Pirate's Tail

Pirate’s Tail

(Young man in early 20th-century S. Africa set up by pirates)

I am fairly certain my father knew there was more to my being apprenticed to the Dutch munitions broker Fons Hertzog when I arrived in Cape Town from London then learning a merchant’s trade. He was being protective of me, I’m sure, the Great War having broken out the previous summer in Europe with the assassination of the archduke. With the war only enlarging by the day as 1914 turned into 1915, both of my parents, I’m sure, worried about a son just becoming of age to enter service in the military. It seemed natural enough for George Merriman, the deputy governor-general of the British dominion in the Union of South Africa, to bring a young son following his studies under his wing to learn the functions of statecraft. And there was little more important in statecraft in this season of war than learning how to acquire and sell military arms.

It was yet a different matter of life that my father had in mind, though, I believe--knowing, from observing me, of the interests that were dawning in me and, as I observed when I came out to Cape Town myself, being thus inclined himself. This observation had gone a long way to explain how my parents could be so content with my mother in London and my father forever moving around in British administrations across the globe.

No, though I do think my father truly believed I had a lot of useful tradecraft to learn from the Dutch munitions broker Fons Hertzog, I also believe that my father reasoned that I could be enlightened and unburdened of worry and guilt in other ways while under Hertzog’s wing. I’m sure that we wanted to guide my initiation so that I would give myself only to men who could advantage me in life.

Hertzog made his interests quite plain from the time I entered his realm--his business and his household. His was a household completely of men. He was neither married nor did he court women. He was a large, florid man of reddish-blond coloring. I was a reddish blond myself, but, of alabaster skin that rarely tanned even in the southern exposure of the tip of Africa. My coloring was not as ruddy as his. He was tall, but heavy set, given to stifling dress in layers of black suiting. To offset the inevitable odor of this, he doused himself heavily in perfumes and often bathed, perhaps several times a day. But I found that he didn’t bathe alone, which is likely what made the habit so appealing to him. He was an active man, as muscular as he was rotund. He had a temper and was pugilistic.

He also stood close to a man he favored and touched him while speaking to him, more often than not burdening the man with his spittle. That’s how I knew he favored me. He was always smiling indulgently at me while giving instruction in his trade--the trade I was meant to take up, although I was much more interested in this new science of wireless telegraphy and was learning as much about that as about munitions--and he would stand very close to me with his hand on my arm. He spoke affectionately of my father and of how I should honor my father’s intentions in apprenticing me to Hertzog.

I understood my father’s intentions all too well, I believe, and, in many respects, I was relieved that he had correctly gauged my interests, but I was naïve and frightened and had no idea how to enter such a world, if indeed I wanted to risk the dangers of doing so at all. I also, if I ever was to go with and be covered by a man, would hope to do so with a more arousing man than Hertzog was.

Hertzog must have seen in me my inclinations, however, as he did little to hide his from me. I was assigned a bed chamber between his and the washroom, and he made no attempt to hide himself from me as he went to his bath--always with one of the young house serving men in attendance--and in nearly the same state of undress. Hertzog was a big man in all ways and he seemed to flaunt his gifts. He did not swing low in repose, but he was extremely thick, and, in erection, was sufficiently long to do an uninitiated young man damage, if he hadn’t been somewhat tentative at the cocking.

In turning me over to Hertzog, I believe my father wanted me to be fully initiated but by someone who would consider my standing in life and be careful in developing a young man’s desires.

I was still an uninitiated young man, even though that accorded me a good bit of frustration. I was a willing young man, just not initiated.

He as good as spoke his intent to me--one day even coming close to me in the corridor of the bed chamber level of his townhouse and running his fingers into my hair, telling me that there was hair out of place, but then telling me how much he liked the burnish blond curls and my other features as well--how well formed I was and how I would be a prize for any woman--or any man so inclined. I managed to move out of his embrace without too much embarrassment, but his fat lips brushed my cheek as I turned away and he laughed.

He called out as I moved down the corridor, “I am a man so inclined.”

As if I didn’t know already.

Later he expressed interest in my prowess with women--or men--saying I was of the age to have experience, but I confessed that I had no such experience. I also admitted that I was confused about my interests. He offered me money to let him end that confusion and I feigned being confused about that as well. That, of course, didn’t work with him.

“How will you know, if you don’t try it out?” he asked. “I can help you with that.”

“I don’t know,” I answered. “I’m afraid and confused.” I hadn’t said no, though, and it was that omission that he had focused on.

“You know your father has apprenticed you to me for a reason,” he said. This I could not argue with.

One night at the end of an arduous work week, he told me that he had earned a trip to a tavern and that so had I. He took me on foot deep into the dock area of Cape Town. He was a merchant dealing in other goods than military arms and had a small fleet of freighter schooners--most three- or four-masters--at his command. So, the docks of the city were no stranger to him.

Immediately upon entering, I discerned that the tavern he took me to was one frequently almost entirely of Indians, that South Asian caste providing the backbone of seaman and dock laborers in the colony at the moment, black natives not being trusted to learn skilled labor. The tavern was reached down a cobble stoned alley leading off the docks. The atmosphere was smoky and noisy with the drunken boisterousness of hard-working men at the end of a hard week of work. The smoke in the air was of a sweet, cloying aroma.

Besides Hertzog and me, who were dressed in European style, in tweed suits with waistcoats, me in a billowy white cotton shirt and Hertzog in stiff linen, those in the tavern were in Indian dress of the colony--collarless shirts of many hues over white, black, or gray dhoti’s, the Indian dress of loose cotton trousers created out of one long length of material, intricately woven through a man’s legs, and finished with a material tail covering the scrotum. That tail, of course, could be quickly undone to allow for convenient urination.

There was strange music coming from strange instruments--most likely from the South Asian continent--and a small, thin dancing girl, swathed in a gauzy sari, twirled on a table in the middle of a crowd of men with their tongues hanging out. Besides the single woman, though, there only were men in the room, and it seemed that the men around us were more interested in each other than in the dancer. It didn’t take much for me to understand that Hertzog had brought me to a tavern like this with a purpose in mind, that purpose being to instill desire in me and to melt my fears and inhibitions. I felt fearful and exhilarated in equal proportions. Would this be what would coax me across the barrier? All of the men were muscular and several of them were pleasant of face as well as of body.

The music, noise, heat, and fog in the room picked up in intensity, as did the sway of the dance of the small woman on the table top. She was shedding veils and stirring up interest. Liquor was flowing. I’d had drink before but probably not as much as Hertzog was cajoling me to take on this night. The smoke was sweet-smelling, opium rather than tobacco, as I was to learn. There were opium pipes scattered here and there, in full use. There was one beside us where we stood at the bar, and I let Hertzog introduce me to that. It made my head seem to float above the activity in the room. It was heightening my arousal and lowering any defenses I might have had. Hertzog kissed me on the lips and I just smiled at him. The second kiss included some tongue, and I smiled at that too. He placed a hand on the small of my back and worked in under the hem of the cotton shirt, his hand on my bare back. I smiled at him and didn’t draw away.

“Meld yourself to the mood here,” he whispered In my ear. “Your father apprenticed you to me to ease you into what you know you desire. Just give yourself to it this evening.”

I gave him no answer, but I remained where I was, which was answer enough for him.

Shirts were slowly disappearing around the room, leaving the men in just their dhotis, and some were even down to their loincloths. They were beginning to embrace and fondle each other even more intimately than they were when we arrived--or I was only now beginning to notice that, finding my senses heightened rather than dulled by the liquor and the smoking. The Indian nature of the atmosphere was exotic, enticing. I had heard that the South Asians were more loose in their attitudes and habits than were Europeans, and I could not avoid falling into the sensual mood.

“We mustn’t stand out too much,” Hertzog said, as he pulled my jacket and waistcoat off, unbuttoned my shirt, and pulled it out from underneath my suspenders. I just smiled a silly smile and let him. He was already down to his trousers and suspenders. He was fat, with a protruding belly, but his hairy chest was also heavily muscled and he had bulging biceps.

He kissed me again and whispered in my ear, “They have rooms for hire in the back.”

“Do they?” I asked, but I must have been dopey enough about what he was proposing that he just sighed and called for another round of drinks.

A distinctively large Indian was rising up out of the milling crowd around the table where the dancer was whirling about. His was a handsome brute--not fat, just thick-bodied and heavily muscled. He was down to a loincloth, his thighs big as tree trunks, his torso smooth, with veins standing out because there was no fat to run through. His eyes were black and piercing, and he had a mustache that was so long that the ends of it descended toward his chest.

Hertzog saw that I reacted to seeing the god of a man by involuntarily moving a hand to my crotch.

“Do you fancy him?” Hertzog asked.

“He’s magnificent,” I said, not really answering the question in my mind--but undoubtedly answering it in Hertzog’s mind.

“Would you lie under me if you lay under him first?”

I didn’t respond, not really having a response formed in my mind, and then didn’t have to do so, because the massive Indian was making a move across the room. The proposal didn’t come as a shock--at least the part about being covered by Hertzog--I had long since realized that it was what had been intended for me. The idea of lying under a muscular, sensual Indian, though, was new and intriguing--and set my juices going.

When the Indian giant stood, he grasped the dancer by the waist. The men around him were chanting, egging him on to take some action. The action he took was to unwrap the sari on the dancer, with her raising her arms and gracefully and slowly twirling out of the cloth wrapping. The divesting of the silky material left her naked other than the tinkling gold chains around her neck, arms, belly, and ankles. Her body was laced with henna work in intricate patterns, her black, curly bush was trimmed to a V. Her labia were swollen and rouged. She was as delicate and perfectly formed, albeit painfully thin, as a porcelain doll.

I watched, in fascination, as the big brute laid her on her back on the table, jerked off his loincloth to expose a hard, thick, long staff that took my breath away, and moved between her legs. There was no way, I knew, that he could get that into her, but it did manage to breach her folds to the base of the glans. She didn’t seem to think full possession was going to happen, either, and writhed under him. She shrieked, the sound being met by raucous laughter around the table, scratched at him, and beat his chest with her fists as he moved an inch deeper between the labia. Another inch and she suddenly collapsed and surrendered to him. He placed his mouth beside her ear and whispered to her. I saw her visibly relax. Whatever he was whispering obviously was opening her up, as her swollen labia spread wider and more of his shaft sank in her slit. He relentlessly moved deeper inside her as she moaned and panted and the men surrounding them chanted.

“Deeper, deeper, deeper,” they chanted, and he complied until he was in to the hint. She had spread and bent her legs in the effort to accommodate his invading shaft. Her tormentor then began to pump her as the chanting of those around him became rhythmic, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.”

The small woman was comatose, all resistance abandoned, just lying there, eyes slitted and moaning deeply. But he was fully inside her and she was smiling. She raised her arms to grasp his biceps, which I took as a sign of acceptance. But it was the smile more than anything else that caused me to ache for him.

She began to writhe again under him, putting her hips into motion, going with the taking. She cried out and collapsed in his arms. Not long afterward, he jerked, and, as he pulled out of her, his seed burbled out of her and down her legs.

When he pulled out of her, cheers went up and he sank back down to a chair at the table next to where she lay, being replaced between her legs by another man, who took up fucking her, no doubt her channel now open enough to accommodate all comers. And then another after him. She lay there, in a daze, head turned to the side and saliva dribbling out of her mouth, as man after man saddled up to her and spilt his seed inside her.

“Isn’t he a god on earth?” Hertzog asked, leaning into me. He’d had his hand on my back and it had moved lower while I watched the spectacle in fascination. The hand was now gripping my buttocks and Hertzog’s other hand felt my crotch. “He has aroused you. That’s Captain Rao. He lays men too. I’m sure he would love to cover you. Is that what will lower your barrier to me?--for a man like that to take your virginity first?”

“No, Mr. Hertzog. I don’t--”

But he had already pushed off and was wading into the crowd, going to Rao’s table, whispering in his ear, and taking his purse out of his pocket.

I saw Rao look at me, grin, and place his hand on Hertzog’s purse, pushing it back, unopened, into Hertzog’s pocket. Hertzog insisted, and the man relented and took what was offered to him.

And then he was there, still magnificently naked, by me. One of the other men, an older, taller Indian even than Rao, followed him.

I was petrified. I couldn’t bring myself to react or defend myself against the man standing there, beside me, naked and towering over me, noticeably regaining his erection, while he prodded and fondled me and took my mouth in a kiss.

“Follow me,” he said, and I did, the other tall Indian following me. Hertzog returned to the bar and stood there, watching me be drawn to the back wall of the room and following Rao through a doorway covered by a beaded curtain. We were in a dark corridor with doors on either side. Moans and groans could be heard from the rooms beyond. The room Rao took me to was small. The other man entered as well, and stood by the door with his arms crossed. He was in a white dhoti, his muscular bare chest tattooed. The only piece of furniture was a low table, a sleeping platform, really, which was common of Indian residences in South Africa. The platform was covered with a dirty quilt and a few colorful pillows--a weak stab at a seraglio setting perhaps.

Regardless, the men who came into this room obviously weren’t interested in artistic surroundings.

Whispering encouragements to me in smooth English, and me frightened but high on opium and drink and aching with need, Rao tried to fuck me. He didn’t ask me if he could, and I would not have been able to fight him off if I’d tried. I just let him manipulate me at will, and when he brushed my thighs open, I left them spread for him to split with his hard cock at will.

He took my virginity away from me, certainly, but he was too large by far for me on that first entry. He seemed surprised at my entreaties that I indeed was a virgin to sex, but he told me he would take care of that and would do so with the least inconvenience he could. I’d seen him cruelly fully possess the dancer on the table, stretching her to the very limit, and I nearly sobbed, knowing he intended to do that to me as well--both fearing it, and in my long-held “getting on with it” frustration, yearning for it.

He had me sitting on the side of the platform, with him crouched over me, my right leg trapped behind him, his left arm laced under my knee and his hand pressed up into my left shoulder blade. He was fondling my chest, thighs, belly, cock, and balls with his right hand, enflaming me and driving me wild, while he covered my face and nipples with kisses. Almost imperceptibly, he had moved his left hand to my buttocks and was pressing my pelvis forward toward the edge of the platform. The fingers of his right hand were playing my anus now. He was using some form of cream to push inside me, his fingers coaxing me to open to him. I knew I’d never open enough for him, and I began to pant and groan.

His body twisted, and I felt the huge bulb of his hard staff at my anus, pressing there. I tried to break away from his embrace, but he wouldn’t let me. I cried out as he entered me with great effort. He only managed to get the rim of his glans past my sphincter muscle, though, a penetration that I felt as a surrender to him when the sphincter suddenly had given way.

Not forcing himself any further, he was content with moving his cock there in little pushing and circular motions. I wanted to give way to him. I thought that I’d be able to, but I just wasn’t letting him in.

“Relax, open to me, little one,” he murmured. “You are beautiful. I won’t ruin you as I will want you again.”

But it wasn’t working.

He was determined to be the first with me, though, to be the first to seed me, so he continued moving there just inside me, until I felt him come, his seed sliding down his unburied cock and my inner thighs.

“In time,” He murmured. “There are secrets I can share with you. I believe it’s worth you knowing them for me to have you fully. Come to us, Ajit,” he said, motioning over the other man to come forward. “You will be able to open him,” Rao said.

The man at the door untied his dhoti and then his loincloth and when they hit the floor, I saw what Rao was getting at. His cock was a long one, but it was thin.

I started to object, as the experience thus far had been more taxing and painful than I had imagined it could be, and I moved to shrink away, but Rao held me tight in his embrace, giving way to Ajit, who approached me, grasped, raised, and spread my thighs, and quickly was in farther with his shaft than Rao had reached. He worked me in a series of slides, obtaining a bit deeper purchase and then sliding back. When he then moved in again it was a bit deeper.

All the time Rao was kissing me and giving me reassurances and admonishing me to relax. He whispered instructions for accommodating the cock in my ear as he had done for the dancer, and, making the effort to follow his guidance, I felt my channel walls expanding and giving in to the less thick penetration of the older Indian man, until I heard him mutter, “I am inside far enough. Let’s lay him on the platform and I will open him further for you.”

As I lay, stretched out, on my belly on the platform, Ajit covered me from every direction from behind and on top. He fucked me in the position of the dog from every angle, reaching deeper inside me each time, each time thrusting more vigorously, moving his cock inside me so as to caress all sides of the walls. And my walls were responding, melting, and opening to him. He fucked me from the sides and he even hooked his feet on my shoulders and grasped my ankles with his hands and fucked me in reverse, rocking me back and forth, pushing his shaft against all sides of the walls, teasing them to open for him.

I took him, exhilarating at being liberated at last, but I kept my eye on Rao as he worked his own cock, keeping it large, obviously planning to have another go at me.

“I think now,” Ajit said. “I think he will receive you now.” I felt his weight come off me. He hadn’t come. No doubt Rao had told him Rao was the first one to have the privilege to do that deep inside me. I began to hyperventilate as Rao came up onto the platform, turned me face up and gathered me up in his arms, pushed his massive thighs under my buttocks, which lifted and angled my pelvis to him, and once more began to work his massive cock inside me. This time he gained entry and this time when his bulb cleared my sphincter, I remembered what he had murmured to me on technique. My channel grabbed the bulb and pulled it inside. He laughed.

Slowly, slowly my walls gave way to him and he was deep inside me. Taking my mouth in his in a kiss then, he began to move in and out inside me, slowly pumping me, each stroke taking him deeper, as I panted hard, clutched at his shoulder blades and then his plump buttocks to keep him deep inside and felt my walls melt and shimmer. He whispered further instructions in my ear, I heeded them, and, like a bank vault door rolling open when the right combination is given, my walls dilated and the muscles of my channel began to caress the invading cock. Rao groaned his appreciation for the success of my efforts. There was still pain, massive pain in keeping with the size of the man, but I could readily understand the pleasure of it too--and was confident that the pleasure would supersede the pain in time--and with a less demanding cock.

I had already come before he did as well, registering surprise, as he apparently came before he’d gotten the full measure of pleasure out of me he had sought.

“Oh well, the next time and the time after that,” he said as he pulled out of me. I lay there, fully open to him or to anyone else who would appear. Ajit was standing off to the side. I sensed that he would take me again if Rao gave him permission.

“Do you want me to keep him open as you prepare for the next?” Ajit asked.

“No. Go get the rest of his clothes,” Rao answered him. “We will take him back to the Devi. I wish to use what I have taught him at greater length.”

“You have the use of him for the night?”

“The merchant doesn’t want him back until Sunday evening. I will get much use out of him before then.”

I groaned. What the hell is “the Devi,” I wondered. I found that it was his ship, a beautiful and meticulously cared-for four-masted barque riding the waves just outside the entrance to the Cape Town harbor.

Hertzog hadn’t been anywhere to be seen when Captain Rao and Ajit guided me out of the tavern. Rao’s explanation was, “He has given me the weekend to break you in.”

So that wasn’t just bravado about riding me for two days.

Break me in Rao did, laying me gently on my back on his massive bed in the barque’s captain’s cabin when we were rowed out to the ship, and then laying me at greater length and with a bit more vigor than he had in the tavern, laying between my legs and pressing me into the feather bedding. Whispering again of the magic of mind control that could allow me to open my passage to him, he sank deep inside me and moved in and out as my channel muscles glistened over his hard shaft. He came in a flood of semen, this time deep inside me. I was no vestige of a virgin anymore.

“Now you,” he whispered, “Show me that you are mine.” He held motionless, his cock deep inside me, a hard, thick, possessing obelisk. “Now, show me what you can do, what you have learned.” He gave a low laugh as I began moving my pelvis, rising and falling on the cock by my own effort, fucking myself on the shaft. Moving quicker and quicker, crying out in passion, and collapsing in ejaculation.

Later he held me in his lap, on his cock, facing him, as he pulled me on and off the staff and then on his lap facing away from him, commanding me this time to fuck myself on the cock. I did so, happily. Later, screwed to his pelvis, my legs hooked on his thighs and his hands gripping the small of my back, he walked around the cabin and bounced me up and down on his cock.

Then he taught me the art of the suck, following his example with me--how to kiss down his body as he lay on his back, my fingers playing in the black curls of his pubic hair until they encircled and tightened over the base of his cock, feeling him engorge to my touch. My body was curled on his with his fingers working through the reddish-blond curly hair of my own pubes, guiding me, without words, on what I should be doing with him, playing in the pubic hair and then curling fingers around the base of the cock and applying pressure to hasten and enhance the engorging of the shaft.

Opening my mouth over the glans as he moaned softly, encouraging me with a “Yes, yes, like that. But slowly, gently.” Pulling the foreskin down off the bulb and licking the glans and darting my tongue in and out of his urethra. Feeling him shudder to my touch, and then continuing down the sides of the shaft, taking him deep inside my throat, until, holding my head between his hands, he began to move, first small penetrations and retreats and then, holding me more forcefully, picking up speed and intensity, as I gagged. But I was learning to take him, deeper and faster, learning how to sheath the cock in my mouth to allow it maximum penetration and the least pain, until, with a little cry, he bathed my tonsils with his seed, fell back on the bed, and sighed his pleasure and approval.

He held me to him, my cheek on his thigh, his shaft laying over on its side across my mouth, as I opened my lips to it and licked up and down the side, waiting for it to reengorge. And then at his murmured, “Again,” moved my face over his loins, brushed my reddish-gold curls out of the way to the side, and took the cock in my mouth. Again and again as the twilight turned to darkness and until he declared me a master, pulled me over him with the strength of his hands on my arms, settled my channel on the cock, and once more began the long slide leading to the vigorous pumping.

“You can take it with the best of them now,” he eventually said, and I felt as much pride in him saying that as he did.

Later still, he taught me how to maintain one rhythm in sucking his cock while Ajit was behind me, plowing me to another, more vigorous rhythm.

By Sunday morning, when he handed me back into the small boat to be returned to the Cape Town dock, I was completely undone and vanquished. He had had me repeatedly, in both orifices, I was reamed to his specifications, I was feeling more pleasure than pain in the fuck, and I didn’t want to leave him.

“We will be together again,” he said. “You are a sweet lay.”

“And I am yours,” I said.

“That is not true,” he surprisingly countered with. “I will use you from time to time, but I have not covered you the past two days to take on a lover. I have been paid good money by your master, Fons Hertzog, to break you down and train you to the serve the cock with your ass and your mouth. He is your master. You will be expected to be his when you return to him to do as he likes with you.”

I had to give him respect for his honesty, but in what was left of my innocence I had to believe that there was something more binding between the two of us than just a business service for Hertzog. To be honest with myself, however, I didn’t really deny Hertzog his rights and I was relieved to be rid of my virginity and to have had some training in the arts of man-to-man sex.

I was a bit melancholy at this parting. I was sure that he felt something when he was with me. He couldn’t be that cold blooded about what we had done together.

* * * *

Hertzog was out attending Sunday services when I returned, tottering gingerly to his house. I understood why I had been given to Rao in this way. And I recognized what my duty was to my master, Fons Hertzog. When the Dutchman passed by my bed chamber door, male servant in tow, on his way to his bath later in the day, I was lying on my back on my bed, my legs open, my now-open anus pointed at the chamber door, my cock in my hand. He did a double take in the corridor when he saw me, but he smiled, waved the servant away, entered the chamber, sank down on his knees at the foot of the bed, and moved his mouth and tongue to my ass. He too did not question that he could have me by right--and he had shown great forbearance and regard for me--although more likely for my deputy governor-general father--in that he had not forced me in a first taking by right but had turned me over to another man for initiation and preparation.

“I want--” he said as he hovered over me, clearly wanting to be inside me.

“Do whatever you want with me,” I said. “I accept that it is your right.”

He almost crushed me with his big belly pressing into my stomach, lying on top of me between my legs and fucking me in thick jabs. His rutting--it could be called nothing more romantic--as he wheezed and slobbered on my face in his exertions of off-rhythm, belabored thrusting inside me was nothing like Rao’s melting lovemaking, but it was clear that my body, my asshole and passage, was what Hertzog was paying for--why he was teaching me what he was about his trade and setting me up for life in that way.

And it didn’t stop him from ejaculating inside me in three frenzied bursts of seed.

I could not deny that he worshipped my body--he certainly fondled and prodded it enough. Only that he was crass and gross in going about it. I’m afraid that my father had been swayed more by the importance of the merchant than by his desirability and sensitivity in choosing Hertzog for my master. Hertzog easily lost control and constantly had to be begged not to mangle my bones with his fat, hairy body and to give me more time before penetrating and jabbing at me with his thick staff. He often was so anxious to cover me that he loosed his seed between my thighs even before he worked his cock inside me.

Later that Sunday, when we were both in the bath, he pulled me to and on top of him, grasping my waist between his fat hands; penetrated me again with his cock; and I rode him to another mutual ejaculation. This was a better position for me than him lying between my open thighs; I was not being pressed and crushed by that big belly of his and his spittle was not falling on my face as he rutted on me.

It wasn’t that my master covered and seeded me. This was to be tolerated.

After being initiated by the talented Rao and his compatriot, I felt no reticence or embarrassment to be covered by men. I had recognized that it was in my nature, that it was not only tolerated but also expected of me in my circle of living, and that there need be no impediment or disgrace to it as long as it were conducted with discretion and just within a circle of like-minded men. My father accepted it--indeed, embraced it himself--and signaled his wishes for me by having turned me over to apprentice with Fons Hertzog. My father knew what Hertzog demanded of an apprentice in his business, but I think he overestimated Hertzog as a lover for me. Once there, I was merely following custom. An apprentice serves at the whim of his master and the other young men in Hertzog’s house and employ were doing the same.

It was just my luck that Hertzog preferred me to all others under his control.

It was Hertzog himself who gave me pause. Sex with him, unless in his bath, was like rutting with a sweaty, smelly pig. His obesity, his intent on dressing in a hot, confining European fashion more tolerable in London than Cape Town, and the snorting noises he made in sex made lying under him more an endurance than a pleasure. To offset that, though, he had a thick cock that could please once your passage had been trained to it--when you held your eyes and nose closed and as long as he was content to fuck from behind with me bent over--bringing forth the images of a pig in rut--or if he wallowed on his back and I rode him.

I could tolerate this, but he was no Rao. After lying under Rao, I no longer had any inhibitions to being covered by a man. And I wanted to do so as often as I could obtain it. I just needed to be covered less by Fons just as he was becoming so infatuated with me that he wanted to lie with me more.

When an important voyage was coming up for the delivery of a cargo up the horn of Africa and to the Levant for passage to Turkey and there was no sailor available who knew the new art of the wireless telegraphy the schooner, Natal, was equipped with for communications with land and other ships, I noted that I knew the art and volunteered to take the voyage. I was desperate for a break from Fons’ attentions.

Hertzog, who increasingly was visiting my bed and I his, reluctantly agreed. The cargo, he said, was a vital one.

* * * *

In heaven. Heaven was Captain Rao’s cock working deep inside me, coaxing my walls to spread for him, making my walls shimmer, my channel muscles to undulate over the pumping shaft, pulling him deeper into the soft core of me and then, when reluctant to give it all to him--to any man--totally, feeling the throbbing shaft plunge deeper, possessing fully. Conquering me, making me totally his to command. Ravished to the core, surrendering to the sword that took no prisoners.

I was lying, stretched out full on top of him, on the sleeping platform in a room behind the tavern on the docks. My eyes were darting around to various places in the ceiling of the room, without focusing on anything in particular. Like a crab, my feet were planted on the platform on either side of his thighs, raising my pelvis a bit to give his thrusts added power. I was held in his embrace, my back pulled tight into his chest, one of his hands playing my nipples, in turn, and the other stroking my cock. His thick, thick, long shaft was relentlessly fucking up into me, deep, totally possessing. His lips were locked into the side of my neck except when I turned my head for a deep kiss.

He was fucking me interminably. I was his for whatever he wanted. And after he filled me deep with his hot cum, he told me what he wanted. As long as he fucked me again, I would have done anything he demanded of me.

Surely he could feel the special connection as well.

Rao had let me go long enough without his attentions--and with the unsatisfactory substitute of Fons Hertzog--that I was tense and nervous for want of him. Then, when I was at my most needy and skittish, he came upon me in the streets of Cape Town, near the harbor, running an errand for Hertzog, and told me he wanted me again--now.

I said yes instantly, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I hadn’t. He immediately was guiding me, a hand on my buttocks, back to the alleyways of the docks and the smoky tavern with the Indian clientele--and thus to a small room beyond the beaded curtain, with the only furniture necessary: a sleeping platform. Not the room we’d been in before--but surely its twin. I didn’t care any more now that it was shabby than I had before. Now, as then, I only had thoughts for Rao--and his cock.

“I’ve heard you are sailing from Port Elizabeth with Hertzog’s schooner, the Natal, in a week’s time,” he murmured in my ear, still holding me to and above him, still shafting me deep and languidly moving inside me in the natural lubricant provided by his own prodigious semen.

“That is so.”

“And I understand you are to operate their wireless telegraphy for the ship.”

“That is so also.”

“I have the same cargo I wish to get to the same market before the Natal arrives. I want you to use the Natal’s telegraph to keep my ship apprised of you position so that I can get to market ahead of the Natal. Hertzog can still sell his cargo there, but I will do so a premium prices if I can stay ahead of him.”

“As you wish,” I’d answered. His had not really been a request, and it seemed to do little harm to Hertzog’s interest. It wouldn’t have mattered if it did, though. I would have said yes to him about anything as long as he had his cock inside me. I didn’t even ask the nature of the cargo. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had--as long as he had his cock inside me.

And I could feel the cock coming alive again. His embrace tightened, his legs came up, lacing mine in his and raising and spreading mine, giving his cock even deeper access inside me--which he was using to best advantage: thrusting deep, pulling back, thrusting deeper. I moaned and writhed within his grasp, not wanting to escape him but wanting to become one with the rhythm of the thrust. When I had, my mind became totally absorbed in the working of his shaft deep inside me. Sighing, moaning, groaning, taking him big and deep. Exploding and feeling him jerk as well, flooding me with his seed.

As twilight approached, I was lying on my back between Rao’s spread legs. His back was elevated on an incline by pillows. He was palming my chest, thrumming a nipple, with one hand and had the other pressed to my belly. We were savoring what I hoped would only be an interlude, as I turned my face to his and we kissed.

“Ajit, come,” he called out, and I turned my head to see Ajit enter the room, wearing just a loincloth, which was discarded as he approached the bed platform. He was in erection. “As we discussed, it is time to start more deeply teaching our little friend here the art of the passage wall muscles. We are teaching you a closely held art of the east, Geof. It will increase your pleasure and that of your partner greatly.”

I think I muttered something, but I was too mellow from Rao’s attentions to even think of demurring. If he said it was a way for me to increase his pleasure, although I had no idea how mine could be increased in any way when I was with him, I would willingly learn.

Ajit took hold of my ankles and wishboned my legs. I arched my back against Rao’s massive chest and moaned deeply, as Rao held me close to him with the hand on my belly and on my chest. Ajit presented his cock head at my hole and pressed in. When he had moved deep inside me, Rao started whispering in my ear, giving me instruction on how I could control my body--the muscles of my passageway--and how I could heighten my pleasure and that of my partner as he moved his shaft within me. Ajit worked me well for over a half hour as I began to learn the secrets of controlling my passage walls--making them shimmer, grasping and sucking in the moving cock, undulating the muscles of the wall over the shaft, and closing tightly on the throbbing cock.

I was open and sighing, feeling Rao tense up under me and breathe harder, when he said something to Ajit in a language other than English, and Ajit, without dislodging his shaft inside me, lifted and rolled my buttocks. Then Rao spoke softly to me, saying, “Now follow my instructions closely. You are going to will yourself to open more, to dilate your passage greatly.” Following his guidance, and to my surprise, I felt my passage loosening, opening even more than it already had. Rao, under me, was in massive erection. I huffed and puffed as his cock entered me, under that of the already sheathed Ajit, and, when it was saddled inside me, he and Ajit worked me together. Rao held me close, kissing my mouth and eyelids, whispering words of encouragement, while not seeing how I possibly could take the cocks of two men at one time, I did just that.

It hadn’t been true that there was nothing more I could learn to heighten the pleasure in the fuck for both my partner, or partners, and me.

* * * *

“I am sorry I agreed to this now that it is happening.”

“You need a radio operator for the ship. I must show my gratitude to you.” I made the effort of placing my hand on Fons’ arm. I needed him to think this was all to benefit him. He had used me again--cruelly as if he’d never see me again--in his bath that morning, my legs straddled on the sides of the porcelain tub, my buttocks resting on his meaty thighs as he closed his hands around my throat and rode me hard. He wasn’t long, but he was thick. And, in erection, he was long enough to be felt. I usually maneuvered so that I straddled him and could control the rhythm, but he was excited this morning. And thus he was longer and harder than usual. His thrusts were harder than ever previously.

I had no doubt he wanted me to stay. But I was equally sure that I wouldn’t be able to take much more of his cock--and the occasional meeting with Captain Rao as well. It was no contest which one of them I preferred.

“You show your gratitude to me,” he said, letting a hand go to the small of my back. “You’ve become like a son to me.” This made me wonder what he did with his son. “There’s danger on the sea. I’ve instructed Dietrich to sail only at night and to come into a port during the day--to the extent he can. You’ll be running up the horn of Africa to the Gulf of Aden, then into the Red Sea, and up the Gulf of Aqaba--to the port of Aqaba, under Ottoman control. From there the cargo goes overland through the Levant to Turkey. But I want you to be brought directly back to me in the Natal. I’ve instructed Captain VonKnussen to bring you back safe to me.”

“Not sailing during the day when we can avoid it? Won’t that take longer?” I had asked the question of him, quite cognizant of the hand at the small of my back, mindful of what we’d done in the bed before going to the bath that morning--of me in his lap, his hand at the small of my back, pulling me into him, on his cock. I shuddered. I was speaking to him but looking out beyond the harbor at Port Elizabeth, where Captain Rao’s barque, the Devi, was already under sail. The instructions on the running of the Natal would help the Devi stay well ahead of us.

“Pirates,” Fons said. “They have cleared most of them from the Indian Ocean that have lurked around Madagascar, in the Mozambique Channel, but not all. One, in particular, the pirate known as Big Jack, is still at large. Pirates, though, generally carouse at night, they do not pursue prizes. I’ve told VonKnussen to be very careful with you. I’m sure he will be.”

And VonKnussen was very careful with me. He had me in his cabin and on his bed before we’d even cleared Port Elizabeth harbor--and he was careful that no one who might tell Hertzog he was fucking me discovered us. I did nothing to deflect him from getting his pleasure on my back--it was my pleasure as well. He was a tall, strapping Dutchman in good trim.

Showing me to his cabin, he placed his hands on my arms from behind, arresting my progress farther into the space. I knew even before then that he would cover me. I knew it from the way he looked upon me as he was welcoming me to his ship. I knew it from the way my loins reacted to him, wanted him. By now I fully knew my nature and interests--as well as my appetites.

“I know why Master Hertzog is so solicitous of your well-being, Geof Merriman,” he whispered in my ear, bringing his lips close in. I leaned back into him. “He does not make much of a secret of who he wants . . . and who he has had.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I answered quietly.

“It’s a long, testing voyage to Aqaba.”

“Is it?” I answered. “In some ways I like long and testing.” I could hear his intake of breath. He was taking in the scent of my reddish-gold curls. Just that morning Fons had run his fingers through those curls, sharing his sweet-smelling shampoo with me, as I slowly rode his cock in the bath. I had lost all embarrassment of lying with a man. I was riding the cocks of other men by then--Hertzog’s house steward and another young apprentice at the merchant’s office and, occasionally, a man off the street who my loins took a fancy to and who signaled that he wanted me. And once a man had had me, he was wild for having me again.

The captain was quite right. It would be a long voyage, much too long to be celibate. My eyes had scanned the crew of the Natal. There were possibilities, but the captain himself was the one who stirred my loins the most.

“You have gained a certain reputation in Cape Town,” he murmured. He kissed me on the back of my neck and I tilted my head, encouraging him to do so again, which he did.

“I enjoyed earning that reputation,” I said. “The men who have ridden me have enjoyed my reputation too.” We were past being coy about this. He was fondling my cock and balls through the material of my trousers. I covered his hand, but just to hold him there, not to try to repel him.

“I am, no doubt, longer than Master Hertzog. And I know I stand taller and am more handsome and in better form.”

“That goes without saying,” I said.

“And younger and more vigorous.”

“There is much to be said in favor of a vigorous stroke,” I answered. “You needn’t sell me on your prowess with words, Captain. It would be better if you showed it to me in action. I am here, in your cabin, now.”

Again the intake of breath. He didn’t ask, which gave me a little thrill. He took. I heard first, the buckles of his suspenders hitting the floor and then felt him release mine. Our garments were puddled at our feet. He placed his hand on my naked lower belly and pressed in and up, both lifting me and pulling me back to him so that I had to go up on my toes. His hand was broad, strong, calloused.

The steely grasp of his hands squeezed me, as if I might resist, and then it was my turn to gasp and take in my breath at the sharp pain and immediate sensation of being penetrated and filled without further prelude to the act. He was big, thick. I rolled my buttocks up even more to him to ease the slide of him up into my channel. The entry was long and slow, taking my breath away, making me moan deeply. By now I was well used, well able to accommodate him, my walls quick to respond and open to the invasion, grabbing his cock and pulling him inside me.

He laughed a low, guttural laugh. “It goes right in. You’re a little whore.”

“Yes,” I answered.

“You have been covered by many more men than Hertzog.”

“Yes. Does that disgust you?”

“No, it excites me. You must be well experienced in the coupling.”

“Experience enough to give you pleasure, I wager.”

He held one hand there, on my lower belly, pressing and releasing to match the stroking of his cock inside me. His other hand went to cupping my chin, holding my head into the hollow of his neck.

At first he took me carefully, deliberately, slowly, from behind, embracing me tightly with his muscular arms, ever solicitous of whether or not he was too deep inside me or pumping me too hard. He wasn’t initially.

He groaned. “You pull me in, caress it with your inner muscles. Where did you learn that?”

“What does it matter?” I whispered. I don’t know if he would be disgusted to know that I had learned it from Indians--Rao and Ajit--as secrets of the East. “It only matters that it gives you pleasure.”

“Which it surely does--it surely does. Not a whore, no. A courtesan.”

I liked the sound of that--not just a whore, but a courtesan. That’s what I wanted to be, a courtesan to men. Rao and Ajit were teaching me many secrets of making love to a man’s cock that would help me in that way. I turned my face to his and we kissed deeply. I took my hand off my own cock, which I had been slow stroking, and moved both hands to his buttocks, the orbs pressing into me and then releasing in the rhythm of the fuck. I clutched his buttocks, squeezed, and pressed my fingertips into his tender flesh. VonKnussen groaned, his grip on me tightened, and his cock moved deeper inside me with the next thrust.

He was indeed younger than Fons and more handsome, and longer, if not thicker. And he was sweet and clean smelling--and such a relief after the older Dutch munitions broker. When he bent me over his bed then, the stroke became more vigorous.

“Yes,” I murmured. “Even harder, please. Take me hard; make me suffer.”

He held my hips in his hands as I lay my chest on his bedspread, extended my arms, fisted the material of the bed linens and luxuriated in a man who was more of a man than Fons Hertzog was. He slowly became rougher, more cruel as the pace of the pump increased. He was a hard-worked man, virile, powerful. He stroked me hard and fast. He didn’t handle me like a porcelain doll, but roughly, pounding me with force, like I was a seasoned whore and could take all that a virile man could provide. And I could take him. I cried out repeatedly, passionately, with deep pleasure, until we both gave a cry, ejaculated, and he fell on top of me on the bed, not leaving me, letting me luxuriate in the feel of him going flaccid inside me.

If I had a cabin assigned to me on the Natal, I never saw it. I slept in Captain VonKussen’s bed--under Captain VonKnussen.

For five nights, as the wind took us up the western coast of Africa, I rode VonKnussen’s cock in his cabin after twilight and before he went on duty for the night sail, and then I went to the radio room, did all of the messaging he had given me, and, as the last act for the evening, radioed the Natal’s position to the Devi. With luck, I reasoned, the Devi was already far north of us considering how leisurely and careful our progress was.

* * * *

The pirates struck as soon as the Natal entered the Mozambique Channel, north of Madagascar and south of the Comoros Islands. The fight was short and relatively bloodless--or so I was told. The Schooner sailed with fewer than twenty hands. Two of those--the captain, Dietrich VonKnussen, and the radio operator, I--were busy fucking on the captain’s bed in his cabin when the pirates crawled over the gunwales.

We had already done it once, but he had still been hard when he had seeded me, so he was late going to the helm. I had been on my belly, on his bed, naked, with moonlight streaming through the large, multipaned bay window in the bow of the ship and making my fair skin and blond head and pubic hair glisten. Kneeling beside me, he was running his hand over the contours of my back and between my thighs, giving my cock and balls attention. He sucked in air as his attentions made me slowly press in with my knees and raise my buttocks to him. “Plow me again,” I whimpered. “Cover me and plow me.”

“You are such a whore,” he whispered.

“So, you don’t want me?” I asked, with a low laugh.

“Of course I want you,” he answered in a guttural voice. He straddled me and fucked me like a dog, but it didn’t dissipate his heat. He wanted more. Very soon after that he was on his back, his head resting on his bent arms, smoking a cigar, and watching me as I straddled his hips and rode his cock. There wasn’t even enough of a sound from the brief scuffling outside of the pirates hoisting themselves over the sides from their attack skiffs to disturb my ride or VonKnussen’s enjoyment of it.

The first I knew was the door to the passageway and the pirate captain standing there, magnificent of body, clad only in a loincloth.

“Captain Rao,” I exclaimed, in surprise.

“Big Jack at the moment,” he answered in a booming voice, a grin plastered across his face.

Other pirates came streaming into the cabin and bore a swearing VonKnussen away. I was assured that none of the Natal’s crew had sustained more than minor injuries and that all had been set adrift in a skiff close enough to land for them to reach Madagascar by morning.

I had no means of checking this out, as Big Jack was taking up where VonKnussen left off. He not only appropriated VonKnussen’s cigar, but he moved into position between my legs as well, fucking me hard and deep. I was too busy moaning and sighing to spend much time fretting over what had happened and why--and why I was still on the ship when the others had gone over the side.

When Big Jack had finished me--and himself--and permitted me up on deck, the Devi was lashed to the Natal and wooden boxes from the Natal’s hold were being transferred to the Devi. One case was dropped and shotguns fell out.

“Winchester M12 shotguns, American make,” Big Jack explained. “Hertzog had obtained them to transfer them illegally to Turkey--to the Ottomans. My friends in Bombay have greater need for them. A pan-Indian mutiny in the British Indian Army is afoot to rise from the Ghadar Barracks.”

Stupid me. I should have realized that a priority sailing of goods in time of war by someone dealing in munitions would be military weapons. But Captain Rao had had me bamboozled. Neither I nor anyone else in Cape Town, I’m sure, had realized that the captain of the barque Devi that had shown up in South Africa was really the pirate Big Jack of the Mozambique Channel.

Speaking of being had, Big Jack transferred me to his cabin on the Devi and had me, deep and hard, while his crew completed the cargo transfer, set fire to the Natal, and pushed it off into the channel. I didn’t care as long as the captain was fucking me. I even was naïve enough to believe that I hadn’t been sent off with the crew of the Natal--assuming they’d been sent off at all in a skiff rather than to a watery grave--because Big Jack was going to recruit me for his crew and plow me regularly.

When I suggested as much, saying I was willing, Big Jack snorted. “Why would I let loose of the son of a deputy governor-general and lover of a rich arms merchant? Why, you’re worth your weight in gold in ransom.”

“That can’t be it,” I cried out. “You wouldn’t do that with me.”

“Let me show you what I’d do with you,” he said, with a laugh.

Bending me over the bed, grasping and spreading my legs into the splits on the bed, and covering me close from behind, he showed me.

An hour later he showed me in a different way. His crew was receiving their reward for a well-executed pirate attack--aided in no small way by my nightly reports to them on the Natal’s position. I was in the forecastle of the Devi, prominently positioned, stretch on a saw horse-configured stand, wrists and ankles bound on the four legs, bare ass waving at one end, while the crew of the Devi was given its way with me at both ends, each sailor, in turn, as they wished, and being sailors they all wished. Big Jack’s confederate, Ajit, who I knew from the tavern and who had intimately known me there, was the man who conveyed me to the forecastle and was the first to plow me, bound, on the apparatus. Saddling up behind me, each man who wanted to fucked me and slathered me with his seed and then gave over to the next and then the next and then back to the top of the order. The stream ran from face fucking me to get their cocks hard to my ass to get them soft again.

Big Jack didn’t take me into his bed again. He gave me to the crew for their use for the next ten days, as the Devi sailed around the edge of the Indian Ocean, destined for Bombay. When the crewmen discovered that I would willingly take them, singly or in quick succession--or even two at once--and would fully join in the fuck, they released me from the various constraints they had been using and I was given the run of the ship, becoming one of them with the exception that they were masters and I the slave.

A ransom demand had been radioed off to Cape Town, but Big Jack became antsy about arrangements to hand me over and, instead, sold me to a desert Sheik in Muscat and Oman as the Devi sailed past the base of the Arabian peninsula before making the curve around to Persia.

It’s another story of harrowing adventure and the taking of men’s cocks of how I was traded across Arabia, but I eventually made my way to Aqaba, where the Natal had meant to take me in the first place, where I subsequently was liberated from Ottoman slavery by the Arab Revolt in July of 1917, led by Auda ibu Tayi, assisted by the British soldier and spy, T. E. Lawrence. Lawrence of Arabia was quite a man, and a favorite in bed of the leaders of the Arab Revolt as, upon liberation, was I. But that is another story altogether, one that I have yet to tell. Let it be said, though, that Arab men made me forget the talents of Big Jack Rao altogether and erased any desire that I had to return to Cape Town, South Africa. They had nothing on Rao in size, but they had technique that matched what Rao taught me--technique that made all of the difference in the world.