Koos Smit

Brendan

Chapters 14-...

Chapter 14

The nameless black pirate ship has come to anchor in the small harbour, little more than an anchorage, known as Cayona on the southern coast of the island of Tortuga.

Rocky and infertile, Tortuga has seen English, French, Spanish and Dutch settlements come and go over a couple of hundred years of tumultuous history.

The town, if it can be called that, is little more than a collection of squalid, unkempt wooden taverns, hostelries and stores scattered randomly along the waterfront and wilting in the heat and humidity. A brown mud fort broods over the untidy sprawl from the slopes north of the settlement. The fact that there is no flag over the fort is significant: The island is once again between conquerors and in a state of lawless limbo, a haven for pirates, outlaws and shady traders needing a market where almost anything can be bought and sold with no questions asked.

Over the past couple of months the black ship has plied its violent trade in and around the hundreds of little islands and straits skirting the Caribbean: now hiding in some secreted cove; now preying upon an unsuspecting merchantman or raiding a remote plantation. Finally they have come to Tortuga, where the writ of the warring powers does not reach, for now, and where there is refuge for outlaws such as they are to replenish, refresh and, most important, to trade their booty for gold.

Though Tortuga is a haven for lawless men, it is, paradoxically, a place where, by some unwritten consensus, no man steals from another and commercial transactions are honoured. It could not be otherwise, for there would be no purpose in their trade and no value in their booty if pirates had no market for the goods that they plunder. And so it is well known in these parts that what is taken from you by force can often be regained by purchase in Tortuga.

There are three other ships riding to their anchors nearby and over the past few days there has been a never-ending procession of boats coming alongside bringing seedy-looking agents to bid for the plunder that the pirates have amassed in their recent voyage and haggle over price.

Although there has been a great deal of interest in the seven young boys shackled and chained on the main deck, the agents have been allowed to bid only for the gold, silver, jewels and silks taken from the merchant ships that have fallen victim to the pirates.

For fear of the boys escaping, they are kept chained all day on deck. There is no shade awning for them, so they swelter in the blistering Caribbean sun. Now and then one of them is allowed to draw up buckets of sea water to douse themselves in an effort to cool down, but the effect does not last.

When Brendan asks Angel why they are not being offered for sale, he torments the boys:

"Who can say what the Cap'n wants done with ye? Perhaps he will keep you for hisself. Perhaps he will tie cannon balls to your feet and throw you over the side!" he says.

"Why would he throw us overboard?" Rodney asks scornfully.

"Cap'n don't feed no useless mouths on this ship!" Angel replies.

"He feeds yours, doesn't he?" Rodney retorts, for which he is dragged to the nearest cannon, held over the breech and whipped across his naked buttocks with a "rope's end"

"Just can't keep your mouth shut, can you?" Brendan grins at the freshly welted Rodney when he is tossed belly down on the deck next to him and reshackled to the slave chain.

"The difference between you and me, Brendan, is that you were born to be a slave and I was born an Englishman. Englishmen are not slaves. Englishmen rule the world and it is both their right and their duty to do so!"

Brendan laughs: "Ye're not ruling much just now, boyo. He is master who is the strongest. In your world you are master only because your father is strongest. When it is just you and me 3; like these past months 3; I am master because I am stronger than you. It's as simple as that!"

Rodney's face flushes red but he says nothing.

For the fourth night in a row none of the boys is called to the captain's cabin to service his voracious sexual appetite. Every night at sea since they left the island nearly two months ago, one or more of the older boys has shared the captain's bed. After the excruciating pain of the first few nights the boys soon became accustomed to the extraordinary girth and length of the captain's fully engorged penis and Brendan and Liam, in particular, would spend their entire day in eager anticipation of a night of hard, rough sex with the captain. Rodney enjoys the sex too but, of course, would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, being eternally conflicted by his burning resentment of his current status as a slave.

Brendan cannot get through one whole day without sex. So four days without sex has him nearly frantic with sexual tension. He spoons up against Liam and reaches around his waist to feel Liam's cock. He finds it hard as a marble pillar and pressing tightly against the ridged muscles of Liam's belly.

"Brendan, no!" hisses Liam, "I don't need my back whipped for the sake of a squirt of cock juice now!"

"Please Liam, I am bursting with cum and I cannot take it a minute longer!" Brendan replies.

"Then pleasure yourself! Don't involve me now."

"It's not the same, Liam, I need my cock in your arse and your cock in my arse!"

"Leave me be, Brendan!"

Brendan turns to Rodney.

"Rodney, if you take this in your mouth I will let you fuck me!" he offers.

Rodney looks at Brendan's big swollen cock and licks his lips.

"Only if you beg and call me master!" says Rodney.

"Please, Master, will you suck my cock and fuck my arse?" says Brendan with a grin.

"Yes, but I get to fuck you first!"

"No. You have to suck me off first!"

"I am the Master. I will decide!"

Brendan thinks it over a moment. He doesn't trust that Rodney will deliver but realizes he has no choice. In any case he desperately wants a cock up his arse and if it's not going to be the captain's, or Liam's, it might as well be Rodney's.

"Oh very well then," he says and flips over onto his belly, spreading his legs wide apart.

Rodney slithers over with a rattle of chains, climbs on top of Brendan and slips his hard fat cock into Brendan's well used channel with a sigh of pleasure. Soon he is grunting and panting as he pounds Brendan's arse with gusto. After a while Brendan feels Rodney's body stiffen against his back as he goes into a long shuddering spasm of ecstasy. It is all Rodney can do to stop himself from bellowing his pleasure.

Eventually the orgasm is over and Rodney flops back onto his back, his still swollen cock pulling out of Brendan's fuck channel with a plopping sound.

Expectantly, Brendan flips over onto his back on the hard wooden deck and holds his cock erect for Rodney to suck. Rodney just rolls over onto his side.

"That's not fair, Rodney!" says Brendan, "You promised!"

"The Master has decided he doesn't want to suck your cock!" Rodney replies.

Angrily, Brendan gets on top of Rodney and forces him flat onto his belly. Then he slips his arms under Rodney's armpits, stretches his wrist chains across the back of Rodney's neck and pushes down hard. At the same time he inserts his feet between Rodney's calves and drives his legs apart. While Rodney is pinned down in this way, he quickly reaches down to guide his big swollen cock into Rodney's channel. His wrist chain stops him from reaching all the way down so he wriggles his hips until his cock head is pressed against Rodney's pucker. Then he rams it in hard. When his cock is all the way in, he wraps his wrist chains around Rodney's neck and draws his wrists apart to throttle him a little as he pistons his cock rapidly, hard and deep into Rodney's hole.

By now Liam is also aroused by the goings on next to him and when Brendan finally reaches climax and rolls off the choking and spluttering Rodney, Liam clatters across the wooden planks, climbs onto him and sinks his own cock deep into Rodney's cum-slippery hole.

Sated at last the three boys lie side by side.

"I told you that he is master who is the strongest, Rodney!" says Brendan smugly before drifting off to sleep.

***

The boys wake with the first rays of the rising sun. The decks are still wet and shiny from a rain squall that rose suddenly in the early hours, bringing the boys welcome relief from the thick sticky heat that hangs over the anchorage like a scratchy blanket.

The ship is hailed from a boat a cable length (200 yards) away. Scarface is called and there is an exchange between Scarface and the occupants of the boat. Except for the ever observant Brendan, the boys pay little attention.

Brendan gathers that the visitors are expected. There is a bustle on deck as the captain is called from his quarters. The boat comes alongside and soon a man's head appears above the rail as he climbs the rope ladder and swings himself aboard. A second man follows and Brendan almost calls out in surprise as he recognizes James, the assistant to Mr Peel, the shipper's agent who had sold Brendan and Liam to Captain Morton when they first arrived in Bridgeport.

Angel orders the boys to their feet as Scarface leads James straight to them. Rodney does not seem to recognize James, although Liam has a faintly puzzled expression on his face as if trying to remember where he might have seen him.

"Are these yer runaways?" Scarface asks him.

Brendan's heart suddenly sinks as it dawns on him that it is probably no chance coincidence that brings James to them.

James looks them over, consulting a paper with some notes on it.

"They have the right owner marks," he says, then, "Tell me your names!" he orders.

Each boy says his name and James marks them off on his list.

"I know nothing about the missing ones and as for this one 3; he's included in my price," growls the captain, "You take all of them or none"

James shrugs his shoulders:

"Suits me," he says, "I'll take them all."

A bag of silver coins is handed over and counted and the boys are unshackled from the deck chain and immediately shackled again in the agent's own slave chains brought up from the boat. Soon they have been transferred from the black painted pirate ship to a light fore-and-aft rigged schooner a short distance away.

The moment they are on board they are hustled below with almost indecent haste and the ship weighs anchor and gets under way immediately. A brisk wind has come up and her sleek hull slices swiftly through the spume blown swells as she races eastward through the bright morning. Within an hour Tortuga is a dot on the horizon astern and the boys are fetched on deck.

James is waiting for them together with his assistant.

Immediately the boys get on deck Rodney and Charles are unshackled and led over to James. The other boys have their manacles shackled to a slave chain bolted through the deck.

James looks the two young English aristocrats over as they stand before him in the resigned attitude of a slave expecting to be punished. He shakes his head. If he did not know better, he would never have believed that these two naked boys – grimy, sun-browned, whip-wealed and tattooed with slave marks – could these possibly be the young English gentlemen that he has been sent to find.

Suddenly uncertain and anxious that he might have made a mistake, he asks Rodney:

"Are you two young fellows really Master Rodney and Master Charles Morton?" he asks.

Rodney stares at James suspiciously

"Who is it that enquires?" he asks.

"I am James Fulton, assistant to your father's agent, Mr Peel," James replies.

Slowly it dawns on Rodney that he and his brother have actually just been rescued.

He draws himself up and replies:

"We are indeed Rodney and Charles Morton 3; And these are my father's slaves 3; except that one!" pointing to Joe.

"Well, wherever he comes from, I have purchased him on your father's behalf, and he is now your father's property!" says James.

"How did you know we would be here?" asks Rodney.

"We did not know for certain but Tortuga is the main market for pirated booty and slaves in the Caribbean. After the Shannon gave your father the slip he calculated that it was likely that you might turn up on Tortuga at some point in time. I was sent there to wait and watch 3; and at last 3; success!"

"My father will be pleased with your efforts, as are we," says Rodney.

"And now young masters, Alan, my assistant, will show you to your cabin where you may bathe and put on some clothing suitable to your station before you join us in the saloon for a celebratory repast!"

Rodney gives Brendan a look full of meaning. Brendan's heart skips a beat. He knows that look.

"What will happen with these slaves?" Rodney asks.

"Oh, you need not worry yourself about them," says James, "They will be fed and watered shortly."

"Oh, I'm not worried about that 3; I mean what will you do with them?"

"Why 3; nothing. They will stay chained here on deck until we reach Bridgeport. There are no berths below for them, the brig is too small to accommodate all five of them and we don't want them getting into the provisions in the hold," James replies.

"Well, they all need to be taught a lesson about respecting their betters, especially this one!" he says, pointing at Brendan.

"Would you like the bosun to give him a sound flogging?"

Rodney laughs. "The bosun can flog them all, but when he is done with this one 3; I have something special in mind for him!"

Rodney and Charles repair to their comfortable cabin where they spend some time being bathed, manicured, powdered and groomed by a servant.

"Do we have to wear these clothes, Rodney?" asks Charles, "They're so uncomfortable and it's so hot!"

"We are English gentlemen, Charles, we have to dress the part!"

"But the necktie and the jacket 3; surely we don't need to wear those? We never do at home!"

"We are not at home now, Charles! We are in public view and we must not let down the Morton name! And never forget: If we had not gone about naked and tattooed like slaves at home we would never have got into this pickle in the first place!"

"I like going naked! And I hate wearing shoes!"

"It's not about what you like, Charles, it's about keeping up appearances!"

"See! I can't get these shoes on my feet!"

Rodney takes a closer look.

"I see that. Going barefoot has made your feet too broad for your shoes! I must see what mine are like!"

Rodney finds that he cannot get his stockinged feet into his shoes either. His feet have also grown broader from months of going barefoot. What a calamity!

James is summoned to attend to the problem. There is only one solution. The brothers will have to go barefoot. Since they cannot very well wear a jacket and necktie with bare feet they will wear just a loose shirt and knee breeches. When James points out that the young gentlemen serving as apprentice ship's officers are similarly clothed, Rodney finally agrees. Charles is thrilled and even Rodney is secretly relieved to have an excuse to be comfortable.

Clean, shining and clothed for the first time in many months they are led to the saloon where they join James Fulton and the Captain for lunch. James and the Captain remove their jackets and neckties to make their guests feel comfortable, but they stop short at removing their shoes.

"Bare feet are usual in young boys at sea but I fear that my own barefoot days as an apprentice are long behind me!" the Captain chuckles.

As they sit at table and enjoy the excellent meal that the captain's cook has prepared, the bosun begins the flogging of the slave boys.

Joe, the former ship's boy now become slave boy, is being strung up for his flogging. His wrists are tied to ropes run through blocks fastened to the shrouds holding up one of the masts. Two seamen pull down on the ropes and Joe is hauled up to stand on his toes, with his arms stretched out above his head. Joe groans softly in pain as his wrists take the weight of his body.

The bosun fishes the dreaded Cat o' Nine Tails out of a brine barrel. Normally he would use a smaller cat designed specifically for use on boys. It is lighter, has only three or four strands and the strands are not knotted like the man's cat. But in this case the boy to be flogged is a slave and the law does not distinguish between boys and men when it comes to slaves.

"Bosun," Brendan asks indignantly, "Why are you going to flog Joe? What is his offence? You cannot flog him for no reason!"

"That ye ask that question is reason enough! Ye be slaves! Ye do not question the decisions of yer Master! He has ordered that ye all be soundly flogged to remind ye of yer station and it seems to me that ye be in dire need of being reminded!"

Brendan falls silent, fuming inwardly, knowing that it is futile to protest. It will only make matters worse.

Soon Joe is shrieking in agony as the nine knotted strands of the Cat repeatedly scour broad fiery trails across his back, buttocks and thighs.

Joe's screaming can be heard faintly in the saloon and Rodney frowns slightly.

"Mr Fulton, I had hoped that the floggings would be held over until I had the pleasure of watching them?"

"Ah 3; erm 3; a slight misunderstanding, I am afraid," James stammers, "But not to worry ... they are receiving only 36 lashes now and will therefore easily be in condition to be flogged all over again when you are ready to watch!"

Rodney smiles.

"What a capital idea, Mr Fulton! Even better 3; flog them twice, what!"

"You are your father's son indeed, Master Rodney," the captain chortles, holding up his glass in salute.

Rodney swells with pride as he raises his own glass in return. A feeling of great satisfaction washes over him. He and his brother (and indeed the slave boys too, come to think of it) have been restored to their proper positions in life and all is well in the world once more. Perhaps Joe has been a little hard done by with his reversal of fortune, he thinks, but on the other hand he should really be grateful that he is not kicking at the end of a rope around his neck: the proper fate of all pirates, regardless of age.

Rodney's cock tingles and hardens as he listens to the distant screaming of the slave boys and sees them in his mind's eye, jerking and writhing in agony under the bosun's lash.

An hour later Rodney and Charles, accompanied by James Fulton and his assistant emerge from the saloon and go forward to where the five newly flogged slave boys are lying on their bellies on the wooden deck, trying hard not to move so as not to aggravate their pain.

Rodney surveys them with satisfaction. Every inch of their leanly muscled brown backs, buttocks and thighs are covered in a fiery lacework of finely ridged welts raised by the scouring action of the Cat's knotted strands. One of the advantages of the Cat is that it does not generally cut the skin in under a few hundred lashes, so that while its multiple knotted strands inflict maximum pain, it inflicts minimum long term damage, enabling the seaman to return to his duties almost immediately, though in pain. In the Navy, where punishments are exceptionally harsh, recipients of as many as a thousand lashes often survive the ordeal.

Callum and Ephraim are still snivelling wetly as they lie cradling their faces with their forearms. Brendan was the last to be whipped and he lies whimpering softly, his whole body trembling while his back and buttock muscles jerk and quiver involuntarily.

James Fulton had told the bosun that Brendan was the leader of the pack and had to be broken. Consequently, the bosun had put extra vigour into whipping Brendan. When Brendan refused to give the bosun the satisfaction of hearing him scream, the bosun had whipped him harder and had given him 50 lashes instead of the 36 that the other boys had endured. Although he sobbed and moaned quietly, not a single scream passed his lips to the end. The spaghetti of fine welts laid over his back and buttocks, now oozing droplets of dark blood, are testimony to the severity of the whipping he has just received.

Rodney slips his leathery toes under Brendan's chin and levers his head up. Brendan can scarcely see through the mist of pain clouding his blue eyes.

"So, Brendan, who is the master now?" Rodney asks softly.

Brendan jerks his head sideways off Rodney's foot but does not answer.

Angrily Rodney looks at the bosun.

"It seems that this slave has not yet learned his lesson! String him up again!"

"Certainly young master!" says the bosun, anxious to please the son of the man who has chartered this vessel.

At the bosun's gesture two barefooted and shirtless seamen scurry forward, lift Brendan by his arms and drag him to the gunwhale, where they quickly tie his wrists and hoist him onto his toes once more with his muscular arms stretched above his head.

Rodney removes his crisp white linen shirt and hands it to Charles to look after. Then he fetches the Cat from the brine barrel and spends a few moments slicing the air with it just behind Brendan. Brendan's back and buttock muscles knot up in dread expectation every time he hears the hiss of the whipcord strands.

After several minutes of torturing Brendan with anticipation, Rodney walks back several paces and then takes a few running steps toward Brendan with his whip arm raised and bent at the elbow, the cat hanging down behind his back. As he comes up to Brendan he stops suddenly and at the same time whips the Cat forward, adding an extra flip of the wrist just as it hisses into Brendan's back.

Brendan's whole body jerks as the knotted strands rip across his severely welted back and he throws back his head and screams his agony. In that instant Brendan knows that his brief flirtation with freedom is over and that the aristocratic boy who is inflicting such excruciating pain upon his back is his lord and master, with absolute ownership of his flesh and blood and the right to do with it and to it whatever he pleases.

As Rodney continues to flog Brendan mercilessly and Brendan continues to writhe, scream and sob in pain, the bosun smiles and shakes his head in admiration of Rodney's technique. Not only has the boy been well trained, but from the bulge in the front of his breeches he clearly enjoys the work, thinks the bosun, as he tries to hide his own swelling cock behind his clasped hands.

"Oh Lord! Oh Master! Please! No more! Please Master! Forgive me!" Brendan howls.

Rodney says nothing, but continues to on lay lash after searing lash as he works his way methodically down Brendan's back from his shoulders to his thighs, stopping only when he reaches the tally of 36 strokes.

Brendan hangs sobbing from the ropes, his back, buttocks and thighs red with livid welts oozing blood.

"Oh thank you Lord!" Brendan mouths between sobs.

"I have not finished with you yet, Brendan," says Rodney, "Not nearly finished with you!"

Rodney has Brendan taken down from the ropes and laid on the deck where a couple of seamen pour buckets of brine over him. The stinging of the salt in Brendan's cuts is unbearable and he cries out hoarsely.

"It is for your own good, Brendan," says Rodney, "I do not want your wounds to become infected!"

Then Rodney has the seamen drag Brendan over the nearest fife rail. They spread his legs, lift him up and position his anus over one of the big thick belaying pins standing up from the fife rail. They then lower him onto the belaying pin while Rodney guides it into his anus. It is longer and thicker than the belaying pin that the pirate captain used to fuck Brendan's arse with. He cries out in pain as the belaying pin slowly but inexorably forces its way into his butt hole without the benefit of lubricant. Soon his butt cheeks are a few inches off the fife rail with the long thick bulbous head of the wooden belaying pin most of the way inside him. It feels as if the head of the pin is about to tear his innards, so he pushes his hands down against the fife rail to stop the belaying pin from going in any further. Brendan is panting and gasping in pain. The seamen clasp their hands over each shoulder and push down hard. Inch by inch they force him down, screaming and howling, all the way until his butt cheeks touch the fife rail. They let him go and he teeters precariously on his painful perch until his scrabbling toes find the bar that braces the posts holding up the fife rail. To prevent him from lifting himself off the belaying pin they tie his ankles to the bar.

Despite the pain, both from the belaying pin buried deep in his channel and from his whip scoured back and arse, Brendan's cock stands up hard and proud, its swollen purple head bouncing against his muscled belly as he squirms and groans on the fife rail.

By now thoroughly aroused and desperate for relief, Rodney has Callum released from the slave chain and hurriedly drags him back to his cabin by the short length of chain that joins his wrist manacles together.

Rodney practically throws Callum face down over the side of his bunk, yanks off his breeches and seconds later he is violently banging into Callum's whip ravaged arse. Callum's back and arse are still very raw and tender from the whipping he has just received and he cries out in pain as Rodney rides him rough and hard.

"Oh please, Master, slowly, that hurts so!" he yelps.

"Shut up, slave!" Rodney snarls, slapping Callum hard against the side of his head with the palm of his hand, "You dare complain!"

"Sorry, Master, my back and my arse hurt so from the flogging!" Callum wails.

"They will be hurting much more before this day is through!" Rodney pants as he pumps his cock into Callum's hole.

Over the next hour Rodney and Charles take turns fucking the whimpering young Irish slave boy, both in his arse and in his throat.

When they have done with him, their manservant leads Callum by his wrist chain back to the other slave boys.

"Have the bosun string up his worthless carcass in the meantime to await another flogging," Rodney orders the servant before they leave, "I want to teach him not to place his own comfort before his master's pleasure"

Callum's heart lurches with fear when he hears this and he bursts out crying in dread of the whipping to come. He whimpers softly as he pads after the servant, his anus dribbling cum down his inner thighs as he walks.

While Callum is led away Rodney and Charles wash themselves in the basin of scented water the servant has left for them and enjoy a refreshing drink.

Eventually Rodney drains his pewter goblet, bangs it on the table and jumps up energetically. He and Charles get dressed and pad over the deck on their leathery bare feet to where the slave boys are chained. Callum is hanging from the shrouds by his wrists with his arms spread out above his head. He has been standing up on his toes for over an hour to avoid the pain of having the whole weight of his body suspended from his wrists, but now his bulging calf muscles are trembling with fatigue and threatening to give way. He starts whimpering again when he sees Rodney arrive.

The three slave boys still shackled to the slave chain hurried scramble to their feet as their lords and masters approach and they crouch and touch a hand to their lowered foreheads in the slave's customary gesture of salute and submission.

Nearby Brendan still strains to keep his arse from sliding all the way down the belaying pin. He is in pain and his muscles quake from hours of unremitting effort. The thick wooden belaying pin stuck up his arse keeps him completely immobile. He lifts up his head when he sees Rodney and Charles approach and fear clutches at his heart. He tries, unsuccessfully, to lever himself into a less stressful position. His previously stiff cock has subsided to the distended semi-erected state that his thick steel cock ring generally keeps it in. Rodney's eyes are drawn at once to Brendan's exceptionally large penis and breeding bull balls that the cock ring holds proud of his groin, as if permanently presenting them for the inspection and enjoyment of his owner. Brendan recognizes the lust that momentarily shadows his young master's eyes and knows that there is much more pain to come. As always, the thought generates both fear and excitement in his breast and his cock starts to come alive again.

Rodney notices the quickening of Brendan's cock and feels his own penis start to respond in kind. Rodney takes the central position among the group of slave boys. He is truly happy for the first time in many months. He enjoys the fact that in the space of a few hours he has gone from rubbing shoulders with the slave boys and deferring to Brendan and Liam, to being their sunrise and sunset, with nearly absolute power over them, life and limb, and with the full might of the law at his back. He can see from the terror in their eyes that they know this. They have been quickly and harshly brought to this realization by the floggings they received earlier at the hands of the bosun, by the torture that Brendan is suffering at Rodney's behest, and by the fact that young Callum is about to be whipped bloody for the slightest of infractions.

Rodney congratulates himself on the efficient way he has changed their perceptions and their attitudes. His believes that his father, a great believer in the efficacy of terror as an agent of order and discipline, would be immensely proud of him.

With five fearful pairs of eyes fixed on him, Rodney heightens the drama by slowly peeling off his clean white linen shirt and handing it to his manservant to hold. Then he flexes and stretches his lean muscled upper body, shoulders and arms like an athlete warming up for a competition. When he decides he is ready, he holds out his hand imperiously and Charles fetches the Cat out of the brine barrel for him.

While shaking the water out of the Cat's knotted strands by slashing at the air with it, Rodney addresses his slaves:

"You may be wondering why Callum deserves to have another flogging today. If you are, you had better chase those thoughts out of your heads right away and make sure they never return. Because it is not your place to think about such things. You are slaves and I am your master. You have no more right to question my decisions than my dogs or my ponies have. You have no rights at all, in fact. If I choose to have you thrown over the side 3; or hung by your neck 3; or if I just want to flog the life out of you 3; there is no one here who will stand in my way."

Rodney pauses to let his words sink in.

"So when you feel my whip on your back, count it as a blessing that you are breathing and can still feel pain! When you feel my cock up your arse or down your throat, be grateful that you are being allowed to give me pleasure!"

With that he swings the Cat to the fullest extent behind him and then takes a step toward Callum, snapping the Cat forward at the same time so that its knotted strands crack across Callum's back, ripping multiple trails across his already tender skin. They mushroom instantly into thin welts. Seconds later the welts begin to ooze tiny droplets of blood.

Callum throws back his head and arches his back as his body jerks forward. His legs jacknife backward and he hangs entirely suspended from his wrists as his mouth opens wide and emits a piercing scream of pain.

"Ow! Ow! Ow! Oh Master! Please! No more!" he howls as he lowers his legs and his feet scrabble to gain a toehold on the deck.

"Have you not been listening to me?" Rodney asks pleasantly, "Do you still not understand that it is your life's purpose to please me? It gives me pleasure to whip you, yet you want me to stop because it causes you discomfort!"

For answer Callum howls even louder.

The next sizzling stroke across his back chokes Callum's howling off into a strangled gurgle as his whole body quivers violently in shock.

As Brendan watches Callum being tortured he feels his cock tingling excitedly once more and rising rapidly until its long curved length, like a Moorish scimitar, once again pushes pleasurably against the hard ridges above his belly button. It rapidly displaces the pain of his own welted back and buttocks and of the long thick belaying pin filling his innards to bursting point. Liam, Joe and Ephraim are similarly stimulated and their cocks stand unabashedly erect in response to Callum's helpless, writhing agony. Soon they are furtively fingering the tips of their cocks to heighten the pleasure. It is a measure of the extent to which the boys have been degraded by the conditions of their slavery that not one of them feels the slightest shame about taking such open pleasure from their comrade's pain.

After the tenth stroke Rodney hands the cat to Charles.

"Here, Charles, you have a go!"

Rodney's 12 year old brother eagerly grasps the thick wooden handle of the Cat and, with much more energy than skill, lays on the next ten lashes with Rodney providing coaching and advice on how to produce more pain with less effort.

"Well done, Charles, that was a good start. Father would be proud!" Rodney says encouragingly when Charles has finished his turn, "You'll get plenty of practice before we get home!"

While Callum hangs panting and whimpering from the shrouds, Rodney sends Charles to fetch one of the heavy wooden belaying pins from the fife rail that Brendan is impaled on.

"Now shove it up Callum's arse 3; all the way 3; I want him to feel like his bum is splitting apart while I give him the rest of his flogging!" Rodney giggles.

Charles tries manfully to insert the bulbous head of the belaying pin into Callum's anus but cannot get it through his tight sphincter.

Rodney sends one of the watching seamen to the rope locker to fetch a mallet. The man returns in a short while and hands the mallet to Charles.

Charles looks uncertain.

"What must I do with it, Rodney?" he asks.

"Oh for goodness sake, Charles, you use it to knock the pin up his arse"

Charles tries, but the pin and the mallet are both heavy and he cannot wield the mallet with one hand while holding the pin in the other.

Exasperated, Charles orders Liam to assist Charles.

Charles holds the smooth round head of the pin against Callum's bumhole while Liam gently tries to tap it in with the mallet.

Rodney swings the Cat against Liam's back. Liam jumps and yelps.

"Hit it in harder, Liam, I don't want to wait all day while you molly-coddle your friend!"

Liam taps a little harder. Callum yells in pain and tries desperately to relax his sphincter and flex it open to take the fat wooden phallus up his bum.

Again Rodney lashes Liam.

"Harder, Liam! Or you will take Callum's place!"

Liam gives the bottom of the pin a hard smack with the mallet and it suddenly slides in a couple of inches.

Callum screams, but Liam continues to tap the pin into his arse until it is buried all the way up to the point where it flares out to a flat disk.

The rest of the belaying pin sticks out of Callum's bum hole like a rigid tail. At first Callum screams pitifully and writhes in pain but soon he settles down, his young cocklet having fully erected in its customary response to having his well-used fuck channel entered, however violently or painfully.

Rodney resumes whipping Callum. By now he has worked his way down to Callum's buttocks and Callum is sobbing and howling continuously, rising to a crescendo with each searing stroke of the Cat's tails.

Liam, Joe and Ephraim are by now pumping their long hard cocks rapidly in their fists as they rush inexorably to climax.

His hands being bound, Brendan is unable to stimulate his cock manually, but soon the pressure in his balls reaches the point of no return and Brendan's cock goes into automatic spasm. Long ropes of silver cum jet repeatedly from the pulsing purple tip of his penis, arching through the air and splashing down on the deck fully three feet away.

Some splatters of cum land on Rodney's brown feet and calves. He pauses from whipping Callum for a moment to look down at the splashes. Brendan's heart lurches with fear but he is relieved to see that Rodney does not seem at all displeased.

Seconds later the other three boys also ejaculate, almost simultaneously, and the deck in front of them is quickly awash with puddles and splashes of slippery cum. For fear of offending Rodney, Liam quickly goes down on all fours and laps up everyone's cum. As he comes near to Rodney, he looks up and catches his master's eye with an enquiring look. Rodney nods and Liam scurries forward on his knees to lick Brendan's cum off his feet and his calves.

Finally Rodney lays the last stroke across the back of Callum's thighs as he hangs limply from the shrouds. The ropes holding him up are released from their cleats and let go, so that Callum collapses in a heap on the deck, his back, buttocks and thighs swollen and bloody, the belaying pin still protruding awkwardly from his anus, forcing his butt cheeks and thighs apart. A seaman throws buckets of sea water over Callum and he cries out at the cloying, stinging pain of the salty water. Callum's wrist chains are shackled to the deck chain once more and he is left lying there on his belly, sobbing quietly, as Rodney and Charles repair once more to their cabin, this time with Liam in tow to release their by now unbearable sexual tension.

By now the sun is setting and Brendan tries vainly to ease his discomfort. First he pushes his leather soled feet against the bar that his ankles are tied to. This enables him to slide his arse an inch or two up the shaft of the belaying pin, to where it narrows, and this gives him a measure of relief. He holds this position until his leg muscles begin to ache and tremble. Then he allows his butt to slide back down the wider part of the wooden pin to sit on the fife rail for a while. After a while he pushes down on the fife rail with his hands to slide his bum up the belaying pin again. He holds this position until his upper body muscles are about to give in, and then slides down to sit on the fife rail again. Hour after hour through the long weary hours of the night Brendan repeats this exhausting cycle while the cycles become shorter and shorter and all his quivering muscles scream for relief.

The motion of the ship as she pounds through the swells does not make things any easier for Brendan, bouncing him around and throwing him now this way and now that. When dawn finally breaks Brendan is near to the end of his endurance. He is utterly exhausted and, to make matters worse, his severely stretched arsehole is by now raw and bleeding from the constant friction of the thick belaying pin.

Brendan's head hangs onto his chest, his eyes shut tight and his face screwed up from exhaustion. He becomes dimly aware that someone is standing in front of him. He raises his head groggily and peers out through the fog of pain. Slowly the haze clears to reveal Rodney standing just a foot or so away, staring at him interestedly. Brendan's red haired cousin, Liam, stands right next to Rodney, hip to hip, and Rodney has one arm draped around Liam's back, his hand proprietarily stroking and groping Liam's butt cheeks. Both of them are naked and have obviously just got out of bed, their cocks erected and their as yet unwashed bodies grubby with the detritus of a night of hard sex.

"Are you ready to be my slave now, Brendan?" Rodney asks.

"Yes Lord!" Brendan croaks hoarsely.

"And what else?"

Brendan searches his mind, not quite sure what to add. Then he remembers Rodney's speech yesterday.

"I want to serve you, Master. I want to feel your whip on back and your cock up my arse. I want my pain to be your pleasure!"

"Oh, very good, Brendan! You are learning your lesson very well indeed!"

"Thank you Master 3;for teaching me the error of my ways"

"Well 3; I have not done teaching you yet, Brendan," Rodney says as he signals two seamen standing nearby with a nod of his head, "You did not think you would get off so lightly, did you?"

Brendan groans aloud as he wonders what else Rodney has in store for him.

"There! You see what I mean?" says Rodney, "If you had truly learned your lesson you would not have complained now about carrying out my wishes!"

The two seamen loosen the ropes binding Brendan's ankles and then lift him off the belaying pin. Brendan's legs are wobbly and when they set him down on the deck he collapses to his knees.

"Leave him on his knees, just turn him around and tie his wrists to the rail," Rodney orders the seamen.

While the seamen do as Rodney required, Brendan watches Rodney fish the Cat out of the brine barrel. Fear makes his belly lurch and squeezes an involuntary whimper up and out of his throat.

"Here, Liam," says Rodney, handing the Cat to him, "Show me how much you want to please me!"

"Yes Master!" says Liam, torn between his loyalty to Brendan and his fear of Rodney.

Liam takes up position behind the kneeling Brendan, swings the Cat out behind him and whips it forward to crack against Brendan's back. The salty wet knotted cords rake multiple trails across the bunched muscles of Brendan's back. Brendan's back arches involuntarily and his head snaps back as he moans in pain.

Liam's cock tingles and stiffens and his concern for Brendan is almost instantly replaced with lust as he whips the Cat's tails across Brendan's back again, even harder this time. Brendan cries out aloud.

Soon Liam is energetically laying lash after lash across Brendan's back and Brendan is screaming almost continuously, jerking and writhing against his bonds and begging Rodney for mercy.

Rodney stops the whipping after 36 lashes and orders Brendan up on his feet.

Brendan struggles to his feet hastily, anxious not to give Rodney any further reason to punish him, and stands there, his wrists still bound to the fife rail, looking fearfully over his shoulder at his lord and master.

Rodney steps up behind Brendan and pushes against the back of his head to make him bend over. Then he gets Liam to lubricate his cock by sucking wetly at it a few times before thrusting it into Brendan's tender arse, still raw and bleeding from spending the night impaled on the belaying pin. Brendan gasps with pain but, boy slut that he is at heart, his cock quickly lengthens and stiffens until it is bobbing against his hard belly muscles and he begins riding his master's cock in his eagerness to be fucked.

In minutes Rodney rushes to climax and he withdraws his cock just in time to spray Brendan's arse and back with cum.

Rodney then allows Liam to fuck his cousin, which he does with great gusto while Rodney lays a few lashes across Liam's buttocks with the Cat, just for fun. Already in a high state of sexual excitement, the dual effect of fucking and being whipped propels Liam quickly to climax and he cums deep inside Brendan's fuck channel.

Next 3; Joe, Callum, Ephraim and Charles are allowed to fuck Brendan also.

When finally all the boys are done, Rodney turns to the bosun, who has been watching the show, along with most of the salivating seamen on deck.

"Mr Bosun," he says, "I have decided to place this slave at the disposal of the entire lower deck for the rest of the voyage. I expect that he be put to work as a bum boy day and night for the pleasure and entertainment of the off-duty watch. He may be used however any man pleases and if he fails to please he is to be flogged. The only conditions that I stipulate are that he must reach Bridgeport alive and without permanent injury."

"Why, thankee, young Sir, that is most gracious of you!" beams the bosun, licking his lips, the front of his breeches already tented and wet from watching the boys fuck Brendan.

The bosun unties Brendan's wrists and Brendan immediately drops to his knees at Rodney's feet. He wraps his arms around Rodney's calves and kisses Rodney's feet.

"Please Lord, forgive me! I will serve you and pleasure you with my whole heart! Please do not give me to the crew! Please Lord, please!"

"Get off me, you brute!" Rodney snarls, slashing at Brendan's back with the Cat.

The bosun and a seaman jump forward and grab Brendan by the arms. They pull him off Rodney and drag him to his feet.

"I expect you to punish him suitably for this impertinence!" Rodney demands.

"I shall indeed, young Sir," says the bosun and leads Brendan away.

Soon Brendan's howls of anguish waft up from below as the bosun energetically welts Brendan's arse with a cane.

Afterward, as Brendan is left alone in a corner to lick his wounds, he has time to contemplate his situation. He is to be the whore boy of the whole ship's crew for the week or two that it will take to sail to Barbados. The thought of being fucked and flogged day and night for a week or so by the rough and extremely horny sailors of the lower deck fills him with dread at first. Yet 3; as he imagines it 3; his cock begins to harden.

Perhaps it will not be so bad after all, he thinks as he fingers the tip of his tingling cock 3;

As the schooner surges steadily eastward through the swells, the days and nights pass pleasantly for the Morton brothers. Their cabin is comfortable and they dine well. The manservant that their father has sent along draws their baths, cleans their clothes, makes their beds and generally waits on them hand and foot. They spend their days at leisure, playing cards, draughts and backgammon when they are not exploring the ship. They spend hours at the prow of the ship, feeling the spray on their faces and the wind in their hair. They climb the rigging and run about with the two young apprentices when they are not working. The apprentices, who are the same age as Rodney, are well born English boys like themselves, though their fathers are not as well off as the Morton boys' father and, consequently, they have to make their own way in the world by following a profession.

At night they each take one of the slave boys to bed with them, after the slave boys have washed themselves thoroughly and cleaned out their arseholes under the supervision of the manservant, Benson, who has thoughtfully brought with him the small animal bladder with the brass nozzle that the boys were accustomed to use for this task at Morton Hall. More often than not one or both of the ship's apprentices join Rodney and Charles for a few hours of sex fun with the slave boys.

The remaining three slave boys are invariably shared out among James Fulton and the ship's officers, relieving the young apprentices of this unofficial part of their duties (one of the reasons that they are never placed on watch at night).

Other than Brendan, the slave boys have a reasonably easy time of it on this short voyage. Occasionally one of them is flogged for some real or imagined offence, or just because it gives Rodney pleasure, but they have quickly reverted to the slave's habit of fatalism, accepting their whippings as an unremarkable part of the life of a slave. Otherwise, they are no longer shackled to a chain all day and can move reasonably freely about the ship. They are fed and watered with the crew. They are kept busy on deck with physical labour during the day but the work is not exhausting. They sleep comfortably since they are always sharing the bed of one of their masters or of one of the officers or even of one of the apprentices.

The apprentices are in the peculiar position that they are regarded both as part of the crew and as part of the officer corps of the ship. The disadvantage of being part of the crew is that they are subject to corporal punishment like members of the crew, though with the Boy's Pussy or the cane rather than the adult Cat o' Nine Tails. Being part of the officer corps, however, gives them certain privileges, including some authority over the members of the crew. On this particular voyage they consider that the greatest benefit of being regarded as part of the crew is that they are also eligible to make use of Brendan for sexual release whenever they can.

For Brendan, however, the days and nights are a blur of pain and pleasure.

All night, except for one two hour dog watch when he is allowed to sleep unmolested, there is hardly more than half an hour at a time when he does not have some rough and horny crewman's iron hard cock thrusting up his arse or down his throat 3; often both.

Then at dawn Brendan is brought up on deck for his morning flogging. For the first few days he waddled along painfully in a wide-legged gait, his arse hole red and sore from a whole night of hard sex. His body is always dirty and sticky with the sweat, piss and semen of the twenty or so men and boys who have fucked him in relays through the night, and his untidy thatch of straw-coloured hair is tacky with globs of drying semen. Cum and piss from the last few men who filled his arse dribbles from his winking bumhole and trickles down the inside of his thighs as he walks, making wet tracks through the grime overlaying his smooth honey brown skin.

Brendan is then tied over the breech of one of the cannon so that Rodney can cane his arse with the long yellow rattan that the bosun normally uses on the apprentices or the ship's boys. Rodney usually keeps Brendan waiting for anything up to an hour while he finishes his breakfast and then makes a leisurely appearance to lay ten searing welts over the fading purple stripes on Brendan's buttocks from the day before and the day before that.

After his caning Brendan is allowed to wash himself as best he can in a bucket of sea water before wolfing down his only meal of the day: half a loaf of dry bread and some hard and crumbling cheese, washed down with water.

After this he is put to work under supervision of a petty officer with a mean streak who loves using the rope's end on Brendan, and has indeed been instructed to do so at every opportunity. He scrubs decks, scours rusting metal, cleans the shit and piss out of the heads and generally does the dirtiest and most menial tasks that the petty officer can find for him. At regular intervals he is pulled from whatever he is doing and made to bend over some convenient object while two or three off duty crewmen line up to ream his arse.

When there are no more chores for him to do, Brendan is made to mount a belaying pin on one of the fife rails again until someone needs his arse for more constructive purposes.

When darkness falls Brendan is allowed to get off the fife rail and he goes below where the all night fuck marathon begins all over again.

And so the days and nights roll by for Brendan. However, within a week Brendan has become so accustomed to his new role as the lower deck bum boy that it is no longer much of a hardship for him. His bum hole has stretched and toughened and he no longer finds it painful to walk.

Though on a punishment diet of just one meal a day the amount of cum that Brendan ingests in the course of 24 hours provides him with more than enough protein and he seems to positively glow with health after a while. Brendan had developed a taste for semen when he had worked on the wall-building gang at Morton Mall. A gigantic negro slave named Jabu had introduced Brendan to cum-eating during rest breaks. He had taught Brendan that in his culture the strongest and best warriors were expected to give their seed, both anally and orally, to the young boys of the tribe, so that the boys might acquire the strength and prowess of the warriors. Over time Brendan had swallowed many litres of Jabu's semen in the hope that he might grow as big and as powerful as the spectacularly muscular negro. So when the hunger pains caused by the punishment diet started to cramp Brendan's belly, he remembered the lessons he had learned from Jabu about the nutritional value of semen. Now Brendan seeks every opportunity to swallow any semen that comes his way, though of course many of the crewmen prefer to discharge their loads in Brendan's arse, leaving him to try to scoop up what he can of what dribbles out of his bum hole and down his thighs.

Of course, like any young teenage boy, he thinks of almost nothing else but sex in his waking moments, but Brendan spends so much time in a state of sexual stimulation that it has become an almost permanent state of being for him. His cock, prodigiously large for his age even on the slack, is in a constant state of partial erection; tingling and bobbing like a thing alive; and his anus winks and puckers continually in anticipation of being entered, stretching instantly into a gaping yawn on the lightest touch. He has become, in fact, what we would call a sex addict today. Of course, in his day no such label existed, probably because no one would have thought it to be an affliction. He would have been regarded, with pleasure rather than contempt, simply as a particularly "frisky" or "willing" boy. (It leaves us to contemplate that not all things improve with the advancement of science).

Meant to be part of his punishment, even his enforced daily impalement on the large wooden phallus represented by the belaying pin has become more of a pleasure, at least once the daily ordeal of adjusting to the great girth and length of the pin is over. It gives him a strange sense of satisfaction to have the massive wooden pole fill his channel; as well as a tremor of excitement when it reminds him of the big strong men whose huge and powerful cocks have been inside him from time to time, taking him from extremes of pain to extremes of pleasure in the space of a fuck. His cock remains swollen thick and hard throughout the time that he spends with the belaying pin up his arse. He can sometimes be seen raising and lowering himself on it energetically, flushed with pleasure and exertion, his eyes glazed and his mouth hanging open slackly, until he climaxes and squirts great jets of thick and slippery silver cum over his belly and chest, which he then scoops up on his hard brown fingers and slurps down with relish.

Rodney often seems to be about on deck at this time and spends a lot of time in Brendan's vicinity, watching him surreptitiously out of the corners of his eyes even as he leans, apparently nonchalantly, against the rail and pretends to be interested in the distant horizon. The slave boys notice, though none would dare to mention it, that something alive always seems to be straining to get out of the front of his breeches, and they know quite well that their lord and master is lusting after Brendan and is itching to satisfy that lust. This always seems to them to be confirmed when, apparently unable to bear it any longer, Rodney would send the nearest slave boy to his cabin, follow him there very soon afterward, and fuck him long and hard. Embarrassed by his momentary weakness, Rodney would then thrash the boy with a cane on some pretext and send him snivelling back to his work.

After nearly two weeks of this, Rodney's lust for Brendan finally prevails over his desire for revenge and, one morning after giving Brendan his usual caning, Rodney has him released from his bonds and announces that he has decided that Brendan has been punished enough.

Brendan drops to his knees and throws his arms around Rodney's calves. He kisses Rodney's bare feet and cries out:

"Thank you, Lord, thank you for your mercy!"

Rodney raps Brendan hard against his ribs with his cane.

"Get off me, you Irish brute, you're filthy!" he says sharply.

"Forgive me, Lord, please forgive me!" Brendan begs.

Rodney summons his manservant:

"Benson! Take him to my cabin and get him properly cleaned up and ready for service." Rodney orders.

In Rodney's cabin Brendan is made to get into the copper bath tub where he soaks in hot water for twenty minutes before Benson, armed with a stiff brush and a bar of strong soap, scours the layers of grime off every inch of Brendan's body. When the foaming soap suds are rinsed out of his matted yellow thatch even Benson pauses to admire the startling contrast of his smooth tanned skin with his sun-bleached white blonde hair. Brendan is quick to notice Benson's interest and he smiles disarmingly up at the man bending over the tub. Benson slides his one hand slowly up and down Brendan's muscle-knotted back while his other hand reaches down to close around the boy's cock as it hardens and rises out of the bath water.

Brendan gets up onto his knees in the bathtub, spreading his legs as far apart as they will go in the narrow space to give Benson access to his anus. Benson's hand glides down the soapy valley between the muscles on either side of Brendan's spine and on into the deep cleft between his hard round buttocks. His fingers quickly find Brendan's pucker, which flexes open eagerly in welcome.

As Benson fingers his hole Brendan reaches out and starts pawing the bulge in the front of Benson's trousers.

Just then Rodney walks in, accompanied by one of the apprentices, a short and wiry black-haired boy named Geoffrey. Rodney frowns:

"I trust you are not taking liberties with my property, Benson?."

"Not at all, young sir!" Benson replies glibly, "Just cleaning out his hole proper like you wanted.!"

"Well 3; it looks like both of you are enjoying it rather too much," says Rodney, looking pointedly at Benson's crotch.

"And who can blame me for enjoying my work, sir," Benson chuckles.

Geoffrey starts to giggle but cuts it short as Rodney snaps:

"Don't be impertinent Benson! You may leave now!"

"As you wish, sir" says Benson with a tight smile, inclining his head as he leaves, fuming inwardly at the dismissive manner in which his employer's son treats him but powerless to do anything about it.

Rodney tosses a towel on the deck next to the bath.

"Get out and dry yourself!" he orders Brendan.

Brendan obeys. Rodney peels off his shirt and drops it on the deck. Geoffrey does the same and the two boys watch Brendan towel himself dry as their cocks harden and lengthen, straining against the fronts of their breeches.

When Brendan is finished he drops the towel at his feet and stands with head bowed but eyes fixed on his master's face, his hands by his sides, as he waits for further orders, his cock slowly hardening in anticipation.

Rodney looks at Brendan a long while in silence. With his heart beating in his throat and his tongue thick and dry in his mouth, Rodney's eyes rove lustfully over Brendan's beautifully proportioned, deeply tanned body and his exceptionally large cock, now fully erected above a ponderous set of balls.

"Gosh!" says Geoffrey in frank admiration, his eyes on stalks. "He's even bigger than you there, Rodney!"

A flash of irritation crosses Rodney's face, but he says nothing. By now Rodney is so horny that he can barely able to trust himself to speak. Rodney motions with his eyes to his crotch. Brendan knows at once what is expected of him. He steps forward and unbuttons Rodney's fly before tugging his breeches down to concertina around Rodney's ankles. Rodney steps out of them and kicks them to one side with a hard bare foot.

Geoffrey hastily pulls his own breeches off and bounces up and down on his toes in eager anticipation as he fingers his own medium sized erection, now dribbling long silvery strands of precum onto his thighs and feet.

Brendan drops to his knees and takes his owner's by now rock hard cock between his fingers; pulling it down to the horizontal before eagerly enveloping its swollen purple head with his full moist lips. Quickly he sucks Rodney's thrusting meat into his wide warm mouth, drawing it all the way back into his greedy gullet. Rodney interlocks the fingers of both hands against the back of Brendan's head and Brendan firmly onto his cock just as Brendan starts to withdraw. Brendan is momentarily taken by surprise but he waits, breathing heavily through his nose as Rodney's fat cock jams his throat like a stopper. After a short wait Rodney realizes with a pang of disappointment that Brendan is not going to gag, squirm and thrash about like a novice and he starts fucking Brendan's throat with short hard thrusts. He is trying to hurt Brendan but Brendan's throat, like his arse, has had much bigger cocks in it than Rodney's and he takes Rodney's fucking with ease.

Then Rodney clamps one hand to Brendan's neck with his thumb pressing against the slave boy's throat. He loves to feel the neck swell with each thrust of his cock. A hoarse growl vibrates in Brendan's throat. It feels like he is being strangled, but it is nothing he cannot handle and his pride will not let him give Rodney the satisfaction of seeing him pull away. Brendan starts using the swallowing movements of the back of his tongue to spur Rodney's cock to ecstasy.

Soon Rodney feels himself rushing to the point and climax and he pulls his throbbing meat roughly out of Brendan's mouth, slapping Brendan hard against first one side of his head and then the other as he does so. Dazed, his ears ringing, Brendan distantly hears Rodney berating him:

"There you go thinking of yourself again, Brendan! Trying to rush me because you want to get it over with!"

"No Master, I enjoy having Master's cock down my throat!" Brendan protests, "I was trying to increase Master's pleasure!"

For answer Rodney steps forward and swings his right leg hard between Brendan's kneeling thighs, the top of his foot connecting viciously with Brendan's balls, causing Brendan to double over and collapse on the floor, where he writhes about groaning and clutching his nethers in pain.

"Don't talk back to me Brendan! When are you going to learn your place?."

"Yes Master! Sorry Master!" Brendan moans through clenched teeth.

"Now stop crying like a big baby and get up!" Rodney orders as he delivers another vicious kick, this time to Brendan's ribs.

Brendan yelps as he scrambles to his feet.

"Please let me have a go now, Rodney!" Geoffrey pleads, his swollen cock throbbing with the need for release.

Rodney ignores Geoffrey and, looking pointedly at Brendan, gestures toward his bunk. Brendan jumps onto it quickly, waiting on all fours as Rodney gets up behind him, slathers his cock with his own saliva and gets ready to insert it into Brendan's arse. Brendan rests his head on the bed as he reaches behind him with both hands to pull his butt cheeks apart and expose his hole, already flexed open like an engorged vagina as he eagerly anticipates the entry of his master's cock.

Rodney leans over Brendan's butt, purses his lips and expertly drops a long glob of saliva into Brendan's crack, just above his anus. He quickly fingers it into Brendan's hole and hastily pushes his cock deep into Brendan's fuck channel.

Geoffrey, unable to wait any longer, closes a fist around his shaft and starts pumping himself to climax. Rodney spots him doing this.

"Stop that Geoffrey!" he orders, "You'll get your chance shortly!"

Geoffrey flushes with anger, but he obeys at once: His welted buttocks bear testimony to the last time he went against Rodney's wishes. Rodney had simply complained to the captain that Geoffrey seemed not to know his station and Geoffrey had found himself bent over the breech of a gun with the Bosun administering twelve searing strokes of the cane across his naked buttocks.

He stretches tight lips into an ingratiating smile:

"Okay, Rodney, I'm sorry," he says.

Rodney's cock slides into Brendan tightly but smoothly and Brendan purrs his pleasure as Rodney fucks him, long and slow at first but quickly picking up pace until his cock is ramming fast and hard into Brendan's arse like the piston of a machine. Now both Rodney and Brendan are grunting like animals and moaning with the shared lust of their rutting.

Finally Rodney stiffens and then shudders violently as his cock spasms deep inside Brendan, releasing jet after jet of his hot and slippery load into Brendan's channel. Rodney moans in deep satisfaction as he collapses onto Brendan's sweat drenched back and lays there a while before rolling off and flopping onto his back on the bunk.

Rodney gives Brendan a shove and he tumbles off the bunk onto the deck. Brendan quickly scrambles to his knees.

"Very well, Geoffrey, now it's your turn" says Rodney as he swings himself up to sit on the edge of the bunk.

"Thank you Rodney!" says Geoffrey and takes position in front of the kneeling Brendan, holding his cock out for Brendan to take into his mouth.

"No, Geoffrey," says Rodney, "I want you to bend over that table so I can watch Brendan fuck you in the arse."

Geoffrey is outraged.

"You mean 3; you mean I 3; you mean I must submit to this slave 3; fucking me in the arse?" he splutters.

"Yes Geoffrey, that's exactly what I mean" Rodney replies calmly.

"But I say, Rodney 3; really? Why?" says Geoffrey

"Because it will give me pleasure. Besides, since you admire his cock so much I want you to have the opportunity to compare what it feels like to have his 3; much bigger 3;cock up your arse," Rodney replies maliciously.

"I will not do it!" Geoffrey says defiantly.

"You know you will, Geoffrey," Rodney says calmly.

"You are not my master, Rodney, you cannot tell me what to do!"

"I know you will do it, Geoffrey, because, first, I heard you screaming when the Bosun caned you yesterday, and I know you don't want more of that, and second, because you really like having your arse fucked and, despite what you say, the idea of being fucked by that brawny brute with his huge tool actually makes you really horny!"

Geoffrey falls silent as he contemplates the truth of what Rodney has said.

By now Brendan is on his feet and lusting strongly after Geoffrey's arse. As Geoffrey hesitates, Rodney nods his head in Geoffrey's direction and Brendan at once takes that as a signal to go ahead. He steps quickly up to Geoffrey and seizes the apprentice's wrists in his own strong, iron hard fists. He twists Geoffrey's wrists hard to spin him around and then lifts his arms backward to force him to bend over the table. Geoffrey yells in pain. Brendan lets go of Geoffrey's wrists and holds the unwilling boy against the table top with one big hand pressing against the middle of his back while he uses his other hand to guide his throbbing cock, slippery with precum, against the deeply concave entry to Geoffrey's tight pinched hole. Geoffrey struggles to lift himself off the table and Brendan pauses to give him a ringing crack against the side of his head with the open palm of his meaty hand that makes Geoffrey slump over the table again, dazed and shocked, all the fight gone out of him.

"Lie still until I'm done with ye!" Brendan orders.

This is Geoffrey's first voyage as an apprentice. Mainly due to the presence of the slave boys, he has had very little sexual experience thus far. On the outward voyage, before the Morton boys and their slave boys were taken on board, his sexual experience was limited to a few inexpert fumblings with his fellow apprentices. Beyond that there were just a couple of occasions when he had been called upon to masturbate one of the officers. Now on the return voyage to Barbados he was cajoled by his peers into fucking some of the slave boys, including Brendan, on several occasions. He found this a very gratifying experience, although he is not yet very proficient at it. But he has yet to experience having a man's, or boy's erected penis up his own arse. Not that he hasn't thought about it, having learned from the other apprentices and from the bawdy ribbing of some of the crew members about his virgin status that it is just a matter of time before he is initiated into this unaccustomed role. Now he realizes that that moment is upon him and the prospect both terrifies and excites him.

Brendan scoops up some precum from his dribbling cock, smears it around Geoffrey's pucker and tries to insert a strong brown finger into his anus. Geoffrey squeaks in fright and his anus tightens involuntarily against Brendan's probing. Brendan raises his hand as high as his shoulder and whips it down to smack sharply against Geoffrey's butt cheek.

Geoffrey yelps and complains indignantly:

"I say, Rodney, are you going to allow your slave to assault me like this?."

"Assault you like what?," Rodney asks, as he nods at Brendan to repeat the stroke.

Brendan's big hard hand cracks against Geoffrey's other butt cheek with a report like a pistol shot.

Geoffrey yelps in pain.

"I don't see any assault," Rodney says innocently.

Geoffrey tries to push himself off the table, outraged and red-faced.

"Just wait till we get to Bridgestone," Geoffrey yells, "My uncle is the magistrate and I'm going to get this slave of yours arrested and hanged! You'll see!"

Brendan slaps him hard against the back of the head and Geoffrey drops back onto the table. Geoffrey sobs now in frustrated anger and defeat.

"We'll see indeed!" Rodney replies reasonably, "In the meantime this slave of mine is going to split your bum open with his big fat cock that you admire so much!"

"Put your hands back here and pull your bum cheeks apart," Brendan instructs.

Geoffrey reaches back both hands and does as Brendan orders.

"Now relax your arse 3;" Brendan says, "Make like you're trying to have a shit."

Geoffrey does so and Brendan manages to get his thick middle finger half way in before Geoffrey starts yelping.

"Ow! Ow!" he squawks and his arse ring clamps around Brendan's finger like a vice.

Brendan waits until he can feel Geoffrey's anus relax and then he pushes his finger slowly further in. Geoffrey pants and whimpers with pain as he does so. Finally Brendan's finger is in as far as it will go, Brendan waits a moment and then starts fucking Geoffrey's arse slowly with his finger.

Rodney picks up his cane from where it is lying on his bunk and gives Brendan a sharp cut across his buttocks. Brendan yelps.

"Stop mollycoddling him Brendan! Get on with it now!"

"Yes Master!" Brendan says breathlessly, his erected cock instantly becoming even harder. He rubs his freshly striped bottom with one hand while he starts pumping his finger faster in and out of Geoffrey's arsehole.

Geoffrey cries out, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the table with both hands.

As Brendan forces a second finger into his hole Geoffrey lets out a howl of pain.

Rodney's cane cuts another stripe across Brendan's buttocks. Again Brendan yelps. Once again the effect on his cock is instant as it swells visibly to a quivering steely hardness, the precum dribbling copiously out of its gaping tip and dripping on the deck in long silvery strands.

"Stop playing about, Brendan! Fuck his arse with that thing!" Rodney orders, flicking Brendan's fuckpole with the tip of his cane.

At once Brendan yanks his finger out of Geoffrey, catches up some precum, slathers it hastily around his swollen purple cockhead and presses it up against Geoffrey's pucker. He reaches over Geoffrey's back and takes a strong grip of both his shoulders in readiness for the almighty thrust it will take for his battering ram to force its way past the tight and unyielding gate to Geoffrey's fuck channel.

To the accompaniment of loud grunts from Geoffrey and the sharp crack of Rodney's cane against his clenching buttocks, Brendan rams his cockhead against Geoffrey's pucker three times before it gains entry. When it enters, Brendan forces it all the way in and Geoffrey's screams split the stuffy air in the close cabin.

Brendan fucks Geoffrey long and hard. Geoffrey screams and thrashes about but Brendan is bigger and stronger and he has no difficulty holding him down as his long thick cock pistons repeatedly into Geoffrey's reluctant channel.

After a while Geoffrey's screams subside to moans and finally, as Brendan reaches climax, to whimpering and crying.

The moment Brendan withdraws Rodney steps up and starts rogering Geoffrey himself. Brendan goes around to the other side of the table and pushes his still swollen cock, now covered in cum and Geoffrey's anal juices, against Geoffrey's lips.

"Clean it off!" he orders.

Geoffrey gags and jerks his face away. Brendan instantly slaps him hard against the side of his head. Geoffrey distastefully takes Brendan's cock into his mouth and sucks it clean, all the while moaning softly as Rodney's fat hard cock slams repeatedly into his arse.

Having just come inside Brendan, Rodney takes a little longer to reach climax with Geoffrey. By now the pain has been replaced with the most exciting sensations for Geoffrey also and he has begun to participate in his fucking, rocking his pelvis back and forth on Rodney's cock as he tries to urge Rodney to fuck him harder and deeper, almost yearning now for Brendan's much bigger cock.

Then, just as Geoffrey himself is about to reach climax, Rodney's body stiffens and he gasps and groans as the waves of pleasure convulse his body repeatedly. Rodney pulls his cock out of Geoffrey's arse and, hands on hips, gestures for Brendan to suck it clean. Brendan instantly kneels before his master and takes Rodney's now softening cock into his mouth to suck and lick it clean.

"You can get up now," Rodney says to Geoffrey, who, unsure of what he was expected to do next, had remained lying over the table.

Geoffrey gets up and looks nervously at the young master and his slave, his cock swollen to bursting and begging for relief as it bobs against Geoffrey's tight belly with every heartbeat.

Rodney places a palm against Brendan's forehead and pushes him roughly off his cock. Brendan falls backward onto his arse.

"Give Geoffrey some help with that," Rodney says, pointing at Geoffrey's straining cock.

At once Brendan scrambles up onto his knees and shuffles over to where Geoffrey is standing. He takes Geoffrey's cock into his mouth and swiftly brings the moaning boy to climax.

Rodney and Geoffrey lie back on Rodney's bunk for a while, recovering from their exertions. Brendan kneels on the deck, his eyes fixed on his Master and awaiting further orders. They are not very long in coming.

"Brendan!" says Rodney, sitting up suddenly, "It occurs to me that you struck Geoffrey several times while we were teaching him how to take a cock up his arse!"

"Master?" exclaims Brendan in surprise, remembering Rodney's earlier flat denial that he had seen any assault when Geoffrey had complained about it.

"I hope you don't mean to deny it now, Brendan!" says Rodney, "It will not go well for you if you do!"

"But 3; Master 3; I mean 3; No Master," Brendan replies. "Then you must be punished for your insolence, would you not agree?"

"Yes, Master," Brendan says in a resigned tone, although the glint in his eyes and his stiffening cock betray his rising excitement at being whipped yet again.

Brendan wakes to the sound of the chain rattling out through the hawse pipe as the anchor plunges to the seabed. He stretches sleepily on the comfortable mattress just before the anchor pulls the ship up short. At the same time the helm is put over and the sails let fly and the ship swings round to stand head to wind in the gentle breeze blowing off Bridgeport, the capital of Barbados. The sudden swing of the ship as she is jerked to heel by the anchor chain causes Brendan to roll into his bed companion.

Rodney immediately punches him hard in the ribs.

"Careful, you big Irish oaf!" Rodney says crossly.

"Sorry, Master!" Brendan says sleepily.

"You're not sorry, Brendan, but you're going to be!" Rodney grins at him maliciously.

"Yes, Master," Brendan says resignedly.

It has now been two weeks since Rodney released him from duty as the lower deck bum boy and taken him into his own bed, and not one morning has gone by without Rodney finding some or other excuse for giving Brendan a sound thrashing.

Not that Rodney needs an excuse and, in fact, sometimes he doesn't bother to offer one. And Brendan knows better than to ask. He knows perfectly well that Rodney whips him because it gives him sexual pleasure. No other reason. And as Rodney's slave boy it is Brendan's duty to provide that pleasure. Brendan knows that and accepts it.

Not that it matters to Rodney, or to anyone else for that matter, whether Brendan accepts it or not. But Brendan has consciously decided for himself that he accepts it. And the reason is quite simply that he loves Rodney. He always has loved Rodney, although that became complicated in the short while that their roles were reversed. Now the natural order, as both Rodney and Brendan see it, is restored. Rodney is once again Brendan's master and Brendan is once again Rodney's slave. And Brendan's whole being is concentrated on serving his master in the best way he knows how, which is to give Rodney sexual pleasure. If that means having his back or buttocks whipped raw for Rodney's pleasure, Brendan is more than willing to endure the pain. Of course it helps that Brendan derives almost as much sexual pleasure from being tortured by the object of his love.

And so, while the sails are being furled and the ship is being prepared to discharge its cargo into the barges which are even now being rowed out by huge, muscular negro slaves, Brendan finds himself once again bent over the back of a chair while Rodney viciously overlays the older cane stripes on his arse with twenty fresh ones.

When, red-faced and perspiring from his efforts, Rodney tosses the cane onto the deck, the slave boy stays bent over the back of the chair, licking his lips and flexing his bumhole in the knowledge that Rodney will soon be ramming his fat cock into Brendan's hungry hole.

For Brendan, although his current situation has many benefits, the one great drawback is that, having served the sexual needs of the entire crew as the lower deck bum boy night and day for two weeks, he has become completely addicted to sex and can think of nothing else all his waking hours. He is just not getting enough of it from Rodney and goes about nearly permanently erected. During the day, when he is supposed to be working with the other slave boys he is continually sneaking off to the rope store or any other convenient corner with the petty officer in charge of them or with any other man or boy who wants to fuck him. Often he gets found out and this earns him a whipping from the bosun and a caning from Rodney for good measure. But Brendan considers it worth it.

Pretty soon Rodney is finished and he dresses hurriedly before rushing on deck to see what is going on. Brendan follows, his arse still dribbling his master's cum and his cock still rock hard and waggling from side to side as he trots after Rodney.

The last time Brendan saw this view of Bridgeport was when he arrived from Ireland on the slave ship, Artemis, nearly a year ago and his stomach lurches with the same fear that he felt on that day. He reaches for Liam's hand, knowing that he must be feeling the same way. Liam sidles closer and puts his arm around his cousin's back.

For a while they watch as the cargo barge comes alongside and nets filled with items of cargo are lowered into the barge and stowed.

A Navy cutter slowly comes into view, rowed by seamen from the Royal navy frigate in harbour. Even at this distance the boys can see it carries a party of red-coated marines. Soon it is clear they are heading for their own ship. They wonder idly what the marines want. Perhaps it is just a routine customs and excise inspection.

The cutter comes alongside and the marines come aboard. There is a young Ensign in charge who demands to see the captain. After a while they emerge from the captain's cabin and the captain goes straight to Rodney.

"The officer here has a writ issued by the magistrate ordering one of your slaves to be taken into custody," he tells Rodney.

"Who and what for?" Rodney demands.

The ensign answers:

"Brendan O'Neill 3; Captain Morton has lodged a runaway slave complaint with the magistrate and we must take him into custody to receive justice"

"He is not a runaway!" Rodney exclaims, "He was taken by pirates 3; we all were!"

"It is nothing to do with me," says the young officer, "My duty is simply to execute the arrest"

Brendan goes pale, as does Rodney. They both realize that Brendan is in mortal danger if Captain Morton does not withdraw the complaint. There is no such thing as a fair trial for slaves. In fact, there will be hardly any trial at all. All that is required to establish guilt is the owner's accusation. And the penalty for running away in Barbados is usually death by impalement 3; that is, if they manage to survive the floggings, mutilations and tortures that may be ordered to precede this terrible form of execution.

"But he belongs to me; not my father!" Rodney splutters angrily.

"Then take it up with him," said the ensign, "But I think you will find you are too young to own property independent of your father"

Despite Rodney's heated protestations, Brendan is shackled and transferred to the cutter.

An hour later Brendan finds himself shuffling through the dusty streets of Bridgetown to the grim and dirty edifice that is the slave barracoon. By now the citizens of Barbados are well used to the sight of white Irish slaves and the naked, muscular young blonde boy escorted in chains by two red-coated soldiers draws barely a second glance from the people passing by.

Brendan's thick, strong wrists have been shackled together behind his back. Iron shackles clamped around his ankles are joined by a short length of chain which threatens to trip him up and forces him to shuffle with quick, awkward steps along the dirt road, his tough bare feet kicking up little clouds of dust as he moves along. A heavy iron collar has been padlocked around his neck and a soldier with slung musket walks ahead of him, pulling Brendan along by a length of chain fastened to the iron collar, every now and then yanking on the chain, jerking Brendan forward and making him tumble in the dirt for the soldier's own amusement. Another soldier walks behind, his musket also slung at his shoulder. He carries a long thin whippy cane that he uses whenever Brendan falls down, slashing at him repeatedly as he struggles to scramble to his feet 3; no easy feat without the use of his hands and arms.

Finally, they arrive at the barracoon. Brendan remembers, with a clutch of fear at his heart, the last time he passed through these studded wooden doors. So much has happened since then that it is hard to believe that it was less than a year ago that he and his cousin were bought by Captain Morton and taken out to the captain's sugar estate to begin their lives as slaves.

One of Brendan's escorts hammers the great iron doorknocker until the big door is opened to let them in. The soldiers lead Brendan through the entrance hall and down a passage towards the closed door of an office which bears the title "Controller" in official looking lettering.

As they approach the door Brendan hears the muffled but familiar sound of a man grunting and panting in lust and the quavering squeaks and yelps of a young boy having his arse fucked hard.

The soldiers wait discreetly in the passage until the man's satisfied bellow announces that he has reached climax. They wait a moment longer and then knock on the door.

"Just a moment!" a man's voice calls.

A moment later the door opens and the Controller waves them inside the room.

A young white slave boy is bent face down over a sturdy wooden table. His shock of red hair and smooth white skin marks him as an Irish captive slave recently arrived. His feet are spread wide apart with his ankles shackled to the heavy table legs. His arms are stretched out before him, gripping the table edges on either side with whitened knuckles. The boy looks about 10 years old. He is completely naked and his muscled young body glistens with perspiration. He is whimpering softly. His firm round buttocks are striped with fresh cane welts and there is a mixture of cum and blood dribbling down the inside of the boy's sweaty thighs.

Against the wall stands another naked Irish boy of about twelve. Flaming red hair crowns his head also, and it does not require great powers of observation to realize that they are brothers. Clearly embarrassed by his nakedness, he holds his interlocked hands in front of him to cover his genitalia and he nervously shifts weight from one foot to the other. He is wide-eyed at what he has just witnessed.

The soldiers eye the boys with interest.

"Pretty pair you got 'ere, Mr Lawson" says the one soldier, "Putting 'em through their paces, are ye?"

"Yes," Mr Lawson replies, "Just off the boat 3; Special delivery for Lord Howden all the way from Ireland. His Lordship returns in two weeks" time from visiting his new estate there. Sent them ahead. Sons of the previous owner I hear. They're a bit full of themselves and his Lordship has instructed me to break "em in for him."

"Lord Howden, hey?" says the one soldier, "They's in for a right treat, poor buggers! Give us a shout if you need any help breaking 'em in!"

"Oh, I think I'll manage" says Mr Lawson with a smirk.

"So, what can I do for you gentlemen?" asks Mr Lawson, as he buttons up the fly of his trousers.

Before the soldiers can answer, the man snaps at the whimpering slave boy:

"Stop that infernal noise, boy! Do you want another flogging?"

The boy stops whimpering at once, nervously watching Mr Lawson over his shoulder with a terror-stricken face.

One of the soldiers hands the man a document.

"Mr Lawson, this here is Captain Morton's young Irish runaway. He's to be held in custody until he goes before the Magistrate day after tomorrow"

"It's not true, Sir!" Brendan, "I didn't run away 3; I was captured by pirates 3; we all were 3; even the young Masters!"

One of the soldiers clips Brendan across the back of his head with his hand.

"Be quiet!" he snarls, "Speak when ye're spoken to!"

Brendan glowers at the soldier but says nothing.

Mr Lawson looks Brendan over. He likes what he sees and he feels the tip of his cock tingle.

"It doesn't matter what the truth is, boy 3; if your Master says you ran away 3; then you ran away!"

He reaches out to close a hand over Brendan's long thick shaft, soft now but held in a permanent state of semi-engorgement by his cock ring.

"Well, well, well 3; it is a rare thing to have such a young boy 3; especially a white boy 3; incarcerated for such a serious offence 3; very rare indeed!" says Mr Lawson.

"Aye, Sir," one of the soldiers responds, "Rare indeed!"

"Though it does seem a terrible waste to kill such a fine specimen of a boy, if you ask me 3; especially by hammering a stake into his guts through his arsehole," Mr Lawson adds callously.

Brendan heart lurches and he shudders at this casual confirmation of his worst fear.

Mr Lawson notices Brendan's reaction and he puts his hand on Brendan's shoulder.

"I know it's hard to hear it, boy, but you must buck up and steel your heart to your fate. There is nothing else for it."

Brendan just looks at Mr Lawson with panic-stricken eyes. He can't trust himself to speak.

"Anyway 3; don't worry too much about it," says Mr Lawson as he turns to his desk and scribbles something on the soldier's document.

"There'll be plenty of other things to take your mind off it while you enjoy our hospitality," he says, winking at the soldier as he hands back the document.

The soldiers chuckle and wink back. One of them removes the iron collar from Brendan's neck and hands Mr Lawson the keys to Brendan's wrist and ankle shackles.

"Right you are then, Sir, he's all yours until the Constable sends for him!" the soldier with the cane says as they leave.

Mr Lawson follows the soldiers to the door and then closes and locks it.

"Now, then 3;" he says as he turns to the boys, "Let's continue with the instruction, shall we?"

He picks up a long yellow rattan cane from his desk and sharply raps the older boy's hands.

'I've told you before, Seamus 3;" he says amiably, " 3;keep your hands to your sides!"

The boy yelps and whips his hands away from his penis, pressing them palm down against his smooth, hairless thighs. Brendan looks with interest at the boy's long white, blue veined cock, hanging down perfectly straight between his marble-white thighs.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" says Mr Lawson, noticing Brendan's glance.

"Yes Master," says Brendan, running a tongue over his suddenly dry lips. He feels his own cock thickening and lengthening.

"I may let you play with it a little later," says Mr Lawson, "But first, every slave boy must be taught to fear the lash!"

Seamus glares at Mr Lawson with hatred and folds his arms across his chest in defiance.

"I am no slave, I am the son of Lord O'Leary!" the boy states firmly. You will not lay a hand on me!'

Mr Lawson smiles:

"Well, I fear that your Lordship is quite wrong about that. Your father treasonously took up arms against the English Parliament. He forfeited his title, his lands and his life for that crime. As his son you should also have forfeited your life. Remember that you owe your life to English mercy. You should be grateful that all you forfeited was your freedom!"

The boy looks at Mr Lawson uncertainly, biting his lower lip as he tries to master his fear.

"Go unshackle Kevin and take his place on the table," says Mr Lawson.

Seamus hesitates momentarily and then, with all the dignity he can muster in his quivering nakedness, steps forward and drops to his knees to unshackle the younger boy's ankles from the table legs. Kevin stands up unsteadily and shakily moves away to stand with his back to the wall, his handsome face screwed up with pain and his hands clamped across his welted buttocks.

His older brother stands at the edge of the table, facing it, his arms folded.

"Bend over the table," Mr Lawson orders.

Seamus does not move.

Mr Lawson raises the rattan cane high above his shoulder and then brings it down to slash across the boy's buttocks with a sharp crack.

The boy yelps and his body jerks forward, slamming his pelvis against the table edge. He grabs his burning butt with both hands and bounces up and down on his toes as he tries to rub away the pain.

Immediately Mr Lawson delivers another stinging lash across the top of the boy's hands. He shrieks in pain and wraps his arms across his chest with a hand clamped under each armpit.

"So, your little Irish Lordship," Mr Lawson sneers, "Is this the courage of the Irish nobility? Snivelling and howling like your younger brother. No doubt your father did the same thing as he mounted the gallows!"

Stung by the insult, the boy immediately stops sobbing, turns to glare at Mr Lawson and then angrily bends over the table, gripping its edge on both sides.

"Shackle his ankles!" Mr Lawson ordered Brendan.

Brendan jumps to obey, his own chain and shackles rattling on the stone floor as he does so. He pulls the boy's legs apart until the ankles press up against the table legs, clamping the shackles around his ankles and shutting the lock.

"Now stretch his arms over the table and hold his wrists!"

Brendan lies over the far side of the table, takes a firm grip of each of the boy's wrists and pulls hard to stretch his arms over the length of the table. Seamus looks up at Brendan's face and their eyes lock.

No sooner has he done this when Mr Lawson lays a searing stroke across the boy's buttocks.

Seamus gasps and his whole body jerks with the shock of the blow. His hands grab at Brendan's wrists and grip them tightly as the pain shoots through his body. Brendan sees the pain instantly cloud the boy's blue eyes as beads of sweat break out on his smooth skin and his handsome face screws up in pain. It takes all his willpower not to cry out in pain.

Brendan feels his cock hardening under the edge of the table. Soon his engorged cockhead has expanded out of its prepuce and is pressing uncomfortably against the side of the table. Brendan pushes his butt backward and lifts himself onto his toes until his swollen tool pops free of the table edge and snaps against his hard belly. He slides forward to lay his cock on the table top and wriggles his butt until it is nestling comfortable between the smooth wood and his belly.

Mr Lawson observes Brendan's manouevre with great satisfaction. He intends to make full use of his sexual privileges as Brendan's gaoler for the few days that Brendan has left to live.

With enhanced vigour he raises his long cane and once again brings it fluting through the air to crack against Seamus's buttocks, searing a second fiery red stripe over the marble white skin. Again the boy's body jerks violently. This time a low strangled groan escapes his lips.

By the tenth stroke the 12 year old loses control and bellows with pain. By the twentieth he is sobbing continually, rising to a full-throated scream with every stroke. His muscles tremble and quiver continually and there is a puddle of pee on the stone floor between his feet where his bladder emptied itself of its own volition.

Mr Lawson notices that Brendan is slowly humping the table on the other side of the Irish boy, his eyes glazed and his mouth slacked open in lust. He reaches over the table and delivers a stinging lash to Brendan's back with the long yellow cane.

Brendan yelps in surprise and pain and he momentarily lets go of the other boy's wrists. This earns him another stroke even as he scrabbles to regain his grip.

"Keep your attention on the job at hand!" Mr Lawson snarls, "I want you to stay hard and full of juice for your next task!"

"Yes Master!" Brendan splutters.

'I'm warning you 3; if you ejaculate before I allow you to I will give you a flogging like you have never had before!"

"Yes Master!" says Brendan, not particularly worried. From almost continuous practice he has complete control over his rate of climax and knows that he can stay hard and carry on for hours without ejaculating if he wants to.

By the thirtieth stroke the young red-headed boy has lost every shred of his aristocratic pride, screaming, sobbing and begging Mr Lawson to have mercy and stop beating him.

Finally, Mr Lawson sets down his cane and tells Brendan to let go the boy's wrists. Brendan does so and stands up straight. His inordinately long hard cock is standing straight up against his belly, liberally leaking pre-cum.

Mr Lawson orders Brendan to shackle the younger brother, Kevin,to the other side of the table and to shackle the brothers' wrists together. Then he undoes the fly of his trousers to expose an enormously engorged cock and he takes up position ready to fuck Seamus. With a motion of his jaw, he indicates that Brendan must do the same with Kevin.

Soon both boys are emitting the most heartrending screams as their virgin bumholes are violently invaded and vigorously fucked by Mr Lawson and Brendan.

"Do not ejaculate inside him!" orders Mr Lawson, "I want them both to learn how to pleasure their Master's cock with their mouths also."

After a while Brendan feels the body of the ten year old beneath him begin to relax even as his screams slowly change to painful grunts and moans. After a while the grunts seem to change to sounds of mixed pain and pleasure. Brendan reaches around to Kevin's cock and finds it erect and hard. He glances across at the older boy and sees that he too seems to be moaning and squirming more from pleasure than pain.

Mr Lawson has come to the same conclusion and he orders Brendan to unshackle the boys. As Brendan pulls his cock out of the ten year old's arse, the boy looks around almost in disappointment. Brendan grins at him. He is not surprised at the quick change. Time and again he has seen how quickly tight-assed well-brought-up young boys revert to their baser selves under the influences of fear, pain and a hard fucking.

Brendan unshackles the boys and they are made to kneel on the floor.

"First show them how it is done!" Mr Lawson orders.

Brendan kneels in front of Mr Lawson. Unconcerned that the man's long fat meat is smeared with blood, pre-cum and the other detritus associated with fucking a young boy's unwashed anal channel, he quickly slurps it into his mouth and gives the boys a great demonstration of what is required of them.

Kevin seems quite ready to take Brendan's cock in his mouth but the older boy baulks and Mr Lawson has to give him several lashes of the cane across his back before Seamus finally submits and tearfully opens his mouth to Mr Lawson's cock. Nevertheless he gags several times before he actually manages to take it in. By that time Mr Lawson has become impatient and grab's the back of the boy's head in both hands and pushes down hard, forcing his cock all the way in and fucking the boy's throat so hard you can see it swell with each thrust. Seamus gags, splutters and tries to writhe away in panic, but Mr Lawson slaps the side of his head very hard a few times and the boy calms down and submits once more.

By now Brendan is also fucking the throat of the other slave boy but the younger boy seems to be enjoying it.

"Master, may I please cum now?" Brendan asks Mr Lawson.

Breathless and red-faced with effort Mr Lawson bobs his head and Brendan finally allows himself to climax. His fuck juice jets into the slave boy's mouth in hot slippery gusts. Taken by surprise the boy swallows some involuntarily but immediately shuts off his gullet and great silvery globs squirt out of the corners of his mouth and splatter onto Brendan's muscular thighs, calves and feet.

When Mr Lawson climaxes he holds the older boy's head firmly impaled on his cock, so he has no choice but to swallow all of the man's cum or drown in it.

Brendan makes the both boys lick up and swallow all the splattered cum from his feet and legs. He makes the older boy lick his cock clean. Then the two new Irish slave boys are made to kneel with their backs to the office wall while Brendan and Mr Lawson fasten shackles to their wrists and call for a guard.

"For the next two weeks until your owner, Lord Howden, arrives," Mr Lawson tells them, "You will be brought to my office every day to further your training, which will basically consist of getting your bodies used to the cane and the whip 3; and 3; much more important 3; learning to satisfy the many and varied sexual desires of your Master and his high society clients"

To Brendan he adds:

"While you await judgement by the Magistrate you will assist me in their training."

"Yes, Master," Brendan replies.

Two barracoon guards arrive to fetch all three boys. They lead the boys out of the reception offices across the sandy square to the cells. As Brendan crosses the square, he remembers the Negro runaway who was executed by impalement when he first arrived here from Ireland. Fear clutches at Brendan's heart as he shuffles past the spot where the executioner hammered a wooden stake up the slave's arse. The man's screams of agony echo in Brendan's memory and he trembles as he sees in his imagination the prisoner writhing and jerking in the sand, the bright blood frothing out of his mouth and soaking into the sand inches away from where he is walking now.

The guards lock the two new slave boys in one of the cages where Brendan and his compatriots were kept when they first arrived.

The guards then lead Brendan to the far side of the square where they unlock a small steel door opening to a narrow stone stairway that winds down into dank-smelling darkness. Brendan's stomach lurches with fear as he recalls from the last time he was here that this door leads to the barracoon dungeon. He has never been down there but he has heard of the horrors perpetrated upon the slaves who are taken down there. When he first inhabited the slave cages here, he had seen with his own eyes the handiwork of the Torturer on the bodies of some of the slaves who had been sent down there.

They wait while one of the guards takes an oil lamp from a niche in the stone wall and lights it. The guard starts down the winding stairs. Brendan hesitates until the other guard jabs him in the ribs with the handle of his whip. Brendan jumps forward and hobbles down the stairway after the first guard, his chain rattling on the stone with each downward step.

The stairs lead to an open, stone floored space, dimly lit by small shafts of light filtering through barred openings at the top of the wall on one side of the room.

The light of the oil lamps spills around as the guard heads for a passage leading off the far side of the room, dimly illuminating the furniture and equipment of torture: A table bristling with straps and shackles for holding down victims; a rack with a big double wheel for stretching bodies and dislocating limbs; a brazier red with burning coals and a forest of irons stuck in it; heavy iron rings set into the walls and columns; ropes and pulleys suspended from the high ceiling; a whipping post; barrels, baths and basins; chains, shackles, whips, canes, spikes, knives, axes and many other strange implements that Brendan had never seen before.

The guard turns and holds the lamp up to peer at Brendan's face. He emits an ugly snort of laughter as he identifies the fear in Brendan's eyes. He closes a hand around the back of Brendan's neck and pulls him toward the whipping post in the centre of the room.

"Now you get your welcome whipping, boy! Three dozen strokes to remind you to behave yourself while you enjoy our hospitality!"

Brendan's heart sinks.

"Please, Mister, don't whip me!" he whimpers, "I promise I'll be good!"

"It's not up to me, is it?" the guard chuckles, "It's the rules!"

'I'll give you good bum 3; an' I'll suck you off real good, Mister 3; just please don't whip me!"

The guards laughed.

"You gonna give us good bum an' you gonna suck us off real good anyway, you little guttersnipe!"

Resignedly, Brendan steps up to the whipping post and raises his arms above his head.

Quickly, the guards shackle his wrists to iron rings on either side of the post and pull him up until he is just barely standing on his leathery bare toes, with most of his body weight painfully suspended from his wrists.

"Aint you gonna secure his ankles also?" asks one guard of the other.

"Nah! I like watching 'em twist and jerk as they try to get away from the lash 3; not like he can go far 3; hanging nearly off his feet like that!" chortles the other.

The guard fetches a braided leather whip coiled on a peg nearby and flicks out the long lash so that it lies on the stone flagged floor. He takes up station to one side of and behind Brendan while the other guard prudently moves out of the way.

The guard lifts the handle of the whip above his shoulder and behind his back, waits a split second for the lash to straighten in the air and then flicks the handle forward and down, bringing the long black lash fluting through the air to crack against the straining muscles of Brendan's back, instantly raising a thick fiery welt as it hisses cruelly over his skin.

Brendan's body slams into the whipping post and he gasps with shock a split second before the pain runs through his whole body like a lightning strike, instantly driving the breath from his lungs and leaving him unable even to scream.

The next stroke tears an ear-splitting shriek of agony from the depth of his being. His back feels like it has been stroked with one of the red-hot irons standing in the brazier.

Again and again the long braided leather lash slices through the thick air of the torture chamber and slashes a fiery trail across Brendan's back. His toes scrabble to keep a footing as his body jerks, bucks and writhes against the post, bruising his strong thick wrists against the hard edges of his iron shackles, but he is unable to escape the relentless caress of the whip.

By the time the last stroke bites into his back, Brendan is hoarse from screaming, sobbing and crying and he hangs, listless and moaning, from his wrist shackles. His tough brown toes are standing in a puddle of his own piss and his inner thighs and calves are streaked with his shit, now splattered on the floor beneath him.

One of the guards tosses a bucket of cold water over him. It seems to cool the fire on his back a little and revives him somewhat.

After a while, the guards loosen Brendan's wrists from the iron rings and he collapses to the cold stone floor. One of the guards sets a bucket of water next to him.

"Get yourself cleaned up boy, I aint fuckin you like that!" he orders.

Painfully, Brendan obeys, red-faced with embarrassment at his own terror and pain induced incontinence.

When he is as clean as he can get himself the guards lead him out of the torture chamber and down a passage that leads past a double row of tiny cells. The stench of mixed fear, sweat, faeces and urine emanating from the passage is so strong that Brendan can almost taste it. He gags momentarily and stops, earning himself another fiery lash from the guard's whip.

As Brendan passes by the cells he notices that several of them are occupied by Negro slaves. All of them are naked, of course, and in irons, and they are all chained to rings in the stone walls or floors. Every slave is shackled in such a way that he is either kneeling or standing, his muscles straining, and completely incapable of any form of rest, let alone sleep. Whimpering and moaning continually in pain the hugely muscular Negroes are entirely absorbed in their own suffering. As the guards pass their cells their eyes widen momentarily in fear, but once they realize that the guards have another victim in tow, they lapse into painful but relieved introspection and pay no further attention to the intrusion.

The guard with the lamp stops at the first empty cell. He unlocks the steel barred door and flings it open with a clang. The second guard shoves Brendan inside and follows him into the small space. He points to a thick iron ring set into the stone floor.

"Kneel there!" he orders.

Brendan drops at once to his knees.

"Move forward!" the guard orders.

Brendan shuffles forward on his knees until the guard tells him to stop. The guard shackles Brendan's ankles to the ring. Then he reaches up above his head and pulls down a rope that loops up to a pulley suspended from a thick iron bar set horizontally into the two side walls. He ties the rope to Brendan's wrist shackles and then starts pulling on the loose end of the rope. Brendan's arms are pulled up behind him until they are horizontal, forcing his head and shoulders to the stone floor and his arse up into the air. The agony is excruciating. It feels as if Brendan's arms are about to be pulled out of their sockets.

While Brendan moans in pain the other guard comes into the cell, puts the lamp on the floor and undoes his breeches. His short fat cock flops out and he starts pumping it to erection. He reaches down his other hand and fingers Brendan's hole. Despite his pain, Brendan's anus flexes open immediately and his cock begins to harden.

"Oho!" says the guard to his mate, "What did I tell you? These Irish boys is all hot for cock! Their masters fucks 'em day and night till sex is all they know!"

"Yes," says the other, "It's gonna be such a shame that pussy's gonna be wasted on the stake soon!"

"Well, we better make good use of it whiles we can!" says the first, "Get him on his feet so I can fuck him in comfort 3; I aint gonna put my knees on the floor for him!"

The other guard pulls harder on the rope to lift Brendan off the floor. Brendan shrieks in agony as his arms are pulled almost vertical behind him before he lifts off the floor. As soon as he can scrabble a foot-hold he plants a leathery sole on the floor and pushes himself up.

"Have a care," says the first guard, "You don't wanna break his shoulders yet!"

"What does it matter?" guffaws the other, "We aint fuckin his armpits!"

"Yeah, but he aint even been up before the magistrate yet an' you know he's sticky about torturing the runaways before he's given the order."

"That's just because Dawson likes to watch it hisself."

Now Brendan is standing on both feet, with his legs spread far apart and his upper body bent over almost horizontal, exposing his winking anus to the guards' view. Brendan's arms are stretched up at a 45 degree angle behind him. His whip-welted back is still on fire and he groans softly in pain but his lengthening and thickening cock tingles in anticipation of the pain pleasure to come.

Seconds later the two guards are banging their cocks into each of Brendan's two welcoming fuck holes. Neither of them is exceptionally well-endowed and Brendan's throat and arse are easily able to accommodate their eagerly thrusting cocks.

Before the guards reach climax they are joined by others, who drop their breeches to their ankles and pump their erected cocks with their fists as they watch their colleagues fuck Brendan at both ends. No sooner does one of the latter shoot his load inside Brendan than the next takes his place in a relay of burly men eager to enjoy the rare pleasure of a white slave boy's arse and throat.

By now Brendan's own cock is swollen rock hard and pushing against his bent-over belly. As the fourth guard shoves his pulsing cock into Brendan's welcoming fuck-hole, Brendan's body convulses in a climax of ecstasy and his untouched cock spurts thick ropes of silvery cum against his belly and chest, dropping down to splatter on his broad brown feet.

By the time the last guard has fucked him, Brendan's open bum hole is still dribbling copious amounts of the men's cum down the inside of his thighs and his face, hair, neck and shoulders are sticky with the cum that he has not managed to swallow.

The guards leave him chained up in the same agonizing bent-over, shoulder wrenching position with his arms pulled up behind him.

Brendan whimpers as the cell door clangs shut and he thinks of the long sleepless night of excruciating pain that lies ahead of him.

Two or three hours later every muscle in Brendan's body is screaming with pain and trembling with the effort of keeping him on his feet so that his arms are not wrenched from their sockets. By now the pain in his muscles has eclipsed the pain of the thirty fiery whip weals that lattice his muscled back. He knows that he is just moments away from collapsing and that the weight of his brawny body will be enough to pull his arms out of their sockets.

Just then there is a rattle of the key in the cell door and the two guards re-enter.

"Lucky for you, boy, Mr Lawson wants you tonight!" the one chuckles as he unties the rope from Brendan's wrists. Brendan immediately collapses onto the stone floor and moans in sheer relief.

The guard bends down and unlocks Brendan's wrist and ankle shackles. He rolls over onto his back and rubs his wrists.

"If you play your cards right, maybe Mr Lawson will let you spend your last few nights on earth in his bed!" the guard chuckles.

"Alright, that's enough loafin" about 3; get on your feet!' the other guard orders.

Brendan gets up unsteadily.

One of the guards puts Brendan's wrists into manacles behind his back.

"Mr Lawson says you don't need shackles, but I aint taking any chances until I hand you over to him," he says.

They lead Brendan out of the dungeons and across the sandy square to a washroom, where they make him soap and scrub himself before using a pig's bladder with a bronze nozzle attached to thoroughly hose out his fuck channel. Finally, adjudging him ready, they lead him up to Mr Lawson's suite of rooms on the upper floor. Brendan has not felt so clean and refreshed in a long while. It is obvious from the ablutions he has just been put through that Mr Lawson intends to use him for sex and the anticipation shows in lengthening and stiffening of his cock.

The door opens to the guard's knock.

A guard removes Brendan's manacles and gives him a push to indicate that he must enter the room. Brendan does so and the door closes behind him. He glances sideways and sees that it is the younger O'Leary boy who has opened and closed the door. Kevin motions him to enter the next room, where he finds Mr Lawson seated, naked, in a chair while the older O'Leary boy sucks his cock.

"So good of you to join us, Brendan," Mr Lawson says sardonically, "The four of us are going to have a topping time together tonight, aren't we?"

Brendan's cock hardens into a full erection immediately.

"Yes, Master!" he says eagerly.

Chapter 17

Magistrate Dawson sits at the solid oak desk in the room that does service as both his office and as the courtroom on the island of Barbados. Today he is presiding over matters concerning slaves: mostly dreary contractual disputes between slave owners about alleged defects or inadequacies in slaves they had bought.

But the case he has just heard has him in turmoil. It concerns Captain Morton's runaway slave boy.

As always when a case comes up involving a white slave, it has generated considerable interest among the small Barbadian community. The courtroom is always packed with members of the public seeking thrills when a runaway is being tried, but there is a record attendance today as the community vultures have turned out en masse to see what would happen to the boy.

The reason Mr Dawson is in turmoil is that he has strong feelings of unease about the case: Everyone on the island knows about the pirate raid in which Captain Morton's sons were abducted along with his house slaves. Everyone knows that Brendan was not a runaway but a captive like the others. But, of course, no one would dare to say otherwise and there was not a single word raised in Brendan's defence other than his own. Captain Morton is a powerful and well-connected man and there are very few on the island who would cross him.

Captain Morton's sons would have spoken for Brendan, but they were not allowed to attend. Brendan's fellow slave boys would also have testified in Brendan's behalf, but of course, no one asked them to. In any event, as slaves, their testimony could not prevail against that of a free man even if they had been asked.

And then there is the matter of the law. There are no slaves in England and there are no laws in any of the British colonies that currently govern the status of slaves. There has been talk for some time about legislating for a Slave Code in Barbados, but this has not been done yet and, as things stand presently, Mr Dawson is not at all certain about the legality of the practices that have grown up around the treatment of slaves in the West Indies generally. He has no difficulty turning a blind eye when dealing with Negro slaves, since England is far away and, as long as the slave population is kept in order and sugar profits keep rolling in, no one cares much about what happens to them. But even with Negro slaves it is not customary to execute a runaway for a first offence. So when it comes to executing a young white boy (essentially a British subject illegally enslaved) for the crime of attempting to escape bondage that is probably unlawful to start with, and a first offence at that, Mr Dawson has serious reservations.

Added to this is the fact that the boy himself has a physical attractiveness that is mesmerising. When Brendan was brought into the room, naked and with his wrists manacled behind his back, Mr Dawson's loins lurched pleasantly and, as so many others have done, the magistrate took an instant liking to the boy. When he asked Brendan to confirm that he was indeed the prisoner, Brendan O'Neill, Brendan's husky-voiced confirmation and hesitant smile made Mr Dawson's heart beat faster. He was grateful that his large desk concealed the swelling in the front of his trousers.

Captain Morton had asked that Brendan be executed by impalement in accordance with the prevailing custom and had angrily brushed aside Mr Dawson's suggestions of more lenient punishments. Mr Dawson eventually realised that Captain Morton felt deeply humiliated by the way Captain O'Neill had outwitted him and, not being able to punish Captain O'Neill, wanted to take vengeance on his nephew instead.

When he pointed out to Captain Morton that Brendan was but a nephew, whereas he actually had Captain O'Neill's son, Liam, in his possession, Captain Morton replied that Brendan was in fact the ring-leader and that in any event he had plans to use Liam to lure Captain O'Neill into a trap and would then see them both hanged as pirates.

Having adjourned the proceedings until after lunch Mr Dawson is passing these thoughts through his mind and considering how best to balance his own interests of career-preservation with what remains of his conscience and his sense of justice, influenced in no small measure by his physical attraction to the boy.

Added to this are the broader policy considerations: The necessity for keeping order among the slaves and the peasant class who so vastly outnumber the upper classes on this island often means that it is not as important that justice be done as it is that justice must be seen to be done. If this occasionally requires the execution, imprisonment, torture or flogging of an innocent slave or peasant 3; so be it 3; it is a sacrifice made for the greater good.

Finally, he comes to a conclusion and writes out a brief judgement before going to lunch.

After Mr Dawson pronounces judgement to a jam-packed courtroom:

"Brendan O'Neill, I find you guilty of absconding from your Master's service. Your Master has asked me to impose upon you a sentence of death by impalement, both as a punishment which he says that you richly deserve and also to deter the many of your naturally fractious and rebellious race from any future attempts to escape servitude on this island."

"However, I consider that to have you executed 3; especially by impalement 3; would be excessive in view of your youth. Also, it is not customary to execute a runaway for a first offence, as Captain Morton is well aware, having had a problem with a repeat runaway about a year ago, if I recall correctly. In addition, the government of this young colony of Barbados has need of labour in its quarries and construction works. There are no freemen available who will do that work and no funds to pay their wages if they were available. I have therefore decided to sentence you to penal servitude in government works for the rest of your life."

"In addition, in disputing your Master's testimony I find that you have perjured yourself, and for that, as well as to discourage any other slaves of your race from engaging in similarly insubordinate behaviour you will receive fifty strokes of the cat upon your bare back 3; to be administered in public before transfer to the Superintendent of Government Slaves."

There is a smattering of clapping and Mr Dawson realizes that he is not the only person in the room who has been smitten by Brendan's physical charms.

Captain Morton jumps to his feet.

"This is an outrage!" he snarls as he storms out of the room.

Brendan is visibly relieved.

"Thank you Sir! Thank you!" he says to Mr Dawson, falling to his knees, bending low and pressing the palms of his hands together in the universal gesture of gratitude.

Mr Dawson nods toward Brendan, thinking to himself that, as a government slave, Brendan will soon be available to render services to a public servant such as the Magistrate and the boy will have ample opportunity to demonstrate just how grateful he really is. As he rises to leave the courtroom, he is grateful for his black gown of office, the voluminous folds of which are sufficient to conceal the state of high excitement that his penis is in just now.

After the Magistrate retires, the Constable takes charge of Brendan and leads him back through the dusty streets of Bridgetown to the Slave Barracoon, where he will remain until he receives his flogging from the Constable. Thereafter he will be handed over to the Superintendent of Government Slaves to commence penal servitude for the rest of his life.

Brendan knows that penal servitude as a government slave means a life of the most extreme drudgery and back-breaking labour in the government's quarries, in a road-building gang or on construction projects. Brendan has seen the wretches toiling in their chains on the roads under the tyranny of the overseer's lash and he knows that life for these poor souls is often short. Those who are not whipped or worked to death often take their own lives, believing that the hell that awaits the suicide can only be sweet release after the hell they have endured on earth. Yet, Brendan thinks, he is young, tough and strong; and as long as his pain-wracked body clings to life his mind will cling to hope.

On return to the Slave Barracoon, Brendan is surprised to be taken to the slave wash house in the square and instructed to bath and clean himself thoroughly. A large iron tub is filled with hot water and he is given soap, a scrubbing brush and washcloths with which to perform these ablutions.

Brendan is made to scrub himself shiny under the supervision of the wash-house servant, who also shaves the sparse collection of blonde pubic hairs curling at the base of his penis before administering several thorough-going enemas to the boy. This treatment signals to Brendan that he is wanted for fucking by someone of importance 3; probably Mr Lawson, the Controller of the Barracoon. At least he has a chance of sleeping in a proper bed again tonight, he thinks. He hopes the O'Leary boys will be joining the fun and his cock hardens pleasantly in anticipation.

"None of that, now!" scolds the wash-house servant, as he flicks a middle finger at Brendan's erection.

"Ow!" says Brendan, though his cock remains erect.

The servant makes Brendan stand up in the tub and bend over as he pretends to inspect his fuckhole for the umpteenth time by inserting two fingers into the flexed open hole and gently fucking Brendan's arse with them.

Brendan looks behind him and grins as he notices the bulge in the front of the servant's trousers. He twists around and cheekily grabs at the bulge.

"None of that, now", says the servant again, without conviction, but he makes no move to brush Brendan's hand away.

Brendan continues to play with the man's thickening cock through the cloth of his trousers. With his other hand he fingers the tip of his own swollen cock.

In a very short time Brendan has aroused the man to the point that he drops his trousers and rogers Brendan's arse vigorously. The man is so roused, however, that it is quickly over, leaving Brendan horny but unsated. When he tries to wank himself to climax, the man slaps him hard against the side of his head.

"No cumming for you!" he growls, "Save it for your betters!"

Brendan drops back into the soapy water to wash away the sweat and cum. The servant gives Brendan another enema to rinse the sperm out of his arse.

After a brief wait in one of the slave holding pens, two guards arrive to escort Brendan to a room upstairs. He recognizes it as the room where he and his cousin Liam were both whipped and fucked by Mr Peel, the shipper's agent, on their first night in Bridgetown nearly a year ago: a clean whitewashed room with a polished stone floor and a tiny barred window. The single iron bed has been replaced with a double-sized bed with a comfortable looking mattress. There is the same wooden bench and the same table with its assortment of instruments to restrain and to punish. The guards take up position in the passage opposite the doorway to keep an eye on their charges.

Brendan remembers how Liam and he were brought here on auction day; to be whipped and fucked by the aristocratic young Morton boys before being put on the auction block and sold to the boys' father. Though a shocking and painful experience at the time, Brendan felt his first pangs of love for the cruel and masterful Rodney on that day and the memory has become a cherished one that never fails to get Brendan hard.

The memory leads to a brief period of introspection for Brendan; something that his hard physical life as a slave seldom allows for. As a slave, his world is entirely ordered by the whims and wishes of his masters. Every minute of every day from waking to sleeping is subject to the will and decision of others. Eating, drinking, washing 3; even peeing and shitting 3; happens on the say so of his owners or their overseers. His masters have almost absolute power over his body. They can use and abuse him at will. They can torture, mutilate and even kill him almost with impunity.

Debased and degraded to a status scarcely regarded as human and far less valued than even the family's pet dogs, Brendan recognises that he has lost all sense of dignity, honour, decorum and shame. All his waking moments are spent responding to the basest human motivations: fear, hunger, thirst and lust. These are the stimuli that rule his life.

It was only his love and admiration for Rodney, in spite of the cruelty that Rodney invariably showed him, that made the mindless condition of slavery almost bearable for Brendan.

Now, however, he is owned by the government: a faceless, heartless entity for which he will be no more than part of the inventory, a draft animal whose value will be determined solely by measuring his work output against the cost of housing and feeding him. While he is in good health and has a strong back and strong arms he will be able to retain a positive value. But when the cost of keeping him exceeds the value of his output 3; well, there are whispered stories about the worn-out slaves disappearing out of the government slave quarters without trace. Some say they are strangled and buried. Others say they are sent away on ships to be dumped at sea.

The truth is that some of these slaves do die from overwork and from the ever harsher punishments they endure as a result of not being able to meet their output targets.

Others are indeed sent away by ship, but, far from being dumped at sea, they are sold cheaply to the tin or silver mines on the mainland. Sometimes they are even sold, via middlemen and a neutral port, to the Spanish enemy, for use in their oar-powered galleys.

Brendan's eyes brim with tears at the realisation that he may never again have the opportunity to worship his young master's fat cock with his lips and throat. He may never again feel Rodney's cock roughly entering and eagerly filling his fuck channel. He may never again lie against Rodney's warm body or feel his hot breath against the back of his neck. Over the last week he has even missed the pain pleasure of the canings that Rodney inflicted upon him with such loving cruelty every day and it saddens him that he may never again be able to give his master (or experience himself ) the pleasure that they both derived from this daily ritual.

Brendan hears steps in the passage and he hastily wipes away his tears and composes himself, quickly adopting the stance expected of a slave awaiting the arrival of his master: Feet apart, hands clasped behind the back, head bowed and eyes downcast.

A man's white stockinged calves and expensive leather shoes with silver buckles enters his vision. He dare not look up to see who their exalted owner might be. Then a young boy's much smaller pair of shoes and white-stockinged calves steps confidently into view alongside those of the man. In the periphery of his vision, on the other side of the man and a few paces behind, two pairs of familiar marble-white bare feet and calves shuffle into view.

From the passage Brendan hears Mr Lawson's familiar voice, now with an unfamiliar wheedling, ingratiating tone:

"This is the young slave I spoke of, my Lord, and whom I wished to place at your disposal this evening, as an entertainment after your long and tiring voyage. He is most excellently talented and highly experienced in the arts of entertaining gentlemen. This is also the boy who assisted me greatly in the training of your wards, your Lordship."

Brendan realises that the stranger must be Lord Howden, the owner of the O'Leary boys, a powerful and influential figure in Barbados society and the notorious owner of the only boy brothel licensed to trade in Bridgetown.

"For the last time, Lawson, stop referring to them as my wards! They may not have been transported on a slaver, but they are slaves nonetheless! And I do not want them referred to as the O'Leary boys either. O'Leary has been dispossessed of his estate for treason and his sons are nameless as far as I am concerned." the man says.

"Er 3; ah 3; of course, my Lord, please forgive me!"

Lord Howden looks over Brendan for a moment before reaching out a silk gloved hand and tapping Brendan under the chin with a finger. Brendan responds by lifting his head but keeps his eyes averted.

"Look into my eyes, boy!" Lord Howden orders.

Brendan obeys.

Lord Howden looks into Brendan's face for a moment and then allows his hand to slide down onto Brendan's shoulder.

"Magnificent specimen, Lawson! Is he for sale?" he asks.

"No, my Lord, unfortunately not. He belonged to Captain Morton, but ran away with pirates and has just this day been sentenced to penal servitude for life as a government slave." Lawson replies.

"Oh yes, I know of the case. Of course everyone knows that the boy did not run away, but Morton is like a petulant child that must have its revenge at any cost, I suppose", Lord Howden chuckles.

"Yes, my Lord", Lawson replies.

"What a waste! He would be in great demand in my Gentleman's Club," says Lord Howden.

"Oh 3; without any doubt, my Lord!" simpers Mr Lawson.

Brendan glances sideways to check out the boy with Lord Howden. He looks about twelve or thirteen 3; probably Lord Howden's son, Brendan thinks. He is as well turned out as his father, with buckled shoes, white stockings, knee breeches, silk shirt with lace cuffs and elegant jacket. He holds a riding quirt in one hand that he taps against his calf. Like his father, he fills his clothes well and his breeches and stockings are stretched tightly over his thighs and well-shaped calves. His skin is as pale as that of the O'Leary boys, evidence of a winter spent mostly indoors in rain-soaked Ireland. His sandy hair is cut short and his cold blue eyes mark him as one used to commanding and being obeyed.

Brendan knows the type very well. His own father was a successful farmer in Ireland, but held his land as a tenant of one of the English Settler Earls whose family had held the land for very many years. Both the Earl and his sons felt free to ride across his father's farm at any time they chose, regardless of damage to the crops, and Brendan's father, and his son, were expected to touch the forelock to them and bear it. They regarded the Irish farmers and their barefooted boys as a lower order of life and never hesitated to show their contempt for them.

The boy reaches out with his riding quirt and hooks its tip under Brendan's big cock, lifting it to the horizontal for inspection as he looks up at his father with a smirk and a lifted eyebrow.

"Yes, Oliver, I see the boy is very well equipped." Lord Howden responds.

"He would be perfect for breeding, Father! Just look at the length of that pizzle and the size of the testes!" Oliver says.

Oliver drops his quirt but Brendan's cock remains at the horizontal.

"Look at that, father! Horny as a stallion! One touch and he is as stiff as a board! They are all like animals, these Irish boys!" Oliver sneers, looking around over his shoulders at the O'Leary boys as he does so.

"We are not so, Oliver!" Seamus pipes up unwisely from behind.

Oliver turns quickly and slashes Seamus across the cheek with his quirt. Seamus yelps with pain and flings up a hand to protect his face from any further blows.

"How dare you speak to me as if you were my equal, Seamus! You should have learned by now that you will only speak to your masters when you are spoken to!" Oliver snarls.

Seamus bows his head.

"Now put your hand down, Seamus, you may not resist me if I wish to beat you!" says Oliver reasonably.

Seamus hesitantly lowers his hand slightly.

"All the way to your side!" Oliver insists.

Seamus complies.

Oliver slashes Seamus once again across the cheek with his quirt.

This time Seamus keeps his hands by his side, even as he yells in pain.

Oliver slashes Seamus across the cheek a third time for good measure. Seamus screams and tastes blood in his mouth, but keeps his hands away from his face.

"That's better!" Oliver says and turns his attention once more to Brendan.

Brendan feels a sudden surge of anger at the English boy's cruelty. It reminds him of an incident when, at ten years of age, he was walking across a field on his father's farm and the Earl rode by with his two sons. Brendan's thoughts were on the hare that he held by the ears, that he and his dog had just hunted and that he was taking home proudly for their dinner that night. Happy and flushed with the success of the hunt, he failed to acknowledge the passing of his betters by stopping, bobbing his head and touching his forelock.

"Teach him some manners!" he had heard the Earl say over his shoulders to his sons as he rode on.

The two boys, about twelve and fourteen years old, had turned their horses and blocked Brendan's path.

"Why did you not show us respect?" the older son had demanded.

"I am sorry, lords, I meant no disrespect, I was not thinking", Brendan had explained reasonably.

The Earl's sons had both dismounted.

"Well," said the older son, "We mean to teach you to pay attention to your betters in future!"

The two older English boys had then, not without a struggle, subdued Brendan, yanked off his shirt and breeches, and taken turns whipping his back and buttocks raw with their riding quirts. They had then ridden off laughing with his clothes dangling from their quirts as the naked ten year old lay sobbing and bleeding in the grass.

As Brendan glares at Oliver, he struggles to control his flush of anger.

"Oh see, father, how he blushes!" says the Howden boy, "Does he still feel shame for his nakedness and lust, do you think?"

Lord Howden looks closely at Brendan before answering.

"No, Oliver 3;", he replies thoughtfully, "I do believe it is anger that we are witnessing 3; Anger caused by pride. These are the emotions that make the Irish such a rebellious and troublesome people."

"I am not certain that we will ever entirely succeed in taming the Irish", he sighs, "but it is our duty as Englishmen to try!"

"I do agree, my Lord", simpers Mr Lawson, "Will your son require another room or will this be sufficient for both of you?"

"I believe it will be quite sufficient, thank you Lawson" replies Lord Howden, "I see you have supplied everything we might need 3; restraints 3; whips 3; canes 3; I think that will be all"

"Should your lordships require any assistance, the guards will be on hand at the end of the passage to call me" Lawson replies, clearly reluctant to leave.

"Thank you, that will be all", Lord Howden says firmly and Mr Lawson leaves.

With the door shut, Oliver makes the three naked slave boys kneel side by side with their hands flat on the floor in front of them, while Lord Howden lies on his side on the bed, supporting his head on an elbow as he watches the proceedings with the fond amusement of a proud parent.

Oliver puts his short riding quirt down on the table and picks up the thick rattan cane, about four foot long, leaning against the wall next to the table.

He prods Seamus in the chest with the cane.

"You! Slave! Get on your feet and undress me!"

Seamus hesitates, looking up at Oliver pleadingly.

Oliver slowly raises the cane above his shoulder and then whips it down through the air to crack meatily across the muscles of Seamus's back. Seamus shrieks as a double ridged purple welt mushrooms instantly over the smooth, white skin of his back.

Still sobbing, Seamus jumps to his feet and starts taking Oliver's jacket off. Oliver waits with his arms spread out slightly, the tip of the cane resting on the floor, while Seamus unbuttons his shirt, takes off his shoes, rolls down his stockings, unbuckles his belt and pulls down his breeches.

Oliver steps out of his breeches one foot at a time and waits in his silken drawers while Seamus folds his clothes carefully and places them on a chair.

Finally he returns to remove Oliver's drawers. By now Oliver's meaty young cock is ramrod stiff and tenting his drawers impressively. Seamus gingerly undoes the drawstring and awkwardly manouevres Oliver's drawers down over his erection to his ankles. As he does so his quirt-wealed cheek brushes against the tip of Oliver's cock and he jumps back as if scalded.

"Why are you being so coy about this, Seamus?", Oliver laughs, "I believe you were not so coy when you used to play in the hayloft with your father's stable boy, Dermot!"

Seamus blushes mightily.

Oliver chuckles meanly:

"Oh 3; you didn't think Dermot would tell us the family secrets in the hope that it would save his back from the slaver's whip? What a shock it must be for you!"

"Dermot would never!" Seamus exclaims.

"Well you can ask him yourself soon, he is already having his pretty arse stretched in Father's Club 3; where you will be soon!"

Seamus balls his fists and reddens even more with mixed embarrassment and anger.

He thinks of the muscular 14 year old that he last saw when the Sheriff's men had arrived to take Seamus and Kevin into custody and deliver them to Lord Howden. Seamus's father had taken Dermot in as a stable boy two years before when he lost his parents to illness. Lord Howden had revoked the tenancy that Dermot's family had held for several generations and chased Dermot off the land. Dermot was twelve and Seamus ten when Dermot had first arrived in his bare feet and the only clothing he possessed: canvas knee-breeches and a rough woollen tunic with a thick brown plaid thrown across the shoulder that served both as protection against the cold and as a blanket. Dermot slept in the hayloft above the stables and ate with the servants in the castle kitchen.

Seamus had had a lustful little crush on the older boy from the moment he first laid eyes on him and sought out every opportunity to watch him at his work. Visions of the shirtless boy heaving hay arose in his memory now: his straw coloured hair damp and spiky; bits of hay sticking to his sweaty, sun-browned torso and the brawny muscles knotting and rippling under the smooth glistening skin of his strong young back. Seamus's cock starts swelling unbidden at the memory.

Oliver pokes at Seamus's cock with the tip of the cane.

"And see what I told you, Seamus, what a shameless hussy boy you are! See how hard you've become just from undressing me!" Oliver guffaws.

Seamus flushes deep red and involuntarily tries to cover his rock hard young penis with his hands. Suddenly he realises his mistake and darts his hands to his sides, but is rewarded with a sharp rap of the cane on his balls where his hands have just been.

Seamus shrieks and collapses to his knees, clutching his balls.

At once Oliver slashes the long heavy cane across his back. He shrieks again and, wailing pitifully, struggles to his feet but the pain in his balls prevents him from coming upright.

For this he collects another two swift cuts of the cane across his shoulders and his buttocks. The fire in his back and his arse overwhelms the pain in his balls and he straightens up stiffly.

Oliver watches Seamus like a cat watches a mouse it has caught. For his part, Seamus tries not to look at Oliver's hard cock, but his eyes are drawn to it as if by a magnet.

"Suck it, Seamus, I can see you want to!" Oliver says eventually.

Seamus shakes his head.

"Please Oliver, no!" he begs, and then shrieks as Oliver instantly slashes the cane horizontally across his chest.

Oliver raises the cane to lash Seamus again, but Seamus starts forward:

"No, please! I'll do it!" he says.

Oliver lowers the cane.

"Of course you will", Oliver says pleasantly, "And when you're done I'm going to give you a good thrashing to help you remember that, to you, I am Master and not Oliver."

"Master! Please Master, I forgot!" Seamus whimpers in reply.

"Yes, I know, Seamus. That is why I'm going to whip you 3; to help you remember! Say Thank you, Master."

"Thank you, Master!" Seamus manages to snivel through his tears as he shuffles forward and bends down to take Oliver's swollen milky white penis in his mouth.

Though the O'Leary boys and Oliver have never been close friends (Oliver being English, after all) they have, for as long as Seamus can remember, been on reasonably good terms as neighbours and as social equals. The situation that Seamus now finds himself in: nothing more than property to be owned and used at his owner's will, is utterly mortifying to the aristocratic Irish boy. And to be forced to take Oliver's cock into his mouth and suck it is the ultimate humiliation.

Even more humiliating is the unruly way that his own cock is behaving just now. As Oliver has mockingly pointed out, Seamus's cock has become rock-hard and ramrod stiff and Seamus suddenly realises, to his shame, that it has nothing to do with his memories of sexual exploration with the stable boy. A deeper and stronger imperative than his pride and his sense of position and self-worth as an Irish aristocrat; the most basic primal urge that his flesh and blood shares with all other humans, no matter their station 3; carnal lust 3; wells up through his body from the tip of his throbbing cock and takes total charge of his senses. Suddenly, he wants nothing else in the whole world than to feed that lust. All shame and sense of degradation passes from him at that very moment. He hungrily slurps Oliver's hard cock all the way into his throat and energetically pleasures his Master in the way that Brendan has taught him.

Although he does not realise it, it is this very moment that Seamus achieves both complete freedom and complete submission to slavery. His mind is completely freed from the restraints of pride, honour, tradition and civil society at the same moment that it accepts that his body is finally and utterly subject to the will and whim of the object of his lust.

Lord Howden recognises the moment of submission and smiles in satisfaction. He, of all men, knows the power of fear and lust in bending men, boys and women to his will, and he has taught his son, Oliver, how to use them effectively. He has seen Oliver break the spirits of many boys and even some grown men and he takes pride in the swiftness with which Oliver has brought Seamus to willing obedience.

Brendan dares to raise his eyes to steal a glance at Oliver and Seamus. Oliver has his back to Brendan and Brendan is startled to see that the young aristocrat's marble white back and buttocks are vividly striped with purple whip weals. He realises that Lord Howden is a father who does not believe in sparing the rod when it comes to disciplining his son. That Lord Howden would whip his son was not in itself remarkable in those times in which the whip was seen as an instrument of virtue in disciplining one's servants and children (and even one's wife). But what was remarkable was the frequency and even ferocity with which the boy had evidently been whipped. Brendan quickly averts his gaze and stares fixedly at the floor.

But the slight movement draws Lord Howden's attention to Brendan and he gazes at the boy appraisingly for a while.

In Brendan Lord Howden has discerned a perfect combination of cock-stiffening physical beauty, completely unbridled sexuality and lustfulness and an unexpected eagerness to submit to the will of his betters. Brendan is nearly fifteen but has the build and muscularity of a sixteen year old, the smooth hairlessness of a ten year old and a cock and balls that would grace a breeding bull. Right now Brendan's cock is a breath-taking sight: Fully erected and held proud by his thick iron cockring, its long thick shaft curves gently up to where its swollen purple plum bobs against the hard ridges of his belly muscles. His piss slit has hardened into a dark round hole and is dribbling pre-cum so copiously that the tip of his cock appears to be joined by silvery ropes to the flagstones that he is kneeling on. His eyes are glazed and his lips slack and wet from constant licking. His body is as taut as a drum and shivers periodically with sexual tension.

The younger O'Leary boy, Kevin, is also erect and appears very interested in what his brother is doing to Oliver. Lawson had remarked on his curiosity, his compliance and his apparent willingness to learn and to experience new things. He appears to have adapted very well to the life of a sex slave and Lord Howden has no doubt that he will do well in his Gentleman's Club.

"Come to me boy!" Lord Howden orders Kevin with a smile, crooking a finger at him.

Kevin smiles back and quickly gets to his feet. He scurries over to stand at the side of the bed where Lord Howden is reclining. Lord Howden reaches out and plays with the tip of the ten year old's stiff cocklet. Kevin leans into Lord Howden's hand.

"You like this, don't you, Kevin?"

Kevin nods, smiling.

"Yes, Uncle Hugh, it's nice!"

"Oh, see now, you can't call me Uncle Hugh any longer, Kevin, you have to call me Master!" Lord Howden says.

He says it very gently, but his eyes are hard and Kevin feels a clutch of fear in his belly as he remembers that Seamus has just been caned by Oliver and promised a further whipping for the same crime.

'I'm sorry Master! I forgot! Kevin says with trembling lip.

"That's alright, it's hard to remember in the beginning" Lord Howden says with a smile.

Kevin feels a flood of relief.

"That's why I'm going to give you a beating now 3; to help you remember", Lord Howden says reasonably as he heaves himself off the bed.

Kevin looks at Lord Howden in wide eyed terror.

"Come lie over the end of this wooden bench with your knees on the floor"!' Lord Howden orders him.

Kevin kneels on the cold stone floor at one end of the narrow wooden bench and then leans forward to lay his torso on the smooth wood with his arms stretched out in front of him.

"Ah, I see you have been taught what to do already", Lord Howden says approvingly.

Lord Howden orders Brendan to fasten the boy's legs and wrists with the leather straps screwed to the bench for this purpose.

Kevin starts whimpering softly in anticipation of what is coming.

Lord Howden picks up the thick four foot cane that Oliver had discarded and swishes it through the air behind Kevin a few times. Kevin strains to look behind him at Lord Howden and the cane. His eyes are fearful and welling with tears.

Lord Howden taps Kevin's firm round bottom with the tip of the cane. Kevin practically jumps out of his skin with fright.

"Don't look at me, boy, keep your eyes on that spot on the wall", he says, tapping a spot of peeling paint.

Kevin fixes his gaze on the peeling paint spot and Lord Howden steps to Kevin's rear, raises the cane above his shoulder and takes two quick steps to bring him level with Kevin's bottom, whipping the cane through the air to crack across Kevin's butt cheeks with the sound of a pistol shot as he does so.

Kevin shrieks in agony, bucks and jerks against his leather restraints as the heavy yellow rattan instantly raises a purple welt as thick as a man's finger across his marble white bum.

Kevin howls pitifully while Lord Howden steps back for the next stroke. Lord Howden waits while Kevin's howling subsides to a snivelling sobbing.

After the third stroke Kevin is howling and blubbering continuously as he begs for mercy and promises never to forget again. The howling rises to a shriek with each fresh stroke until at the tenth stroke the poor child passes into unconsciousness, at which Lord Howden puts down the cane and throws a jug of water over Kevin's head to revive him.

At this point Oliver reaches climax and Seamus feels his Master's cock start to spasm violently in his mouth before squirting a small quantity of pre-teen cock cream onto his tongue.

"Don't swallow! Don't swallow!" Oliver cries out excitedly, "Open your mouth wide, I want to see it!"

Seamus obediently opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue.

"See, Father, I knew I squirted that time!" Oliver calls Lord Howden, "Come look!"

Lord Howden indulgently inspects the smear of boy cream on Seamus's tongue.

"Well done, Oliver!" he says

Oliver swells with manly pride:

"That means I must be ready, Father!"

"Perhaps we should wait until you are squirting more than a teaspoonful." says Lord Howden.

"Father! You promised if I made my first cum you would 3; you know!"

Lord Howden sighed.

"Oh very well, I did promise 3; but you will need some preparation!"

Oliver flings his arms around his father's waist.

"Thank you, Father! Thank you! I've been so looking forward to it!"

"As have I, my boy, believe me! I just expected you would be at least a year older!" Lord Howden replies.

"You see that, Seamus, I am a man now 3; something you will never be!"

Seamus looks at him in puzzlement.

"Oh 3; don't you know? The boys in my father's Club are gelded! Unless we want to use them for breeding, of course, and 3;" he says, looking pointedly at Seamus's still erected cocklet, "quite frankly 3; I don't think you have the equipment."

Seamus is still puzzled.

"You know 3;" says Oliver, with a malicious grin, "They get their balls cut off 3; so they stay smooth and baby-faced for longer!"

As understanding dawns on Seamus, he clutches at his balls in terror.

"No, please, Master! Please don't cut my balls off!" he cries out.

"What do you need them for, you silly boy?" Oliver says callously, "You'll be a much better bum boy without them!"

Just then Kevin moans in pain as he comes to and his burning arse presses itself into his consciousness.

"Unstrap your brother and take his place for your punishment!" Oliver orders.

Seamus groans inwardly. He had hoped Oliver would forget. He would learn that when it comes to whipping boys or men, something he enjoys almost as much as fucking them, Oliver never forgets.

Seamus undoes the straps holding Kevin to the wooden whipping bench. Kevin struggles to get up, but a swift cut of the cane across his back galvanizes him suddenly. He jumps off the bench and stands shakily next to Brendan, his head and shoulders slumped in the despondency of defeat.

"Kneel down with your hands flat on the floor!" Oliver orders and Kevin hastens to obey.

Seamus now lies over the end of the bench. Oliver motions to Brendan and Brendan scrambles to secure Seamus's wrists and legs with the leather straps before scurrying back to assume his kneeling position next to the snivelling Kevin.

Soon the room echoes with Seamus's hysterical shrieking, punctuated every minute or so with the loud report of the heavy cane cracking across the boy's tortured buttocks.

While this is going on, Lord Howden, unable to wait any longer, quickly strips off his fine clothing and orders Kevin to kneel on all fours on the bed. He gets onto the bed behind Kevin and, without the benefit of lubrication, plunges his huge cock, engorged almost to bursting and rock hard with lust, deep into Kevin's tight, almost virginal, young anus.

Kevin's screams are pitiful but Lord Howden rogers his arse mercilessly. Indeed, the agonized screaming and writhing of the young Irish boy beneath him simply spurs the aristocrat's sadistic lust. Lord Howden has a sinister reputation when it comes to the treatment of the slave boys in his brothel and Brendan's heart pumps with fear as he witnesses the fury with which his Lordship punishes young Kevin's bleeding cane-welted arse with his huge, thrusting piston.

Gradually Kevin's screaming dies to a whimper and Brendan notices that his cocklet has swollen so hard that the purple acorn of his cockhead has escaped his foreskin and is stabbing at his belly with each thrust of his Lordship's noble cock. Soon the whimpers change to grunts and squeaks of pleasure. Lord Howden catches Brendan's eye and a look passes between them. Both of them recognize that instant as the moment when Kevin made the final, irrevocable transition from aristocrat to bum boy slave.

Seconds later Lord Howden bellows as he reaches a long shuddering climax that shakes Kevin to his core and fills his fuck channel with gush after gush of slippery hot cum. Lord Howden extracts his great thick cock with some difficulty from Kevin's tight anus, extracting some yelps of pain from Kevin as he does so. When he finally manages to pull his cock from Kevin's clutching bum ring, his cum burbles out of the boy's bum and splatters on the bedclothes like the first froth from a spiked beer barrel.

Lord Howden heaves himself off the bed and motions to Brendan:

"Clean this up!"

Brendan jumps to his feet at once and scurries over to the bed. He clamps his wide mouth over Kevin's anus and starts slurping up the still dribbling flow, sucking it out of Kevin's sweet channel and sticking his tongue as far as he can into the still gaping hole to lap up the last trickles. Then he runs his mouth down Kevin's smooth thighs to scoop the thick globs of cum that are still sluggishly slithering down. Finally, he bends his head to lap up the puddles of cum on the bedclothes.

In the meantime Lord Howden stands on the floor on the side of the bed and thrusts his slippery cock into Kevin's mouth.

"Lick me clean!" he orders.

Kevin obeys eagerly. Brendan has taught him to enjoy the taste and feel of hot hard cock slathered with the cum and detritus of man sex and he is eager to please this man who, in practice if not in law, virtually has the power of life and death over him.

By now Oliver has thrashed Seamus's buttocks raw and he is engaged in roughly fucking the slave boy's arse to the sound of satisfied grunts and moans from the both of them.

Finally Oliver also reaches climax. Seamus feels his young owner's body suddenly stiffen and then shudder as his swollen cock throbs deep inside Seamus with multiple violent spasms of ecstasy.

As soon as Oliver has regained control of his body, he pulls his still hard cock out of Seamus's bumhole and eagerly checks for signs of sperm. There is hardly a smudge.

"Must have shot it all inside him!" he mutters to his father.

Lord Howden smiles indulgently.

"Indeed, you must have, my boy", he says placatingly.

Oliver plonks himself on the bed next to his father. The two of them catch their breath and chat with each as if they were the only people in the room.

Brendan assumes the customary position of house slaves awaiting orders: On his knees with his back to the wall, leaning forward and supporting the weight of his upper body on his hands placed palm down on the floor. The other two boys line up next to him and do the same.

After a while the Howdens get up and refresh themselves with wine from a decanter and glasses left on a table.

Lord Howden pokes his head out of the room and summons the guards standing in the passage.

"Take these two down to the holding cage!" he says, pointing at Seamus and Kevin, "My Club Manager will fetch them in the morning"

"Yes my Lord", says the senior guard, but he hesitates and looks quizzically at Lord Howden.

'What is it? Lord Howden asks, and then he chuckles;

"Oh, but of course, you and any of your colleagues on duty may take your pleasure with them tonight 3; on the usual conditions, of course!"

"Yes, my Lord! No lasting damage 3;They must be able to start work in the Club right away or we compensate for the lost profit! Thank you my Lord!"

Alarm shows on Seamus's face as he contemplates being fucked all night long by the guards on duty.

Oliver spots this and giggles with delight.

"You better get used to it" he says, "It's what you'll be doing day and night from now on!"

"Indeed!" chuckles his father.

As the guards lead the O'Leary boys out, Seamus seems a little apprehensive, but Brendan notices that Kevin's cocklet has stiffened into erection and that he is casting interested looks behind him at the bulging trouser front of one of the guards.

The guards leave with their charges and Lord Howden close the door once more.

Oliver looks at his father.

"What are we going to do with this one Father?" he asks.

"Well 3; I had thought I would let you practise some of the more extreme torturing skills that I would never allow you to practise on my income earning assets 3; but 3;"

"But Father, he is not ours 3; he belongs to the government!" Oliver interrupts.

Lord Howden chuckles.

"It's time you learned that it's people like us who are the government in these remote colonies, my boy!"

"I suppose so, Father" Oliver replies, "So does that mean we can do what we like with him?"

"Well, not entirely 3; There are fine lines 3; We couldn't use him in the Club, for instance, as our own peers would feel we were taking advantage of our position to make private profit out of public property 3; and that just wouldn't do at all!"

"But, as you know, as a member of the Council governing this island, I have responsibility for Government Works 3; and if, for instance, a slave in my Department were to be seriously injured, or maimed 3; or even die 3; while undergoing training or correction no one would even notice 3; much less would anyone care!"

"It would be a great pity to kill or maim such a beautiful creature, Father!"

"Yes, yes, perhaps", replies Lord Howden, "But to return to what I was about to say when you interrupted me 3; You reminded me earlier of the promise I made you when you were eight years old that I would take your virginity one day when you were old enough 3; when you had your first ejaculation. And now that you have ejaculated semen for the first time 3; though admittedly rather more sparsely than I had in mind 3; it is time to honour that promise."

"Oh thank you, Father, I have fallen asleep so many times dreaming of having your great big penis instead of just your fingers buried all the way inside me."

"Yes, but I fear this has come upon us quite suddenly and we have made no preparation at all for it. If I were to fuck you now I am afraid I would injure your dear bumhole very severely and I could not bear that. So my plan is to have this slave boy stretch your bumhole for me with that big instrument of his."

Oliver looks outraged:

"Father! You would have a slave boy 3; a vile Irish hard labour government slave at that 3; violate me like one of your common little whore boys!"

"Well, yes, Oliver! It would save you so much pain and 3; it must be said 3; bring me a great deal of pleasure in the process. I am quite aroused already at the thought of that muscular brute rogering your beautiful arse!"

"But Father, I so want you to take my virginity 3; I don't want to lose it to a slave boy! I would be no better than Seamus, losing his virginity to that common stable boy, Dermott!"

"My boy, you will learn there are far worse things than being skillfully rogered by a strong and experienced young boy with a beautiful cock, whether slave, stable boy or noble", Lord Howden chuckled.

"Father, please! Please don't let this brute violate me! Please fuck me yourself. I don't mind if it hurts!"

"Oliver, I have made my decision 3; do not resist me further or I will have to discipline you again!"

Fear flashes over Oliver's face.

"Yes, Father!" he says obediently and then flushes with embarrassment as he looked across at Brendan and realizes that the slave boy has seen his fear.

Lord Howden explains expansively:

"In any case, Oliver, it doesn't count as losing your virginity when a slave takes your cherry 3; any more than fucking yourself with a cucumber or your fingers would count as losing your virginity."

Oliver brightens:

"Oh Father, of course 3; that makes so much sense 3; one forgets that a slave is actually livestock and not really human. That makes me feel so much better!"

"And, of course", Lord Howden adds, looking menacingly at Brendan "If you are still concerned about it after having him open your arse up, I will ensure that he never speaks about it to anyone!"

"By my honour, Lord, I would never speak of it to anyone!" says Brendan.

Oliver laughs out loud.

" By his honour he says, Father! Is that not quaint!"

"Yes indeed, my boy, as if anything a slave says can be relied upon!" Lord Howden replies.

"Nevertheless, to quell such dangerous notions in a slave boy 3; and also to punish him for speaking out unbidden 3; we will give him a sound thrashing before he starts with your instruction!"

"Thank you, Father, can I start?" Oliver says cheerfully as he fetches the cane from where he had tossed it on the floor earlier before plunging his cock into Seamus.

Brendan is quickly strapped onto the punishment bench. Brendan knows better than to protest. He knows quite well that the punishment is much more about giving Lord Howden and Oliver sexual pleasure than it is about "correcting" his behaviour.

Over the next half hour Lord Howden and his son take turns laying leisurely batches of five sizzling strokes each over the hard brown globes of Brendan's muscled buttocks.

An old hand at enduring whippings and not wishing to humiliate himself in front of the young English aristocrat, Brendan grits his teeth and allows nothing more than a grunt to escape his lips with each searing stroke. Only his whitened knuckles, tight closed eyes, the knotted muscles in his back and buttocks and the beads of sweat glistening all over his body reveal the extent of his pain.

Under his belly, Brendan's cock is rock hard and tingling even before he is strapped to the bench. By the tenth stroke Brendan is humping the smooth wood beneath him with the quick small movements that is all his restraints allow him. No longer gritting his teeth, his mouth hangs open, his lips slack, his eyes glazed and he breathes in shallow grunting jerks.

After the thirtieth stroke Lord Howden decides that Brendan has had enough and he stands back just as Brendan climaxes. Brendan croons his pleasure huskily as his pulsing cock squirts jet after jet of slippery hot cum between his belly and the wooden surface of the bench that he is lying on.

Lord Howden had assumed that Brendan's jerky pelvic movements were a vain attempt to escape the bite of the cane, but he now realizes that the boy had actually been fucking the bench because he had been aroused by his whipping.

"By all that is wonderful!" he guffaws, "The tyke enjoys being whipped!"

Lord Howden bends down and unbuckles Brendan's one wrist. Then he prods Brendan in the ribs with the cane:

"Unstrap yourself and get up!" he orders.

Brendan painfully unstraps first his other wrist and then, with some difficulty, his legs. Oliver watches his agonized struggles with amusement, now and again delivering a sharp rap of the cane to Brendan's shoulders to hurry him along.

"Hurry up, slave! Don't keep your betters waiting!" he snarls.

Brendan hastily fumbles the last buckle loose and jumps up, yelping as the cane bites into his meaty shoulders once more.

"Now, Oliver, put down the cane" Lord Howden instructs, "For the next few hours this boy must instruct you, and to that end, he must have mastery over your body and not the other way round."

To Brendan he adds:

"My son is now yours to instruct. You have mastery over his body, including the right to chastise him reasonably, if necessary. You will not go too far in that 3; remembering always that I still have mastery over your body"

"Yes Lord!" Brendan replies, his cock rising at once at the prospect of fucking young Oliver's virginal arse.

He looks at Oliver.

"Please would the Master lie on his belly on the bed?" he asks hesitantly.

Oliver looks at Brendan contemptuously, but before he can answer, Lord Howden thunders at Brendan:

"For heaven's sake, boy, he is not the master now 3; you are! You call him Oliver, and you tell him what to do 3; you don't ask him!"

"Yes Lord!" Brendan replies. Picking up the cane, he says to Oliver:

"Get on the bed and lie on your belly, Oliver!"

Oliver looks alarmed but folds his arms across his chest.

"I will get on the bed when I am good and 3;" he starts saying and then yelps as Brendan slashes the cane hard across his thigh.

"I will not tell you again!" says Brendan.

His face red with anger, Oliver looks at his father for support. But Lord Howden's stiffening cock signals to Oliver that he is aroused by the spectacle of the muscular, sun-browned young slave boy exercising domination over his pale-skinned young aristocrat son.

Oliver swallows his pride and lies belly down on the bed.

Brendan pulls Oliver's legs apart and then gets onto the bed himself and kneels between Oliver's legs.

"Spread your bum cheeks apart for me!" he orders Oliver "I want to see your bumhole."

"Spread them yourself!" Oliver replies.

Brendan immediately slaps one of Oliver's smooth white buttocks hard with his strong, work-calloused hand.

Oliver yelps in hurt surprise but still does not comply.

Brendan hits Oliver's other arse cheek. Oliver yelps again in pain and anger.

"I will hit you until you do as I say!" Brendan says.

A few more ringing slaps later and Oliver reluctantly reaches behind him with both hands and spreads his buttocks apart to expose a perfect pink rosebud of a bumhole. That's what Liam's and mine looked like a year ago, Brendan thinks, feeling a sudden flush of superiority and manly pride in his own brown and well-used hole.

Brendan reaches out a forefinger and starts stroking and pushing against the pink pucker. Oliver purrs with pleasure until Brendan's hard finger becomes more insistent and tries to force entry. Instead of loosening up, Oliver's anus contracts even harder to keep out the intruder.

Brendan makes Oliver turn over onto his back, lift his legs and pull his knees all the way back to his shoulders, leaving his bumhole wide open for exploration. He tries once more to insert a finger into Oliver's hole. Oliver's anus remains tightly shut.

"Try to relax your bumhole, Oliver", Brendan says encouragingly, "Make like you're trying to have a shit"

Brendan spits a great glob of foamy white spittle onto Oliver's bumhole and tries to coax his pucker to open with a gently massaging finger while he takes Oliver's slack penis between the fingers of his other hand and begins massaging the fat slack tube.

As his cock hardens to Brendan's stimulation, Oliver tries the trick Brendan has suggested and tries to press an imaginary wad of crap out of his bumhole. It works miraculously and Brendan's finger slips in quickly up to the second knuckle. With a little more effort Brendan manages to twist and wriggle his finger all the way in. Brendan feels the tight grip of Oliver's anal ring slowly relax on his finger and he starts fucking it in and out of Oliver's hole, slowly at first and then ever more quickly.

By now, Oliver's fat, white, blue-veined cock is rock hard and quivering 3; and remains so without any further attention from Brendan. Oliver's breath is coming in erratic gasps and jerks and his blue eyes are glazed with lust. His bumhole relaxes further and Brendan manages to get a second and then a third finger inserted.

Brendan judges the time is right to replace the fingers with his own by now prodigiously long and hard manhood. He moves forward on his knees and pushes his swollen purple dickhead, as large as a plum, against the back of his fingers, spits generously on his cock and Oliver's hole and then thrusts his cock firmly forward at the same moment that he withdraws his fingers, so that Oliver's bum ring has no time to contract.

Despite this preparation, Brendan struggles to get his cock past Oliver's still tight anus. He reaches out with both hands and grips Oliver's shoulders for greater purchase as he rams his cock against Oliver's unyielding anus several times. Oliver grunts with pain and surprise at each assault and he desperately tries to relax his sphincter further, straining and groaning as he tries to press out an imaginary putty.

Then suddenly, on the fourth attempt, Oliver's sphincter finally yields and Brendan's cock breaks through, sliding in almost half of Brendan's ten inches [25 cm]. Oliver stiffens for a second and then he screams as the most excruciating pain shoots through his body, radiating in agonizing waves from an anus that feels as if it has been ripped apart. Oliver writhes and jerks under Brendan as he tries to pull himself off Brendan's cock, but Brendan is much stronger and he holds Oliver firmly impaled on his swollen fuckpole.

Brendan waits until Oliver stops struggling and then begins to fuck him slowly but firmly. The movement wrests another scream of agony from Oliver, followed by racking sobs of anguish and pain. Brendan looks enquiringly at Lord Howden, who interrupts his masturbation to motion him impatiently to fuck Oliver harder. Brendan is happy to oblige and Oliver screams even louder as Brendan's cock pistons all the way in and out the English boy's virgin fuck channel. When Oliver starts begging Brendan to stop in between the heaving sobs, Brendan leans his weight on one hand and uses the other to slap Oliver hard across the cheek.

"Shut up!" says Brendan.

Oliver is so shocked by this that he actually stops yelling, grits his teeth and tries to bear the pain with as much dignity as he can.

Soon Brendan feels Oliver's body start to relax as his sphincter adjusts to accommodate Brendan's big cock and the pain gradually fades. Not long after that Oliver's grunts and groans turn to moans of pleasure.

Finally, Brendan reaches a tumultuous climax and he shoots his wad deep inside Oliver.

As the ecstatic spasming comes to an end, Brendan instinctively lowers his upper body to lie on top of Oliver and his wide mouth closes over Oliver's, his broad tongue slipping between Oliver's open lips and exploring Oliver's tongue.

Oliver's eyes widen momentarily. He has never been kissed like this by a boy before. Indeed he has never been kissed this way by anyone before. But he quickly realizes that he likes it and he responds in kind.

Lord Howden, realising that the boys have advanced from having sex to making love, quickly intervenes. He picks up the cane and gives Brendan a sharp rap across the buttocks.

"Enough!" he orders, "Make way for me!"

Brendan yelps and tries to withdraw but his swollen cockhead catches on Oliver's sphincter, which stretches alarmingly into something resembling a tube before Brendan manages to pull free.

Immediately Lord Howden takes Brendan's place and rams his even bigger cock all the way into his son's arse. Oliver places his feet on his father's chest and tries to push him away as the pain in his arse spikes once more. Lord Howden grabs Oliver's upper thighs and holds himself inside Oliver while the pain subsides. This time the pain fades quickly and in a very short while Lord Howden is rogering Oliver's eager ass with all his strength and energy.

Finally their Lordships are sated and they dress before calling for the guards to take Brendan back to the dungeon.

While the guards are fastening the heavy iron shackles around Brendan's wrists and ankles Oliver says to his father, all the while running his eyes over Brendan's magnificent body:

"Can't we take him home with us, Father, just for a while 3; perhaps there is more that this slave could teach me?"

"Well", Lord Howden chuckles, "So you enjoyed having his big cock up your arse?"

Oliver blushes: "I did enjoy it, Father, but I also want to pleasure myself in his arse."

Lord Howden smiles at his son.

"He can't come with us now as he has not yet been released to the Superintendent. That will happen only after he has received his court-ordered flogging tomorrow", he says.

"Ooh! The fifty lashes with the cat! May I please watch that tomorrow, Father?" Oliver pleads.

"Yes, I think it will be educational for you. We are far from England and must maintain our rule here with an iron fist. A bloodied back does wonders for keeping the lower orders in check, whether slave or peasant, and it will do them good to see that the children of their betters have the steel necessary to rule."

"Thank you, Father, I look forward to it!" Oliver enthuses.

"After his flogging he will be allowed a day to recover before being sent to do hard labour on one of the Government Works" says Lord Howden. "I will have Lawson put this room at your disposal for a day or two and you can roger this boy 3; or have him roger you 3; for a day or two before he is transferred."

"Thank you, Father!" says Oliver

Brendan feels a clutch of fear, tinged with a sense of excited anticipation, as he contemplates the prospect of being publicly flogged on the morrow.

Then he notices the bulges and the spreading wet patches in the trouser fronts of both the guards and he realises with a tingle of anticipation that the night is far from over for him 3;