a love song to me? Your own creation, one you compose as you sing. The boy rose to his full height, less than 5 feet, obviously suffused with joy. His voice was his great gift to the world. He would happily share it with this man whom he revered so deeply. With his voice he could display his own worth. And the notes began thin and breathy, pitch perfect, but obviously under duress. Stephen sat on the bed and watched the song bird begin to enchant. The song grew in fluidity and pace, though it still stayed slow and melancholy. He sang of a distant love, of a longing without hope of fulfillment. The song changed. He began to sing of a great man, of a small boy who would be the ring on the man's giant finger. He wove a perfect melody with trills and impossibly high notes, a voice suffused with beauty and longing and sometimes passion, sometimes awe. The notes were always hit effortlessly. As he sang obscure metaphors to sexual coupling, his tiny penis twitched and rose. When he finished his song he was fully erect and the foreskin had partially retracted from his obviously aroused member. The lust and beauty in his singing would have aroused any man no matter how deep his attraction for women. He stood rooted at the foot of the bed as the last note died. The boy, ever confident in his great voice, carried that confidence to the intimacy at hand. He walked straight to Stephen and began unbuttoning the lace at his throat. He had bared the man's chest and was exploring its hairy surface when Stephen reached out and brushed his fingernail across the boy's nipple. Pablo moaned and then began convulsing as his dry orgasm shook his very being. Stephen steadied him as he nearly collapsed, then pulled the boy onto the bed. "Thank you, Excellency." "For what?" he asked softly. "Letting me sing for you." Stephen rose and quickly undressed himself. He stood for a moment over the youth who was fast regaining his senses. Stephen's balls were drawn tight and they ached with lust. His cock had never been more firm, pointing toward heaven. A large silken dollop of pre-cum dangled three inches below the glans. The foreskin had been surpassed by the fiery knob. Only the lowest ridge of corona remained covered. My lord, is it real? The boy referred to the immense cock, but Stephen had asked the same question silently, for all this seemed like a drunken wet dream. As Stephen climbed onto the bed, the boy, on his back, drew his knees up, offering himself to be taken. His instincts took control and Stephen brought himself between the legs, brought his sex close to that tiny pink opening now fully offered. His sanity nearly returned and Stephen paused. Take me, Excellency. Please. Put yourself inside me at once. There would be time for lovemaking later. He brought the glans to the heated flesh and again paused. We need lubrication. It is already done. Before you arrived, the boy panted. Stephen brought himself to bear. With no results. The opening was unyielding. He felt on the edge of losing control and ejaculating on the sheets like a teenager. As he pressed harder he saw the look of longing on the boy's angelic face transformed to physical pain. He felt no entrance, just a depression of the sphincter as it held its chastity, yet was propelled inward. He increased the pressure, feeling his staff might break in half. The boy gasped in pain, his eyes wide. Stephen retreated back onto his heels. No. NO! Take me, Pablo cried fiercely. You are too tight. Break into me, sire. Use whatever force you must. I am yours. His voice was suffused with a sort of panic. I am filled with lust that I might obey and hurt you severely; however, it is not to be. Were I to attempt such forceable entry, I would orgasm without gaining entrance. I fear I may orgasm as I sit here in repose looking upon your splendor. I promise I won't cry out, no matter what. I don't care if I die here! Stephen sat on the edge of the bed. Crawl between my legs and take my seed into your throat. Confused, the boy raised on one elbow. For the love of God, please hurry! The youth scampered into position, plunging his mouth full onto the wide knob, his teeth striking a knife shaped pain into Stephen's brain. The boy brought his mouth deeper, and in wonder and lust, brought a hand to the man's scrotum, which was drawn tight. The boy rubbed the churning orbs as he slid his lips along the phallus. Suddenly he squeezed the orbs together and Stephen went over the brink, falling into a white hot abyss of spasms and gasping, his body jolted in spasms beyond mortal control. As his climax passed he became aware he was holding the lad's head in both hands and that the boy was sputtering and gasping for breath. He swallowed loudly and almost gagged. Stephen could feel the boy's gorge rising. He didn't release the head, but pulled it free of his shaft and brought the face to his face. He kissed the boy's lips tasting the saliva and slime of his own seed upon them. The boy, gasping in his face, was unable to return the kiss. Ten minutes later, they lay side by side on the bed, the boy nestled in the crook of his arm, his leg draped across Stephen's thigh. He stroked the boy's hair. Have you never been sodomized before? Yes, sir. But not by a man. The words sounded strange but Stephen knew his meaning- -eunuchs. Still it seems it can't be true. When I was six all the older boys had me. I was in my first week at the conservatory when I was taken by 14 boys in a night. Seven of them claimed me after that and I served them every night for three weeks. I was bleeding and exhausted and wanting to die. I finally went to the Maestro and told him of my trouble. He slapped me, then raped me, and this truly hurt for his penis was at least 4 inches in length, a full inch more than any who had taken me before. As I lay sobbing he said that a eunuch has only two gifts to give to the world, his mouth--for song and sucking- -and his anus. He said unless I was a virtuoso, an opera singer, I must do anything the rich want of me. So I became the best singer in the academy. So I could choose my lovers. And you haven't chosen since? I have not been taken since I took the stage, two years ago. It seems my body has forgotten how. I will teach it if you will let me. Let you? Did you not hear my pleas? Stephen reached between the boy's legs and touched his little pucker. I will stretch it and lubricate it and it will yield. And for half an hour, the man's fingers worked on the tight, seemingly inelastic orifice. The boy bore it well, never losing his intensity even though he never fully regained his erection. When he did finally take the boy, he did it with the boy facing down. The opening yielded slowly to him and he worked himself inside with loving patience. Suddenly the boy cried out, I can feel your hairy orbs! It was clearly a victory cry. With previous eunuchs he had been able to protract the sodomy for 20 minutes or more. This boy crested his passion within minutes. The second time the boy lay on his back, using his fingers to pinch at the man's sensitive nipples. His organ regained its passion during the second coupling. Minutes after spending, Stephen used his lips and tongue to bring the boy to his dry spasms. Stephen, you own my soul. There is nothing I wouldn't do to please you. The boy kissed his eyelids as he spoke, his hand caressing the collarbone, the soft flesh of the neck. Pablo was finally comfortable in the presence of the man. You must go to your chamber, Pablo, for dawn already threatens to find you here. Will I see you tonight? There is only one more day till the opera begins. Are you forgetting your promise to Ledio? The boy's energy drained as his face paled. He told you? He will let me break my oath. He must. Your word must mean something Pablo, or you will never be regarded in the manner you desire. Can I stop on the way to his chamber tomorrow and receive you in my mouth? Perhaps. Chapter 2. At the hour when Pablo left Stephen's chamber, Demian, a boy 12 years of age rose with his back to the stone wall of the alley, his hand held to his throbbing lip. He could feel blood seep onto the back of his hand, staining his besmirched shirt. Let me hear you sing, waif, or I shall beat you until you bleed to death in this alley. Demian looked at the dark forms in the alleyway, three men, all huge and smelling of wine. They closed him in their semi-circle. They had dragged him to this alley after he played minstrel, serenading with a group of other children. Come now, your highest note. Ring it pure. Demian knew he was dead. These men could have no purpose other than to torture and rape him for their pleasure. They were obviously little more than street beggars, large though not strong men. Of course by sheer weight they could do what they wanted with him. A rope around his neck, held securely by the man who obviously led them kept him from bolting past them. He summoned his breath and sang poorly, a fragile but very high note. The leader said to no one in particular. He must be the one. The voice has not yet changed at all. He brandished a stiletto and said, Remove your clothing. Quickly. Demian complied as quickly as he could, knowing his only hope was to cooperate fully with the men. He knew he would take their coarse, filthy organs into his mouth, swallow their seed if that was their desire. His brother, who had been doing these deeds for years, had told him all about it. His brother, Darian, favored child before his parent's murder, the only person Demian had ever even wanted sex with, therefore the only who had refused him, saying, You are a child like me. I like men, hairy powerful men with cocks the size of your fist. Darian sang on stage in a little theater company and rarely had time for Demian since getting the position. His terror mounted as he was forced onto his back, his legs brought near his ears to bend his body in two. And the pawing at his organs, brutish, calloused fingers. And the trickle of a liquid across the scrotum, feeling cold in the open night air. Then the pressure and a thin little pain. Shit. He only has one ballock, the man complained from the base of Demian's spine. Demian rocked his head in terror and nausea as he realized what was being done, what was being taken. He passed out. He was in a small den, his body wrapped in a blanket when he awakened. He could hear men talking. Yes, he is clearly the brother, the one no one will miss, Demian. His voice lacks nothing. It is straight from God. He was brought to me this morning by a lout of ill repute. When I refused to pay him for the castrati, he fled. I can tell you his name. . . . Demian was drifting. He remembered bits and pieces. But that was too much. He wished he remembered less. He touched himself, then passed out again after he discovered the flapping sac of skin, his hand wet with his own blood. A well dressed man ushered another man into the room. His covers were removed and the elderly frocked man spoke in disgust. Look at the incision--large and jagged as if from a dagger. And from the front instead of the rear. The boy has not only been mutilated, he has been butchered! The merchant cleared his throat. It is a great tragedy. But what is done is done. Will you pay me 3 cintar for him? The man scooped Demian into his strong though old arms. I'll not pay and therefore become a part of this. I will take him to the conservatory and summon the police to investigate. He started out the door. Surely you don't think I had a part in this? The fear in the man's voice gave away his guilt and Demian hated him more than he had ever hated anyone, even the thieves who had murdered his parents. Again he passed out. He awakened in a bed with linen. He was bandaged between his legs, though beneath the bandages his pulse thrummed in hot pain. He sobbed until no tears could be produced. He had seen eunuchs in the market, had felt they were freaks. Now he knew he was a freak also. He would never become a man. He buried his face into the pillow wishing he could die. Ledio cheerfully relinquished his hold on Pablo, and every night the boy crept into Stephen's chambers. They tasted and kissed each other everywhere, getting to know all aspects of one another's bodies. Always Stephen spent in the boy's bowels. The boy dry orgasmed into Stephen's mouth or against his hand. Stephen took a box at the opera, and rapidly became a fan of the music. He enjoyed the company of composers and instructors and was given a wealth of knowledge in a short time. Alexia accompanied him to the opera a week prior to their marriage, escorted by her mother and sisters. Pablo invited them backstage and Alexia was delighted to go. Stephen felt a chillness pervade his spirits. He did not want to be in the same room with his future wife and his present boy lover. Pablo and Alexia hit it off immediately and he felt awkward standing and listening to them discussing the arts, music, painting, poetry. They bid farewells and Alexia said suddenly, We will be wed this Sunday. Could you sing for us at the wedding party? Oh, please say yes. And you could spend the night under our roof. I know Stephen really loves your company. Pablo blushed his deepest crimson. To Stephen he asked, Would you like me to perform at your wedding, Excellency? His voice was low, with an undercurrent of terror. What Alexia wants, she shall have. You have the finest voice in the entire world. Thank you, Excellency. Perhaps I should continue with my accommodations at Ledio's. . . . Nonsense! Alexia exclaimed. You care more for the company of the young general than the old general, do you not? I can tell he is enthralled with you. It would be a privilege to have your beauty and talent under our roof. Stephen wished for this conversation, attended to by dozens of interested ears, to end quickly. He was rescued by a new throng of nobles come to sing the praises of Pablo. Demian shared a room with three other eunuchs at the conservatory. By the week's end he still refused to sing despite being whipped and having his food withheld. In his groin was a constant pain to remind him of the butchering. He was called at week's end into the Maestro's office. "Eunuch, why do you refuse to sing? The man wore velvet robes and looked a regal 60 years of age, his face wrinkled, his whiskers making the slightest shadow upon his face. I have a name. It is Demian. And I did not chose this life, sir. He bowed meekly, realizing he should not hve spoken so openly. You must put the past behind you and deal with the life left to you. I will not keep a castrato who refuses to sing. So you must sing. I cannot, sir. But why? The man was clearly impatient. Guido, the eunuch instructor stood quietly at the door. I will not let them succeed in their designs for me. They have already succeeded. You are castrated. You will never be a man. You are a eunuch!" His fury was no longer concealed. I do not wish to be. If you do not sing then I will send you to the streets. Where will you go? What will you do? A castrato is a toy for man's pleasure. It is either pleasing with the voice or with the flesh. And unless you are a very good singer, you must provide pleasure in both ways. You simply have no other choice which is satisfactory. No choice before me is satisfactory. Sing for me now. I am sorry, sir. I cannot. He turned to Guido. Then this young castrato has no place here. Expel him at once and give him to the streets. "Excellency, his voice is so fine. . . ." "Not if he refuses to use it. Be gone." Demian wandered the familiar streets of Vendal and lingered on the edges of canal where gondolas floated by effortlessly. He then searched for a private place in an alley which would become his home. Over the next several days he stole what he needed to eat and kept to himself, shunning any human contact. And the pain in his groin grew a little each day. He could scarcely stand the pressure of clothing against him. He was loath to look at himself; however, by gently touching, he discovered the pain was not in the worthless penis they had left but next to it where the empty scrotum was attached to the hairless flesh covering his pubic bone. Chapter 3. The wedding was a nightmare of formality. Afterward, in the drawing room of the palace he purchased as their home, Pablo sang to a small group of family, then retired as bidden. Soon, separated by glasses of red wine and one taper, the bride and groom were alone. Husband, you are afraid. Yes, he said miserably, knowing it was futile to deny his fear and misery. But it is so unnecessary. Have you ever wondered why I had not married earlier? No, though I do wonder why you would marry me. Because of who you are, darling, she laughed. A war hero does not make a good husband. I did not refer to your military accomplishments. . . come with me. She stood and offered her hand. I would like to show you the bed chamber we will share. It was most cordial of you to let me design it in private, for I have a wonderful surprise for you. The bedroom, lighted by dozens of candles was beautiful and large as an entertaining room. The bed was huge and ornate. The room was clearly divided into two domains, with two writing desks, each occupying its own portion of the large chamber. We each have our own doorway to a private chamber. She led him to a door and pushed it open. This is yours. I have commissioned a well-known artist to supply the furnishings. You of course can replace them to suit your taste, but I wanted this to be your wedding present from me. He followed her into the room, which contained a bed, a couple sitting couches and a beautiful jeweled harpsichord. A statue, two feet high, covered by linen, stood on the harpsichord. She pulled the covering and said, Do you like it? A man sat on a stool. Between his legs was a boy of about 10 sitting so his head rested on one of the man's thighs. Both were naked, though the man's sex was hidden from view by the boy's neck. The man's body was stunningly similar to Stephen's, though the face was different. He touched its cool, smooth surface. It is beautiful. He was embarrassed. And here, she said, walking to the statue, this one 4 feet high and sitting on the floor next to the bed. She pulled the cover. Again a nude man seated. A naked boy sat on his lap, the back of his head resting against the man's shoulders. The man had one hand upon the boy's neck and the other on his stomach. The boy's arms were lifted so that his hands touched the neck of the man who's lap he sat on. The faces of both were rapture. The boy's sex was angled ambiguously toward the side. Beneath the boy's legs, Stephen could see the carefully sculpted testicles of the man. He walked nearer the statue and was shocked to see the firm shape of the man's penis as it entered the boy's slightly raised hips. Sodomy, though mostly concealed, was clearly detailed! Do you like it? It is certainly a surprise. "Perhaps these peices will serve as inspiration to those who visit you here. Ledio has told me much about your tastes. But come. Let me show you my chamber. He followed wordlessly into the main bedroom and through a door on her side of the room. Her paintings, voluptuous, hung on the walls. Each depicted nude women. His cheeks burned as he realized the women in some paintings were mates in sexual positions. I am a lesbian. Didn't you suspect? No. Does it bother you? He laughed. It relieves me greatly. Now let me explain my desires for our wedding night.. . . He drank another bottle of wine with her, then consented to begin. She rang a bell and Pablo, naked and erect, entered the room. Behind him followed a girl of about 8 years, equally unclothed. They raised their glasses in a toast. To our children, she summered. Then the girl and Pablo began undressing their lovers. Each began to provide oral pleasure. Stephen was a little drunk and silently relieved at the unexpected turn of events; he found his passion rising quickly. Soon, Alexia, he warned. Alexia quickly fitted a slender tube into her vagina. Pablo sucked harder, squeezing the man's testes as the moment approached. He deftly collected the semen into his mouth and, bringing his mouth to the tube, spat the semen into the woman. Alexia bid the girl to bring her the wine as she remained on her back to let the semen find its way to her womb. She raised her glass, To a daughter. Stephen raised his glass and said, To a son. They both laughed. Later, in the big bed, he penetrated Pablo, who moaned as though possessed, while Alexia and the girl looked on. Pablo kept staring at the naked girl, even as they lay in repose. You desire her, don't you? Stephen asked. Yes, the boy said, ashamed. "I have never been around a naked girl." Fuck her then, Alexia said, pushing the girl's small mouth from her vulva. May I? The girl lay on her back and spread her legs. Without hesitation, he plundered her hairless orifice. The boy's buttocks, seeping Stephen's semen, bounced enticingly as he stabbed repeatedly. Stephen's staff returned to full erection during the children's fucking. After coming, Pablo immediately disengaged himself from the girl and climbed upon Stephen's lap. He rode the man's pole into his backside at a full gallop. Stephen was surprised to feel a lapping at his balls. The girl had climbed between his legs. The next day Pablo had to leave with the opera, and deep melancholy descended upon Stephen. He attended the opera (which was much less enticing without Pablo on stage), went to music in drawing rooms, and marveled at his wife's paintings. He took to wandering streets after dark, following on the fringe of the traveling minstrels as they sang beneath the doorways of peasants hoping for a few coins. Again, he was lost and without purpose. Stephen, take another boy as your lover, Alexia prescribed simply. It isn't so easy. I have to care for them in order to truly desire them. None of the boys at conservatory interests me, though I love their singing. Then find a boy in the streets. It must be a eunuch." But why? It's wrong, what I do to boys. With a eunuch, it's. . .I don't know. . .less bad. They've already been robbed of their manhood. You are so silly. Have you no idea how often men couple with their own boy children. And with the children of their brothers and friends? No great harm comes to these children. They don't lose their 'manhood.' They gain pleasure and intimate companionship. It's just the way I feel, Alexia. I don't want you to rationalize away my conscience. Then you condemn me for keeping little Marena? She is no eunuch--I assume she will someday reproduce. He took her hand. I don't judge you at all, my dear. I am curious how you came by her, how old she is, what her past was like... She is 9 years, I believe. She is not totally certain. She was orphaned at an early age and lived with an innkeeper who early on trained her in the art of pleasing men--first orally, then vaginally, and also anally. I stayed at the inn and she more or less seduced me. I simply tipped the innkeeper generously and brought her home with me. She has been with me for nearly a year. She is a pretty child. I don't really love her. She's not a pet or a servant. More like a relative I've gotten a little too close to. I also have an adult lover who you shall likely meet within the week. She is the wife of Meidre. The Governor? He couldn't hide his shock. The Governor has a harem of slaves who he forces to sodomize him often. Have you ever tried that, darling? Stephen sighed. Not in many years. Once in military academy I lost a battle to a classmate--a simulation strategy game. He raped me upon my defeat. It was my last loss. "Our land is fortunate your tastes are different from the Governor's or we'd all be speaking the tongue of the infidels. She laughed, then excused herself. Later, with disregard for his safety, Stephen walked the dark streets. Chapter 4. Demian looked over his shoulder and turned sharply to an alley. Earlier he had crept to the theater where his brother played and tried to look in the door. He knew he would be arrested if spotted there. The owner had accused him of theft long ago when Darian first discovered the place and it discovered him. He had lingered in the alley, straining his ears, hoping to catch a bit of his brother's singing. Then the owner had opened the back entrance and spotted Demian. He cursed, fearing Demian had come to try to lure Darian away, and called for his bravos, who came thundering into the alley. Demian had fled in mortal terror. For nearly a half hour he had been chased until at last he had ditched the men. After resting in an alley for a while, he remained fatigued and weak from hunger. The pain in his groin was nearly crippling. He searched for a safe place to sleep. Then the men had spotted him again and the chase had been on. They were on his heels as Demian plunged into a another dark alley. He emerged in the center of a fountained square with the three bravos closing in. Due to the hour, the brick plaza appeared deserted. Demian slipped and fell onto his palms, abrading them. One of the bravos lifted him by the scruff of the neck. He received a hard punch to the stomach, and he was surprised at the intensity of the pain. He groaned but did not cry out, for his breath had left with a great gust. It seemed he could not inhale. The bravo who held him said, When we are finished, you will remember to stay far away from the theatre. He casually tossed the boy ten feet through the air. Demian's shoulder stuck the stones at the base of the fountain and after a blinding flash of white pain, the shoulder went numb. He tried to push himself to his knees, but his right arm didn't respond. He was kicked on the hip and as he rolled, a toe caught him in the ribs. The next fell on his face. And again. He spit blood. Through a veil of blood and tears he saw the foot again prepare to strike. Suddenly the foot was gone. A scuffle ensued between the three men and a strange defender. One of the bravos went down with a groan. The defender danced between the other two men, his fists up, his body crouched and coiled. He was vastly smaller than the two men, but he moved like lightning. Demian managed to get to a sitting position. He held his limp right arm with his left hand and gasped for breath. The men circled only for a moment, looking for an opening. Suddenly one of the bravos said, It is He Who Has Saved Us! It cannot be. Not at this hour and in this place, the other said, but both men stepped back. Who are you, the man said in undisguised terror. Stephen Montreva. Why do you beat this boy? The men stepped back further. We do not wish to quarrel with you, Excellency. Then answer my question and take your leave. We work at the Commoners Theater. We were told to make certain this one does not approach those doors again. Stephen looked at the bleeding crumpled boy near the fountain and asked, Do you intend to return to that theatre? Not tonight, sire," the boy answered, trying to sound glib. His voice trebled with his trembling. For now at least, you have accomplished your mission. Take your friend with you and quit this place. The bravos picked up their unconscious associate and stumbled away. Who are you, boy? Demian. He looked at handsome, hawkish man with some fear. He seemed friendly enough, but Demian knew this man could have vanquished all three bravos. And more staggering--this might be He Who Has Saved Us, which was the street name for the general who had turned back the infidel invasion when it was certain that the capital city was to be sacked. Outnumbered 300 to one, he had defeated the infidel army sufficiently to send it back north. Rumor had it that he singlehandedly penetrated the enemy camps and slain all 10 ranking commanders in their beds. All in a single night! And without awakening the guards. The man was only a step beneath God and the angels. Have you no family name? It matters not. I am orphaned. I, too, am orphaned, but I carry my family's good name. My father was a peasant farmer. Fivacarilli. Have you shelter? Demian tried to rise. He ended up sitting on the base of the fountain. I'm all right. Thank you for helping me... He couldn't bear to be in the presence of such a great man, and though he would relish the encounter for his lifetime, his fear made him anxious for it to come to a close. Am I being dismissed? Stephen said with a smile. Demian's eyes opened wide, soon to be squinted again as blood dripped into one of them. I meant no disrespect, Excellency. I only thought...surely you have important things to...." After a moment, he again found his voice. "I am unworthy of your attention, Excellency. Even were that true, how do propose to judge what is and isn't worthy of my attention? Is not that my choice as a free citizen? Again he had overstepped his place with this great man. Demian felt humiliation and scorn so deep that he began to sob. He slid to the bricks of the plaza and buried his face in the crook of his good arm. He stopped sobbing abruptly when he felt a gentle hand touch his bare arm. The voice spoken softly into his ear reminded him of his mother as she had once soothed him. So, the mighty boy who doesn't cry or even cry out as he is attacked by three bravos breaks to weeping at a soft rebuke from a gentle stranger. The hand touched the back of Demian's neck. It was warm and dry, incredibly light and smooth. Again I ask, have you shelter? I have none, Excellency. He had no will to resist the question. When did you last sleep in a bed? Three days ago. Where is this bed. It belonged to a man I met along the canals. Shall I take you to him? No! I would rather die in the gutter! His passion held only for a moment, then in a defeated voice, He attempted to rape me. He remembered the man's caresses, which he did not mind at first. Then the man crudely clawed between his legs and touched the sore place. Demian had been unable to complete the bargain he had struck, and the man had beaten him in frustration. He would have raped him, too, but neighbors were knocking on the door to see if someone needed help. And before that? I was a student at the conservatory. Stephen sat back on his heels. Was this beautiful child a castrati? He felt his blood quicken, his lust rise. Then I shall take you there. I was expelled. An orphan? expelled? Why? They had certain rules which I refused to consent to, the boy answered, meaning that he refused to sing. Stephen interpreted the answer as indication the boy had refused to be castrated. He was disappointed. Then he felt guilty for wishing this beautiful child had been mutilated. Stephen remembered Alexi encouraging him to take a lover from the streets. But it was obvious from his story about the near rape that he didn't want to have sex with men. I will take you to my house and have these wounds attended to. Without waiting for a response, he scooped the boy into his arms and started home. The boy must have weighed less that 70 pounds as he was no burden. How old are you? he asked, expecting a reply of 9 or 10. Twelve. He entered the house and awakened his servants, having one sent out for the physician. Two others he assigned the task of bathing the boy, who was covered in blood and smelled as though he had lived in his clothing a week too long. Stephen went to the bed chamber and found Alexia sitting on the bed. Marena sat behind her brushing her hair. Alexia was fully dressed in bedclothes. Marena was naked, her hairless body looking like that of a boy except for the lack of the protruding sex bud. You were certainly out late. Yes. Prowling, no doubt. And from your expression and your solitary entrance, unsuccessfully. Would you like Marena? Her anus is exquisitely tight. Marena looked up at Stephen and smiled fetchingly. She drew her knees up, exposing the wrinkled flesh of her pink slit. Actually, I brought a boy home, but he is just a kid needing help. Not a eunuch." So sin one night. Not only eunuchs enjoy the pleasure of a man's company. This boy has made it clear he is not cut from that cloth. "Perhaps he has yet to meet the right tailor." A servant entered sheepishly. What is it? The boy refuses to undress for his bath. Stephen sighed. He was poorly treated some nights ago. Probably fears you will do the same to him. I'll come and talk with him. But Demian, seated on the edge of the bathing pool, would not undress, even when Stephen implored him to. Stephen had the servants wipe his exposed skin with cloths to remove the blood. The smell could not be extinguished without full immersion and clean clothing. The physician came and with a surge of terror, Demian recognized him. He examined the quivering, stiff, boy, then came to Stephen's study to consult with him. Demian was at his heals, looking faint. Stephen sent him to wait across the room. The boy needs rest. At least three days in bed. He is half-starved and low on fluids. The arm is not broken, though the bruising of the shoulder is massive. In short, if he takes care of himself he will be fine in a couple of weeks. The physician, an old military friend scratched his head. He is a beautiful creature. I can understand your interest in him as a treasure to look upon, but what good is a eunuch who refuses to sing and is so proud he will not disrobe before a possible benefactor? "Eunuch?" Stephen said, startled. Of course. I examined this boy at the conservatory shortly after his operation. He had been butchered by amateurs. It was clearly against his will. He was expelled from the Conservatory for refusing to sing. But if he won't sing, then what is he? A freak. Nothing more. I wouldn't waste my time with this one. Thanks for your help, old friend. He looked across the room at the boy, trying to read his emotions. Demian lifted his head, but did not make eye contact, trying to keep his misery beneath the surface. He came closer and asked, Do you still refuse the bath? The boy stiffened, but remained silent. Come. He said simply and walked to the private chambers. The boy had followed. You will sleep here. Please do not leave the room. If you desire anything, food, drink, company, you can ring the bell on the nightstand. A servant will enter promptly. The boy stood, very small, in the center of the room. Then I am a prisoner here? Stephen sighed. The kid had a fierce grip on his dignity, unusual in a castrati. You are a most welcome guest. I do not wish for you to wander about because this is my home and I should like to guide you on a tour, which we can accomplish in the morning. May I please leave? Now? Yes, sir. It is the middle of the night. You are wounded and you have no place to go. It is unthinkable that you should leave a place where you are safe and where there are no demands placed upon you. I would like to go. There was a soft knock at the door leading to their marriage chamber. Stephen opened the door. Alexia asked, May I come in? She strode into the room, dressed in a sheer full length gown. Her nipples were plainly visible and her hair brushed to radiance. So this is the little waif that has stolen your heart. He wants to leave at once. She turned to the boy as if stunned. What ever for? Demian looked at the beautiful woman, so immodestly dressed and felt a deep terror. She was ever more frightening than He Who Has Saved Us. I'm sorry. You want to leave? she repeated. Yes, please. Do you know who this man is? Yes, lady, the greatest man in all of the world. He was unable to control the trembling in his legs. Even the hand disabled by the injury to his shoulder trembled. He gently grasped it with his other hand. Stephen, will you leave us for a moment. The boy wants to leave.... You leave--only for a moment. He simply needs an awareness of what he will be throwing away. Stephen did not move. Please, dear husband, take your leave. Stephen looked at the red faced, trembling boy, then turned and left. Sit on the bed, child. Demian more or less stumbled to it. My husband likes the pleasure of boys. Unfortunately for him, he is very selective, and though there are many boys available to him--perhaps hundreds--he has not chosen one since his last boy left for Rotini. He seems to expect little from his young lovers. In exchange he treats them to a life of unsurpassed affection, tenderness, and splendor. He never did or said a single disrespectful thing to his last boy. After Pablo departed, Stephen deeply mourned his loss. She sat on the bed beside him. Have you ever sexed with a man? No. Then perhaps it is a fear of the unknown. Love between man and boy is not an equal arrangement. In such a situation most men degrade their charge, taking oral and anal satisfaction with no concern for the discomfort of the child. Not so with Stephen. He worshipped Pablo, and in every coupling, Stephen said bringing the boy's release was as important as attaining his own. He caressed the boy's organ often and skillfully, bringing his orgasms with regularity and with fierce passion. Of course, even with Stephen, the relationship will not be an equal one. He will be the one who decides how and when you join. And though he enjoys sodomy greatly, he will not offer you the same favors. One of his greatest pleasure with Pablo was to mount him and while fucking slowly, rub the boy's erection until he orgasmed. Does this sound so awful? `But, lady, I cannot. He knew the pain in his groin would never allow him to be caressed in such a fashion. Nor could he let such a great man see his badly butchered genitals. Surely it will do you no harm to let him stroke your little penis, to kiss it's hardness, to spread your legs and surrender yourself to him. Anal sex is only painful the first time or so, and with Stephen and his gentleness, perhaps you will even enjoy the first time. I cannot. I so wish that I could. Lady, I simply cannot. I am not what he thinks I am. He thinks you are a beautiful orphan child who will gain from being his lover. Is that wrong? I cannot have sex with him. Please tell him I would like to but I cannot. Why will you refuse this? Demian wanted to say what he believed, to confess he was a eunuch, incapable of sexual response, cursed to a life of intense pain in his groin. He couldn't even picture himself saying the word eunuch. As he struggled to find a way to express it, she grew impatient, and stood. Out of respect for a man who attacked three would-be murderers and saved your life, you must spend the night. You must truly hate yourself to squander such an opportunity." Yes, my lady, he said and buried his head in his hands. She left and, though he knew Stephen might enter at any moment, he sobbed uncontrollably. Stephen opened the door as if to enter, stopped stiffly, then said, Ring the bell if you want anything. He withdrew. The next day Stephen brought him new clothes and showed him around the grounds of the huge estate. Demian was amazed by all he saw but had few words to speak. To think all this could be his to share at least for awhile....if only he had not had his sex stolen away from him. At dinner, with Alexia, a girl named Marena, and Stephen, Demian felt totally alien. He didn't know how to use the silver or anything else. He did savor the red wine which tasted delicious and gave him a feeling of floating slightly. Alexia handed Stephen a letter when the meal was completed. He opened it and said, It's from Pablo. He says all is well. The citizens of Rotini have fallen madly for him and he is forever in demand at parties and dinners. He has taken with a Cardinal, of all people, who is an avid sodomite. He also says that his organ has grown, that he wished he could show it to me in its splendor, knowing how proud I would be of his virility. Alexia took the letter from his hand without permission. He also asks if you have a new lover and if the boy has a finer arse, a stiffer cock, or a more beautiful voice. Well Demian, do you have a fine arse, a stiff cock, and a beautiful voice? Alexia, Stephen reprimanded. The boy ran from the table and out into the courtyard, his cheeks wet with tears. Stephen followed him. They stood silently in the twilight beneath a statue of a soldier. Stephen put his arm around the boy, then pulled him to a bench and set the boy on his knee. Demian buried his face in the man's ruffled shirt and cried more. Alexia didn't mean to be cruel. She is frustrated at your reluctance to open up to me. You see, she cannot imagine that anyone could find me unlikable. Me either. But you don't like me. It's okay. Truly. I have had disappointments before. I still want you to stay, and I expect no affection in return. I do like you. I am in awe of you. . . . Then what? Religion? You don't want to commit such a sin? Let me repeat, you need not sin with me. No. I have no religion. It is just that. . . .I'm. . .I'm. . .a.... Stephen stroked the boy's cheek. I'm a singer, the boy said suddenly, hoping this would be the clue to let Stephen know. Stephen wrinkled his brow. Where do you sing? You said you refused to sing and were expelled from the conservatory. When the boy didn't answer, he added, Why did you refuse to sing? Demian pulled away, stood, his face lighting with a sudden inspirtion. I have an older brother. He sings at a theatre near here. The theatre the men told me to stay away from. Take me there. I would like you to meet my brother, Darian. You promised not to go near there. But if you came with me, they would not mind. Please. Take me now. Stephen sighed. You miss your brother? Yes. I want you to meet him. He looks just like me. He is 14 years old. Okay. The theater owner welcomed Stephen and hardly glanced at Demian. He was given a bottle and a table, though the performance was not to start for at least an hour. Stephen said, Can we see Darian, this boy's brother? The owner paused. Please, sir. I would be ruined without his performances. We will not take your singer, Demian said calmly. Backstage in his dressing room, Darian stood in breeches and nothing else, carefully studying his set of songs, some of which were new. Brother, he said in surprise. He went over to embrace Demian. Demian lowered his head to the ear beneath his mouth and whispered, Please, this is He Who Has Saved Us and though he won't ask it, he wants to see you naked. Please causally undress and show yourself as you pretend to get ready. The embrace broke and Darian bowed as Demian introduced them. Darian went and bolted the door. Forgive me, I must get ready for the performance. Please sit. He gestured to a couple chairs before a mirror. Then he slid his breeches off and stood naked before them. Now what pants am I to wear tonight? he said, looking about the room. Darian had slept with dozens of men and he was a stage performer. He liked undressing before an appreciative man, especially a famous, revered and wealthy man. Stephen was unable to conceal his astonishment. The boy was beautiful, his body just beginning puberty. His nearly-adult penis jiggled above a bouncing set of hairless testicles. With pale skin like Demian, his buttocks looked like cream. He had a tidy semi-circle of pubic hair. Do you like my brother? Demian asked. Demian, why do you do this? He is beautiful. But why are we here? Where my brother is perfect, I am incomplete. Darian, will you go with this man, to live with him, to provide him with pleasure? I owe him my life. "Demian, please don't ask that. I cannot leave the theatre. They would be lost without me. And Vito has treated me like a son. More like whore. But, it doesn't matter. I will sing in your place. The room became silent. Stephen said, Demian. . . . But he was interrupted by Darian. You will sing? You ? On this stage? Gladly. If you will keep your part of the bargain. And what are you thinking of me? That you can arrange my companions for me? How could you pretend such arrogance? Stephen demanded, quite overwhelmed by the whole scene. Again the boy had tried to do the right thing and it had failed miserably. Demian burst into tears, his arms thrown down despite the pain in his shoulder. Alexia said you liked my form. But I cannot . . . do what you want. I thought. . . . Stephen stood. You did not think at all. Stephen dropped a heavy purse upon the dresser. Darian, there is more gold when you need it. Just come to my door. Please convince your brother to return to my house. He is welcome there for as long as he wishes to stay. He turned and left. The brothers stared after him. Darian said, You have rejected and angered the most loved man in the world. Demian sat before the mirror, burying his face in his hands to control his weeping. He wants me to be his lover, but I cannot! Darian said, I see your point. He is handsome and sexy beyond compare, wealthy, intelligent, a patron of the arts, politically powerful, kind, gentle. . . . Whatever was I thinking of? Of course, you would dislike him. You asshole, Demian said, raising his head and trying to focus his bleary red-rimmed eyes, I love him absolutely. He sighed and confessed, I am castrati. What? How? He told the tale as Darian, still naked, listened attentively and sympathetically. That's awful, but why won't you sing? Or make up with that Stephen guy? I won't sing because they did this to me so I could sing like a bird forever. I won't let them succeed. That's stupid. And I cannot be his lover because I have too much pain. I can barely walk and I must sit and rise with care. He and his wife have made it clear Stephen seeks to please not only himself but his young lovers. There can be no pleasing me in this manner. You mean you don't feel horny? It's worse torture than that. I dream about him. He is so perfect. But I can't even think about sex, I grow cold and afraid and sick. I am in agony all the time. My sex no longer works and I cannot bear to be a half-woman to him, cannot bear to be confronted with my loss! He doesn't know you are castrated? I can't tell him. I wish I were dead. Hours later, while aimlessly walking the darkened streets, a strong hand suddenly closed on Demian's arm. As he turned in fear, preparing a defense against the attack, the hand released him. You are Demian? He turned to flee but the hand grabbed him again to stop him. When he stopped the arm was released. Demian, I work for Stephen Mondavi. He has all his servants searching the city for you. He wants for you to come to the safety of his house. Will you come with me? Do I have any choice? Of course. But bringing you home would win me favor in His Excellency's eyes. He sighed. Take me there. Chapter 5. Stephen stood in a fourth story window and watched the boy approach. He touched his hand to his heart, then went to bed. The next evening, Ledio threw a party for a cousin of his who was visiting from Rotini. Alexia badgered Demian until he agreed to attend. He was dressed in such finery as he had never before imagined. He rode in a carriage ahead of Stephen and Alexia, along with Marena and three servants. Demian went almost immediately to a corner when he entered the huge ballroom in General Ledio's palace. Overdressed people of all ages milled about as they engaged in lively conversation. Demian studied Stephen. He loved to watch the man talk, loved to see the attention afforded him by all in his comapny. He never bragged or laughed too loudly or showed any one disrespect. He moved lithely, with an apparent slowness which was illusory. Stephen had beautiful blue eyes, and reddish-brown hair that flowed past his shoulders. A lanky curl hung across his forehead. He was anglular in frame, slight, but powerful, with large square shoulders and narrow hips. Demian made certain to look away before Stephen could catch him staring. Stephen seemed to look his way often. The Rotinian cousin had brought a composer and an 16 year old eunuch with him to entertain the guests. Every one settled onto the chairs provided by the servants, and the assemblage became silent. The composer sat before a harpsichord, his wig a perfect fit, not too full, but sufficiently covering the head. The castrati was surprisingly tall, nearly six feet with long gangly arms. He had the face of an innocent boy; however, one could tell he had a spoiled brat temperment. Demian looked at the strange gangly boy and saw what he himself was to become. It was not a pleasing prospect. The composition was beautiful, as was the singing. Demian immediately saw the structure of the piece, caught its melodic whirlings. It told the tale of a man in love with a woman, the first movement telling of the formation of love. The second movement was despair and emptiness, unrequited love, death. The third movement was an ascenion to heaven on the wings of love. The boy sang clearly and he attempted passion; however, Demian could tell he was bored. Demian knew the boy had never felt the kind of passion he was attempting to sing about. Perhaps others could tell also. He also noticed the composer was struggling to keep the tempo slow during the first movement, struggling to keep the pace slow during the second passionate movement, then ironically, struggling to speed the third and final movement. Not that the music portrayed this struggle. The struggle was all on the man's face and in his back and arms. The fingers supplied the music perfectly. The applause was thunderous as the boy finished. Demian felt disappointed and a little terrified to look at this older boy and get a glimpse of the monster he was to become. He fled to the gardens. As he walked among the dark fronds, wallowing in his self-pity, a voice coldly called to him. Is that a girl or a very pretty little boy? He turned to come face to face with a 17 year old he knew to be Tonio, the son of Ledio. The boy had a look of menace on his face. In fact, Tonio was bored and looking for some excitement. Stop, you piss ant! Demian stopped in his tracks, his heart hammering in his chest. What is your name? Demian. Your family name! I am an orphan and have none. Then you sneaked into this party and I have every right to kill you. Leave me alone, Demian said, but in his stomach he knew he would suffer at this young man's hands. He continued to walk but suddenly the boy lunged against his shoulder, driving him into a garden wall. His right shoulder, not yet healed, impacted hard, and Demian fell to the ground writhing in agony. He bit his lip to stop groaning. What a simpering coward, you are, motherless bastard! He yanked the boy to his feet, an easy task as he outweighed Demian by nearly 40 pounds. He raised his fist to strike Demian's face. Demian wasted no time. He kicked Tonie in the crotch, then kicked him again when the older boy fell to his knees. The kick to the crotch was especially satisfying for Demian because he kicked the things that had been stolen from him. The second kick connected just below the left eye. Tonio whimpered, Stop. Please stop. Leave me alone. As you wish, Demian said. Holding his tingling right hand in his left hand, he headed for the ballroom. He had to tell Stephen he was leaving, for he owed the man that, even though he would never be forgiven for striking General Ledio's son. Perhaps he would be imprisoned or killed. Stephen came rushing to him as soon as he entered. There you are, Demian. Did you like the performance?" He saw the boy was distraught. "What's wrong? Your shoulder? It's okay, sir. I merely fell. You are too graceful for that. Were you in a fight? Demian could not lie to the man. He was not strong enough. Sorry, Excellency. Tonio and I had a ... an incident. The room suddenly became quiet as Ledio, his son in tow, made his way directly to them. Is this the boy who attacked you? Ledio demanded of his son. Tonio stood in shock. My God. Demian, you are with Stephen Mondavi? Yes, he is, Stephen interupted. What sort of injustice have you wrought? Now hold on, Ledio warned. But a moment later Tonio was on the floor at Stephen's feet weeping. Forgive me, Excellency. I did not know he was in your care. Ledio pulled his son to his feet. Stand like a man. Stephen, it appears my son has harmed your house. Name your punishment. No! Demian interjected and stepped between the men. Courage flooded into him. For days he longed to leave the house of He Who Has Saved Us. Suddenly he wanted to stay more than anything. The fight had broken the lid off his defenses. The self-pity had been consumed by the rage. Tonio and I had a disagreement and we settled it. The matter is ended. Tonio and I have made peace. Tonio flicked a little smile of gratitude, still apprehensive of the outcome of this ordeal. He knew he would never pick on a weaker boy again--especially if he did not know his affiliations. Demian, I will take you to a physician. No. This party is only half over, am I correct? Yes, well, more than half ... I want to stay. Demian wandered back to his corner, his arm and shoulder a ragged ache. He studied the man he worshiped in every detail. The attraction he felt was not sexual, and he wasn't surprised for he knew that kind of attraction was impossible for him now. But even if he had been whole, his attraction was on a plane that transcended mere genital pleasure. He wanted to be consumed by the man, heart and soul. Then he overheard them nearby--Ledio and Alexia. The boy refuses to sing and can you believe he has not even undressed in Stephen's presence? I think Stephen is losing his mind. He is in a state of constant affliction and every third word is Demian. You say this boy is castrati? Ledio asked. Demian was startled to hear it revealed. Stephen knew he was castrati? Without a doubt. The physician confirmed it. And Stephen refuses to bed any boy who is not castrati. I swear, I live in terror that Stephen will try to adopt the capon. Demian edged closer, trying to clear his head. Pablo was castrati then. It could not be. He had heard the letter, heard Alexia tell of his fine orgasms. How could this be when he had nothing to produce seed? How could he have ignored the great pain? The Roman castrati is over there trying to seduce Stephen right now. Demian looked up and saw Stephen stroke the arrogant boy's hair. They were laughing at some joke. Alexia continued, Why couldn't Stephen fall for someone like him, someone worthy of his affections? Demian could barely contain his rage. I am more worthy than that monster! Alexia looked up at him without the slightest show of surprise. You? You can't even manage to show proper respect to him. Why don't you run away to the streets and leave him in peace? His mourning over losing you would be better than the current hopeless suffering at your hands. I am unworthy of him, but I am more worthy than that singer! In a near whisper, she spat, That singer demonstrates a willingness to please. Love could spring from a fountain crafted of that elixer. You show coldness, hostility, even loathing! Just leave. Go now. Alexia was waving her hands at him, in a fury. Most people had politely fled the general vicinity of her somewhat-subdued tirade. You are his wife, and I am wrong to argue with you. My apologies. He bowed quickly to her and went straight toward the harpsichord where the castrati stood fawning over Stephen. Excellency, I should like the opportunity to sing for you. Stephen looked at him in astonishment. Wonderful! he exclaimed in obvious joy. I will hire musicians to come over tomorrow. I want to sing for you tonight. Right now. Tonight? Now? That's crazy, Demian. You have not practiced. And there are many people of influence here. Alexia came up behind them, a rage still in her voice. Let the gelding sing. The words cut into Demian's spirit, but he knew he was fighting for Stephen's affections and he cared little for her affections. It didn't matter that everyone else knew he was castrati--after all, the only person who mattered, Stephen, knew already. Alexia turned to the singer. Get your maestro, ask him to play for this boy's singing. Tell him it is the desire of He Who Has Saved Us. The composer was there within two minutes. A crowd had already begun to settle into the chairs in anticipation of great singing--or great humiliation. Stephen was frantic, speaking in an urgent, low tone of voice. Don't do this, Demian. Everyone is here. You will embarrass yourself and me. When did you last sing? A month before you met me. He looked away from Stephen, unwilling to hear more of the man's lack of confidence, for it eroded his own confidence. To the composer he said, Will you play the same piece you played before? It would be unwise, he said simply. He was in his late 40's, obviously a castrati himself. But why? It was a stunning composition. Thank you. I wrote it only one week ago. This was the first time it was performed outside the conservatory. Pick a piece you are familiar with. The only other songs I know are songs of the minstrels. But your song soars! I cannot keep its melody from my head. You heard it but once. Do you have a copy of the words? The composer smiled sadly. Are you castrati? The man wanted to know if he had the voice worthy of being castrated. Demian felt his cheeks flush and could not speak the words. He nodded. I have the score also, so you may follow the melody. Servants were alerting the patrons a performance would begin soon. I cannot read music, but I can hear the melody. The Rotinian castrati sneered, I studied and practiced for three weeks to learn this song. It is over 12 minutes in length. You will make a total fool of yourself. Demian turned on him with uncharacteristic confidence. He loathed the fake boy at that moment, unwilling to consider himself in the same predicament. No worse than you did. The composer and Ledio laughed. Stephen moaned in anticipation of great humiliation as Alexia took his hand and led him to the harpsichord. The room was buzzing with anxious murmurings. Introduce your gelding, darling, or I will. She smiled venomously. Why do you harbor such malice to the boy? He will make you miserable for as long as you two are in the same world. It's time for you--or rather him--to move on. Stephen raised his hand, a small gesture which would have commanded immediate silence even in the marketplace, such was the respect citizens paid him. My charge desires your audience, though by his own confession he had not sung in a fortnight. Your kindness to him will be a kindness to me. . . . The boy stood very straight and spoke with unexpected forcefullness. I sing only for your audience, Excellency, for your approval. I would sing for no other human on earth. He turned to the composer and nodded. The man began weaving the complicated but slow introduction. Demian closed his eyes, willed out the distractions of the room and his own fears. He listened with all his ability to the emotion within the chords. And when he sang, he sang early. He sensed the error, sensed even more keenly that in his head he clearly heard what he must sing. It was a melody from the third section of the song, wordless, with perfectly forming notes climbing, trilling, dropping sharply only to ascend and trill again. The Rotinian composer gasped, then offered a bemused smile as he realized that the boy had not begun with the first lines, that he was fashioning an introduction which would give a deeper clarity to the score. Demian looked to the composer at his keyboeard, the only other present besides the singer who would know a mistake had been made. The composer's face went from shock at the opening notes (he nearly faltered in his playing until he realized the boy was superimposing the third movement over the melody of the introduction), to puzzlement, to a wet eyed look of approval. Demian knew that not every composer would like his work altered--even if it were an improvement. Demian hit the first note of the song an octave higher than it was written. Had he been able to look around, he would have seen the rapt attention focused on him, the openness of the expressions of the many influential strangers who were in the first stages of falling in love with him. His voice was honey, then it was a bell, striking high notes with an metalic precision. During the second movement, when the lonely lover laments his space in the world, Demian poured his own anguish into the melody, his loneliness, his sense of being lost, injured, his total lack of hope in ever again being happy. His eyes were still closed, though he moved his hands and head, even stepped a pace or two dramatically as he lived out the pain of the music. Stephen could scarcely breathe. Tears stung his cheeks. He squeezed Alexia's hand and only dimly realized she wiped at her eyes with a kerchief, moved to tears no less than he. The tinkling of the keys ceased. Long pauses marked the close of the second movement, which was interupted by the lingering melancholic expression of short lyrical phrases, caesura, another intense burst, as the soul of the singer was dying, embers upon a windswept hearth. In the lingering silence prior to the third movement, all was silent except for a sniffle, even one uncontrolled sob. Demian heard these things but did not open his eyes. His concentration was on the next movement, when the singer was to be reborn in the love of whomoever (presumably a lover or perhaps even God). The singing was to begin subdued, even halting, slowly transforming to the wings of a dove, soaring, flying ever closer to the breath of God, transforming the singer to an angel. The music pretended to go from pathos and death, through birth, through to a transformation to heaven, this time without the curse of death. With the Rotinian singer it had been clever. With Demian's voice and passion, the piece would reach every person's soul. As he worked into the third movement, Demian opened his eyes. He avoided looking at the couch front and center where Stephen sat. He looked at every person present as he sang, giving them intense scrutiny. He saw the intense attention he received. He tried to see everyone present, to make contact with them. They must fall in love with his performance for it to truly be a fine gift to Stephen. In rebirth, the singer still was lost from the light of love. At last his gaze came to Alexia, and he was almost distracted by her radiance. Her hostility toward him had vanished completely and in its place was an intensity too keen to consider. It told Demian that Alexia loved Stephen, too. The visage of her intense attention gave him cause for hope. He waited longer, then he looked to the man who represented his only will to live. It was early, four measures before the melody began to take flight. Without breaking in his singing, he quickly looked away, carrying the image of the man with him as he turned his back and pressed his face into his palms, an effect which muted his voice greatly. Demian had seen it! Love. His words caught in his throat and he sobbed. The composer carefully repeated a section of the pre-flight melody, adjusting to the boy's unexpected break. For Demian, the worst part of the shock was the realization that the same look, minus the awe, had been there all along. He wasn't making this man love him by singing. He was only making him happy in his love. The time for soaring presented itself again. Demian glanced at the composer, who bore a look of concern, clearly he was poised to adjust again. Demian closed his eyes and turned to face Stephen. He opened his eyes as he hit the first note with the power of an exploding heart. His voice was round, high, pure, not a human's voice, but the voice of an angel. He sang for the next five minutes at the most torrid pace, rising and falling lines with trills at every transition. The melody was the flow of the wind around lealfy trees, the crackle of a brook over stones, the strike of trumpets on a still morning. His gaze never left Stephen. Truly, he sang for no one else. Stephen stared at him without the concept of time, without a need to concentration upon the music. The music was all that existed, therefore one did not think on it. One moved with it, swelled with it, soared. Yes, soared as if to the throne of God! Then it was done. Silence. For 20 seconds. More. Extending to nearly a minute. No one moved. No one spoke. Demian could maintain eye contact for only a moment, then he turned and leaned heavily on the harpsichord, his face burrowed into the crook of his arms. He was exhausted, and despite being transformed by the music in a way he had never imagined, he feared rejection, felt the reality of who he was and his insignificance in the life of a man so great as He Who Has Saved Us. The joy he had sung had taken him far from reality and in the unexpected total silence following his last note, reality had crashed upon him with devastation heightened by the giddy vertigo of believing himself powerful. Then the thunder began and it frightened him. People's voices rang with unbridled appreciation as they pounded their palms together. The ragged pain in his shoulder returned and his legs buckled. And the never-ending pain in his groin seemed unbearable. The mutilation could never leave his thoughts for long because its pain never left. He fell to his knees and through blurred vision saw Stephen approach him. Without thinking, Demian scrambled to his feet and fled from the room. Stephen stood near the harpsichord, his arms out as though to embrace the phantom of the child who had fled. He could not decide whether to follow the boy. Before Stephen could react, Alexia had seized Demian in the hallway and was holding the boy by the wrist. She half- dragged him back to the assemblage. Smile and bow and show a little class. You just added to the glory of your master with that heavenly performance. You don't want to ruin that by humiliating him, do you, dear? She fiercely whispered into his ear. Demian rubbed at his eyes and bowed to the audience that was standing in a state of shock. The applause began again immediately like thunder and Demian could not believe that it would continue for so long. Everyone wanted to touch his sleeve, his cheek, his hair. People said things that he mostly didn't hear or translate into thoughts. He could not find Stephen, though Alexia wouldn't release him, so he was unable to search. The pain in his groin seemed to grow even more intense. I must sit, he groaned into Alexia's ear. She excused them and led him away. An hour later they were in a coach headed home. Where is his excellency? The jostling of the coach drove him mad as jolt after jolt of pain shot into him. He could not endure the agony much longer. He knew he would die of it. Home by now. He had some negotiations to finish tonight. It almost killed him to leave your side. She rubbed his hair. You do plan to surrender to him tonight, I trust. I'll try to please him. His voice trembled. Just show him your erection and all will go well. Lady, you know I am castrati. I have no erection to show. Nonsense. You cannot produce a child but you are sexually normal in every other way. No. I am not. I have not had an...erection...in the months since I was cut. I am in too much pain to think about that kind of pleasure. . .of any kind of pleasure. Pain? He brought his hands to his thighs, hunching over a little. It hurts. All the time. And it gets worse and worse. It isn't supposed to hurt. They must have done something wrong. She pushed past Minos, the old servant who opened the door for them. Why have you waited so long to say something? She was angry. I didn't know...until I learned about Pablo, I guess...I thought it was supposed to hurt, that all castrati felt the same...but that most were...braver.... You are such a precious little asshole. She led him right into the den where Stephen conferred with a statesman. She had Demian by the shoulder and pushed him forward. Stephen looked up from the document he perused. He smiled warmly at the boy, but asked, Can this wait? Of course. I was just making sure he made it to your presence. You know how unreliable he is and it's too miserable a night to have all the servants searching the alleys for him. She pushed Demian roughly into a chair. He groaned in pain but did not speak. He has a little story to tell you to explain his bizarre behavior. It's nothing you'd have ever imagined. She turned and flounced out of the room. Stay there. I'll be finished in ten minutes. Demian did not answer. He was steeling himself to overcome his pain, to please Stephen in any way he could. He had to be strong. He knew Stephen would never touch him if he knew the touch caused pain. Demian struggled to invent a story to cover Alexia's little introduction. It had been a strange day, like something burst within him, and for the first time since the surgery, he felt desire, not sexual, but desire nontheless. His singing had been a success, he knew that. But a greater challenge lay ahead in the seduction and pleasing of an experienced man. Demian wished he had said yes to the dozen or so men and boys that had made offers in the streets. None had been appealing to him, but he would have gained experience. And suddenly the visitor was gone and Stephen stood over his chair. You have a story to tell me? Demian rose, and cursed inwardly at the flash of pain. It was growing ever so much worse as the day went on. Why now? he wondered in despair. I have no great story to tell, Excellency, but rather a favor to ask. Ask anything. May I sleep in your chamber tonight? Stephen smiled, made no effort to be coy or disguise his happiness. You may." The candles were lit in the sleeping chamber, one near each of the sensual statues, one on the writing desk, several on the nightstand. The room was golden. Stephen entered and paced a little nervously, his body filled with excitement. The boy's singing earlier had been blissful beyond his experience. Now, he was poised to fulfill the dream he had harbored since rescuing the lad. Demian's pulse raced. He trembled from head to foot. Still he forced extended eye contact with the great man. He forced a frightened smile. Stephen's smile unfolded like God's hand. Demian fumbled with his clothing, removed it without grace, then stood naked before the man. "I am sorry I have so little to offer you, excellency." The boy's skin was like an angel's. His fair complexion and blond hair made him seem ethereal in the candle light. His body was smooth and the lines graceful. His beauty surpassed that of his older brother. His eyes, large, brilliant, and ringed with thick dark lashes, held a rabbit's fear. His penis was a short worm, his scrotum a scarred, shriveled sac. "You are an angel. . . I'm afraid to touch you to find you are only an illusion." Demian again smiled and slowly turned, showing his buttocks. As he turned, Stephen saw a curious bulge at the boy's pubic area. Then he saw the pale, thin globes, elegant as blown crystal and he forgot about the anomaly. The boy turned again. "I only want to please you. What shall I do?" "Hug me." The boy stepped awkwardly to the man. They put their arms around one another, Stephen's clothing scratching on the boy's tender flesh. Demian's face was at the man's breast. The man's smell was gentle but full of strength. He rubbed his cheek against the coarse cloth. He had no regrets and he longed to hold on to this one moment forever. Soon the ordeal would begin. But it was worth it, especially if he could but keep from showing his pain. And he could feel the pressing bulge, hot and unmistakable beneath the man's clothing. Stephen's hands caressed his hair, his neck, his back. He could reach just to where the curve of the lower back gave way to the sensuous delicate curve of the buttocks. Then Stephen lifted him gently and set him on the bed. He pushed the boy onto his back and let his hands roam across the smooth and narrow chest. He rubbed the boy's stomach, working lower. Demian held his breath and bit his lip. He must not cry out. But the hand touched him and he flinched. The fingers found his pathetic useless penis and lightly caressed it. The heel of Stephen's palm pressed inadvertantly against the swollen mound on his pubic bone, and the boy jerked his whole body. He was appalled to hear a groan of pain escape his lips. "What is this?" Stephen said, bending to see better. Demian began to cry, angry and frustrated that his life should offer such possibilities when there was no means of actualizing them. The man would soon reject him. "Demian, you are swollen. Are you in pain?" "No, sir." Stephen touched him and he flinched. "You are in pain. How long has it been like this?" "Since I was castrated, sir." There was a long pause as Stephen stared at the boy's groin. Demian could bear it no longer. He sat up, moved to disengage from the fingers that still held his penis. Stephen said, "Don't move. I will summon the physician." "I am fine, excellency. Please don't bother him at this hour. I can bring you pleasure if you will allow me. . . ." "You are in pain and something is clearly wrong. You wait on this bed and don't move. Understand?" "Yes, sir." Demian curled into a fetal position as Stephen went to the door. He spoke to a servant, dispatching him to the physician's house, then he returned to the bed. The physician arrived a moment later. Alexia had summoned him. The physician consulted in the next room with Stephen. He entered and Demian spread his legs for the inspection. Stephen held Demian's hand. "It is exactly as you thought, Stephen. I'll need fire for cauterizing." "My servants will tend to it." Stephen sat on the bed, stroking Demian's hair. "What is it? What's wrong with me?" "You need a minor incision to ease your pain," the doctor said. "Other than that, it's too early to say. . . ." Stephen and a servant held Demian's shoulders. Two other servants held his knees as the physician did his work. Demian whimpered, then wailed as he felt the pinch of the blade and the pressure of probing fingers upon inflamed flesh. "It is intact," the physician said. Demian screamed again as the cut was cauterized. He felt dizzy, gagging from the smell of his burnt flesh. He lost consciousness. Chapter 6. He awakened to find Alexia sitting next to his bed. "Well, he can open his eyes." Demian sat quickly, then slumped back down. He felt very weak. "You had better lie still." "What happened to me?" "You are whole--or nearly so." "What do you mean?" "Stephen will talk with you when he returns from the Senate meeting. Would you like tea?" She left him shortly after, and he felt relieved. Alexia frightened him terribly. He was left to ponder what had befallen him--the sudden surgery. Would his pain be relieved? He certainly felt it still, though perhaps the worst of what he felt was the cauterizing. He could still smell the trace of burnt flesh in his nostrils. He did not investigate the situation beneath his white bandages. Later he heard Stephen in the hall talking with servants and he was wild wih anticipation for the man to visit him. He needed to know what the surgery had accomplished. Would he be able to be the lover Stephen wanted him to be? Nothing else seemed important. And if Stephen wanted him to, he would sing, for anyone. He vowed he would find courage to confess his love and to offer his compliance to Stephen's every whim--even study at the conservatory, though he hoped he could spend his evenings with Stephen and his days in study.... Stephen was just outside his door talking with a servant when suddenly a servant who was out of breath rushed up. "It is a message from Pablo San Minnosa. He will be in the city within the next 24 hours. He has requested that his messenger return to him with word from you. Will you see him?" Demian sat in bed, listening keenly. "Of course," Stephen said. "Have him come directly to my house. He will stay here under my roof." "Sir. . . .Excellency. . . he also wanted to know if you had any other eunich under your roof...." The servant was clearly embarrassed. "Tell him, no. I eagerly await him." Demian's heart stopped and a bitter taste came into his mouth. He stifled a cry of despair and rejection. Then Stephen gently opened the door and peered within. Demian looked away so the man would not see the tears stinging his eyes. Stephen entered tentatively. "I'm happy to see you sitting up. How do you feel?" Demian looked down at his hands and blinked hard. "I'm okay." Stephen sat on the side of the bed. "I have some very good news for you." "I heard," he said breathlessly, thinking he was going to tell of the imminent arrival of Pablo. "You've heard? From Alexia? No matter, isn't it great news? I'm so happy." "Yes, Excellency," he said respectfully. "I'm so glad I didn't force myself upon you. Pablo is returning--just at the perfect time. That removes any tempation I might have had to go ahead and ruin things by seducing you." Demian, thinking himself more miserable than he had ever been, began sobbing. Even the pain this caused could not squelch his sobs. Stephen put an arm about him and pulled him to his chest. "What is this? This news should cause you great joy. What's wrong?" "Nothing, sir. I only want your happiness" "That is not entirely possible unless I experience your happiness. Clearly you are distraught, and I am at a total loss to understand why. You're entire world just opened to you, yet you weep in despair unlike I've ever seen. . . ." "I somehow wanted to be a part of your happiness." "You are," he said in surprise, releasing the boy's shoulders and peering into his face. "You are at the center of my universe. . . .When I learned you are not castrati, I experienced sublime ecstacy and deep regret. The regret is that I may never experience the intense pleasure of coupling with you. The joy is from gaining a son." Demian looked at Stepehen but briefly. "I don't understand. . . ." "I am mad with sexual desire for you. You are God's most beautiful creation. But I love you deeply, Demian, in a way that makes sex seem trivial. And to learn that you are not castrati, that closes that door. I could never sex with any child unless he is castrati...." "What do you mean not castrati?" Stephen paused. "But you said Alexia told you...the castration was botched, only one teste was taken. The other had retreated in the skin above your pubic bone and had been held captive there by the crude cauterization. You have one fully functioning testicle, therefore, you will become a man." "A man...." Demian remembered the coarse man saying he had only one bollock. Of course, he had two. And so one was missed, probably because it often retracted out of sight during distress. Its retreat had saved him from being a eunich. But had lost him a chance to be a lover to the greatest man alive. "You want Pablo. . . ." "His beauty compares to yours. . .And his voice is heavenly." "I must leave before he arrives." "No, Demian," Stephen grabbed his arm. He peered into the boy's face intensely. "You must never leave here." "I cannot bear to know he is in your arms." "That's crazy. I am going to adopt you. Do you know what that means? You will possess great wealth. You will marry a noble woman. Produce sons. The world is suddenly open to you." Demian averted his face, head bowed and eyes closed. It seemed a small gain for such a great loss. Stephen rose, feeling a turmoil of emotions. In a soft voice he spoke, "In the morning it will seem better for you. I will show you my estate, the estate that will someday be yours." When Demian did not respond, Stephen withdrew. Alexia met him in the hallway and Demian heard her say, "He still causes you anguish? Expel him like the curse he is." Thus when Stephen awoke the next morning to find Demian gone, he sought Alexia first. "Darling, I have no idea where he is. You misjudge me if you accuse me of foul play." "I'm sorry, Alexia. I'm just not thinking straight." "It is that cursed boy. Think of the anguish you have been through since you saved him from the bravos in the square. Better you had been too late." "No. It may be anguish, but it is the divine sort of anguish only a privileged few ever experience." He turned abruptly, seizing her hands. "Why, Alexia? Why did he leave?" She did not pull away. "You truly don't know, do you?" "Do you?" "I think so." "Then tell me. You must tell me!" "You really don't know your beloved child that well, Stephen. In his own way he has told you his feelings many times. And twice he has been wild with jealousy. Yet you still don't see it. . . ." "Jealousy? Of what?" "First it was that awful eunich at Ledo's party. He had vowed to never sing, to never affirm the choice that was forced upon him to be less than a man. For you he sang. Publicly. Shamelessly he sang out his love for you in a voice so clear everyone there could hear it. Everyone, that is, except you. You don't understand what a gift he gave you. . . ." "I understood thegift but not its cause...And the second time?" "Why did he say he had to leave here?" "Because Pablo was coming. But when he said that he didn't understand that he was not castrati, that his life could mean so much more than being a rich man's sex toy." Alexia laughed caustically. "He knew you would never treat him as a lover. It still hasn't occurred to you that the boy wanted nothing in the world than to make love to you. With or without his balls. Honestly, Stephen, you are so blind." "And I have rejected him." His voice was flat. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth. "But it was for his good. I didn't truly reject him. I offered him my household. My wealth. My name!" "He's a 12 year old boy madly in love for the first time. Do you think he is capable of understanding what you were "sacrificing" for him? Oh, go look for him. Bring him back. Smother him with kisses and allow him the privilege of giving you sexual release." She turned and stode from the room. Stephen sent out every servant. He himself went to the theatre where Darian, his brother, worked. Darian welcomed the man, but swore he had not seen his brother since Stephen's last visit. "By the way, Darian. It turns out your brother is not castrated after all. The job was botched." "Great," Darian said with the beguiling smile of a stage performer. Stephen could not tell if his words rang true. "If you see him, send him to me. Tell him I will do anything he wants. Anything." In despair and seeking comfort, he went to Ledio's house. Ledio was out but Tonio received him. "What is wrong Excellency?" Tonio asked upon seeing the man's confusion. "Remember the boy--Demian? He is missing." Tonio gasped. "But my lord. You sent him just this morning to have his botched castration fixed." "What do you mean?" "Oh, no. Excellency, forgive me. He came to me early this morning saying you had sent him out to have his castration completed but that he had foolishly lost the address. I directed him to your physician...." Stephen ran out of the house without speaking another word. He ran straight to the physician's office and knocked at the door of his adjoining house. A female servant escorted Stephen to the physician's office. "Have you seen Demian?" "He's in an antechamber waiting for me. He's been there for over two hours. I sent for you immediately but your house was empty of servants. He became impatient and I was afraid he would leave, so I had him disrobe and took his clothes. Follow me." "He told you he wanted to be castrated?" "He told me you had ordered it. Of course, this I knew to be false." They stopped in front of a door. "His clothes are on the table over there." "Send me your bill for this great service you have done." "There will be no bill, Excellency. The boy has much character. I confess I did not like him at first, but he truly amazed me. He loves you more than his own life." "And I've ignored his bid for my love." "Um...there is one other thing. The boy should have rest for at least another week to heal properly. Forgive me for my candor, Excellency, but that would include sexual activity." "No offense taken, dear friend." Stephen took the boy's clothes in his hand and opened the door. "Excellency," Demian said in surprise. "Hello, Demian." The boy rose from the wooden chair, naked and as unashamed as an angel. Stephen looked. He could not have kept from looking at the naked beauty before him. Except for his scarred scrotum, he had not a single blemish on his vibrant skin. "You here to have yourself gelded?" "I didn't know what else to do...." "So you could be a singer?" "No, Excellency. Unless it pleases you." "Then why?" "I know you do not love me as you love Pablo... But after he leaves, I thought you might find me to be a tolerable substitute." "I love you infinitely more, Demian." He swept the boy into his arms and they stood in the middle of the small office in a long embrace. Eventually his hand found its way to the soft, shapely buttocks. The boy moved to provide him better access. "Excellency, I would do anything to share your bed, even for an hour." Stephen thought about the small nugget within the boy's scarred scrotum, about the boy's visit to the physician to have it removed. He knew Demina spoke the truth. He sat, pulling the naked boy onto his lap. He brought his face close, caressing the boy's cheeks with his hands. "How can I be your father and your lover?" Demian didn't answer for a long time. He could feel the man's huge erection pressing against his leg. He dropped his hand to touch its shape. Then he timidly said, "What's the harm if it is known only to us?" Stephen's kiss, full on the boy's voluptuous lips, provided the answer to the boy's question. He knew he should call off the search being performed by servants and friends. But being alone with his naked boy for the first time, stole his common sense. He sat upon a padded chair and pulled Demian onto his lap. When Stephen broke their kiss, the boy gasped and rubbed his hand across the lump in Stephen's breeches. "May I open your pants?" the boy asked in a modest voice. "You may do anything you like. I am yours to command." Demian struggled with the buttons. "But Sire, I am in need of your instruction." The small, hot hand seized his seeping erection. Stephen closed his eyes and moaned to reveal his pleasure. "It would seem that you do not." "Does this feel good?" he asked hopefully. "Heavenly." "Shall I sit upon it as in the statue in your bedroom?" "That act will be my greatest joy. But it is too soon. Not only must you heal from the surgery, you must be prepared for penetration, lest you suffer great pain and injury." "No injury would stay my desire to please you." "But it would stay my pleasure to cause injury. I cannot hurt you, my beloved Demian." Demian, having never masturbated, didn't know what to do with the huge cock. He lightly rubbed his hand all around. Stephen looked down and say the boy's cock beginning to stiffen. He grabbed the boy's hand. "Oh, what am I thinking? You must have rest and time to heal before we can do this." "I have never felt better," the boy boasted. "And I have never felt more aroused, but we must go tell my staff to cease in their search for you. Then we must get you into bed--alone!" Demian groaned, but didn't resist when Stephen pushed him to his feet. "Get dressed, Demian." Stephen was just tucking Demian into his own bed when Marena came to the door. "Stephen, Pablo is in the receiving room." Stephen blanched. "I forgot about Pablo." Bravely, Demian said, "Bring him to this room. I'll move to guest quarters." "I will have him brought here." As Stephen turned toward Marena, she bowed, "As you wish." "Stephen, I don't think I can bear to meet him. Please direct me toward my new quarters." "Nonsense. This is your bed, as well as mine." "When he sees you he will need no explanation for my unwillingness to couple with him." Pablo, a lanky dark-haired boy entered with great enthusiasm and ran to embrace Stephen. "My lord. It is so good to see you." "You look wonderful, as always." "Who is this?" Pblo asked upon seeing Demian in Stephen's bed. Demian sat politely with the sheet drawn across his torso to hide his nakedness. "And I might also ask," Stephen said, pointing to the 7 year old boy who stood in the doorway. He wore the orange robe of a Conservatory apprentice. His hands were folded and hanging politely over his crotch. He had long lashes and jet hair that extended well past his shoulders. If not for the robe of a castrati, he might have been mistaken for a girl. "I've taken a lover," Pablo said simply. "As have I," Stephen responded warmly. Pablo laughed. "Excellency, it relieves me greatly to hear that. I've vowed to never play the passive role again." "Well, you never were a passive one!" "What is this beautiful boy's name?" "Demian. Demian, this is Pablo." "Pleased to meet you, sir." "Looks like I've come at a bad time. Or does he keep you naked and in bed at all times?" Pablo laughed wickedly, making Demian blush deeply. "I've never had sex with the boy," Stephen said softly. "Things have certainly changed around here! Why haven't you broken this young steed?" "He's healing from a delicate surgical procedure." "You mean at his age he is only recently cut?" "No, that's not it. It is a very long story. Let me order some wine and food. Would you like to bathe?" "No. But I feel if your boy is naked, then mine should be, too." He snapped his fingers without turning and the boy instantly stepped free of his cloak. He gazed at his master, awaiting Pablo's next command. As he waited, he stood with hands at his sides. His scrotum was a small brown flap of skin. His penis looked shocking to both Demian and Stephen. Though he had never seen such a penis, he instantly knew that the boy had been circumcised. What made it look even more shocking without the thick foreskin he was accustomed to was that the penis seemed to have no shaft. It was as though the glans sprang directly from his bald pubis. "He had the smallest member in the Conservatory. I took the skin from it myself. This way he receives stimulation whenever he moves. He is a very horny child. And quite beautiful, don't you think?" "Yes," Stephen said softly. His unreleased passion from the doctor's waiting room returned to him, making it difficult to stand tall. "Would you like to bed him?" "Of course, I would love to; however, I am pledged to Demian." "It's okay, Stephen," Demian said. "If you want to...." He swept the boy, his boy, into his arms and kissed the top of his head. In a whisper he said, "Though your health is frail, there are still things you may do to bring me relief. And any affection from you is preferrable to all affection from anyone else." Demian looked up and their eyes locked. "You are so much more than I deserve." As Pablo politely excused himself from their chamber, Stephen guided the boy's hand to the center of his passion. The hand pawed clumsily through his breeches before triumphantly claiming the shaft. Almost immediately, Demian winced in pain, and Stephen quickly grabbed his hand. "What is wrong?" "It is nothing, sir. Let me continue." Stephen saw the contours of the sheet at the boy's loins. "It is with delight and concern I see your present state of arousal. My heart soars to think your passion could be summoned by the mere touch of my body. Yet it also signals the end to our current intimacy. You must let your body heal." "Stephen," he called reaching out to stop the man from rising. At the doorway, Stephen turned and said, "Sleep. In the days to come there will be time enough for lovemaking." Though he sent servants with messages to Demian several times a day, Stephen did not visit the boy for a week. When the physician came to him and said Demian's wounds were adequately healed, Stephen set sail for a small provate island Ledio made available for him. The island was surrounded by rocks and sand, and at the base of it's single rugged peak, a humble stone abode had been erected. He brought servants aboard his ship and supplies for one week. After settling himself into the house, he sent the servants to fetch Demian. Two days later Demian stood on deck of the ship, and as requested, handed all of his clothes to a servant. Naked and unashamed of his arousal, the boy climbed down a rope and swam the short distance to shore. Up a winding dirt trail, he saw the stones of his destination. Leaning against a stone wall, he saw Stephen. They waved, and at once the boy set out. Stephen saw his pale and skinny boy swiftly cross the beach and begin the short climb to the house. Stephen waited on the small plaza, squinting against the brilliant sun. As the boy stepped into view, Stephen, standing 20 feet distant, casually threw off his robe, and stood proudly naked before his young love. They stood as if statues suspended from time by the artist's hand, looking at one another. The sound of the surf and the brittle cry of scavenging seagulls were the only sounds. At last Stephen broke the silence between them. "You present arousal causes no pain?" "Only the pain of longing...." The boy stepped tentatively closer. "You are healed?" "May I embrace you?" Parsimoniously, Stephen inclined his head. The boy had taken five steps before Stephen strode to meet him. Demian's body crashed into Stephen's like wave on rock, and in Stephen's crushing embrace, Demian's fragile body unleashed its passion against the man's hairy thigh. Though no emission came, as none would for a couple years, Stephen recognized the boy's spending through the sporadic contractions of his muscles. At Stephen released the boy from his embrace, a small hand claimed his throbbing pillar. He looked down to the sight of his foreskin, trapped beneath the small fist, and his purple glans, appearing several times a second from beneath the folds of skin. His hips matched the boy's gestures until Stephen stared at the sky through closed lids as the boy watched in amazement. Stephen's spending seemed to last an eternity. When he again opened his eyes, he saw thick sheets of his semen gliding down the pearly, almost translucent skin of Demian's abdomen. In Demian's eyes he saw a smile of satisfaction, but deeper, he saw an unflagging hunger. He kissed the boy's lips, working against them with softened lips and tongue, relaxing Demian's lips into a blossoming passion. Cradling the boy's head in the crook of a powerful arm, he broke the kiss and said, "You must be in need of nourishment. Come inside." As they ate grapes and drank lightly of wine, Stephen found himself unable to look away from the beauty of the naked boy for long. His semen had begun to crust on the boy's skin. Demian's finger-like shaft remained firm. Beneath it, his scrotum dangled, asymmetrical because of what had been taken. The small incision still had a scab, so Stephen knew he must exercise constraint in their future couplings. Eventually Demian grew content from the food and drink and sat back, his legs spread invitingly. "Do you know I will do anything you wish?" His long lashes darkened his downcast eyes. The boy's modesty was as fetching as the sight of his hairless and girlish body. Stephen said, "Yes, but do you know I will do anything you wish?" "But I can only want your happiness." "And I can only be happy through your happiness." Throughout the day they shared in the pleasure of the other's flesh: on the portico, in the scrub forests, along the beach. As the sun hung low and transformed itself to a lustrous crimson, they retired to the bed chamber. From Stephen's early gentle caressing of his slender buttocks, the boy knew what was to transpire. It was a moment of great mystery and fear. He knew the experience would not be completely pleasurable; however, the sacrifice of some discomfort was a small one for this man who had given him a fortune, a future, his manhood, and more importantly the love he needed to find purpose. Passively he allowed Stephen to turn him to his stomach. when an oily finger searched his shallow cleft, Demian spread his legs and lifted his hips, providing the man unhesitating access to his darkest passage. He jumped at the first touch on his rosebud, not from pain or ffear, but from the surprisingly pleasant sensation it produced. "Trust me and surrender yourself to me, and this will go smoothly." "I trust you completely. You already possess my soul, so what is left to surrender?" As his finger burrowed into the depths of Demian's rectum, Stephen leaned close to the boy's ear and said, "Your virginity." Demian grunted. The finger continued to probe and stretch for such a long time that darkness closed in around them like a heavy cloak. Demian concentrated on controlling his breathing as Stephen introduced a second finger into his fundament. After a moment, the discomfort eased. Stephen worked with gentle, leisurely movements, preparing the boy's chamber for his cock. Demian forced his fingers to uncurl as the man hovered, then slowly descended onto him. No trace of light remained in the room, and as the man's strong, hairy flesh covered his back, Demian had a moment of panic. He raised his head and nearly spoke, but before he could utter a sound, Stephen's tongue touched his ear canal, sending a shiver of pleasure through his body. The cock pressed into place, slick, hot, insistent. The boy heard Stephen's breath go still, making him hold his own. The stasis lasted too long, and the anticipation became more unbearable than the fear of pain. the boy raised himself up against the powerful cock. It pierced through his sphincter, and Demian's head raised in a breathless and silent cry of pain. What the boy became aware of even more than the pain in his bottom, was the explosion of Stephen's held breath in his ear. As they remained frozen in place, connected by only 3 centimeters of Stephen's shaft, the man's breath exploded in ragged, shallow bursts. Demian knew this to be the breathing of a man experiencing great physical pleasure. He pressed upward even further, encouraging the man to penetrate him more fully. Stephen took his cue and pressed downward. Every sensation that entered his consciousness emanated from his penis. The only thing that prevented his immediate spending was the restraint made possible by the three orgasms that immediately preceeded this coupling. He seemed to meet renewed resistant after only 10 centimeters of his penis was sheathed. This sensation was confirmed by Demian's groan. Stephen began a slow withdrawal. With slow gentle motions, he created intense friction and pressure on his cock. Even his best times with Pablo didn't compare to the passion and sensations that loomed over them like an impending tidal wave. When the orgasm started, Stephen lost his self-control. Wave after wave of energy exploded from his body, and at the center of their universe, Stephen laid claim and the boy surrendered. When the last of Stephen's energy had been summoned and propelled into the boy, he collapsed. It was several minutes later that he realized his weight must be a burden to the boy. He grasped the boy's chest tightly and rolled them both onto their sides without breaking the connection. As he caressed the boy's sweaty stomach, he realized his cock was fully inside Demian. He knew he had totally been carried away with his passion. "Are you okay?" he asked tenderly. "Do you want me to remove myself?" "No. Let's stay like this forever." The boy eventually drifted off to sleep, but Stephen could not relinquish his triumph. It wasn't until this day that he had truly known the fulfillment of love. It was a day to treasure. As the boy's breathing deepened into slumber, he felt his cock, still deep inside the boy, begin to engorge once again. As he began a slow withdrawal, thinking it best to give the boy some rest, Demian's small hand dug into the hard flesh of Stephen's buttocks, stopping him. Stephen discovered the boy's erection. And so they spent the rest of the night in intermittent, dream-like lovemaking, the bond between them unbroken, their bodies locked in love. THE END