Date: 11 May 2000 09:49:55 -0700 From: poondu@members.gayweb.com Subject: Sailing With Seven Sailing With Seven by Thole I remember one time up in the mountains of New Hampshire; was right in the middle of one hellacious August thunderstorm, rain coming down so you couldn't see the road. I managed to pull off in a little rest area; thought I'd set a spell and have some ice cream, cup of tea, let the storm blow over. I like rain. Especially the soft quiet kind that falls of a summer evening, nice to sleep out in. But this thing was a gully washer, not the kind of rain you'd want to be out hiking in. Sure 'nuff, just as I was getting into the ice cream these two bedraggled kids come out of the woods at the trail head and ducked under the picnic table shelter. They dropped their packs on the table and sat there shivering. Weren't wearing but shorts and sweaters from what I could see. I gave a little toot on the air horn and waved to them from the open door. They did the smart thing leaving their packs on the table and ran for my door. They got as far as just inside the door when I told them to leave off all their wet stuff and I'd get them a towel. Well it sort of surprised me that they were so willing and quick but it didn't take more than a minute before they were both standing in my galley shivering in their skysuits. I told them as I gave them a blanket that I'd not seen that particular style of skysuit since I was 14 myself. Well they chuckled over that all the way through two cups of hot cocoa each. By then the rain had let up some and they were sort of hemming and hawing about getting started. They had a ways to go to where they could camp that night and on top of that if they had anything dry at all it was outside in their packs. Well I hadn't much in the way of plans, could park right there for the night as well as anywhere else; so I told 'em they might just dash out there and get their kit and then they could bunk with me that night and dry off proper. So they did. Two boys traveling like they were would normally be fair game for my business but I'd noticed the summer's marks burned into their nates and wordlock each wore on their calf. They weren't behaving like runaways so more'n likely they already belonged to somebody and he quite likely knew just where they were. Besides, I had an appointment up the road a piece for a black market purchase and having these two around would only complicate matters especially if they were runaways. Its a complicated matter you see. The State regulates the raising and selling of boys but there is a sizeable black market as well and that's where I come in. Most boys are grown on farms; that's all they do, crank out boys for the legit slave market. Outside of that, in the population at large, only a certain number of free births are allowed and a license costs the woman a finger; the birth, if it is successful, costs her another finger as well. So you can see that there is a ready supply of boys for my trade. Otherwise any unlicensed birth will be fed back to the protein recycler for organ recovery. Its a risky business for the mothers and my kind. They have to keep the kid under wraps and well fed until they're old enough for my clientele; that usually takes five to seven years. The key difference between a black market boy and a farm raised lad is balls. Except for their breeding stock the farms castrate what they send to the slave market. When the two lads returned with their packs I cranked up the heat and helped them sort through their kit and spread out what needed drying. The boys introduced each other finally. The older one said the other's name was Telemon, his bathboy. The younger responded to the cue by telling me his master was named Thole, their master's catamite. I greeted them in the proper manner by yanking twice on their cocks but left myself unnamed for the present. --My master has given us leave, Thole said, to roam the woods for a few weeks before we are needed to prepare for winter. He has placed us at the service of whomever should give us aid. Well spoken lad I thought, must have a good master who cares for him more than just as a catamite. I prepared some grub and the boys sat with me to eat; then I prevailed upon their service to do the cleaning while I moved the bus to a better location. They were still running around naked, as is the way with boys of their social class, and since I enjoyed looking at them there was no need to comment on it. The rest area was deserted and after twilight set in I suggested we take a swim in the river that came down from the hills they had been hiking in. During swim I could tell from their whispering they were interested in the fact that I had no summer's marks. These are hash marks that are cut or burned into a slave-boy's arse at the ceremony of mid summer day. Slave-boys don't celebrate birthdays. Thole had thirteen scars, his bathboy had eleven. These boys were in their prime, most of their kind did not survive beyond fifteen or eighteen summers. When we returned to the bus the sky was dark and I invited the boys to have a glass of wine with me before we went to bed. I stayed undressed now and went about shutting down the systems we would not need for the night. Following the wine and some idle chatter we went aft to the sleeping loft where I told my guests I would partake of their service once more. It was almost like I had turned a switch; both boys were erect in a moment, Thole knelt and kissed my cock and his bathboy followed. Thole asked what service they could perform for my enjoyment and I replied that I wanted to watch them demonstrate their knowledge and capabilities; I wanted them to do a slow dance of the things they knew to do for each other. But first I wanted to rub their lovely bodies with scented oil and have them do likewise to mine. Telemon went first. Thole on one side, I on the other; we laid the youth on his front and rubbed the warm scented oil into his back and legs until he glowed in the candle light of the loft. He was pliant as a sapling, supple as well cared leather, and when we turned him over his erection was exquisite even for its lack of balls. Thole went next. They were a well matched pair and I wondered what history they shared. When we turned him over I worked the oil into his crotch and discovered one gonad held up snugly in a scared scrotum. I caressed it gently and the boy smiled. --I saved one from the cutter jaws, he said. It was quite a performance. Thole started at the feet of his young friend and mostly using his tongue and finger tips caressed his way to the boys head. Telemon responded with a sinuous writhing and soft ululations. At one point on the way up he took Thole's cock in his arse but only for a moment. Then they were standing face to face, hands on each other's heads, cocks fencing. Now it was Telemon's turn to do the stimulating and he worked over Thole's body from top to bottom; on the way by he took the boy's cock into his mouth this time but again only for a moment. When he reached Thole's feet he was kneeling and his face was on the bed; he lifted Thole's right foot and ended his part of the dance by placing the foot on his head in a gesture of submission. Now Thole continued by taking the boy's hands away from his foot and raising the lad to his knees and placing Telemon's hands on his thighs he put his own hands on the slave's head and guided the mating of cock to mouth for a climax. Thole's orgasm was self controlled and protracted; Telemon, his own body thrusting in sympathy, was unfulfilled as he sucked and swallowed his little master's cum. Telemon sat back and Thole, one hand still on this slave's head, turned to me and bowed low. --Now I will be yours, Thole said, as I am for my master and you may have Telemon as well if you will for his hardness awaits relief. The two sat by me and proceed to pet and manoeuvre me. We rolled on the bed and changed positions. Thole guided me into his arse as I found Telemon to suck on and at the same time he was finding Thole ready again to mate with his mouth. Their master was a man of good taste and compassionate as well. But Telemon did not relax from the rigidity of his orgasm. His erection remained hard, his eyes staring, distant; his body, though stiff, would twitch as if in a dream he would rather escape. Thole said he would get that way at times. --After coming in my mouth he would he would sit with my cum dripping from his lips and that faraway look. He says the visions come from me but only he can see them. They are not always good visions. It was only a few minutes before the boy regained his senses but it seemed longer. His story was grotesque even by my standards. --I see through Thole's eyes. I am in a trap, hanging upside down by a hook through my wordlock. Thole is looking at me, trying to untie a rope when a shadow falls upon him. He turns to look and another hook, on the end of an arm, strikes him and I can see no more. After a while I know we are alive cos I sense he feels me near him but it is dark and warm and we are tied. --That is truly the worst vision you have ever had Telemon; I hope it never comes to pass. Perhaps it is all a bad dream from the wine. But I know of a man with a hook. A black market trader like myself but whose methods are crude. It has been said that when he uses the hook he is more interested in the meat on the boy's bones than in the money a good slave would bring. I too hope the vision will not come to pass. In the morning the boys pack their kit, don their shorts and depart. I can see from their tan they do not often wear anything. My journey now takes me west across the mountains. I have three days to an appointment for the purchase of a seven year old and it will take me two of those days to get this old bus over the pass. Along the way is a market where boys will be traded; there may even be a late summer crop from one of the nearby farms. On the second day I stop there to see what the legit market looks like and how the prices are running. The parking area is a dusty hole of broken pavement, remains of a before times plaza they tell us was a shopping mall. Acres of land devoted to the temporary storage of wheeled vehicles. Only an empty shell of the mall remains. I walk around the perimeter of this shell to observe the stock. Boys offered by the large state run farms are chained in clusters along facades which conceal corrals containing the best for later. Always the dregs are sold first, seeded with a few attractive lads who get the most handling but also have the highest prices. The boys are chained between posts in a manner that keeps them standing in the sun with arms and legs spread for best display. About the only movement they can make is to kneel to rest but they must be on their feet at the approach of anyone. Their skin shines with sweat and oil and the most attractive are in a near continuous state of excitement from being fondled by every prospective customer. Most of these boys are ten summers, a few are eleven, fewer are twelve; the farm will not take them back after that so they will sell for meat value only. In between the farm stalls you will likely find a lone boy or two offered by some old man or woman. These are at times as young as four and five and usually are uncut by summers marks and still have their balls. But the catch is that while a few might be parents or relatives in such dire straits that they will sell their freeborn sons into slavery there is likely a plant among them who will arrest you for evading the tax. You see it is not unlawful to traffic in flesh. Anyone can be sold. Boys between ten and thirteen bring the highest prices. But the buyer is responsible to prepay the tax and have the tax stamp available at time of sale. If you had a boy to sell and could make your sale cleanly in the crowd both parties could likely get away with it. The penalties are high if you get caught by a sting. The latest ruse the sting is using is to take a boy hide from one sent to the protein reclamer and fit it carefully on an undersized agent. You can get a long ways home with such a prize before the arrest happens. It pays to be very careful. I made the rounds. Poking here prodding there. Nodding at an occasional acquaintance in the crowd; Hook was there holding two fingers in his beard in a manner that meant he had as many for sale but they were not with him. Some of these lads are mighty fine specimens, the geneticists at the farms are getting better with their fine tuning the muscle to weight ratio. There was one season where they had gone so far that the typical offering was capable of breaking his own bones in certain tasks they were so strong in relationship to their bone mass. There is also a new breed of hairless boy but I prefer my boys with balls, mongrel breed. The farms castrate their boys to cut down on the theft of breed then do a certain amount of trading among themselves to maintain the breeding stock. With the exception of the occasional intelligent throwback like Thole the best lads are to be had on the black market. That was next on my shopping list. The deal was waiting; I returned to my bus. Parked beside me when I returned was a battered old truck I recognised as Hook's. The lot was not deserted and I was running a risk to even look under the grimy tarp but there were his two sales, Thole and Telemon, blindfolded gagged and bound together head to foot. I whispered to Thole that I would rescue them then stooped to open middle bellybox of my bus. A quick look around satisfied me the risk was minimal so I rolled the boys from under the canvas and stuffed them still tied among the detritus in the bellybox. Hook's old canvas was so stiff with dirt and oil that it still held the shape of the lads when I drove away. An hour later in another deserted turnout from the highway I stopped. The lads were bruised and scratched from their ordeal but he had not tried to use them. I put a spell on the bus and blended it into the foliage as we walked away to the nearby river to bath. Telemon looked back and was astonished to see it was gone. We sat in a pool of cool water and I helped them wash and applied a healing salve to their wounds. Their adventure was just as Telemon had perceived from Thole's vision. On the afternoon they left me they were taken in a trap along a popular trail frequented by the free boys from a nearby school. Well there was little I could do now without exposing my own part in the game so this gambit would have to go unchallenged for a while at least. But now to get these to back to their master. Thole said they had only three days left before their wordlock collars would begin to remind them they should be home. Every day that reminder would become more forceful and I'd seen what that force can do to a slave-boy. It produces a mental anguish so strong and complete that the boy's impression is that the flesh is being stripped from his leg. There is no real pain and the leg is unharmed and functional but the impression is devastating if not relieved quickly by the master. In the meantime I had my appointment to keep. A woman still a day away was waiting to sell me her son and from there it would be two or three days to Thole's farm. The boys agreed to risk the way with me in that they had no kit and now no proof of leave. If caught now they would be treated as runaway slaves and depending on the scruples of their gaolers might just as well be ransomed or sold as returned. However if I got caught in my transaction they would be accomplices. The next evening we were parked off a narrow road at the edge of a copse looking out across a field of hay waiting to be mown. The boys had been behaving as my slaves for more than twenty--four hours and the bus was cleaner than it had been for a long while; even now they worked whilst I watched. As the first stars came out two figures appeared walking between the rows of new hay. I stepped away from the bus into the wood and when the two passed me I could hear the woman telling her son he was going away to school. --Bring the boy here, I said stepping near to the edge of the wood. Take off your cloths lad, I want to see what you are up close. The boy must come with me bringing nothing of his former life, not even his name. The boy was standing in underwear and sandals, clutching a stuffed bear, shivering with fear. --Everything kid! Strip! I said, knocking his bear away. He kicked away the sandals as the woman patted his head and whispered something kind to him; then he stripped away the briefs. I knelt beside him and proceeded to feel him down carefully. When I snarled a question of his age he spoke with a steady voice and said seven. --Ok Seven, I'll take you, I said, snapping a wordlock around his calf. I paid his mother and took the boy's hand to lead him away. --What about my clothes? Can I have my bear? --You won't need clothes. You won't need a bear. Leave them for your little brother. The boy cried as I dragged him away. The mother cried as she picked up all that remained of her son. That's the way it is in my business. Inside the bus I handed the boy over to Telemon. --Here is a virgin boy for you to break in, tell him how happy he will be and show him what to expect and how to respond. Thole, you sit up here with me and tell me about your master and how to find him. We drove for a few hours a staggered route through the night until I was tired. Thole explained how he came to escape the jaws of the ball snatcher and how his master found him. He told me of a slave-boy named Bedwin who raped the others in their household until the horsemaster put an end to him. Then we slept. Telemon and Seven were wrapped up together so I took Thole for one more night. In the morning my guests were in a cold sweat struggling with the calls of their wordlocks. Thole broke away from comforting Telemon from time to time to give instructions to find his farm. A lot of the time I had to make do as he was familiar only with horse trails or roads suitable for a ground car not a bus. As we closed on the farm the pain grew less but at one point when I had to go out of the direct approach they were writhing on the deck crying in pain. Seven stood by mute, already bonded to Telemon and unable to help him. --What is wrong? What is happening to them? --They are slave-boys; that's what happens when they cannot come to their master's call. The same will happen to you if you try to run away from me or do not answer my call. Go and hold their hands now for this time the pain is not their fault and you can help them by sharing it. We arrived at the horse farm a day beyond their leave. Their master was as I had judged and hugged them both as one when they emerged from the bus. He told them there would be time for stories at the evening meal and sent them to the baths. I related a little of the adventure, only saying that I had found them in bondage at a slave market then he offered me a bath as was the custom of his house. My slave-boy received a good start from Telemon in the few hours they'd had together and performed well in the bath for a beginner. It was my first occasion to look at him carefully and I was happy with this purchase and happy that I planned to keep this one for a while at least. --Do you want to suck me now master that I am clean and ready for you? Which end of me do you want for your pleasure? --What experience do you have? --Only what Telemon showed me last night master. But he is smaller than you and did not test me as you will. --I will suck you now Seven to show you what I expect of you later; but your service can wait. In the meantime, while we are guests here you will always stand at my right hand; never sit unless I tell you to; do not speak unless spoken to. Keep an eye on Thole and copy his manner. We stayed for two days. During that time Seven learned to ride a horse and Thole provided him with an ample supply of the slippery cream he used along with lessons on its best use. My new slave-boy learned quickly what his life as a catamite would be like. I had time to listen to Thole and Telemon describe more than once the trap they fell into and to think twice about going back there and putting Hook out of business. We drove west from there and for two years meandered about buying and selling, testing new markets and new strategies. Every night Seven would go to sleep impaled on my erection and every morning I would tickle him awake and suck him dry. By the time he was nine he was a fair cook and a good mechanic. In some of the small towns it was a simple matter to find delinquent or homeless boys who could be purchased or lured in for a meal. Seven was often put to work in this latter area. There was always the risk that I might loose him but as much as I enjoyed his company I tried to maintain sight of the fact that he was purchased as a tool and tools sometimes break or get lost and have to be replaced. He would dress in something appropriate for the time and place and go into the streets posing as a homeless waif looking for a bed and a meal, if necessary offering his body in payment but always careful not to be taken anywhere. Instead he would listen for news that there was no good place and then bring his acquaintance to me. In another town I might strike a deal with an over crowded orphan home or a gaol. They were more than willing to sell a boy or two cheap to help make ends meet. Each boy would be processed as he arrived, I never let more than two get together. Occasionally Seven would bring a boy with him that would be good for a trick or two before we put him down. The process mainly involved keeping the boy relaxed and unsuspecting. Tension and too much awareness only made the stasis more difficult to take hold. The first ploy would be to get the lad to undress and shower; if that worked he would be gassed. Some boys wanted to eat first and then they would submit to a fucking; these would be drugged in their food. The main thing was to get them naked, clean and sleeping without the use of force or too much work on my part. Once I had achieved those ends Seven would inspect and dispose of their clothing; saving out anything that might fit him and was in good repair. We would keep any papers and of course money; and some of these runaways were surprisingly well off with credits sewn into false hems and inside pockets or worn inside of a tight codpiece. The clean, naked youth was injected with a complex drug that induced stasis by slowing metabolism, heartbeat and respiration; then the body was placed in the forward belly box and maintained at five degrees. A boy prepared that way would be viable for a month and usually I would have him delivered by then. Then we found a boat and took up sailing. I shifted my operations to a coastal city where I could leave the bus in a secure warehouse while my catamite and I sailed short cruises among the nearby islands. At first it had been Seven's idea. He suggested that we might accomplish the same ends with a boat and we could bring the slave-boys back to the city and move them to market from there. Suffice it to say that the idea worked out well and we continued in that mode for another two years. My slave-boy Seven was now eleven and as much as I tried to disavow it there was a fondness I felt for him that went beyond his performance as a bed toy. He had taught himself a certain fluency in the local dialect that enabled us to broaden the base of wares we could offer. There had been a couple of occasions where I had actually suggested he wear shorts or a tunic so as to play the part of my son rather than my slave; I had a bit of a difficulty bringing him back into line after the second such instance. We had returned to the bus from dinner with a long time business associate and his family--he had two free--sons and maintained no slaves--when Seven, obviously continuing to play the role to which he had just been exposed and quickly absorbed, proceeded to help himself to a glass of water and sit at the galley table. I enabled his wordlock and gave a command that jolted him writhing to the deck. --Return to your proper station at once! Get out of that tunic and clean up the water you have spilt! He crawled crying to my feet but I refused to acknowledge his entreaties until he was naked as a slave-boy should be and only then released him from the pain of my command. --You will remember always that playing the roll of my son is only a roll you play, albeit one you fit well, but a roll nonetheless; you are slave-boy first. The next week I put the bus in storage and we set out on a long cruise. The boat was a relic from an earlier time. She was a well appointed ten metre sail powered craft, rigged for one to handle with cozy accommodations for two. However this was not entirely a pleasure cruise, Seven and I were not alone; there were three slave-boys in stasis, on ice, packed in the keel. After the first day out I left off getting dressed for watch. Seven and I drifted in and out of the father--son aspect of our relationship; he was wary of this game, confused, and sometimes, I sensed, bitter. If I took him as my free son there could be no disposing of him when his usefulness as a slave-boy came to an end. In his present status he had perhaps two years left. Giving him the freedom and responsibility of filial relationship was fraught with risk and expense beyond the minimal upkeep required to maintain a slave-boy. We had words to parry and there was plenty of time to think about the promise that would be required of each of us to change the present arrangement. In the meantime the weather held and we sailed with the trades south and west while our life assumed an almost courtship ritualism. I began to ask him for his assistance, request the favours of his sex, seek his advice and opinion. He responded cautiously with an occasional decline or a contrary idea; we danced about the embrace of what both of us wanted. As the days went by he became more responsive and more demanding as a sexual object. I would often be awakened by him probing me at which ever end he found opportune; it was hard for me to fathom if he was trying to curry favour or satisfy his own curiosity, imagination, or appetite. When we were ready to bring the three slave-boys out of stasis prior to landing them I removed Seven's wordlock and allowed him to wear shorts. He took each of the new boys in the arse whilst the others watched and then commanded they perform a circle suck for his amusement. On the quay we were met by their buyer who examined his purchase carefully. He petted each lad to an erect condition and brought them off by hand, catching their cum in the palm of his hand which he held up for them to lick clean. Only then did he pay for his purchase and accept the keys to their wordlocks. --So, looks like you've come prepared with your own catamite, he said eyeing Seven who was standing ready to cast off. Perhaps he too is for sale; I'm sure he is an adept in the service I require. --Seven is my son, I said. He is not for sale. We parted with a handshake and an order for three more young boys. Next stop was a day away at a small atoll for some rest before sailing back to the mainland. That evening Seven was rather subdued. Finally after an hour of pacing and fretting he stood up to me with tearful eyes. --You told that man I was your son but you have not told that to me yet. Is it to be another trick to keep me in my place? I took him in my arms and hugged him and kissed him; I apologised and begged him to forgive me. Our world changed that night. In the morning we slipped through a gap in the reef and anchored in a shallow, protected lagoon. It was a short swim to the spit of sand that served as home to barely an acre of palms and there we slept soundly for the first time in nearly two weeks. When I woke on the sand it was to the usual ministrations of Seven's mouth on my erection but his service was cut short by a scimitar who's point was brought against his balls from behind at the same time another was laid against my neck. The boy nearly castrated himself when he jumped back; the sword moved as he fell over and came down again to pin his chest. --My what a pretty sight we have here, the voice behind me said. -- Slave and master, catamite and pederast, engaged in savagely despoiling our sacred island. Stand up slowly catamite. Put your hands on your head. The sword pinning Seven to the beach moved and began to prod his back and legs, drawing blood as he complied. --Piss on your master slave-boy. Quickly! Before I cut off your balls and feed them to you. Seven looked down at me, his eyes wide with fear and let the pee run out of himself onto my chest. --Now my dear catamite let me see if your cock works as well in its other job. Masturbate for your master; let your cum fall upon him that he might have something to remember you by. Seven made a break for the water, running as fast as he could, but a whip snapped around his ankle and he sprawled in the sand. --Bad catamite. You will sting for that foolishness. And the whip snapped again across his thighs; his blood spattered the sand. --Crawl back here and get on your knees catamite and try again to get hold of your self. Seven crawled to my side and stood on his knees, blood caked with sand on his thighs as he began to stroke himself slowly. I moved a hand to touch his leg. Tears were running down his cheeks and he choked words. --I love you Father, I love you. His cum spurted onto my chest and the voice behind me laughed. --Bind him and take him away. Two boys who did not look much older than Seven, naked but for feathered and bejeweled codpieces came into view. They placed a cock ring around my boy's cock and balls with short chains to bracelets that were placed on his wrists and ankles. The chains kept his hands together at his cock and those to his ankles were so short he could not stand upright but had to hobble along stooped. One boy placed another chain around Seven's neck and led him away from me. --Now you old man; roll over and bury your face in the sand. The scimitar at my throat pointed the way and before I was fully turned sand was being piled upon my back until I was quite buried. By the time I had myself dug out there were only foot prints and a few drops of dried blood where Seven had knelt over me. I searched around the atoll and found where a small boat had been dragged up on the far shore; it was but a speck on the horizon now. I returned to my boat and motored after them, keeping just on the edge of visibility and as night fell began to close on them with no lights running. It appeared they were in a small boat, perhaps an inflatable, powered with an outboard. I set the autopilot to follow them and went over the side with scuba gear and a Tethered Electric Underwater Propulsion device. They were in a small inflatable and I was able to come up under them and slit their keel and main tubes. In the panic that ensued they forgot about Seven who was able to roll over the side as their boat was pulled under by the weight of the motor and extra cans of gas. Seven's cock and balls were bruised and tender for a few days from the torment of the ring and chains but he was able to stand watch and before the week was out was as good as ever. On the voyage back to the mainland I removed his wordlock and we entered a new phase in our relationship; he took a new name, Peter, and we talked of impressing a new young slave-boy into the service of both of us. We wanted a slave-boy familiar with the sea and so stopped at every island along the way to explore the markets which were not as well organised or controlled as on the mainland. If we could find a suitable lad it would be no problem to forge the necessary documents. On the island of Matu--Rapa there is the kind of crowded coastal community and depressed economy that fosters the sale of children. We put in there for water and supplies. Peter saw what we were looking for in the canoe of one of the local fishermen and with his uncanny ability with languages was able to ascertain the lad was an orphan thrust upon an already large family by indigent relatives. The boy was most certainly for sale; they would have given him away just for the knowledge he would be fed. He was of small stature, seven years, brown skinned with brown eyes and long straight black hair; standing among several other boys who were likely his cousins, not much older and all wearing only pareus or loin cloths. I could have found a ready market for the lot of them. It was interesting to see the look of dismay on the face of the lad who appeared to be next youngest when the boy of our choice stepped out of the canoe onto the floating dock and handed his pareu back to the old man making the deal. He came to them naked and the old man wanted the cloth for the next of his own sons. Peter named our new slave-boy Ma--hitu which meant more seven in the boy's tongue and I installed the wordlock before we left the dock. Ma--hitu was like a monkey in the rigging and seemed quite happy learning new words as we sailed away from his homeland. However, once we out of sight of his island and Peter and I removed our shorts a change came over him. He was morose, fawning, and, strangest of all, very aroused, erect, and while he did not use his hands to masturbate he would stand close to what ever he could and rub against it. When Peter called to him the boy did not answer at first; only after a while did he say that Ma--hitu was not at home. Eventually Peter was better able to translate that "at home" meant "in here"; that the boy's name, as near as we could make it, was something like gimmeeheresuckmouth. And now it made more sense why the lad in the boat was so unhappy over the sale; we had taken away the family catamite and that position would revert back to him who had no doubt only recently been relieved by Ma--hitu. But what was this change of personality? When Peter sat on the deck the boy stood in front of him offering himself. When I tried to nap the boy came and laid beside me with his head on my thigh. It was as if our undressing was an invitation or a demand for him to perform and he was not worn out by our use of him but would rebound after only a few minutes. That night the boy taught Peter a new trick, to fuck him in the arse and suck him off at the same time. Peter had often wondered what it might be like to suck himself; this is the closest he'd come to that goal. But the slave-boy was not calmed and spent much of the night sucking on Peter even while they both slept. Only when we dressed the next day did he revert to his former self and when Peter and I took turns being naked the boy would fawn over which ever one that was. Some rigorous use of the wordlock was necessary to get this insatiable youth to stay at any task that did not involve sex. In the course of our journey we were able to instill in him the need to be responsive to our call but to otherwise mind his own tasks regardless of what we were wearing. --30--