Scrimshaw & Zelamir

Tribute Boys
A Fantasy in Just One of Our Possible Futures

Book Two

The Boy Hunting Party

Chapter 1
Prologue

This is the Hacienda des Chicos de Ezaro, home to Don Carlos, his son, staff, paying guests and about one hundred and fifty boys between the ages of seven and fourteen. They are Tribute Boys. Most fortunate in that when they were given in Tribute by their parents to serve for seven years, the fruits of their labours ensuring a pension, that they should have been acquired by such an enlightened and talented Master. This will ensure their parents affluence in old age and, with dedication to their training, the boy a moment, of hopefully prolonged, glory.

At about the age of fourteen the Tribute Boy is required by law to request his Release. It can be before, if his Master so chooses. He has a number of choices in the manner of this, most result in him performing a ritual that results in his own death. In this way the overriding prerogatives of the new world order are achieved. The wealthy few have their sport, the poor masses their spectacles, in the media or in the flesh so to speak. Many become wealthy in the process. The old and poor are cared for in a dignified manner, and juvenile delinquency is unknown. Finally as the forces of natural selection, and removal from the breeding stock continue the World population has now stabilised. But most important the G7 group of Multinationals that now rule the World take profit from every part of the process.

But some are not among these fortunate ones. The road is badly marked with pot holes and a road gang works to repair it. Such things are much more difficult with resources in such short supply. A man of less stature than Don Carlos would have difficulty in persuading the Mayor to spend his meagre budget on a public road that serves principally a private estate. Perhaps Don Carlos's boy emissary was particularly eloquent in arguing his case? It was four nights before the lad was delivered back…

The service vehicle is powered by methane and solar panels, it tows a trailer full of boiling tar and a small road roller. There are three adult male labourers supervising a gang of twelve boys between the ages of about ten and fourteen. The boys are of local stock, naked brown bodies burnt black by the sun and running with sweat and dust. They are branded on the left hip and wear a rough iron collar with a length of chain dangling down. They are in no way beautiful, large feet with spayed toes crusted with filth, legs and thighs marked with old scars, and in some cases festering sores. Many have marked backs and buttocks as well. In so many respects they are identical to their countless millions of poor working brothers throughout the centuries. Other than a brief period in the late Twentieth Century when unrealistic and immoral ideals of a childhood of affluence and protection from 'abuse' ruled supreme in a few decadent 'developed' countries it has ever been thus. Luck and wealth, and perhaps good looks are the only real protection for a boy.

As always they are surprisingly cheerful in their toil. Some breaking stone to fill holes, some carrying pails of tar, bigger ones with a yoke and two pails, the smaller struggling two handed with one. They squeal when hot splashes stick to flesh. Others spread the chippings in the hot tar. The men work as well, not particularly cruel, the boys are mere beasts of burden at the moment. Later they may be called on to entertain. One lashes a boy of about eleven or twelve across the shoulders.

"Move faster Chico, we don't want the job to take all day!"

The boy gasps in pain but when he joins his friend pouring out the tar he jokes.

"Just wait until later when I get to ride him! Then it will be 'move slower Chico! Make the job last all night!'"

The boys howl with laughter, and the man who heard everything joins in.

"Sure thing Chico! Just you wait!"

Around the corner glides an expensive open car driven by a middle aged thickset man wearing a Panama hat and a white cotton suit. He has the dog collar of a man of 'the cloth'. Beside him sits a beautiful boy of about twelve years. He is fair haired, cut very short with a longer fringe in front, and golden tanned. Around his neck he wears a red silk scarf, but nothing on his upper body. The car stops by the labouring boys and the pair get out. The boy wears traditional, very short, Germanic leather shorts, and leather sandals. His legs and thighs are long, unmarked and beautiful. The man goes over to the foreman road worker and speaks to him using American Spanish, and passes him a wad of dollar bills. He speaks to his boy companion, in American accented English.

"Let this be a lesson to you young Ronald as to how fortunate you are to be offered the chance of Redemption in the heart of the Lord! Unlike these miserable brats who were born to labour, fornicate in Sin, seduce their elders and betters into the same and perish in agony, their only hope oblivion!"

"They are very dirty, but are they so very wicked, Sir?"

"Just watch and you will see!" And he waves his hand at the foreman.

"Come here Chico!" The young boy that was lashed and joked does so, eyes full of innocence and perhaps lust…

"You want it now, Chico?"

"Oh! Si Señor, por favor, por favor…"

Yes, lust! He lies on his back on the tail gate of the truck, legs spayed and thrown back over his shoulders. He fingers his anus and his small penis throbs hard against his belly. One of the other men gets into the truck and holds his ankles, but it is not necessary, the boy writhes in ecstasy, then orgasm as the foreman fucks him to his own climax. The boy moans and tosses about.

"Quiero mas, quiero mas! Pour favor Señor!"

"Well Chico its your lucky day! The Father here has paid you off so you can beg your Release by taking as much hot juice up your tight little 'ano' as you can manage! Ask it!"

The boy pauses confused by this unexpected turn of events. Release is not a welcome prospect but endless fillings of hot semen seems not too bad a way to go. He is so very wrong.

"Pour favor Señor … liberacion!"

"Close your eyes, Chico!"

The boy does, the other man tightens his grip on the boy. The foreman is handed a cows horn by the man 'of the cloth', and without preamble thrusts it into the boys anus. The boy screams, it is very big,

"Secorro! San Antonio! Muy grande y estoy rasgar! Secorro Dios!…." A trickle of blood flows from the abused child's anus, but then he starts thrusting back on the intrusion.

"Quiro mas!… Quirro mas!…. Estoy un puta!… " The boys penis hardens again and the man quickly manipulates it to orgasm again with his free hand, immature thin sperm splashing over the brown belly.

"Dios, maravilloso! Ahora mismo ustedes llenar mi tripas!"

The man 'of the cloth' has his hand down the front of his boy companions shorts. The boy moans and thrusts, his small penis poking out the leg of his shorts. The man 'of the cloth' is breathing heavily, his own penis hard against his white cotton slacks.

"Now!" he yells. "Give the filthy little whore what he asks for!"

The third man unnoticed has been brought a pail by one of the other boys, his mates crowd round in anticipation, small penis's hard. As the foreman holds the horn, the other pours the boiling tar into the boy's guts, the horn is quickly removed. There is not a mark on the lad. Strangely for a few split seconds he does not react other than to open his eyes wide in terror, released legs flop over the tail of the truck. Then he starts screaming until he can scream no more, but the agonised writhings continue much longer. He even manages to stagger a few steps away from his persecutors before his small brown body falls convulsing in the dust, heels drumming the sharp stones until the blood flows, finger nails clawing into to soft flesh of his distended belly.

The three workmen have found boys to satiate themselves on, but the man 'of the cloth', in spite of suspiciously damp trousers, lectures his red faced and panting companion.

"Let that be a lesson to us both Ronald! The fruits of Sin are death! The little whore even began to lead you astray! What do you say to that?"

"Please Sir, the whore made me come in my pants! Please will you punish me when we get home? I do so want to be a pure little boy for you and the Lord!"

"Oh I shall, Ronald, I shall!"

He goes over to the still conscious and writhing boy, opens his trousers and with distended penis urinates over him. Then they get into the car and drive on.

A few kilometres on they stop again by a very different group. A man and a teenage boy sit with practised ease on small hill ponies. The man wears leather 'chaps' and breach clout, above a leather waistcoat with ivory buttons. He is totally self assured and at ease. The boy wears only a small woven coloured cloth loin cloth and a belt with a splendid dagger. He looks not arrogant as he would have done a few weeks ago, but struggling with the beginnings of self confidence as befits an adolescent. The ponies heads were held by two boys, both are naked. The man's boy is an Amerindian of about nine years, long raven hair braided with beads and feathers. The boy is accompanied by a Slavic golden red haired boy of about thirteen years. These boys are bound by the same Tribute system as the road gang, but they are marked not by scars and toil but by their beauty and bearing. Most significant is the look of unqualified love in their eyes as they gaze at their respective Masters, awaiting the smallest whim, to demonstrate it by serving them.

The car pulls up and the man 'of the cloth' and his companion get out.

"Buenos Dias! Reverend Baker! I trust you and your young friend are enjoying your holiday?"

The Reverend shakes the proffered hand, Ronald hesitates looking confused. A wink reassures him and he too shakes hands.

"Oh very good morning Don Carlos, and the benevolence of the Lord be on you! And to you young Christopher!"

He shakes his hand too, this time Ronald does not hesitate.

"This is indeed an excellent holiday from my labours for the Lord. you have no idea how much work TV evangelism can be. Its so very expensive, but the faithful and saved are so generous!"

"And your friend?"

"Oh an excellent and attentive pupil I assure you, though he does have his little lapses, don't you Ronald?"

The boy nods dumbly, is there fear in those eyes?

"But we know how to deal with that!" The Reverends eyes stray to the two Tribute Boys. "Ah! Sky and Mir, such delightful little animals! I can see they are both deep in Sin… Well one must concentrate on one's own boy, must one not?" They get back into the car and drive on towards the Hacienda.

Don Carlos turns to his son and says, "And let that be a lesson on the hypocrisy of priests to you young man! Its such a pity that his TV show makes him so wealthy. rest assured that if there is a Hell he will be roasting in it rather than you or I!"

They spur the ponies and canter down the road towards home. Sky and Mir effortlessly keeping pace and delighting in the feel of the wind on their naked flesh and the prowess of their training to serve their adored Masters to the end. What ever that will be for the two boys?

Chapter 2

Don Carlos Speaks

Over the bridge, some of the little ones are testing their own courage by making the twelve metre jump into the one deep pool in the shallow water, those waiting hurriedly drop to their knees as we pass. They are in fine health, naked bodies of many hues glistening with water droplets. Through the small pine grove and the three isolated bungalows and down to the beach. At nearly noon it is beginning to empty, but still some boys have to scatter as we canter through the shallow water. A pair have been fishing, they look like six year olds. The dark one offers me his catch, a fine boned enticing lad, he stands legs slightly apart and one hip raised, always a good sign for a good fuck. His friend large boned and fair does not appeal, more Hassan's type! I shout for them to take the fish up to the kitchen door. Maybe later I will see if they are still waiting? They might make good bait boys for the fishing party next week.

Nearly to my end of the beach I wave at the boy Tim, close in shore on his sail board in the fresh breeze. The float line from his balls skipping in his wake. His mignon on his own board just fails to intercept it, he is getting very good I am pleased to say. But the two whale boats drawn up on the beach are my special delight. The mignons are busy cleaning both boats and the competition crew is lying panting on the sand after their training run. I rein in and tell Christopher to carry on, I think he wants to be alone with Mir again. Sky collapses panting when I tell him he need not hold the horse's head. The four boys scramble to their knees, they look very handsome. Kumu black and Christian the smallest golden, Rodolfo and Miguel brown, their naked bodies sparkle with salt crystals and are rivuleted with sweat. Each wears the red silk bandana they will wear on their big day and Rodolfo has been busy helping them with their daggers, now bright with coloured knot work, hanging on their smooth heaving chests.

"Ah! Rodolfo, my so loyal and so loving Rodolfo. I am beginning to fall in love with him in the same way I did Juan so many years ago. I dismount and at my nod he rises and embraces me, I can feel the trembling of his thighs in his love and lust for me as I stroke him. I turn him back to me and he clasps his raised hands behind my neck, head up raised and those marvellous dark eyes gazing into mine. My hands move across his now thrusting belly, he starts to moan. His little hairless penis jerks slightly against his belly, a shining crystal droplet at the slit. The other three boys are now fully hard and look at their friend in envy. I squeeze his small balls and his moans increase. But I will not give him what he craves for, yet…

"Not now you little whore, but very soon I am going to fuck you again, and again. I might even let you come!" I whisper in his ear. Disappointed he sinks to his knees again. "And you three will get it too!" I say aloud. All four faces break into big grins and giggles. Christian holds up five fingers to Rodolfo, who shakes his head and holds up four, such are the joys of their short boyhood, but I still can't work out what they are on about.

Mounted again, I greet the Davis family just ready to leave the beach, their two sons now getting a nice all over suntan that will be the envy of their school mates. The boys that are serving them stagger under all the paraphernalia of the family day at the beach. Today Mrs Davis has a particularly well endowed Maasi boy, whilst Mr Davis is favouring a slight Chinese boy who is not so. I suspect this reflects their taste in family entertainment. Their son's play mates are 2nd and 3rd year Javanese boys, almost twins. Perhaps I will access the security cameras later, it would be interesting to see what their imagination is up to! We exchange greetings, Robert Davies is a very old customer, "Well if you are not going to give the Hispanic whore what he wants why don't you ask me!" he concludes.

"My friend I believe you have quite enough to keep you busy for today at least! Hasta luego!"

Now I must get back to the house to prepare for lunch, I am expecting my old friend Don Pablo who has graciously accepted the role of President at my little private performance after the games. He takes his duties seriously and wishes to make sure that in view of them being under age Jan, Mishear and Chueng understand their obligations, and very slim chances of survival, having been granted their Release. Sky must understand his obligations and chances too.

I do not spare Sky now but go at full gallop up to the house, for him to have any chance against Artemis' brat, I wish she would answer letters and tell me details of her brats and what Sky's competition is to be, he must be ruthlessly extended in his stamina and ability to withstand the inevitable pain. It is only fair to the brat… to give him a fighting chance, I'm sure Artemis will delight in his fate if he looses! He is some way behind me but running strongly as another boy holds my horses head as I dismount. I am already seated with two glasses of iced sweetened lime in front of me as he comes up the steps to collapse at my feet, clasping my ankles. His breath comes in gasping sobs and he is filthy with dust and sweat, it is only to be expected he has just run nearly 20km. Also he was told not to eat or drink at breakfast but to attend me immediately so he must now be desperate for liquid. When he has recovered a little he manages to kneel, very good! Now to push him a little further.

"Very good my little Sky, you are beginning to run much better! Would you like to drink?"

He just nods, still to out of breath to speak, eyes glistening with his need. I show him the specially prepared glass, from its base there is a cord to float switch and a battery power source set to give pulses, from it two wires with special ends, not easily expelled. Another of Hassan's little inventions! I instruct him to place one into his piss slit, the other up his anus. He winces in pain as he does so. He resumes his kneeling position.

"Now my boy let me see if you can enjoy pain as much as running, drink as much as you like!"

He is so thirsty that he snatches the glass and gulps greedily, unfortunately his scream of agony at the first electrical pulse into his guts is almost simultaneous and he splutters most of it out, quickly replacing the glass.

"Now boy remember what Hassan told you, you have to control and ride the pain if you are going to have a good Release one day. Now take the glass slowly and let your body react to the pain, whilst controlling it with your mind."

This time he was more successful and managed a couple of sips in spite of his belly spasming in the jolts.

"Good boy! That's the way!"

He drinks again and again in spite of the agony until the glass is finished, very promising!

"Well done! But lets see how well you have been doing in your movement Class."

I set the power up higher.

"Now I want you to show me how well you can move your body when its being tortured, my guests and Artemis will expect a spectacular performance! When I set the switch permanently on you can scream and writhe about as much as you think will please me. When you want to finish pull one of the wires out. I am timing you and I suggest you start standing up. You understand and agree Sky, you do want me to love you don't you?"

"Si Señor, por favor, yo quere sufrir atrozmente!"

I throw the switch and watch the child's slim smooth body start to convulse with the pulses. At first he controls the pain then he goes with it, this is one of the secrets of my success, how to teach a boy to perform for his audience using his bodies very real responses, but in way that will stimulate them fully. A hard learnt ability to keep conscious and moving erotically through prolonged and increasing levels of pain and injury are not only very satisfying for a boy's audience, his guardians pension fund is rewarded handsomely; It also increases his survival chances significantly, as Juan first proved for me. Sky is very good for one so young and I am getting quite hard. He can no longer stand and falls, thrashing about on the floor, I turn up a notch and he screams as the next pulse hits him. He only stands two minutes before he frantically pulls the penis probe loose.

"Very good! Take this away and when you can get to five minutes at this setting come back and show me. Now you can drink the other glass and give me a kiss."

Charmingly he does the second thing first. I really must fuck him again he really is an engaging little whore!

"Come back at 4 with the other boys, Don Pablo wants to talk to you too!"

"Si Señor, muchas gracias!" And he goes off to his sty with his new training toy I clap my hands for the house boy, its the second day for the brat Ivan I bought at the Balkan Market. He is as randy as hell, but totally useless at more practical duties, like bathing and dressing me. I will probably give him to one of the Germans for his stay, too uncultured to notice his faults! Of course he will learn fast, but today I have ordered another boy to help him. I do not want to be late for lunch, or out of breath with beating duties and good manners into him.

I always enjoy luncheons with my god friend Don Pablo de Ozon, El Juez - Presidente de los Niños Tributo de Galica, to give him his full title. A little older than I, wealthy enough to have retired early from his law practice with free citizens, he now spends his time on his small estate near Muxia up the coast. His hobbies are his small string of choice boys and his honorary duties to the Tribute system. And of course hunting and the bull ring like any true Spanish grandee. I have known him from my childhood and of course he was the perfect choice as God Parent to Christopher. But this is not entirely a courtesy call, he has graciously accepted the Presidency of Jan and Mishears final performance and as they are underage and it is a little unusual he has expressed his desire to sort a few things out in advance.

With such a distinguished audience, who have bid most generously to get the 100 special seats, and the media recording everything, it would be inconvenient to say the least if there were irregularities. But boys are always uncertain performers at the best of times, so it is best to reduce the possibility of surprises!

He arrives at the door and is shown in by a stumbling Ivan, the brat brightens noticeably as my friend fondles his testicles as he takes his hat.

"New one eh? Promising little puto, Slavic stock?"

"Buenos dios amigo! You can have him after the cheese and brandy if you like!"

With him he has a dreamy looking boy a boy thirteen years, probably Mexican stock. I notice the boy has a good penis though very smooth, his dark medium length hair tousled from the drive in the back of the open truck his face is narrow and fine boned. He is branded I notice, but his collar has been cut and replaced with a cross on a crimson ribbon round his long slender neck. He is also carrying a curious wooden stool with a sharp piece of wood on edge across the top of it.

"Like everybody you've noticed José! Quite stunning isn't he?"

"Si! Perhaps we could forget lunch?"

"Perdon Amigo! He not for the like of us anymore. He was showing signs of listening to the priest too much and getting religion. Wouldn't want one of mine up before the Inquisition, too many embarrassing answers don't you know! So I invited El Cardinel to dinner, of course the stupid man fell for him, and now he wants him for this years St Antonius, poor little sod! I'm taking him up to San Diego de Campos to hand him over for personal training by the man himself!"

"Penitencia Chico!"

"Si Señor, yo obedece!" The boy goes back out on to the veranda, puts the stool down and kneels one leg either side of it. He puts most of his weight on the vertical plank that now presses sharply into his perineum, and is wracked by a sob of pain. His back is straight and he gazes upwards, hands out stretched. The tears start and he sobs through them almost inaudibly.

"Soy el suciedad de mundo! Ensenar me a sufir martirio!" Over and over again.

"Quite right Amigo! Poor little sod! Shut the door and lets get some peace Ivan!"

"This is the last day, had to do that' twelve hours a day for last week, no food only a little water after dark. Make him pure for his holiness cock! Lot of superstitious nonsense! But the brat believes it so he should give us all a good show, might even make it through the second night and set a really good example to all the other brats who are going to die too! Very nice pubis, I am really looking forward to him hammering in the fourth nail! Ah Christopher! Ahijado!"

He embraces my son and kisses him, hands I am sure appreciating his taught flesh, for just a moment longer than is proper. But what father would not be offended if his best friend did less? He notices Mir.

"And another luscious little Slav, he yours boy?"

"Si Padrino Pablo"

"Looks a bit flushed to me, been playing with him I suppose? Well good to see your turning out like you father."

I steer my friend towards the table. We are seated and I clap my hands. Today specially for my friend I have ordered food from Java. Four eleven year olds, Hakim, Satria, Junaedi, and Miftachul, of genuine stock enter, they are clad in silk sarongs, but so as not to spoil their beauty these are worn as a sash from the left shoulder to the right hip. Eyes are accentuated with kohl and they have wreath of flowers in their hair, of course they are well oiled and glow with radiant heath. I am trying them out for Christopher's big meal, I think they will go down well, but I think I will have them serve the wine not the food. The plate of rice each and iced lime to drink, then out to return with outstretched arms. One plate on each palm and one plate balanced on each forearm, sixteen dishes to choose from in all. I am pleased to see my friend is lost for choice, between the food and the boys!

"You know me Amigo, never know which to get my fingers into first!"

Miftachul stands by him carefully balancing his dishes, his splayed legs and little penis hard against his belly show my friend has made his first choice… Properly we eat with right hand, no need for finger bowls, fingers are swiftly licked clean, and not just from food either, when proffered! It all goes very well, and about one hour later the table is cleared and all the boys including Mir dismissed. I find time to explain my dilemma over Artemis' letter to my friend, then explained to my son.

"Now Christopher, I have invited your God Father over to discuss the special gala performance your circumcision ceremony. It is proper you should start learning the law. What ever your God Mother does on her estate, here we work within the law. As far as Tribute Boys go in Galicia, as Senior Judge, Don Pablo is the Law. As you know they have no right of appeal other than to him."

"Yes my boy, you must have covered International Tribute Law at school? Here is part of how it works. You know only one Tribute Boy in a hundred can possibly be allowed to breed. At a boy 14 years their choice is simple be instrumental in their own death or geld themselves, because of their life most choose the former. Same with girls but they have to do it at twelve to be sure they do not drop a whelp. That's one of the reason they are not very popular these days, just not as practical to keep as a boy. To be legal a boy's death competition or performance must be presided over by a Juez - Presidente like me. Once the game or performance starts only I have any power over them. If they run or perform badly I can have them executed on the spot for disobedience. If they perform exceptionally well I can pardon then, and make sure they kill their own mignon in their place. Mostly I just preside over their death agonies and my clerk records the fact and sends off the evidence of their severed genitals. When a younger boy requests and is granted Release I must personally make sure everything is in order well before hand. The best way to do this is to interview them, it all gets a bit messy if their courage breaks at the last moment!. If it is an artistic performance it is especially difficult as there is no clear winner to consider, and either possible ending has to be rehearsed very thoroughly. Therefore I need to talk to the mignons as well. Sometimes I like to give one of these young Release boys a little extra incentive to help them through, make sure aged parent gets his full pension and all that. They usually reward me with something rather special… Understand all this Ahijado?"

"Si Padrino! But what about the really little ones who perform like Sky is going to?"

"Well that a different problem and your Madrina has caused some problems by what she has proposed, rather illegal I am afraid. You see for the third and fourth years of service if they perform I am required to ensure that they have a 50% chance of coming away alive and with only those sort of injuries that the brat can quickly recover from and be put back to work. What Lady Artemis proposes, though an excellent spectacle will leave the looser dead. That is no problem, but if the winner is so badly injured as to cause me to have him put down it is a big problem. Also your father has wagered not only money, but Sky's life it is only fair if he wishes that your father gets the boy he beats in relatively one piece! He's told me what he intends to do with him it really is very amusing, but we have decided it would spoil the fun if we told him. Your papa will tell him through his mistress that he fully expects him to loose, and has a fate planned for him that he could not possibly imagine!"

"What will happen then?"

"Well the basic contest is a good idea, very appropriate to a full term boy's event. I think your father is going to talk to Hassan and get something rigged up that has the same effect, but without permanent injury. But now we must see the boys if you please Carlos?"

We go to the door and hear the sobbing is louder but the litany continues. I open the door and find José now splay legged and body thrown back so his full weight is on the edge of the plank between his legs, his faces is wet with tears and snot, and there is a small pool of blood on the tiles that has dripped from between the boys legs. My friend goes over to him and stokes his tousled hair.

"That's enough of that for now Chico, I do not think your new Master, El Cardinel, will notice if you suffer just a little less this last day."

José gets up openly sobbing and kneels at my friends feet clasping him round the ankles and kissing his feet, I can plainly see how the planks sharp edge as cut into him and the blood trickling down his spread thighs. I note the Cardinel has set his penance so the wounds will not show when he performs.

"Por favor, Señor, por favor yo quere amartillar los clavos traves de mi cuerpo para usted! Por amor de usted!"

"Come on silly brat, I know how much you love me but we've been through all that. I will be there and watch you make a good job of it! Between now and then you belong to El Cardinel, give him lots of good sucks and make him fuck you hard OK? Take his mind off interfering with the Festival! Now Christopher take him round the back and give him to somebody to clean him up and feed him. Tell them to make sure he knows I will flay him alive if he tells!"

I guess he too loves his boys just a little too much…

Gratifyingly all seven boys are kneeling in a half circle waiting dutifully. They are very beautiful young creatures full of health and vitality, trained almost to perfection. Washed, groomed and suitably decorated they are a Tribute to all my care of them. I do hope they reward me with deeply satisfying performances one and all.

"Venir aqui los Chicos!"

We go back in and sit on rugs on the raised dais and they dutifully kneel on the floor below awaiting, no doubt with some fear, the full nature of their fate.

Jan Continues His Tale

At this afternoon we were all in high spirits as we showered and prepared ourselves for our Master. Even Chueng and Tao smiled a little through their Japanese aloofness. Ino and Ito were of course being very silly and rolling on the shower tiles with glee at the jokes. Sky, because he is so young a little left out joined sometimes in too. But I only have eyes for my friend Mishear, we have practised, often falling, until every muscle aches. Too we have followed our Masters instructions to see if we can always respond only to pain, I think he will be pleased. Now it seems we have become one being to create the ultimate final dance for our beloved Don Carlos. We all dressed carefully after being oiled. Chueng and Tao wear bandanas with black Japanese characters, Chueng's red, the most feared and the most admired of colours, and Tao's white with a large red sun symbol. Sky is in his customary beads and feathers plaited into his long hair and his so prized anklet noted from green and orange cord to prove he is no longer a despised virgin. With Ino and Ito it is just their drums and anklets. Mishear and I are be ribboned, in our hair and tied just below the right knee, also in red. I am pleased now to have the same ornaments as my friend. Of course our fine stainless steel daggers , sheath decorated with a single tooth, my teeth, on a chain round our necks. Pierced nipples with gold rings, and for me only one in the end of my cock. We both have narrow gold chains round our waists too. Round our ankles are silver chains with little bells to help us dance. The final touch is the tight leather harness round our cocks and balls, his white and mine black. To please our Master we have of course chosen the performance ones with needle sharp spikes on the inside.

Now we kneel, at least every body except Chueng and Tao who squat on their haunches with out stretched arms, waiting for our Master and the most terrible person in our brief lives. All the boys know El Juez del Muerte, as they call him. But few ever look into his eyes, when they do it its to learn the details of their execution, or in spite of all they have strived for in the competition, to be instructed to use their daggers on their own bellies. Of course there are rumours of magical boys with superhuman powers. Indeed our tutors tell us about them and what they did, one boy is called Charles and another Juan. When they gaze into his eyes El Juez del Muerte smiles and grants them life … if they take the life of their mignons. Who knows if it is true? A couple of boys say they have seen this miracle, but how? There can be no witness.

Now a small fear starts deep inside my guts as the doors open. But the man with our Master does not look like El Muerte, indeed he is kind to the boy who have watched suffering on the veranda. How can this be? Our Young Master goes off with the boy who can scarcely walk, but keeps gazing back at the man we so fear with the look every boy recognises … love. I am very confused as our Master signals us in.

Now we are waiting before him as he talks to El Juez and shows him entries on the computer. The hated Secretary is called and goes off to come back with Señor Hassan. He is feared almost as much as El Juez, if you are to be executed he carries it out, we know it is him in spite of his ceremonial disguise. Our Young Master comes back and joins them. I can hear nothing, but I know they are deciding the minute details of our various deaths, they keep glancing at us, my Master smiles once when he catches my eye. He seems to know about the terrible fear that is rising inside me. How does he always know what is in the darkest corners of a Tribute Boy's brain? The fear grips me, please don't let my bladder or bowls loose control! I think for the first time I glimpse the reality of the agonising death that awaits Mishear and I. I glance at him, his face too a mask of terror, only Chueng and Tao are as impassive as ever. I hate my mother and father for letting this happen to me, the only big person I can love and trust is Don Carlos! Please, please! I must be brave enough to show how much I love him.

I try desperately to still my fears as Secretary announces, "Excellency, Don Pablo de Onza, Juez - Presidente de los Niños Tributo de Galicia!"

The terrible El Juez Muerte rises and fixes each of us with his gaze in turn. Now I know I will die! But I realise his look is like our Master's, not so terrible after all perhaps. He speaks to us in soft, almost kindly tones.

"Do not be frightened young men and boys, I am only a man like your Master, but you will do well to listen very carefully to what I have to say to you. Understand?"

"Si Señor Juez!" we chorus.

"Now your kind Master has chosen you for a very special gala performance to mark the circumcision of his son Christopher. This is a rare honour, once in a lifetime so to speak, and as the guests have made competitive bids for a seat, and the holo cameras will be there, your guardians pension funds will be exceptional well endowed… If the performances are good! If they are not, then I must halt the proceedings immediately and consider your execution for disrespect and disobedience. Of course your guardians will be expected to make financial recompense to a disappointed audience."

He pauses to let us take in the impact of this sink in.

"Because of all this and because you are all well under statutory age for Release performance, I need to talk to each of you in turn to satisfy myself of both your readiness and your willingness. In a different way I need to talk to your mignon's and to the boy err… Sky isn't it? Who will also perform. You can of course appeal directly to me to have your Release postponed until your 14th birthday, but if I grant that Don Carlos can of course make counter claims for compensation. Understand?"

"Si Señor Juez!"

"I also have to tell you that I have the power to judge any performance of sufficient quality, and to have provided the audience with such excitement as to grant one or all three of you a pardon with honour. That is a fairly remote possibility but one you can hope for and work for. I am very fair in these matters, if you deserve it you will get it. More importantly matters are not complicated by legalities as your most thoughtful Master has obtained a mandate from your Guardians Pension fund agreeing not to veto your pardon in the unlikely event of you being good enough."

"Now some practicalities that effect all of you, and some of you have not seen me or one of my colleges in action. Once the performance start I have total power over your fates. I will be dressed in black, trimmed with crimson and white fur. I am of course masked. My clerk sits beside me also in black but no mask. When you perform there will also be another man close to you all the time he represents El Muerte, also dressed in black, masked with skull design. The audience think he is there just to make jokes for them when the action gets slow. Perhaps to offer you the microphone to say a few words, maybe so everybody can hear your cries, describe for your fans the full details of injuries and so on. This livens the performance up considerably, many years ago the Romans had a man play Charron, the God of Death, in the arena for the same reason. In reality he is very important for you, I am linked to him by radio and he keeps me informed how you are doing, and I tell him if you need useful advice or encouragement's. Some boys need the electric probe up their backsides before they will go on after injury for instance. You will obey every smallest instruction he gives you or else… He too can give your mignon permission to give you an injection to help your performance if I sanction it. If I am unhappy he carries out my order of execution. Understand Chicos?"

"Si Señor Juez!"

The pictures of James' final agonies in the area whirl in my mind, I must not be sick like I was then.

"Now down to each of you in turn. First the youngest Sky. Stand close in front of me boy!"

He is visibly shaking and trying not to weep as he does.

"Steady boy, I see you have exceptional courage for one so young. Is that not so?"

Sky takes a great breath and straightens up to murmur his agreement. The man's hands feel his body all over, lingering over the small erect penis.

"Very promising, think he will win for you?"

"I've put good money on the fact that he loves me enough not to fail!"

"But you know how ever hard you try you might fail boy? If that is the case the other boy's owner may wish to amuse herself and us with your death, are you ready for that for love of your Master?"

"Si Señor Juez." He almost sobs.

"Well then I give you thirty seconds to think if you wish to appeal to me to be excused this contest, you really do have an excellent chance you know. I am very confident of you and will award your guardian 300 € if you win! In fact if you do I will arrange for you to entertain me in bed!"

He pauses, waiting for the boy to say something.

"Very well Señor Don Carlos, so there be no doubt, proceed!"

My Master stands up.

"Sky my child you are a loving and hardworking and I expect you to win for me! You will run against a black boy named Winston, same age as you, round the perimeter of the Bull Ring at Muros. Across the course there will be a number of obstacles that you will be able to jump or crawl under easily; As you both tire you will make mistakes, and stumble on the obstacles. This will cause your body to receive cuts, not fatally, but there will be much blood and much pain. You must carry on none the less. The looser is the boy who fails to manage to rise and carry on 30 seconds after collapsing. Hassan will give you full details and help you train. Understand my child?"

"Si Señor!" He seems to be in shock now.

"Of course if you failed me and were beaten by Winston, you become the property of Lady Artemis, she has expressed an interest in making you carry on running to see if your heart will burst when you die! Just in case that does happen show me you accept your possible death, take this and make a new anklet!" My Master holds out the blood red hank of cord to him and shakily he goes to accept it kneeling and kissing he feet.

"Very satisfactory, I believe we have covered everything!" Says El Juez Muerte.

"Now for young Chueng, you know what you have agreed to attempt do you not?"

"If it please you I do Master!" Face impassive as ever.

"Well I was having a discussion with my friend here and he felt that no boy could keep conscious long enough to steer the stake through him without hitting a fatal bit. Seeing you and knowing your race I think maybe you can. So here is my challenge to you. If you can raise your arms to have them wired to the stake ready for roasting after the tip emerges, then I will make up your guardians Pension Fund by a further 1000 €. What do you say to that young man?"

"You are very generous Master, your servant will obey."

No fear, no doubt, but I wonder what is going on behind the calm eyes.

"Well I am sure you mignon Tao knows what to expect if I decide to pardon you, but he may also help you my sucking you or wanking you of, if El Muerte agrees, and injecting you if it seems it will help. His opposite number is an English stock boy named Jimmy, just nine years.

"You by the way are up against an Indian Sub Continent boy named Bahji, same age as you. I will………"

The rest is lost as I hear Mishear gasp as though he has been whipped, I do not understand his distress, he seems to be struggling, then mutters

"No… it can not be him!" and then gains control.

"And at last the most beautiful young dancers Jan and Mishear. I am most eager to witness your full performance, Don Carlos has told me of your talent to arouse an audience. I take it you are in full agreement with performing? As with Chueng you have 30 seconds to lodge an appeal……"

I feel his eyes and those of my Master bore into every corner of my body, I feel my pierced little cock stiffen and the pain increases. I feel my whole body tremble with fear and anticipation.

"With you two it is a little different. I require you to perform for one hour, if you last that long. When the sand glass runs out you will assume the tableaux you have been practising. Show me now!"

We stand face to face and embrace and kiss, one hand fumbling between each others spread legs. Then we break and start leaning back, weight on our linked fingers, when the chain is taught we loose our grip and lean further back. The pain courses through me bringing the longed for waves of pleasure, I feel the blood trickle down my straining thighs, and then Mishears spunk splashes my belly. Almost at the same moment all the pain is absorbed into the exits of my own orgasm pulsing across his belly

"Very good! It is such a pleasure to see such young boys as you performing so satisfactorily. Your mignon's may help you to recover, then come to me, take the harnesses off if you please!"

Still groggy with our experience we do as we are told. He feels our now bloody genitals, we are hard and eager again.

"Very good no permanent tissue damage, be not a sign on our big day. Well I never who would have though such fine little genitalia could take all that weight! Now here is how it goes when you both orgasmed you watch El Muerte holding your daggers under here, he will hold up a red handkerchief. If he drops it you you slice up quick and hard in unison. If your chain lands across the bar I will pay Mishear's Guardians Pension fund 1000 €. Yours Jan does not need it! I am sure a loyal young man like yourself will make every effort to help your friend?"

"Si Señor Juez!"

Oh god I think I am going to be sick at the thought of it!

"However it is just possible that your audience will be applauding sufficiently exactly so as to persuade me to grant you an encore. In that case El Muerte will wave the handkerchief and you will perform for another 15 minutes by the glass to finish as before. I wonder if you can manage to do it twice? Anyway same rules, only this time if the handkerchief is waved, you recover and dance with Ino and Ito here for a further 15 minutes. This dance must end with their deaths. You better practice this really well just in case! Then you present your selves to me to learn the conditions of your pardon. I remind you it is very unlikely, but it is just possible. I hope you do understand because from the moment I ask you to resume your position you have no other way out with honour…………… Very well then your silence is taken for agreement. May you find the courage you seek to achieve your end!"

"Finally, Ino and Ito. Your roles are clear I feel? And your fate should your boys be pardoned? Again you have a small time to lodge an appeal for a substitute…… Very well go to your Master to receive your red cords!"

I hardly notice the rest my head is swimming and I feel sick. Mishear is swaying a little from side to as well. I don't know what to think, please let my Master call Mishear and I to his bed tonight, there I feel safe…

Don Carlos concludes

"Got to get off to deliver young José to El Cardinel before dark!" And he makes his farewells.

I dismiss the rest of the boys to their sties. Christopher asks to leave for bed, and permission to go to the falls with Juan tomorrow. I have always placed this out of bounds in season, but now I give my permission, good for his education.

"Be sure Juan puts a flower in your hair as well as in Mir's!"

He giggles as he kisses me hard on the mouth.

"Buenos noches, dearest Papa, I'll be fairly good!" I swat his bare bum as he scampers out, a loin cloth is not much protection!

Alone with Hassan we decide the exact way to make the obstacles for Sky's wager, he will not have an easy time of it I feel. We then go over the arrangements for the German party, Karl is even now settling the quarry in their new home. He should be back in a few days to help me welcome them, till then a little peace and quite with guest with more cultured tastes. We share a cognac together, we also share reminiscences a little. All this talk of death makes me sombre so I bid him go and find his boy, and I will revel in the life giving vitality of my beautiful little dancing boys.

Chapter 3
The Great Boy Hunt

Chapter 3a

The arrival of the Germans told by Karl the head keeper

Our boy hunting moors are famed through out Europe and indeed beyond as offering the best and most exciting sport. I carry the primary responsibility to seeing that this reputation is not only maintained but year by year enhanced. Don Carlos employs me and I am proud to work for so keen and discerning a sportsman. Indeed he is a good man to work for. He tells me what he wishes me to provide in the way of days hunting, approximate kill rates and leaves to me such matters as stocking levels, keepering, feeding and so on. The hunting of boys is the main sport we provide but not the only one. In the summer it's boys in the autumn duck snipe and other wildfowl while in the winter we can offer deer stalking and wild boar on the hills and on the lower ground pheasant shooting together with hare and the humble but very palatable rabbit. All in all it was work I enjoyed but I rarely had the opportunity to be idle. Least of all when one of Don Carlos's big spending clients came down expecting a week of concentrated boy hunting.

The big spenders were the most difficult of clients to satisfy. They expected the best food served by the pretty, willing and, the most difficult to achieve in the mountains, clean of brats. They expected to be allowed to lie in bed till late in the morning enjoying the sluts provided, to breakfast in leisure and then at their own convenience to slaughter enough wild boys to slake their often considerable blood lust and to give them ample opportunity to boast of their expertise in the hunting field when they got back to their homes. To satisfy them you had to have everything worked out in advance not only the food and sleeping accommodation but the drives and the killing grounds the latter chosen with some regard to the level of expertise of the clients. Most big spenders measured the quality of the sport provided by only one thing, the size of the bag. The whole operation had to be planned to give them the opportunity of experiencing the thrill of the chase while ensuring that at the end of the day they had a sufficient number of dead boys laid out on the ground to impress the folk back home.

I preferred catering to sportsmen of the old school like old Colonel Cobbold who came to stay with us year after year for a week at the beginning of the season. He would stay at the Arcos lodge with one brat and his own hunting dog. He would go out by himself on his pony perhaps staying out for days on end and would end his holiday with only one kill but one that he had stalked and run down by his own unaided efforts. He to my mind was a true sportsman but he paid only a couple of thousand euros for his weeks sport while the Germans would pay many more times that.

Reviewing in my mind the preparations I had already made I felt that I had left very little to chance. I had spent the morning planning the drives and checking that the killing grounds I had selected would be exciting but not too difficult for the German boys to ride their pray down. The previous day I had been out to the cargo vessel from North Africa that had arrived during the night to inspect the draft of fifty wild mountain boys I had ordered to be delivered to restock the hunting grounds in preparation for the arrival of the Germans. As I handled them checking the strength of their hard brown legs I reflected that the Captain must have taken notice of my request to keep them clean and regularly exercised, no doubt eager to receive the one thousand euro bonus I had promised him if they were delivered in a satisfactory condition.

My presence on the ship served another purpose also. It terrified the brats. No one encountering me can be in doubt of my profession. The boots, the leather leggings, the belt with the long knife in it's scabbard on one hip and the hunting horn on the other, the tweed hacking jacket and the felt hat all speak of the hunt. They spoke only some obscure African language but when they were brought up on deck their hands secured behind their naked bodies with the plastic ties about their thumbs I did not have to understand the meaning of their whimperings to recognise the terror in their fear glazed eyes. That the brats should have no doubt that they had arrived at the end of their journey and their lives I had taken my two favourite lurchers with me, Guardsman and Grenadier, fast, heavily muscled animals who even muzzled snarled and showed their teeth and lunged at the boys. The tart smell of boy's urine filled the air while the crew stood round and laughed enjoying the fun.

I had wanted to get the brats ashore that day and run them out to the holding compound to give them an additional day to learn the country and thus give better sport. Don Carlos refused this. He thought that his clients would enjoy the running of the brats and the sight of them would reassure them that they were getting their monies worth.

"As for sport," he said and smiled a little sadly, "I am afraid Karl we have to have people here who are not sportsmen. It is necessary to balance the books." I said no more on the subject. Don Carlos is a true sportsman with a respect for his quarry. I know it pains him to have to allow men who are butchers rather than sportsmen onto his moors.

I had one thing, I reflected as I turned right handed off the track beside the river onto the metalled road, to tell Don Carlos which would please him and take his mind for a moment off the arrival of his unwelcome guests. The feral was still around. I had watched him that morning through my glasses stalking one of farmer Torres young boys through the olive and cork oak trees that grew on the slopes of Monte Pindo. I had met the boy earlier in the day. He had been sent up to look for a goat that had strayed and was very frightened. Stories of the feral were rive among the Tribute Brats of the area. He wanted to keep close to me but I would have none of it and drove him away telling him to get about his masters business. I didn't want to be bothered with some stupid brat when I had important work to do. I thought too that maybe the frightened little slut stumbling about in the scrub might draw the feral out of hiding in search of food.

And so it was. I remained sitting quite in the saddle of my pony, after I had sent the boy on his way with a cut of my whip across his bare shoulders, watching him through my glasses scuttling in terror through the undergrowth. He was nothing special, a thin little runt, perhaps ten years old, his brown flesh marked here and there with the lash. Farmer Torres did not believe in over feeding his boys or letting them idle their time away. He had hardly covered two kilometres when I spotted a movement in the bushes to his left. It was the feral moving quickly but silently up on his prey. I got a good view of him as he flitted across an opening in the undergrowth a lithe long haired brute his hide, ribbed with a multitude of scars, burnt almost black by the sun and wind. I could easily have dropped him with a shot from my rifle. He was well within range and the old 303 I carry on the mountain is a marksman's weapon but he deserved a nobler death than to be knocked over by a lump of lead fired from behind a bush.

This was the third season he had survived; three summers of outrunning the hounds and the cantering horses of the huntsmen. No doubt some of the scars on his body came from the fangs of the hunting dogs and the lance thrusts of the men as well as from struggles to the death with his own kind. But more testing than the summers, he had lived through two bitter winters when the snow lay deep on the mountains and the freezing wind blew keenly from the East. Naked and alone, huddled shivering behind some rock, waiting for dark when he could venture out and make his way down to the valley. There lights glimmered in farm house windows hinting of warm fires and soft beds within, luxuries which he did not miss for he had never and would never know them. Then creeping in the shadows, alert for the slightest sound that could mean a farmer with his gun alerted by the barking of the dogs he would search for something to fill his empty stomach, a chicken, a sheep, best of all, because the flesh was sweater and there were no feathers or wool covering it, a Tribute Boy in his first or second year.

Silently but quickly the feral crept up on the unsuspecting brat. At the last moment boy sensed something and he turned but it was too late. With a rush the feral was on him. The boy screamed. He knew I was not too far away and he screamed for my help. "Master please Master help me Master." I did nothing. I was not going to kill such a brute as the feral to safe for a few further years of drudgery and lust miserable little tyke like him. The struggle was brief a moment of two of flailing arms and legs and then the feral had the boy on the ground beneath him. He buried his face in the side of the boy's neck. The brat shrieked in agony and was quiet but he still lived for I saw his legs twitching.

The feral lifted his head and I saw a deep jagged hole in the boy's neck from which blood oozed freely to mingle with the dry dust on the ground. The feral had a large lump of bleeding flesh between his teeth. He raised himself to his knees and I saw that he was aroused, his almost man sized cock standing erect out of a bush of dark black hair. So far as I could judge he was a good two years beyond his Release date. He would provide a magnificent trophy for the huntsmen cunning and strong enough to take him. The feral squatted for a moment beside his prey chewing on the bloody lump of boy's meat while fingering his rampant cock.

The boy's hands scratched at the ground and he began to try to drag himself away. The feral leapt on him pinning him to the ground. Then he was driving his cock into the boy with heavy thrusts of his hips. I watched as the feral's haunches rose and fell in hard urgent thrusts as he hammered his cock deep into the brat. The blood, the dust, the mountains, the hot pine scented air, there was a savage rightness about the time and the place. There are people who wish to stop our sport. I wished I could have had them there with me at that moment. Nature is very cruel at times but also very beautiful. The strong live on the weak and the weak feed the strong. Thus it is. Thus it always has been. It is a rule that applies in the cities as it does in the mountains.

The feral was soon finished with the boy. His lust sated he pulled himself clear and them while the boy still lived buried his head between the boy's legs tearing with his teeth at the tender flesh at the top of the brat's thighs. I sat for fifteen minutes or so watching fascinated as the feral sated his hunger on the flesh of his victim. Then marking the place where he had killed I slipped quietly off. I knew the feral would bury the boy's carcass under some rocks nearby to preserve it from foxes and other carrion eaters returning to feast on it's fly blown flesh for some days until he and the termites had picked the bones clean. It would be an obvious point for anyone to start from who wished to hunt the brute.

It was not all good news though. Don Carlos would feel obliged to pay Torres some compensation for the boy. But even that might have been worse. The feral could have taken the goat and that would have been more costly.

There were other reasons too apart from the sporting interest that Don Carlos would wish to know about the feral being on the prowl. It didn't matter too much if it took a couple of farm brats but it would be a great deal more serious if it took one of the high value boys from the hacienda or even worse one of the guests sons. All must be warned and told not to stray into the hills. Don Carlos's son Christopher was a bit of a worry. He was in the habit I knew of wandering off often with that tough little penal brat Xavier potting rabbits with his four ten. The gun would kill a well enough and should protect him but I knew Christopher. He was tough and hard enough himself. I wouldn't put it past him to scorn the use of the gun and to take on the feral himself on equal terms matching his strength and courage and cunning against that of the brute.. It would be a titanic struggle if it took place, for after Don Carlos himself I reckoned Christopher for all his youth as keen a sportsman with a strong a nerve as any I had met, but his father could well feel that it was one that should not be allowed to happen.

Karl's story of the coming of the Germans continued – a short interlude

So now I was eating breakfast in the restaurant of the Marina Hotel on the Gran Via, Ribadesella, looking out at the harbour and the long pier at the end of which the ship carrying the Berber brats had now moored. The boy was standing by my table, the coffee pot in his hands, a somewhat sleepy look in his eyes. He was a local boy but of good quality, a slim child, in about his third or fourth year of Tribute, long legged with the clear almost translucent skin that some times goes with a dark complexion. No doubt the proprietors of the hotel choose only boys for service in their public rooms that would be pleasing to their clients certainly he had pleased me last night. While he poured my coffee I ran my hand up the back of his thighs enjoying the feel of the smooth cool boy's flesh. He wriggle his bottom appreciatively and his tiny cock hardened.

"Master would you like me again please?" he asked hopefully. "The room is yours till midday Master "

I laughed and patted his tight little rump. No doubt he like all other Tribute Boys dreamt of finding a kind Master who would love them and be good to them and in time give them an easy Release. A dream that would delude and sustain him until the moment came when reality finally intruded.

"No boy I will be busy today. But you're a good little whore and I enjoyed fucking you. Here this is for you," and I took a 50 obol coin from my pocket and handed it to him.

"Master," the boy squeaked in delight. "Thank you Master."

He gazed at the fifty obol coin grasped in his small fist in joy conjuring up goodness knows what visions of sickly sweets or cheap trinkets.

"Now I must be off," I said rising. "Get my bag from my room and bring it to reception. Look sharp now or I'll have your bottom tanned."

The boy scampered off and a minute or so later was standing panting beside me in the Hotel Hall as I signed my bill. Don Carlos would meet it in due course and I was being treated with the deep respect that his name engendered with all he did business.

"You are going down to the ship Sir?" the clerk asked me. "The boy can carry the case for you if you wish."

"Thanks," I said and turning away from the counter was struck by the look of terror on the child's face. I could not understand it. I had thought the boy would be pleased rather than otherwise. He would be out of the hotel, he would have the chance to show off the Master with whom he had spent the night and who had tipped him so generously to his friends and the case was not a heavy one.

The clerk saw the look on the boy's face and laughed.

"He's frightened of the Berbers Sir," he explained. "He knows they eat Tribute Boys when they get the chance."

Like most of the many superstitions that fill the ignorant minds of Tribute Boys this had a basis in fact. It was not true of the terrified little brutes now cowering in their own filth on the cargo ship but it would be true of those few of them who survived the seasoning process to which they were about to be subjected and a hunt or two on the Picos. However these suspicions well based or not have their uses in keeping Tribute Boys in order and it is every responsible persons duty to encourage a proper sense of subordination and acceptance among the unfree section of the population.

"He's good reason to be frightened," I replied. "They don't only eat Tribute Boys. If they're not particularly hungry a favourite trick of theirs is to bight a slut's balls of, especially if he's been ungrateful or lazy or pinched food or anything."

I glanced at the boy and saw he was staring at me in wide eyed horror. The only escape, momentary though it is, from the drudgery and humiliation of their daily life open to the vast majority of Tribute Boys is provided by sex and to be deprived of that would be worse than death itself.

"They creep in at night," I continued, "and then snap." I reached out suddenly and caught the boy's hairless balls, hardly bigger than a couple of olives and squeezed them hard. He squealed in pain and fear. "They can get anywhere. No good locking doors or hiding if you've been a bad boy they'll get you."

"Anyway the one's on the ship have their hands tied behind their backs so they aren't very dangerous. Unless you've been naughty that is they can still bite. You haven't been naughty have you boy?"

"No Master no," he replied but I felt his voice lacked conviction.

"Well come along then. You have nothing to fear, have you?"

The boy shouldered my bag and hurried to open the door for me. I winked at the clerk and walked out of the hotel.

I set along the quay at a brisk pace. The boy carrying my bag following it seemed to me somewhat unwillingly.

"You going to help drive the Berbers out of the town boy?" I asked.

"Oh yes Master. My Master's very good and kind. He's told all the boys in the hotel not with a guest to help. He's a very good Master and we all love him very much," he declared speaking rather loudly and with a hint of desperation in his voice.

"If you really think that you're balls will be safe when you reach the ship," I assured him grimly. "They can tell what you're thinking you see so if you're lying they'll be bitten off in a second."

"I do really mean it Master. I love my Master and I'm very grateful to him for letting me serve him. … and… and… I'll do my best to drive those Berbers out of town I don't think we want them here…"

I smiled to myself and walked on. I came to the foot of the gang plank. I nodded at the two grooms lounging by the tethered horses. I could hear the under keepers swearing manfully on the deck above me and the occasional sound of blow falling on bare flesh as they prepared the Berbers for the next stage of their ordeal.

I set one foot on the gang plank and turned to look at the boy. He was shaking with fear.

"Come on give me the bag," I said holding out my hand, " and cut off back to the hotel. Quick now."

The two grooms roared with laughter as the slut thrust my bag at me and took off at the run back down the quay. He couldn't have run faster if a thousand Berber boys with bared teeth were pursuing him.

I wiped the smile off my face and walked up the gangway. I knew there was serious work ahead of me.

The drive to the Picos

If they had thought their arrival in harbour was to lead to an improvement in their lot my appearance dispelled that hope. A low whimper ran along the coffle of naked boys as they caught sight of me.

The Captain was waiting for me the transfer documents in his hands. Boys are a troublesome cargo, dirty and given to sickness. He was eager to be rid of them. The crew already had the hoses out ready to clear the filth from the deck. I did a quick head count and then walked slowly down the line of shivering brats checking that the metre lengths of chain linking their iron collars were firmly in place and their hands secured behind their backs. Don Carlos had paid good money for the brats and he would not be pleased if I allowed any to escape. He was a just man and realised that accidents would happen but carelessness he would not forgive.

Most of the brats cowered away from me as I moved among them. One, perhaps thinking he might win some kindness from me, smiled nervously up at me as I jerked on his neck chain. Such delusions had to be quickly crushed. The brutes had to be taught that they could look for no kindness from anyone. They had to learn, before they were released on the hill, that the world for them was a place of total cruelty and their only hope was to run and to run fast.

I twisted my left hand in the brat's neck chain and smashed my right fist into his mouth. I hit him again squashing his nose. His face was a mask of blood. I released my grip on the chain, he bent forward and I saw a broken tooth fall from between his split lips onto the deck. I had spoilt his looks but that did not matter. Don Carlos had not bought him to be fucked but to be hunted and he and his companions had been taught another useful lesson.

While I was busy checking the cargo I had been conscious of increasing noise coming from the quay below me. There were shrill shouts interspersed with the deeper tones of the grooms swearing and the occasional sharp crack of a whip. I straightened and looked down over the side of the ship. I could see a crowd of excited Tribute Boys filling the whole length of the quay and stretching right back into the town itself. They were near hysterical with fear and hate screaming for the 'Berber Ball Eaters' to be killed. The two grooms at the base of the gangway were keeping the mob at bay with their whips. They had cleared a wide semicircle around the edges of which naked boys strained back against the pressure of the crowd. Every now and again the crowd would push forward and the grooms would lash out with their whips causing the lead boys to scream and hurl themselves back into the mob. For the time the grooms were maintaining their position striking low at the legs of the brats nearest them. I could see though that as more and more boys joined the mob and their hysteria rose they would have to use greater force and strike at the brat's faces and balls. It wouldn't matter much if a boy lost an eye and it would be rather amusing if one lost his testicles to the whip when screaming for the blood of the 'Ball Eaters'. A few euros would placate the Masters of any sluts that were injured. No doubt the most valued boys would have been kept safe at home.

Never the less the hysteria was clearly reaching its' peak and consequently it was time I felt to move. If I delayed much longer the brats would have screamed themselves hoarse and their frenzy of hatred would begin to cool as they remembered they had tasks to perform and Masters who would tan their hides if they spent too long away from them. I wanted the Berbers to experience the full hatred of the mob to learn that even other Tribute Boys were their enemies.

I signed the release papers for the captain and handed him a draft for the passage money plus his bonus for delivering the boys in good condition. Getting the brats to their feet was easy though they spoke only some barbaric tongue that no civilised being could be expected to know. Any livestock will understand what you require provided you shout and hit them hard enough. It was another matter getting them down the gangway onto the quay where the hysterical mob of naked Tribute Boys screamed for their blood.

I ceased the lead boy by his collar and hauled with all my strength. The three under keepers swore and slashed at the brats bare bodies with their whips but still they balked. It was only when the ships crew with the Captain at their head weighed in with boots and fists that they began to move. As often happens after the initial resistance they came quickly scrambling down the gangway in a half run.

The howling of the vast pack of maddened Tribute Boys rose to a crescendo. The grooms lashed out desperately cracking their whips into the faces of the advancing boys. I saw one go down a hand clasped to an eye, blood welling from between his fingers, his mouth opened and twisted in a scream of agony that was swallowed up in the general din of the crowd. Again the whip cracked and a boy rolled on the floor blood gushing from the gaping wound at the junction of his legs where the lash had torn his balls from his body.

This momentarily sobered the crowd. One of the grooms took the opportunity to untether our horses. The other, the one whose skill with the whip had emasculated the slut whose high pierced screaming was now in the sudden hush clearly audible, stood ready to strike again. I made a note to mention him to Don Carlos. He deserved a special bonus and the Don might well wish to make use of his expertise with the whip on other occasions.

We mounted quickly. I rode straight into the mob hitting out on either side of me with my whip. I saw the slut who had shared my bed the previous night and laid the lash across his rump as he turned to flee. There was a a strange fierce excitement in raising a scarlet weal across the smooth brown flesh that had given me so much pleasure.

The mob surged about us screaming and spitting at the coffle of chained Berber brats. I heard fists and feet thudding into bare flesh and the cries of the helpless boys as they staggered along in my wake. Guardsmen and Grenadier the two lurchers trotted on either side of me, unmuzzled now, but limited by their training to sinking their fangs into boy flesh only when it pressed close. By the time we were clear of the quay though their mouths were stained red with blood.

Then it was through the town along the Gran Via and the Avenue Marques de Arguelles. Away from the harbour the crowds of Tribute Boys were less great and I had time to acknowledge and thank certain of the citizens who watched the spectacle from the upper floors of their houses and shops.

Soon we were out of the town and on the main Oviedo road. Not many years ago a constant stream of lorries and cars would have roared along this road. Now, since the great oil crisis, there were no lorries and the few cars were the luxurious play things of the very rich. Two or three swept past my column of frightened boys their occupants peering from the comfort of their cars at the brats as we hustled them along the road at a sharp trot. The boys howled and squealed as we drove them remorselessly on cracking our whips across the bare shoulders of any boy who stumbled.

Tribute Boys working in the fields bordering the road would run for a moment beside us shouting abuse and hurling sods of earth, glorying in a few minutes Release from their daily drudgery, happy for once to be able to be the abuser rather than the abused and happy too to find there were sluts even more miserable than themselves.

We ate in the saddle slaking our thirsts with long drafts from our water bottles. The boys of course did not enjoy such luxuries. This was for them a hardening process. They had been many days cooped up on the ship. Now I had to get them toughened up and fit for the hills in only a few days. That would not be achieved by mollycoddling them.

It was early afternoon by the time we had covered the 21 kilometres to Cangas de Onis. There again they had to run the gauntlet of yelling Tribute Boys. Crossing the high arched Roman bridge we whipped them on along the minor road towards Oseja de Sejambo.

The road rose steeply and it proofed increasingly difficult to keep the brats moving however hard we used our whips. Despite our best efforts, even using Grenadier and Guardsmen, the speed of the column slowed to a shambling walk. Boys went down on their knees dragging those in front and behind them also to the ground. We had to keep dismounting to kick and drag the lazy brutes back to their feet.

I had arranged with a local farmer to coral the boys ten kilometres above Cangas. It took us a full three hours to make the turning to the unsurfaced track running steeply down to the banks of the Rio Sella. It ended on a rocky headland below which was a shingle bank backed by a narrow grass meadow. No doubt in the winter the headland would have been a waterfall and the shingle bank covered by the river. Now with the Rio Sella at low summer levels it was more peaceful though the main body of the water ran fast enough in all conscience down it's cliff bound gorge.

The two carts full of supplies that I had ordered was standing on the rocky promontory. The three Tribute Boys in charge of it dozing in it's shade. They woke up fast when we drove the boy's past them and hid cowering under the cart. There were just three of them and lacking the courage of numbers my brats exhausted and shackled as they were, terrified them, such is the power of superstition on the stupid and ignorant.

I left the coffle of boys in the charge of a groom. We did not want them fouling the river with their filth before we had watered the horses and cooled ourselves in the stream. The water was cold and it was pleasant to plunge into it after enduring the heat and labour of the day. The Berber boys had collapsed on the shingle bank apparently utterly exhausted but as soon as we had finished bathing and I gave the word for them to be herded down to the water they moved fast. I watched as they threw themselves into the stream the clear water glistening on brown flesh ribbed with the scarlet marks left by the lash.

I shouted at the Tribute Boys to bring the troughs down to the shingle bank. I supervised them as they filled these with cold maize porridge mixed with tripes. If you want boys to run and to have heart you have to feed them fresh flesh. I knew that if I did not keep an eye on them the thieving little tykes would be filling their bellies with the food.

It was amusing watching the Berbers feed, jostling about the troughs their bums up in the air and their faces pushed down into the food. After they had eaten I had the Tribute Boys remove the troughs and wash them while my brats fell quickly asleep on the shingle. I let them lie there. They had to face a shorter but even harder march on the morrow and they would anyway be subjected to one more educational horror before then.

By dusk I had set out on the promontory, overlooking the shingle where my boys lay huddled together sleeping the sleep of the exhausted, long trestle table covered with a check cloth and set with places for twelve people together with candles and open bottles of wine Some way off a fire had been lit and beside it was a large tray stacked with juicy steaks awaiting cooking. Brushwood torches were thrust upright into crevices in the rock ready for kindling when it was dark. Don Carlos insisted that every time we ran a column of boys up to the Picos we should entertain the local notables of the area, the mayor of Cangas, the chief of police and the larger local farmers and land owners. It was good public relations.

I strolled up the track to meet my guests. One by one they arrived. Each on a smart looking horse, each accompanied by two running boys, one to hold the horse and one to serve his Master. The Chief of Police brought a third boy tethered by his wrists to his stirrup leathers. He was a pretty brat blond and round bottomed although his legs and knees were bleeding from where he had fallen and been dragged along the road.

"That one's for you," the Captain said as he dismounted.

"Has he requested his Release?" I asked. "You know how concerned Don Carlos is to comply with all the legalities."

"No need this time and no charge for the brat either," the policeman replied. "A runaway. We caught him in the town. Should have had him skewered on the spot but I knew you were coming so I kept him back. Mind you he's had to work for his living. The little whores been fucked silly since we caught him."

"Please Master," the brat whimpered, "I'm not a runaway my owner told me to…"

"Not a runaway you shit faced little turd," the good captain said slapping him hard across the face. "We caught him in town wearing shorts and he'd removed his collar. It was the brand that gave him away. Just a spot check."

"My owner took my collar…"

"A Tribute Boy caught wearing clothes is a runaway," the police man snapped hitting the brat again.

"A run away," I said angrily.

"Take him and tie him to the cart wheel, arms and legs spread, facing outwards. You know how," I ordered two of the grooms. They grabbed the boy and dragged him away.

To my mind a run away Tribute Boy not only offends against the law. He also by his act rebels against nature and god. The strong exploit the weak. That is nature's iron rule. You see it on the mountain when the wolf devours the lamb. You see it in our own society where the Tribute Boys spend their brief lives in the service of their betters. God has made me what I am and it would be blasphemous for me to rebel against his will. I am Karl head keeper to Don Carlos of the Hacienda de los Niños Tributos del Ezzaro. In doing that work to the best of my ability I am serving not only Don Carlos but also god for he has set me to that work. A Tribute Boy who runs away is rebelling against god's will. He sins against god and society and in doing so the ungrateful brute undermines natural and civil order.

If it is not presumptuous for one such as me to say it, I think the Holy Church is quite right when it teaches that Tribute Boys are mere animals devoid of souls. I know Don Carlos and some of his friends hint otherwise and for a clever educated man like him that may be well enough. I am a simple man. I see things only as they are. I look at that little whore I enjoyed in the hotel last night, without pride and without hope, eager to have his bum fucked so as to enjoy a few hours in a soft bed and a brief release from the life of drudgery for which god has designed him. I compare him with Don Carlos's son Christopher, proud, eager, brave. They are not the same. One is an animal the other a man.

I walked over to the cart where the brat was now tied. He wailed shrilly when he saw me approach. I walked to the tail gate of the cart and took a hammer from the tool box kept there. Walking round to face the sobbing brat I knelt down and reduced his right big toe into bloody lump with three heavy blows of the hammer. I repeated the operation with his other foot.

"You won't runaway again," I remarked.

"I'll be back when I've finished my meal," I promised him.

Then I walked back to the table to join my guests the boy's screams ringing in my ears.

Chapter 3b

Into the Mountains

I was tired but content. Boy hunting when all goes well is one of the noblest sports. The speed, stamina and cunning of the brat pitted against the skill of the hunter. At it's best man, horse and hound work together as a single unit and then all is drama and excitement. Nothing I think can match the spectacle as some wild fleet footed boy is flushed from cover to run for his very life the hounds howling with excitement at his heels, the man bent low over his horses neck, galloping at full stretch, the sunlight glinting on the deadly steel tip of his lance. The brat knowing death to be at hand doubles and twists in his flight desperate to escape back into the undergrowth from which he has been driven. The hounds extend every ounce of their strength to turn him away from safety and into the path of the huntsmen and his horse thundering down on their prey. The final shrill scream of the boy as the lance point penetrates his back, the whoop of triumph from the huntsman as he feels the shock of impact and sees the dark red blood well from the boy's wound.

But things can so easily not go well. There are so many things that can go wrong. There are not enough boys, the drive fails to flush them onto the killing grounds, they lack the stamina or will to run well, the horses or the hounds are too slow, the huntsman is inept. All these can go wrong and all, except the last, are the responsibility of the head keeper. So a great responsibility lies on me. I do not complain. I enjoy my work. To see a strong running boy ridden down and cleanly killed in the open and to know that it is my skill and my work that has brought the brat in top condition to that fate is deeply satisfying to me.

I had been at this game for many years and I new that much of the preliminary work had already been done. The hounds were strong and fast. The horses, light ponies really, quick and agile animals were in peak condition. The feeding grounds and drives on the Picos were all organised and well known to me from past hunts. I had brought the coffle of boys who were to form the subject of our clients' hunt to the base of the Picos without loosing a single one. All had gone well so far but there was quite a lot more to do and I would not be able to relax until the hunt was over and our clients had departed laden with the trophies of their kills.

The dinner was drawing to an end and I had one more task to perform. It would entertain my guests, serve as a warning to their boys and serve to further condition the brats in my charge. I stood up. The chatter and laughter was immediately hushed. I crossed to where I had placed my bedroll and took from it the leather apron that I used when working in the flesh house. It covered me from my neck down to my feet. Deeply stained it still was possible to see that it was made from a patchwork of pelts varying in colour from darkest chocolate to light honey. There was a shuffling of chairs round the table as my guests arranged themselves so that they were facing the cart to whose wheel the run away brat was tied. The serving boys hurried about the glade collecting the brush torches and carrying them over the cart so that the slut was in the centre of a pool of light and all around him was darkness.

He caught sight of me approaching and began to sob wildly. I had the attention of most but not all of my intended audience. The whore would have to make much more noise if he was to rouse the Berber brats from their exhausted slumber. I set about achieving this. Taking a blazing torch from one of the boys I held it for a few seconds almost touching the ground between the boy's spread legs. It's flames cast a flickering light up the inside of his legs illuminating his tiny balls and small child's prick. I held it there for a moment letting the boy feel the warmth of it against his bare flesh. Then I lifted it slowly. The flames curled about his hairless crutch blackening the flesh. The air was filled with the smell of burning boy. He screamed. God how he screamed. Shrill shrieks wrung form his body by the pain echoed from side to side of the valley in the still night air. A low murmur of fear and horror rose from the darkness where the Berber boys were tethered. Satisfied that I had their attention I stuck the torch into the ground and picking up the hammer from the tale gate of the cart where I had left it I set to work.

Standing close to the boy I spread the fingers of his left hand on the iron rim of the wheel and pounded them one by one into a bloody pulp of mangled flesh from which shattered fragments of white bone obtruded. Then I repeated the process with his right hand. I paused and looked into the boy's face. Snot and tears flowed from his eyes and nostrils. From his widely stretched open mouth shriek upon shriek came.

Reversing the hammer in my hand I hit him twice with the handle across the front of his mouth loosening the teeth in both his jaws. I rolled up my sleeves and then taking the pliers from the carts tool box I set about wrenching his teeth out. It was a long business and my arms were stained to the elbows red with blood before it was finished.

I was growing tired and many of my guests had some distance to travel home. I knew that Don Carlos, always a thought full and courteous man would be upset if he thought that I had inconvenienced any of them. It was time to bring the entertainment to an end. With two sharp blows I cracked his knee caps and turned away. Removing my apron I moved among my guests shaking their hands and bidding them goodnight.

After they had gone I undressed and despite the slut's whimperings quickly fell into a deep slumber. That is one of the great things I find about working in the fresh air. I have never any difficulty in sleeping especially if I retire to rest in the comfortable knowledge that I have worked hard and done my duty.

There was a heaviness about the air when I woke the next morning that promised trouble to come. Far off to the West occasional faint rumbles of thunder could be heard.

I rolled out of my sleeping bag and stretched myself. I did not bother to dress. There would be more blood soon and there was no point in soiling my clothes with it.

Once I had breakfasted I strolled, feeling the air warm against my naked body, across to where the brat hung by his wrists from the cart wheel. He was in a bad way. His eyes were closed and his breath came in short heavy gasps. Dried blood from where I had torn his teeth from his jaws caked his face and chest. More blood, this time from his mangled fingers, had flowed down his arms. I jabbed the hypodermic needle into the side of one thigh. His eyes flicked open as the shot took effect. He saw me and the screaming began again. I could hardly blame him.

While the under keepers roused and watered the Berbers I worked a little more on the slut using the hammer to break the bones in his arms and legs. I heard shouting from the shingle bank below me. A whip cracked. I realised the coffle of boys was on the move again. When the coffle had passed and was out of sight I unsheathed my hunting knife. At the moment the lead boy was driven onto the head land I lent forward and cut the runaway's throat. He had served his purpose and I am not a cruel man.

Three Tribute Boys were busy loading the carts. One scrawny little tyke passed close by me bent under the weight of the load he was bearing. He was by no means a beauty. The lash had marked his shoulders and robbed him of an eye leaving an empty socket. His Master's boot or fist had knocked three or four teeth from the front of his mouth.

He reached upward straining to lift his load onto the cart. I became aware of a need. Stepping up behind him I took hold of him under the arms and lifted him so he was lying bent over the tail gate. He whimpered in excitement and wriggled his bare bottom lewdly.

"Fuck me Master. Please Master. Let me show you what a good fuck I am Master," he pleaded eagerly.

My enjoyment of the boy was brutal and short. I hammered my cock into his writhing bum and a few seconds later came deep inside the moaning little whore. I pulled away from him my lust satisfied and slapped him sharply across his whip scarred rump. Dutifully he turned and dropping to his knees cleaned the filth from me with his tongue. That done I walked down to the river bank. As I plunged into the cold clear water I could hear the slut behind me crying out to me, begging me to fuck him again.

Refreshed from my swim I mounted my horse and set off to catch up with my column of brats. The path up the valley side was steep and rocky. Even my mount, a sturdy sure footed little cob well suited to the mountains, found the going difficult occasionally slipping on the loose stones. The boys urged on by my men had made good time and the river had been long hidden in the depths of the gorge before I heard ahead of me the shouts of my men and the crack of their whips as they drove the coffle upwards. We were out now on the open mountainside, clear of all vegetation except the occasional thorn bush and clump of coarse grass. The path had been cut into the almost perpendicular side of the mountain, a narrow strip of bare rock, bounded on the one side by a soaring cliff and on the other by a deep abyss.

I noticed the occasional spots of blood on the track. The sharp rocks must have begun to cut up the boy's bare feet. Excellent driving them on now would become a contest between the will of my men and the reluctance of the brats to move forward on lacerated feet, a contest my men would with the aid of their whips infallibly win.

The storm now was much nearer. I could see the dark clouds massed to the West about the peaks of the Pico de Ancares illuminated by frequent flashes of sheet lightening. The rumble of thunder that had been earlier a constant but distant growling presence was much closer now and more insistent.

I rounded a spur of rock and saw the coffle of boys a hundred metres or so ahead of me. The rear boy glancing back caught sight of me. He howled something in the barbaric tongue the boys spoke and broke into a stumbling run. He barged into the boy ahead of him and the pare of them tumbled to the ground in a jumble of naked limbs. Their fall checked the progress of the remainder of the column the sudden pressure on their short neck chains dragging the rest of the boys to their knees. My men swore and struck out with their whips. The boys howled and scrambled desperately to regain their feet. Before they could do so though I was up with them. I lashed out again and again with all my strength at the boy who had caused this chaos. He screamed wildly as the whip cracked down on his bare shoulders raising deep scarlet wheals, splitting the taught brown skin and sending a trickle of dark blood down his back.

At that moment the storm that had been threatening so long broke. The sky suddenly darkened, there was a crash of thunder that seemed to shake the mountain itself followed almost immediately by a brilliant flash of lightening. Then the rain began. It was not a soft gentle rain but sheets and sheets of ice-cold water plunging down on us from the skies washing down the cliff side turning the path into a torrent of tumbling grey water.

"Get them moving. Keep the little shits moving," I yelled at my men over the din of the storm.

Driven on by us the boys staggered forward water causing over them and glistening on their naked bodies. Suddenly the temperature dropped. What was falling now was not rain but hail. Large chunks of ice falling with great force that stung your hands and face. A low moan rose from the coffle of boys as the hail raked their unprotected flesh. But still we drove them forward. The hail eased but now it fell first as sleet and then in large flakes of snow. The track now was white flecked where the boys had stepped with spots of red from their bleeding feet.

There was a drama, a starkness about the scene that appealed to me. The column of naked brown boys toiling up the snow covered path, the towering mountains, the din of the storm all told of the noble savagery of a cruel and unforgiving world.

The storm I reflected was an excellent thing. I had spent the last few days teaching the brats that they could expect nothing but cruelty from man now they were learning the same of nature. When they were loose on the hill and the hunt had begun that knowledge would give them a desperate courage and determination that would render their pursuit and slaying a real challenge. I thought too how wise of Don Carlos to choose such a place for his boy hunts a noble and savage setting for a noble and savage sport.

Some I know criticise our sport for it's cruelty. I can only say that nature itself is cruel and for the boys death when it comes is quick. The desperate run, the sudden bite of the sharp steal piercing his side and then oblivion. A quick death and a noble one, can a Tribute Boy ask more than that. Most I think are not granted such an end.

Then, suddenly, the storm had passed. The sky cleared, bright sunshine warmed the air. The snow a few seconds before coating the world in white vanished and the only reminder of the storm was the grumbling of thunder about Torre Cerredeo to our East.

The sun did not diminish the boys' sufferings merely changed their nature. Heat and thirst replaced the torment of extreme cold. Indeed under the glare of the sun on the shadeless mountainside I and my men despite being mounted and provided with water bottles suffered severely. The brats naturally had no such comforts. By mid afternoon however the worst of their march was over. They had crossed the spur above the Rio Sella and were beginning the long descent to the head waters of the Rio Dobra. There in the holding compound I had specially had prepared for such purposes supplies brought down by the track that ran past the Mirador de Piedrafitas Puerto de Pandaris awaited us.

It was early evening when we eventually reached the banks of the Dobra. Young Juan Torres, the son of the farmer, was waiting for us with a couple of four wheel drive Toyota pick ups. Four Tribute Boys were busy unloading them under the supervision of one of his father's farm labourers, Bartolomé Majuco, a good man whom I knew well, while Juan busied himself filling the drinking troughs in the boy's yard with water from the river.

The compound was in fact no more than an area level ground bound by a dry stone wall hardly a metre and a half high with a narrow gap on one side. There was no gate but the gap could be barred if need be with boards. It was not so much deigned to confine the boys, they would be there only the one night and would not be going any where after the march they had endured, but to provide them with a minimal amount of shelter. Inside the yard they fell exhausted to their knees. My men and I moved among them striking off the chains that joined them by the collars and cutting through the plastic ties that held their thumbs together behind their backs. I doubt in the state they were, they were capable of thinking but if they did and fondly imagined these changes heralded an improvement in their lot they were going to be sorely disappointed before too many days had passed.

One by one they dragged themselves over to the troughs and drank deeply. Once they had slaked their thirst the Tribute Boys, closely supervised lest the thieving little brutes stole any for themselves, tipped sacks of steaming tripes into the troughs.

I had got the boys to the hunting grounds without loss. Now it only remained to turn them out on the hill. One thing though troubled me. The presence of the feral. I did not begrudge him his food but these boys that had been brought from North Africa to be hunted not to feed a wild beast. For the first few days on the hill they would be very vulnerable, weak, unaware of the danger he would poise to them. I had to take some action to protect them. I called young Juan Torres to me.

"Can you spare me one of your Tribute Boys? One that you will not miss," I asked.

"Permanently you mean?" He asked.

I nodded. I knew that he was bright young man.

"Certainly," he said and then shouted. "Cyclops… Cyclops you useless lump of sheep's shit get your filthy carcass over here quick unless you want the whip tickling your rib cage again you little turd."

The scrawny one eyed brat whom I had fucked that morning ran up and panting through himself to his knees at young Torres's feet

"You can have Cyclops here," he said prodding him none. too gently in the bottom with the toe of his boot. "No one will miss him."

I reached inside my coat for my wallet. Young Torres held up his hand to stop me.

"There's no need to pay me any money," he said. "Have the slut for a present. I'll be glad to be rid of him. For all the work I get out of him he might as well be dead. He'll be no loss. I should have made him ask for his Release long ago the idle little runt."

"If you're sure…" I began.

"Of course I'm sure," he interrupted me cheerfully. Now I must be off," and planting a final kick on the bum of the kneeling boy he turned and walked away.

"Señor," it was Bartolomé Majuco. "Señor a word before I go?"

"Certainly my friend," I replied.

"You will be returning to collect your Land Rover from Señor Torres's farm tomorrow evening?"

"Yes."

"I would be glad if you could find time to call at my home Señor. I have a matter I wish to discuss with you. To be frank a favour to ask."

"Of course it would be a pleasure."

The Torres farm house where we stabled our working horses was near the village of Sierra on the road between Covadonga and Cangas de Onis while Bartolomé's cottage was some kilometres higher up in the mountain. I could easily call in on him on the way to pick up my vehicle.

"Thank you Señor. I will see you tomorrow evening then," he turned and walked away. A second or two larger the two pick ups shrouded in a cloud of dust were bumping along the rough track leading down the Dobra valley.

"Well slut," I said to the Tribute Brat crouched on his knees at my feet, Unsaddle my horse and take the saddle and my gear over to the shelter of the trees. Quickly now."

"Yes Master. Thank you Master." The brat jumped to his feet, the few teeth to him flashing in a gap toothed grin in his sunburnt face and ran quickly off. I walked over to check one last time that day on the condition of the Berbers. The brat seemed pleased to be handed over to me. Perhaps he thought I had asked for him specially because I had enjoyed fucking him. Every Tribute Boy dreamed of finding a Master who fancied him and would give him plenty of sex and an easy Release. Well let the boy think that it would save me the trouble of keeping an eye on him in case he ran away. There was no need to let him discover just yet that he was destined to be eaten by the feral. Cyclops couldn't surely be his real name, it was the name, if I remembered from my school days correctly, of a one eyed giant in some old Greek story.

When I returned from my inspection I found the brat busy collecting armfuls of coarse grass.

"What do you think you're doing brat?" I asked.

"Please Master I thought I could use this to make a mattress for you to lie on Master."

I grunted and looked around. Really the boy hadn't made too bad a hand of things. The horse was tethered to a tree near by it's saddle resting across a fallen log. My gear lay neatly set out on the ground.

I opened my knapsack and pulled out a roll of bread and a hunk of the ewes milk cheese of the region.

"Fill this and bring it back here," I ordered throwing my water bottle at the boy. He caught it and set of at the run for the stream.

"Not there you stupid lump of dog's shit," I shouted angrily at him. "Above the pens. I don't want to be drinking boy's piss."

By the time he returned I was seated on the ground spreading the blue veined cheese on a slice of bread hacked from the loaf with my hunting knife. He dropped panting to his knees front of me and held out the water bottle. I took a swig from it and began to munch on my bread and cheese while the boy watched me hungrily with his single eye. I cut off a slice of bread and threw it to him. He stuffed it in his mouth and wolfed it down hardly giving himself time to chew.

"When did you eat last?" I asked.

"Master please Master yesterday evening Master. I can't do enough work to deserve to be fed more often. Master Torres is very good to have kept me so long Master."

I said nothing but standing up walked over to the bins where the food for the Berbers was kept. I lifted the lid of one of them and my nostrils were immediately assailed with the sweet nauseous smell of ageing flesh. I reached in and hacked off a considerable chunk of tripes. I threw it on the ground by the boy. He stared at me open mouthed.

"Go on then you stupid brute get that inside you," I ordered.

He was on it that second, tearing at it with his broken teeth, stuffing his mouth so full that his cheeks bulged, brown liquid trickling down his chin. He was not a pretty sight but for the moment he was mine and I had an obligation, just as I had to Grenadier and Guardian, to look after him.

I had another obligation to him. I could smell the little brute from where I sat, especially now he had been at the flesh. I had fed him now I had to clean him. Another boy I would have trusted to wash himself but I doubt if the Torres ever bothered to teach their farm brats anything about personal hygiene. I stood up and taking hold of the boy by the ear dragged him over to where the lads had lit a camp fire.

They greeted our arrival with grins and good natured banter. I got a bucket of water heated up and tipped a generous quantity of the dip we would use on the Berbers before turning them out on the hill the next day into it. Then I set to work scrubbing the accumulated filth from my brat's body. As I worked it became my believe that the Torres did not believe in being unduly gentle with their boys was amply confirmed. The little tyke's body bore innumerable old scars and a good number of open cuts and sores caused by no doubt well deserved floggings. The boy stood still only whimpering occasionally when the disinfectant stung in an open cut. These whimpers rose to a howl of pain when I rolled back his foreskin and roughly sponged the accumulated filth from behind it revealing a ring of raw flesh. This scream changed to an excited moaning when I transferred my attention to the cleft of his bottom.

"If you cum," I snapped, "I'll tear your balls off right now."

"Master it's all right Master I'll save it till you fuck me Master," the slut gasped pressing his fingers desperately into his perineum to cut the blood supply off from his suddenly erect cock. The men roared to think of my bothering with so deformed an animal.

"I don't care Master what they say," he whispered turning his face to look at me. "What matters is what you think."

I let that pass. He held no attraction for me in fact with his scarred body and disfigured face he was positively repulsive. I only fucked him that morning to gain release from the excitement engendered from the torture of the runaway. However I saw no reason wasting my time explaining things to him. I dismissed him with a sharp slap on his rump settled down to chat with my men.

It was a good deal later and with several glasses of wine inside me that I made my way back to the place under the trees that the boy had set out my gear. The sky was clear and there was a good moon but under the trees it was dark. It was only when I had stripped and was about to insert myself into my sleeping bag that I saw the little tyke was already inside it fast asleep. My first thought was to tip him out but I was mellow with wine and it occurred to me that though he did know it, it was the little brutes last night on earth. He might as well be allowed to sleep warm. I wriggled in beside him. He stirred but did not wake. I was tired and had no wish to fuck him. I too was soon asleep.

It was still dark when I woke. I was hard and the boy's tongue was busy about my cock. I forgot about his physical defects. Reaching down I pulled him upwards and twisted him round so that his rump was pressed into my crutch. He wriggled against me panting in his eagerness. I found there was not enough room in the sleeping bag to do the job properly. I quickly unzipped it and free of it's restrictions drove the full length of my cock deep into the brat's bottom. The little tart groaned and whimpered as I rode him. I felt his body close about my prick milking it and then I came deep inside him in great gushes of hot semen.

There must have been something about the mountain air for it was fully light and the men were moving around the preparing breakfast when the boy licked my prick clean for the last time. When he had finished I sent him off to fetch some hot water. I watched him as he trotted across to the campfire. I noticed he made no effort to wipe clean his bottom. No doubt he was proud of the evidence of my lust dribbling down the inside of his legs. I heard the men ribbing him when he arrived at the fire. In a moment he was back carrying a bucket of steaming water and grinning happily.

"You're a good little whore," I said patting his bottom and his grin widened even further. Probably it was the first time in his life that he had been called that.

I gave him another good junk of flesh for his breakfast and telling him to clean himself up and to pack my gear I strolled off to supervise the dipping of the Berbers.

The brats had been fed and they were huddled at one end of the compound muttering together in their outlandish language and staring suspiciously around. A sudden silence fell as I and my two underkeepers together with Grenadier and Guardsmen leashed but unmuzzled appeared through the narrow gap that was the only way into the yard. We advanced on the brats lashing out with our whips the dogs snarling and lunging forward with bared teeth. The boys panic stricken broke and we herded them towards the gap. They bunched there screaming, struggling among themselves to force their way out of the yard while we lashed the most backward ones mercilessly with our whips and the hounds nipped at bare legs and bottoms.

On the other side of the gap the grooms were waiting for them with their whips. With us behind them and the grooms on either side we drove them down the slope to the boy dip. I had had this constructed many years ago for just this purpose and it had been used so often that we all knew exactly the parts we had to play. Two high stone walls formed a funnel leading to a narrow passage that ended in a sudden two metre drop to an equally narrow trench cut in the bare rock. This trench was rather more than three metres deep at the passageway end. It's floor sloped upwards to it's further end some ten metres away. It was filled now with a white opaque mix of water laced with dip that would serve to clear the boy's bodies of any lice or other vermin they might have picked up and would disinfect all open cuts or sore.

When we got boys well within the walls of the funnel two grooms split off to stand on either side of the trench armed with long poles. When the lead boy saw the drop to the trench filled to an unknown depth with white strongly smelling fluid he hesitated, but the brats behind, driven on by our whips and the snarling dogs, soon sent him tumbling down into the trench. Boy after boy followed him as the grooms on either side used their poles to force their heads below the surface. Our shouts and curses, the cracks of our whips, the barking of the dogs added to the terror of the boys. One by one they worked their way screaming along the trench until they staggered out soaking wet and shivering with terror at the far end.

They didn't rest there long because we were soon on to them again with our whips driving them out on to the hill. Over the next few days the under keepers and grooms, together with any locals who cared to join in for the sport, would harry the boys further and further into the mountains, riding daily out after them not with lances but with whips so that they learnt if they saw anyone to run and to run fast. By the time I returned with Don Carlos's clients the boys would be wild and desperate and ready for the hunt.

I called my brat and he came trotting up with the horse ready saddled for me. I set off down the track beside the Dobra river the boy trotting by my side. I didn't push him to hard. Indeed I stopped a couple of times to let him drink from the river but it was a long trek and he did well to keep up. After ten kilometres I turned off to the West aiming to strike the surfaced road the other side of the high ground between Covodinga and Lake Enol.

We were now in the area in which I had seen the feral. Scrubby oak trees surrounded us on either side. Soon I sensed his presence. I didn't see him. He was too clever for that. A black bird startled far off to the right. There was a sudden rustling in the bushes nearer at hand. The feral was stalking us. The slut sensed it and drew nearer to my stirrups. He would not try anything while I was about but if he could catch the brat alone he would have him.

Once I was sure the feral was with us and we were well into the wood I drew reign.

"Go back to the camp," I ordered the brat.

He looked up at me fear in his single eye.

"Master there's something following…"

"Do as I say slut," I snapped impatiently.

"Master I thought that…."

He got no further. I lashed him across the chest with my whip. He cried out and turned from me running in an odd shambling motion back the way we came wailing a strange hopeless cry as he went.

I rode on. Strangely I felt far from content with myself. I could not understand it. I had done nothing wrong. I had not broken the law. Admittedly I had not made the boy ask for his Release but then I was not granting him it. If he was eaten by the feral it would be an accident although one that I was sure was almost certain to occur. I had simply told the boy to go back to the camp. Nor could it possibly bother me that I had sent a brat who may have thought I cared for him, to his death. I knew, because the priests had told me so, that a freeman like myself owed nothing to such brats. They were soulless animals without rights of any sort who existed simply to serve their betters. There could be no question of a freeman such as myself betraying such a brute as betrayal implied a degree of obligation.

Anyway the boy would get an easier death at the hands of the feral than Tribute Boys of that region commonly enjoyed. It was the practice to throw them into the pool at the head of the Cares gorges known as the 'Devils Cauldron', a deep steep sided sheet of water deceptively still in appearance. Then the free boys of the area and increasingly tourists attracted to the area by the spectacle would throw rocks down on them from the cliffs above until exhausted or driven by fear they were dragged out of the pool by the current and swept down into the series of cataracts and falls that lay down stream of it. It was said that twenty years ago one boy had survived to the end of the gorge but none had done so since. Perhaps none ever would now that tourists had taken to throwing bottles and stones from the bridges that occasionally spanned the gorge at the bobbing head of any desperate Tribute Boy that had survived so far.

Despite these reflections though I felt uneasy as I rode forward. I seemed to hear the boy's not so much of pain but of misery ringing in my ears. Then there was a shrill scream behind me. Clearly the feral had got the brat.

Inexplicably my horse's head was turned and it was cantering back along the way I had come. Stranger still I found I was digging my heals into it's sides urging it to go faster. The feral was ahead of me down on top of the boy. I was almost on him before he knew I was there so engrossed was he in what he was about. At the last moment he leapt to his feet his cock erect and dripping cum. With a snarl of his blood stained mouth he ducked away and was gone.

The brat had a deep wound on the side of his neck from which blood was flowing freely. He saw me and a smile that made face despite his empty eye socket and broken teeth for a moment almost beautiful.

"Master you ca…." He coughed. A great gush of blood came from his mouth and he was dead.

I was surprised to find I was kneeling on the ground holding the brats body in my arms. There was a warm dampness on my hands. I exclaimed in annoyance. The slut had bled on me and soiled the sleeve of my coat. I dropped the boy's lifeless carcass to the ground and stood up. I stood for a moment looking down at his meagre corpse. For some reason my eyes were watering. Then I walked back to the horse and mounting it trotted off. No doubt the feral would soon be back. I found difficulty in seeing properly for sometime. I suppose some dust must have got in my eyes. I still felt strangely sad but rather less disgusted with myself.

The shadows were beginning to lengthen when I arrived at Bartolomé Majuco's the house. It was a simple two storied structure set back off the unsurfaced road in a carefully tended vegetable garden. Bartolemé was at the gate waiting for me.

Señor I am honoured."

"The honour is all mine my friend," I replied and I meant it. There was a goodness and a simple dignity about the man that I could not help but admire.

"You will dismount and come into the house. My wife has prepared a meal though I fear it is but simple fare."

"A simple dish shared with a friend is better than a feast among strangers."

"Julio," he shouted, "Julio come here and take the gentleman's horse."

A long legged thirteen year old appeared at the door of the house his shorts though ragged and brief marking him as a free boy. I dismounted. He took the reins from me and lead the horse towards the back of the house. My eyes followed him focused on the tightly stretched cloth across the rear of his nicely rounded bum.

"My eldest," Bartolemé said and I had an inkling of the favour he wished to ask me.

Bartolemé led me inside the house. There was a single room dimly lit flag stoned room. In the centre stood a large pine scrubbed table with a wooden chair at its head and benches on either side. At one end of the room a couple of chairs and a settle clustered round the open hearth; at the other an open wooden staircase led upwards. Cured hams hung from hooks attached to the beamed roof.

The room smelt of cooking and freshly bake bread. As I entered Bartolomé's wife a slim dark haired women was emptying a saucepan of steaming rice into a bow. I saw the table was laid for four with large earthenware mugs rather than glasses.

"This Maria is my good and honoured friend Señor Karl."

The woman turned to look at me and smiling nervously curtsied slightly. I bowed gravely in reply.

"I do hope Señor," she burst out that you can help us with this thing. "Jacinto is a good boy and it is very hard but I know it is the law and we must obey."

"Maria be silent now. Señor Karl has ridden all day he must be hungry and we should not press him about our minor problems before he has had a chance to refresh himself." He spoke firmly but kindly.

Chapter 3c

"It is but a simple meal Señor," she said apologetically.

"It is an excellent one," I replied. "You have given us the best food that the region can provide."

As we ate Bartolomé talked about the weather, the crops, the coming shepherds festival at Lake Enol with Maria joining in the conversation occasionally. Julio did not say anything but ate his food quickly but neatly his dark head bowed over his plate. It was only when the conversation turned to the coming boys' hunt the quality of the stock that I had just brought to the mountain and the chances of good sport.

"Do you think Señor that I could help as a beater this year?" Suddenly breaking his silence.

"Now Julio," his father said quickly before I could reply, "you know we have discussed this already. You are too young. It is hard out on the hill."

"But I am often out on the hill all day long doing my work. I know I could manage well enough. Better than some."

"There are other reasons too. We have discussed this and the matter is decided."

"What other reasons Father?"

"Things that it would not be proper to mention before your Mother. You are too young and that is the end of it."

"Juan Torres told me that he went for the first time when he was twelve and I'm thirteen now."

"Juan Torres is Juan Torres and you are Julio Majuco. What may have been right for Juan Torres is not right for you. Now no more."

I could see Bartolomé was getting impatient with the lad but still he persisted. I admired the boy's persistence but not his wisdom.

"What do you think Señor? Am I too young?"

"I think you should accept what your father decides and not argue."

"Did you always accept what your father said, Señor?"

"Enough," Bartolomé roared. "Outside boy. I will deal with you later."

Julio rose from the table and walked quietly to the back door.

"I am sorry Señor. I do not know what got into the boy. He is not like that usually."

"He is growing up, Bartolomé," I said quietly.

"I wish," Bartolomé replied, "that he would either get on with it or stop."

There was a awkward silence and then Bartolomé spoke again.

"Well what do you think?" he asked.

"You know the boy best my friend but you will have to let him spread his wings in time you know. If this is the right time for him…" I shrugged.

There was another lengthy pause.

Bartolomé made a single to his wife and she rose to return in a moment to the table bearing an old fashioned Tilley lamp. She lit it and after a moment's pumping the mantle glowed white throwing a clear gentle light out into the room.

"Julio's performance is especially unfortunate because I wanted to interest you in his younger brother." Bartolomé spoke in a rush his face flushed with embarrassment "You see Señor, Jacinto is six years younger than Julio. The time that we must pay his tax or surrender him to the Tribute Officer is fast approaching. We have tried all we can, all three of us, Julio as well as Maria and I to earn enough to pay the levy but hard as we try we cannot do it."

"My friend," I said, "if you would allow me to help you…"

"Señor you know I cannot accept your offer though I know you mean it and it is kindly meant. A man may surrender his child to the Tribute Officer. It is the law and there is no dishonour to it but to sell him to another that is not possible."

"Señor," I replied knowing that my efforts were doomed to failure but feeling that I had to persist, "I will not be buying your son I will be making a friend a gift to use as he wishes. I would have no claim on your child."

"Karl," Bartolomé said and I knew that he was moved when he called me by my first name, "it is not possible. What ever you say what ever you argue the reality is that I will have accepted money from you for my boy. I will have sold him… Father Pio preached a sermon on this point this very Sunday last."

"What you can do for me if you would though is to recommend him to your employer Don Carlos. Then he will have a Master who loves his boys and allows them in the end a little dignity."

"Señor please do this for us." Maria broke in. "He is a good and a beautiful boy. We love him dearly but we are too poor to save him. I could not bear to think of him in the hands of some farmer to be starved and beaten and then when there is no more work in him thrown into the Cares River for the amusement of the tourists."

"If I can recommend him to Don Carlos I will. But I must see him. You must realise this. A boy can be beautiful in the eyes of his parents who appears otherwise to the rest of the world."

"Jacinto!" Bartolomé called.

There was a rustle of movement from the end of the room by the stair case. I turned my head to look. A young boy was descending them his only clothing a diminutive loin cloth. His mother spoke the truth he was beautiful. Dark, slim with firm round thighs and a tight pert little bottom he moved with the simple natural grace of a healthy wild animal. His body and hair glistened as he moved and I realised he had been oiled and burnished by his mother for my inspection. He glanced up and smiled shyly at me fleetingly I caught a glimpse of large soft brown eyes and the glint of pearl white teeth.

"He is beautiful," I breathed and I saw the boy flush.

"I must do more though if I am to speak for him to Don Carlos."

"I know Señor and we have explained it to the boy."

"Jacinto," Bartolomé continued snapping his fingers.

I swung round on my bench so that I was facing away from the table and the boy came to stand in front of me.

"I will not hurt you more than I have to, Jacinto," I promised reaching out and pulling his loincloth away from his body. I smiled gently when I caught sight of his tiny hairless balls and minuscule uncut prick. I ran my hands over the child talking quietly to him all the time to reassure him. I turned him so that he was facing away from me. I could see goose pimples on the back and inside of his thighs an indication of nervousness. At last the moment came for the crucial test.

"Put your legs apart child," I said softly pressing the palm of my hand between his shoulder blade to make him lean forward. I dampened my index finger with saliva. I saw grease glistening around his spotlessly clean hole. I caught Bartolemé's eye.

"I have worked on it a little, Señor," he said quietly. "It will make things easier for the boy in the end."

I nodded. I pressed the tip of my finger into the boy's hole. There was a moment of resistance as his body tensed in a reflex reaction to this attempted invasion. I maintained the pressure. A second or two later he moaned softly and his sphincter relaxed. I slid my finger slowly into him feeling the heat of his body close around it. Almost immediately I knew the child was ideal stock for Don Carlos's hacienda as his body clamped tight about it. I could see the muscles in his bottom working as he rode my finger trying to draw it further and further into his body. He moaned in excitement and his whole body shuddered as the spasms of a long drawn out dry orgasm racked his body.

I waited for the convulsions to stop before withdrawing my finger. There was an audible plop as I drew it clear of his body. His mother hurried forward with a damp cloth to wipe the filth from it. When he had been branded he would be expected to clear his mess up with his tongue and lips but the time for this had not yet arrived.

I cupped one cheek of his bottom in my hand and squeezed it appreciatively.

"I will be very glad to recommend him to Don Carlos," I announced.

"Thank you Señor," his mother cried while the boy turned round and hugged me tightly round my neck.

"That's enough, Jacinto," Bartolomé said firmly. "Now off to bed with you."

I could tell from the tone of his voice that he was pleased. The boy kissed me on the cheek and then went to his father to be kissed. Maria took him by the hand and lead him upstairs.

"There is one other thing I must deal with," Bartolomé said quietly.

"Julio," he called.

The boy must have been standing close up against the back door for he was with us in the instant his lower lip quivering white faced and tense.

"Julio you know why I sent you from the room."

"Yes Father."

"And you know why I have called you back."

"Yes Father." There was a quaver in the boys voice but he was clearly determined not to cry.

"Have you anything to say for yourself."

"No Father, except that I am very sorry to have argued with you and I now I should not have done it especially in front of Señor Karl."

"Very well but you must be punished. You know that?"

"Yes Father." The boy's voice almost broke but did not.

"Fetch the strap."

Julio padded over on bare feet to the door and took from a hook a thick leather strap that hung there. He carried it over to his father.

"No Julio the main offence you gave was to Señor Karl whom you embarrassed while a guest in our house take the strap to him."

The boy turned and blinking, but still holding himself ramrod straight, carried the strap over to me.

"Señor?" He said holding it out to me.

I took it and stood up.

"Well get your shorts off and bend down over the end of the table."

The small area of Julio's rump previously covered by his shorts was slightly lighter but not very much more so than the rest of his body. It was clear that he spent a good deal of the time naked. Presumably he had been wearing them earlier about the house as an acknowledgement of my status as a visitor. So far as I could see he had not been beaten in the recent past. I could not help contrast Julio's smooth unmarked back with the scarred and broken carcass of the brat that I had left for the feral to feed on.

"Señor, the boy's main offence was to show a lack of respect to you our guest by choosing to try to carry on a family argument in your presence. It is only right that you should decide on his punishment and inflict it on him."

I took the strap and weighed it in my hands. It seemed adequate for it's purpose.

"Three strokes." I said quietly. It would of course have been many more if the bum presented to me for correction was that of sum snivelling Tribute slut for you know the saying 'you train a boy but break a brat.'

I heard a rustle of movement behind me and turning my head I saw Julio's mother descending the stair case. She must have settled Jacinto. I hoped the sound of his brother's flogging would not disturb the younger boy. I waited courteously for Maria to return to her seat while Julio remained bent and shivering in anticipation of he agony to come. It would do no harm for him to have to wait. It would increase the terror of his punishment.

Maria settled herself. I glanced at Bartolomé and he nodded. I whirled the strap back over my head. Julio braced himself in preparation for the first stroke. The knuckles of his hands stood out white as he gripped either edge of the table in his determination to stay in position. I brought the lash whistling down through the air with all my strength and weight behind it. It cracked down across the lad's rump. The boy's body jerked convulsively, his head went back and his mouth twisted in a rictus of pain as he fought for breath. He did not let go of the table and he did not cry out. A white stripe appeared momentarily where the strap had slashed down across Julio's bottom turning swiftly to bright red which deepened more slowly, especially at it's edges, to dark red verging to purple. Later I knew when the deeper bruising came out there would be touches also of green and yellow.

I waited until Julio had settled himself again and the first pain had caused through his body for I wished the boy to feel to the full every stroke I inflicted on him. After all there is no point in beating a boy if you do not do the job properly. I raised my arm once more. A quickly stifled whimper came from the trembling lad. Again the strap hissed through the air hitting the boys taught bum with the explosive impact of a pistol shot as I laid the cut parallel to the first. Julio grunted in pain but still he held fast to the table. I took a moment to examine the welts the strap had already scored across the boy's otherwise smooth flesh. I shifted my position slightly. The final stroke I laid diagonally across his bum intersecting the two that I had already given him. This time I had the satisfaction of hearing him cry out in pain.

I waited a few seconds and then gave him permission to rise. He straightened his face was red, his eyes glistened and his lips trembled.

"Go and stand in the corner with your hands on your head," Bartolomé ordered. "Fifteen minutes will be sufficient time for you to reflect on your misbehaviour and to repent."

Julio set off to the corner only to be brought up short by his father.

"Julio," he said sharply, "I am surprised by you. You seem to have forgotten the common courtesies. What have you to say to Señor Karl."

"Oh Señor," the boy gasped, "Thank you, Señor."

"That's all right Julio," I said gently stifling a laugh.

The boy hurried over to a dark corner of the room. For the next fifteen minutes or so Bartolomé, Maria and I sat round the table discussing neutral things, our conversation being occasionally disturbed by a muffled sob from the corner which we studiously ignored.

At the end of the allotted time Bartolomé called out to Julio that he might join us. The boy came and stood beside the table.

"I am sorry Father for arguing," he said humbly. "Please forgive me."

"You are forgiven my son," his father replied and the boy through his arms about his father's neck and kissed him on the cheek.

Father and naked boy hugged each other for a second or two and then Julio looked over at me the light of sheer mischief in his eyes.

"But Señor," he said, "the offence was to you. Would you forgive me too, Señor."

"Of course, Julio."

"Then I must kiss you too, Señor," and the little imp who a minute or two before was whimpering in the corner from the pain and humiliation of his punishment blithely trotted over to me and kissed me full on the lips. I opened my mouth in surprise and his tongue flicked quickly inside it. Then with a quick twist he settled himself on my lap and there he remained until his father ordered him to bed half an hour or so later.

Chapter 3d

When it was time for him to go Julio managed to get to the staircase without his parents spotting his arousal by a series of artful manoeuvres. When he reached the top of the stairs he stood with his hands chastely shielding his crutch and called "good night" to his parents. They turned to speak to him and then when they had resumed their conversation with me he called "Good night Señor." I glanced up and saw that his hands were now down by his sides giving me a very clear view of his erection. With a wicked grin he turned his back and with a wriggle of his delightful bottom disappeared from sight.

Julio gone to bed more cider was poured and drunk more matters were discussed. Maria rose and said she was going to bed but Bartolomé and I remained sitting round the table for a long time chatting. Eventually I remembered the journey ahead of me and my horse in Bartolemé's stable. With no enthusiasm I said I would have to be on my way.

"My friend," said Bartolomé, "it is long past midnight, you and I have drunk a fair amount of cider which is not a child's drink. Your horse is safe in my stables. There is a spare bed in the boy's room. Spend what remains of the night there and continue your journey in the morning."

The idea seemed an excellent one. It would avoid my having to ride some ten kilometres in the dark before picking up the Land rover at the Torres farm in the small hours of the morning. Furthermore the thought of sleeping in the same room as young Julio was not without it's attractions.

Bartolomé lit a candle and led the way upstairs. He halted on the landing. Before me were two plank doors secured with simple latches.

"That one is the boys'," he said indicating the one to the left. "The spare bed is under the window. Goodnight. I'll see you in the morning."

Holding the candle I pushed the door open and quietly entered the room. In it's flickering light I could see two small beds set side by side against the inside wall with the humped forms of the sleeping boys on top of them. Under the window was a larger empty single bed. Shielding the flame of the candle with my hand I crept across to look at the boys. The night was warm and Jacinto had in his sleep cast off all his bedclothes. He was lying on his back stark naked a slight smile on his lips. I saw with amusement that his small prick was erect it's tip pressing against his tummy. Disappointingly though Julio's body was covered with a sheet and he had rolled on his side to face the wall so that all I could see was the back of his dark little head on the pillow.

I did not think I could risk waking him. To do so would almost certainly disturb his brother and perhaps alert the whole house. Regretfully I tiptoed across the plane plank floor and began to undress. The only thing I could hope for was that the morning would bring me an opportunity to get better acquainted with the boy. Certainly it would seem that he shared my interest in doing so. Thinking of him nestling naked on my knees excited me. Sitting on the edge of my bed, the candle on the floor at my feet, I pulled off my breeches. I stood up my erect cock lifting the front of my shirt. There was a rustle from one of the beds on the other side of the room.

"It felt big through your breeches," Julio's voice whispered then there was a padding of bare feet and the boy threw his arms around my neck He pulled himself up until his face was level with mine. He locked his bare legs about my waste and clamped his lips on mine.

"What about your brother," I whispered when at last I was able to pull my lips away from his.

"You want Jacinto as well?" Julio asked with a giggle. "We had best go in your bed, Señor. It is the bigger of the three."

He unlocked his arms from about my neck but made no effort to rouse his brother. Instead he sank to his haunches and licked and nuzzled my cock and balls as I unbuttoned my shirt. I slipped it off and then reaching down caught hold of the boy below his shoulders and lifted him onto the bed. I blew out the candle.

"Señor," there was a murmur of protest and a slight moan.

"Am I too big for you?

"You are big, Señor, but I'll manage. It's the stripes you gave me as well. They are very tender."

Neither of us said anything that made very much sense for some time after that.

In the morning I lay naked on my back in bed listening to the two boys shouting and laughing as they took it in turn to work the pump in the yard behind the house over each other. I was feeling pleasantly relaxed although the cider had left me with a slight head ache.

There was silence and then the pad of bare feet on the stairs. The door open and a naked rather wet Julio stood there holding a steaming bowl in his hands.

"Mother sent me up with some hot water for you to wash with," he said.

Placing the bowl on the floor he turned to close the door behind him. I saw that the marks left by the strap across the smooth brown skin of his bottom had indeed become tinged with green and yellow as the deep bruising came out. I smiled at him as he came towards the bed his dark hair plastered to his skull beads of water glistening against his smooth tanned body. The modesty that had required him to wear shorts when I arrived the previous day had now been banished. It would have been odd if it had not considering what we had been up to together. I saw that, despite my riding him hard the previous night, his prick was beginning to harden yet again. What it was to be young I thought. I swung my legs from the bed and reached out for of water. Instead of handing it to me he knelt on the floor between my legs and began to sponge the mixture of dried shit and cum from my flaccid cock.

"If I was a Tribute Boy," he observed smiling up at me, "I would have to do this with my tongue." Then he returned to his task. To my surprise I too began to harden.

He bent down. I felt him run his tongue the length of my prick from it's root in the dark hairs of my scrotum to the narrow slit at it's tip. Then he took it into his mouth. I moaned in excitement and grabbing hold of his head pulled it forward. I felt his throat move convulsively as I forced him to swallow the full length of my cock. A minute or so later he was hunkered back on his heels wiping cum from his chin with the back of his hand.

"You should swallow all that," I told him. "It is meant to make you strong."

"Strong enough to come on the boys' hunt with you, Señor?" He asked with a grin.

"You don't give up do you," I said laughing and leaning forward to ruffle his dark hair.

"No Señor," he agreed and then returned to the attack. "Will you tell my father that I can come on the boy hunt, Señor?"

"You will have to wait and see, Julio," I replied. "Now be off with you. I want to get dressed and if you don't get out of here your Mother will wonder what we are up to together."

"'Up,' is the word, Señor," he said and ran giggling from the room.

When I went downstairs I found Bartolomé sitting at his usual place at the head of the table. He waved me to sit on the bench to his right and Maria hurried over to with a large cup of very strong coffee. Looking up into her face to thank her it seemed to me that her eyes were somewhat red rimmed as though she had been crying.

"The boys will be here in a minute. They are getting your horse ready for you," Bartolomé said and then continued. "Maria and I have been talking things over and we feel it would be best, if it is not too much trouble my friend, for you to take our Jacinto with you now. If Don Carlos will accept his service then I authorise you to hold Jacinto's Tribute money on our behalf until you return here for the hunt together with any further money that Don Carlos deems it proper to pay us in respect of the quality of the boy."

"Señor," Maria broke in choking back a sob, "please take him. We both love the boy dearly but we know we cannot keep him and it breaks our heart to see him so beautiful and innocent and knowing what is to come."

"Shush woman, we must not complain. It is god's will as the good Father Pio tells us often." Bartolomé in his turn interrupted his wife but despite his own councils I could tell he was near to tears.

"I will gladly do as you ask my friend. But how much do you wish from Don Carlos in addition to the Tribute money it self."

"I leave it to him, Señor. He is a man of honour and will not cheat me and to be frank I do not want to haggle a price for my son's body as though he was a calf in the market place." At these word his voice broke and he turned away from the table. Maria stood close to him resting her hand on his shaking shoulder while tears streamed down her own face.

There was a sound of scuffling outside the room and with an effort Bartolomé regained control of himself.

"The boys are coming now, Señor. We have not mentioned this to Jacinto. Let him have his breakfast in peace and we will tell him then. There is one thing; he will take nothing with him when he leaves us and so there will be no packing to do."

At that moment the door to the back burst open and the two boys tumbled into the room. There was a little bit of scuffling as they competed between themselves as to which of them should sit beside me. Julio being the bigger won this, so he plonked his bare rump down on the bench next to me and a second later I felt his foot rubbing against my shin under the table. His mother brought the boys a mug of milk each and told them to help themselves to bread and honey. Under cover of the table I ran my hand up the inside of his thigh enjoying the cool silky smoothness of his boy's flesh. He wriggled delightedly under my caress.

"Señor, we fed and groomed your horse and I have saddled it. Now you know what I can do would you not tell my Father I could come on the hunt with you? Please Señor."

"Julio," Bartolomé exploded, "you were beaten last night for bothering a guest. I see you need a further taste of the strap…"

"Señor," I interrupted hastily, "the boy is wrong to raise the matter again but I like to see a young one keen on sport. Perhaps if he was to come with me to help me in my work you would permit it… I will see no harm will come to him."

"It is much more than he deserves. Thank the Señor Julio and when you are with him you will do as he says and he will exercise authority over you just as if he were your father. You know already he has strong arm."

"Thank you Señor. Thank you Father." Julio put his arms round my neck and hugged me.

I glanced across at Jacinto and wondered what he must be feeling knowing that his elder brother was going to enjoy all the privileges and pleasure of a free boy while he could only look forward to a life of servitude and an early death. Some similar though must have struck Bartolomé for he called Jacinto to him and drew him down onto his knees.

"Jacinto my dear son," he said quietly, "you are almost seven now. I wish I could keep you but I am a poor man and the law is strict and strictly applied. Señor Karl has very kindly agreed to take you today to see Don Carlos and god willing you will serve at his Hacienda. Do nothing to disgrace the honour of our house my son, learn to be patient and obedient, love your Master as befits a Tribute Boy and serve him till he grants you your Release. Do not think that we do not love you that we send you away now." He broke off and a sob shook his body.

"I know I must go Father. I will do nothing to disgrace you. I will miss you and Mother and Julio too."

He embraced his father and then slipping from his knees crossed to where his mother stood. Maria took him into her arms as tears streamed down her face. He slipped from her arms and came across to Julio. The two boys hugged each other briefly.

"Señor," Jacinto said, "I will show you where we left your horse. I think we should go now," and taking me by the hand he led me from the room.

The horse was tied to the railings at the back of the house. I swung myself in the saddle and reaching down lifted the boys slight body onto the crupper in front of me. I kicked the horse into movement. His parents and brother were standing at the front door as we passed. Jacinto waived to them and continued to do so until a bend in the road hid them from us. Then for the first time he began to cry. I said nothing but held his small body close to mine as we trotted along.

In time the boy's sobs died away and then stopped. We road on along the deserted road, the bright morning sunshine filtering through the boughs of the oak trees that met over head. I continued to hold Jacinto tightly against my chest partly because I wanted to comfort the boy and partly because I like the feel of his small young body pressed close against mine. We jogged along quietly for some time. I could feel the flutter of his heart beat against my hand as I held him. The it became apparent that he was moving his body rather more than could be accounted for by the motion of the horse. Apart from anything else he had wriggled his little rump tight up against my crutch and he could not be unaware that his antics were beginning to excite me.

"Jacinto," I said, "if you make me come in my breeches I will be very angry and I will give that nice little bum of yours a good hard smacking."

"Perhaps Señor," he replied cheerfully, "it would be best if you took your breeches off and then there will be no danger of that."

The suggestion seemed to me a good one and I dismounted to put it into effect. I saw Jacinto's eyes widen as he saw what lay beneath my breeches.

"No wonder Julio moaned so much last night, Señor," he remarked.

"You heard then?"

"Yes and this morning when Julio and I were under the pump together I saw stuff dribbling out of him. Did you put it right into him, Señor?"

"Yes indeed, Jacinto … Right in," and I smiled at the memory.

"But it so large, Señor. It must have been very tight."

"It was quite tight."

"And he made a lot of noise. Do you think it hurt him a lot?"

"Not a lot, Jacinto. Just a bit perhaps but then the pleasure made the pain worth it. The first time hurts a lot but it wasn't the first time for him was it?"

"Oh no Señor, that was a year ago Father Pio did it after mass. He always does it to the altar boys. Julio told me. He bled a lot then too. There was no blood this morning."

"Good now take off your loincloth like a good boy and get up in front of me again."

"Is Don Carlos as big as you Señor?" Jacinto continued the conversation when he was back on the horse rubbing his bare rump against my erect cock.

"About the same size I should think, Jacinto."

"Will he fuck me, Señor?"

"He or some one who pays him for your bum, Jacinto. But probably not straight away. Not unless somebody offers him a lot of money… Usually he keeps his Tribute Boys till their third year of service before they are fucked."

"But if he's offered a lot of money I could be fucked straight away?"

"Yes Jacinto. If he accepts you as a Tribute Boy he can do what he likes with you."

"It will hurt a great deal," the boy said and shivered. The effect of this movement was to bring my excitement to a peak and I sprayed jets of sperm up the boys' naked back.

"Señor," he said and giggled.

He didn't speak again until I had reigned in the horse a short distance outside Riera and was wiping my semen from the small of his back with a hand full of fern.

"If Don Carlos does sell my bottom I suppose my parents will get the money, Señor?" He asked.

"The proportion due to them and if I know Don Carlos a bit more on top as well," I replied.

"Then that is well Señor. God has decreed that Tribute Boys must suffer to show their love and duty to their parents. Father Pio told me that. I do love my Mother and Father Señor." He sniffed loudly and then squared his thin shoulders.

"Good boy," I said patting his bottom. "Now put your loin cloth back on. You're not branded yet and Señor Torres may get the wrong idea if you turn up in his farm yard naked.."

I heard the screams of the brat Torres was flogging well before we rode into his yard. The burly farmer had taken off his coat and rolled up his sleeves in order to do full justice to the job in hand. The slut was suspended by his wrists from a cross bar and his body swung and twisted as the lash curled about it. So engrossed was Torres by his task that he did not know I was there until I had dismounted and walked over to stand beside him.

Chapter 3e

"Don't think your getting off as lightly as that dog shit," he growled at the sobbing child, "I have hardly begun. I'll be back to finish off the job later. Don't you worry." With that he landed a vicious cut across the boy's already bleeding shoulders and walked away with me.

"You are returning to the Hacienda de Chicos de Ezaro, Señor Karl." He said. "We expected you here yesterday I think."

"I stayed over night with Bartolemé Majuco."

"Indeed and that is his youngest son you have with you, Jacinto. I have never seen him but his father has spoken of him often. A good looking boy he said and he spoke the truth. He was worried about finding the money for his Tribute. I told him 'there's no point in worrying Bartolemé. If you haven't got the money you haven't got it. Take the boy to the Tribute Officer and have him branded at least then you get something to help you in your old age."

"Has your father found the money, Chico?"

"No Señor," the boy whispered.

"Then it's the branding iron for you. I must make a point to be about when the Tribute Officer comes for you. I like to see the hot iron pressed against a pretty slut's hip, smell the scorched flesh and watch the brat empty himself. Why I might even find room for you on the farm here."

"Jacinto has not been brought before the Tribute Officer, Señor," I interposed, I could see the boy was on the point of tears, "and my employer has been given first refusal by Bartolemé."

"I might have know it," old Torres explained in disgust, "too choice a bit of boy's flesh for a mere farmer like me. Well back to work."

The frenzied screaming of the boy resumed well before I was able to get the Land Rover out of the yard.

One advantage of the oil famine is that the roads nowadays are largely deserted except for the occasional horse or ox drawn cart. This allows those few who, or as in my case whose employers, are rich enough to afford petrol to cover long distances in comparatively short periods of time. All speed limits except in towns were abolished long ago when the falling weight of traffic rendered them ridiculous. It was therefore late afternoon when we drove through Muros and out on the road to the Hacienda. It was just as well that the journey was a comparatively quick one for Jacinto was not a lively companion after our visit to Torres's farm. I had once, when he was in his first year at his expensive boarding school in England, driven Christopher to catch the ferry at Santander at the end of his holidays. Normally a cheerful boy and one who was very willing to chat to me about shooting and other field sports, Christopher spent his whole time staring dully out of the car window silent except for the occasional loud sniff. Jacinto's behaviour did nothing more than reminded me of Christopher's on that occasion.

I noticed that Don Carlos had at last managed to get the road to the Hacienda surfaced. I wondered which boy he had used to prevail on the Mayor to get this done.

"We're almost there now, Jacinto," I said trying to rouse the boy. "Soon you'll be seeing the place where you'll be probably spending the rest of your life and the man who will be your Master if your lucky and he accepts you."

"What if he does not, Señor?"

"Then it will be farmer Torres for you my boy so show a bit of interest."

"Yes Señor," he said and to be fair to him he did sit up and begin to take notice as we swept through the great double gates waived on by the two men manning the lodge into the grounds of the Hacienda. Indeed there was much for him to see and wonder at.

"The horses, Señor, are beautiful. So slender and quick. We have nothing to match them at home," he exclaimed as we sped through the lush fields before the great house.

"The boys they too are beautiful as the horses… even more so," as we entered the pleasure grounds where guests strolled with their favourites of the moment,

"Will I look like one of those, Señor?" He asked with wonder in his voice.

"Yes Jacinto," I replied softly. "I think you will be as beautiful a slut as any of those on the Hacienda."

"And the ladies and gentlemen, Señor, so rich and proud. Do you think I might be chosen to be walked and petted by such important people, Señor?"

"I am sure they'll be round you like bees round a honey pot," I replied smiling. It amused me how the place was bringing out the natural sluttishness of the boy. I had noticed often before that is something about the atmosphere of the Hacienda that gives an extra edge and urgency to the sexual passions of both guests and boys. This is quite apart from the pills that are given to certain boys by Don Carlos that are known among the brats as 'stiffies' and whose effect can be surmised from that name.

We were walking past place where two teams of junior boys were engaged in a vigorous and noisy game of touch rugby watched by a crowd of admiring guests. One team penned behind it's own twenty five was engaged in a desperate defence of it's line. Then a high wild pass was thrown out to a small blond boy on the defending wing. He had to jump and turn to take it but he succeeded and hit the ground running. He beat one boy, out ran another and was into the opposing team's half. He had two more to beat. He swerved right, then left and ran straight between the two of them. He threw forward skidding across the try line on his belly. He rose dust covered and grinning blood trickling down one shin from a grazed knee.

"Well done boy" I said, "I wouldn't like to try to try to hunt you with the lance."

"I'm going to run in the practice hunts, Master," he panted cheerfully, "and if I am any good in the Junior Boy's coursing at the festival."

I saw him glancing uneasily at Jacinto who stood beside me in his tiny loin cloth. The brats always feared the small free boys who were brought to holiday at the hacienda by their parents or guardians believing, probably rightly, that if they were given the chance they were crueller than the adults.

"You needn't worry about Jacinto," I said. "I am bringing him for Don Carlos to look at and if he likes him he will become another little whore just like you."

"If he is chosen, Master, he will have the best Master and be on the best Hacienda in the whole world. Please can I go now, Master, they're waiting for me to restart the game." I nodded and he trotted off.

A little further there were two bigger boys balanced on a high beam going hard at each other with quarter staffs. They were wearing helmets and pads on their forearms but were otherwise naked. One of them had recently been severely beaten. A smaller boy also naked with reddish golden hair squatted in the dust beside them a stop watch in his hand. They looked familiar and then I saw that they were Christopher, who bore the marks of a beating on his back, and that hard bitten little slut from the slums of Marseilles, Xavier, whom he often knocked about with during his holidays at the Hacienda. I had come across the pair of them many times in the hills out after rabbits, Christopher carrying his four ten and Xavier acting as porter and beater. Or at least that was how they were did things when they knew I was about. I had very good reason to suspect that Christopher allowed Xavier to use the shot gun some times. There are some things that adults are wise not to notice.

Christopher must have caught a glimpse of me out of the corner of his eye for his concentration slipped for a moment and in that moment Xavier's staff sliced across his legs cutting them from under him and sending him toppling from the bar. Xavier leapt down after him. Christopher quick as a cat was half way back on his feet in a split second but Xavier's staff was already raised for another blow. The smaller boy who had been watching threw himself forward and caught the descending staff across his arm. He rolled away on the ground holding his arm and groaning. Both the bigger boys stopped to stare at him aghast.

"Karl, can you wait a minute I have just to sort this out," Christopher called.

"Xavier, we'll stop for a minute now. I did not mean Mir to take that blow for me."

"And I, master, did not know that Master Karl was there or I would not have struck in the first place," Xavier said dropping to his knees. It was a remarkable sight the two boys who a moment before had been engaged in knocking hell out of each other resuming effortlessly their proper stations of Master and Tribute Boy. It was a great Tribute to Don Carlos's disciplinary methods and to Christopher's character.

"Mir you silly slut," Christopher said addressing the smaller boy quietly, "what do you think you were doing? You're meant to be here to time keep, nothing else. I am very angry with you. Xavier will think I am frightened to take his blows. Do you think I can't look after myself."

"Master please, I am sorry Master… It was only … I … I couldn't bear to see you beaten, Master," the boy said weakly sitting on the ground and holding the arm on which the blow had fallen.

"Well the first thing to do is to see if it's been broken," said Christopher and squatting down beside the boy he felt his arm with surprising gentleness. "Nothing seems to be cracked. Can you move it for me? You can. Let me see. Good."

Christopher straightened and stood a moment looking down at the smaller boy.

"Mir, I am angry with you. You deserve to be flogged. You really do. You must learn not to interfere in things that don't concern you. You say you couldn't bare to see me beaten, well, due to your interference you will have to do just that. A contestant under the rules of the quarter staff is entitled to a free strike if somebody not involved in the contest deflects a blow of his and Xavier will now take the strike he is entitled to."

"Stand up, Xavier, and hit me as hard as you can with your staff. Mir, a five minute bout starting from the moment Xavier lands his blow."

Xavier clambered to his feet and Christopher turned to face him his arms down by his sides waiting for the blow to fall.

"Master," Xavier said, "under the rules I am entitled to a free strike but I don't have to take it and I will not."

"That is your decision, Xavier, and if you wish to stick to it I will respect it. Mir has to be punished though and if you don't take your free strike I will have to whip him."

Xavier lifted his staff but he hesitated once again.

"And deal me as hard a blow as you can, Xavier," Christopher said calmly. "If I think you are trying to let me off lightly it will not count."

Xavier whirled his staff back over his shoulders and gritting his teeth brought it double handed down on Christopher's helmet. The boy staggered under the blow and went down on one knee. Xavier raised his staff again but Christopher rolled away and bounced back to his feet. Xavier darted striking blow after blow at the other boy. Christopher clearly still a little dazed retreated using his staff to defend himself. Some blows got through his defence but despite this he began to recover his strength and began to return as good as he was given. It was as good a quarter staff bout at that age and weight that I had ever seen between two remarkably evenly matched contestants who gave each other no quarter. I said as much when Mir eventually called time.

"He is good," Christopher said ruffling Xavier's hair fondly, who once the bout had ended, had dropped panting to his knees at the feet of the boy with whom he was just a moment before trading blows on an equal basis. "It's such a pity that he's a penal, Karl. I am sure he would otherwise have a very good chance of being pardoned he's so good with the sticks and the chance would just give him an extra edge when he's fighting."

"I will fight as well as I can for the honour of the Hacienda and for the love I bear your father and you my young Master," Xavier declared.

He had spoken unbidden and that in any other circumstances alone would have been enough to earn him half a dozen cuts from the cane across his bottom. Christopher might well have though his dignity attacked by the brats reference to his age. Xavier though spoke with such deep love and simple humility and quiet unquestioning acceptance of his fate that it was impossible to take exception to his words.

"I know you will, Xavier," Christopher said kindly, "but I wish I could tell you, you had a chance of pardon all the same. Now wait here a minute while I chat to Karl then you may suck me but you must not cum yourself. I want you to fight full of cum, mine and your own, so that you are as brave and as strong as can be."

He turned away from the boy and began strolled a little way with me. Jacinto trotting at our heels. I was glad to see that the child seemed to recognise instinctively Christopher's superiority. Christopher chatted about the coming hunt. He asked also if I had seen the feral and when I said that I had questioned me closely about it's appearance and where I had come across it.

His curiosity satisfied on those scores he glanced back at Jacinto tagging along quietly behind us dressed only in his in his minuscule loincloth.

"What's that you've got there, Karl?" He asked.

"Something for your father to look at," I replied. "His father can't find the Tribute money for him so he hopes there's room for him here."

"Stand still a moment, boy," Christopher ordered not unkindly and he stood looking at Jacinto his head on one side the picture of a discerning connoisseur of boy's flesh. He walked round the boy slowly looking him and down as Jacinto stood still under his inspection his head humbly bowed.

"He's got the makings of a quite a good little whore," he announced his inspection finished and I saw a relived smile flit across Jacinto's young face. "Now I must be getting back. I don't know if my cum makes Xavier any stronger or braver but he thinks it does and that's what matters."

I found Don Carlos sitting on the terrace busy with his secretary on his business correspondence He waived me to a chair and after shooting a quick keen glance at Jacinto continued to dictate a letter. Jacinto crept close to me and settled himself on the floor at my feet. My fingers idly played with his hair as I sat looking out over the bay with it's long beach of golden sand. I could hear the shrill cries of the boys as they played there or swam in the sea.

"Forgive me, Karl, for keeping you waiting," Don Carlos said having completed his letter, "that was something that needed dealing with urgently and the job was three quarter done before you arrived."

I made my report to him on the successful arrival of the Berbers and on the prospects of good sport as I saw them. He listened intently and afterwards asked a number of searching questions which showed his deep knowledge and love of the hunt. Only after these more important matters had been dealt with did he ask me about the boy who sat so quietly at my feet waiting for his fate to be determined.

"He is called Jacinto, Sir," I said in reply to his question, "he is the second son of Bartolemé Majuco who has a small holding in the Picos and does occasional work for old Torres. He hasn't the money for his Tribute and asks if you would accept him in your service. He has authorised me to act on his behalf but has set no value on the boy. He says that you are an honourable man and will give him what is just."

"Stand up boy and strip," Don Carlos commanded.

Jacinto shed his loincloth and stood with his head. I noticed that his tiny cock was standing stiffly to attention.

"You have tested him?"

"Yes Señor, he is so far as I can judge a hot little bitch and has not been penetrated."

"I am sure you are as good a judge of such matters as I," Don Carlos remarked.

"Christopher saw him just now and said he would make a good slut," I said doing my best for the brat.

"He has a good eye for boy's flesh," Don Carlos said with a touch of pride in his voice. "Take him to the District Tribute Offices in Coruña tomorrow and have him branded there. The sooner we start to break him the better we don't want to leave matters till the Officer comes to Muros on his circuit in four weeks time. As for his father give him as much again as the Tribute money to which he is entitled. "

That short inspection and the few words that followed determined the future life and death of young Jacinto.

At that moment the Secretary's mobile phone rang. He spoke briefly into it.

"That was the gate house, Sir," he said to Don Carlos. "They report that three Mercedes four wheel drive vehicles bearing D plates have arrived. They signalled to them to stop for inspection but they just drove through. The lead Mercedes was badly dented on it's off side front wing. They're on the way to the house now."

"The Germans," Don Carlos said wearily. " Karl you must help me deal with them. Remember they are paying us lots of money which we need to keep this place going and we must put up with them as well as we can."

"Meet them and bring them round here please, " he instructed his secretary.

A few minutes later there was the noise of loud voices and three very big men followed by three equally junky boys appeared round the side of the house.

"Ah," the biggest and fattest of the Germans shouted as soon as he caught sight of Don Carlos, "you I take it are the proprietor. I was just saying to this person that we have paid enough to be greeted not by a subordinate like him but by the owner himself. You have got off to a bad start my man. I trust you will do better now. I and my friends do not deal with subordinates."

"Herr Peiper, I assume. Delighted to meet you," Don Carlos said quietly. "Indeed we do try to do better all the time although we have already the reputation of being the best boy hunting territory in Europe. I have asked Karl here, who is my head keeper, specially to brief you on your chances of sport, which I believe are excellent. But if you do not find the way I do business to your taste I will return all the monies you have paid immediately and you can return to Germany."

"Well as we are here we may as well remain, I suppose," Herr Peiper growled ungraciously.

"Then perhaps you would all take seats and perhaps a little refreshment?"

"Coke for the boys beer for ourselves," the man demanded without waiting to be offered.

"I regret, Herr Peiper, this is not an area where beer is very much drunk. We could offer you wine or cider. The local cider is excellent."

"We do not drink that cat's piss. Go one of you boys and fetch three beers from the fridge in my car."

Don Carlos took a deep breath and his fingers began to beat an angry tattoo on the arms of his chair. He controlled himself however said that he trusted they had had a good journey.

"We have not. It was along tedious journey and the hotels in which we stopped on your recommendation were uniformily inadequate. Finally some fool French man would not give way to me when I was coming onto a roundabout on Bordeaux periphérique and drove into me."

"Generally," Don Carlos said mildly, "one is expected I think to give way to traffic already on the roundabout."

"Damn fool rule," the German rasped, "My vehicle was much bigger than the Frenchman's. You should have thought by now they would have learnt to respect us."

"Well we had some fun, Uncle Franz, while we were waiting for the breakdown man to fix it, so we could drive on with that Tribute slut whose leg was broken in the crash.

"Yes indeed, Ludwig, you made him last well – more than two hours before he died and even then that Frenchman who was his master made a fuss."

The boy called Ludwig got up from his chair and came to stand beside Herr Peiper. He bent forward whispering in the man's ear who laughed and chuckled as the boy spoke while running his hand up the inside of the boy's thighs.

"Ah liebling," Herr Peiper sad when the boy eventually fell silent, "you have a lively imagination."

"My young friend Ludwig was reminding me," he said speaking to Don Carlos, "that before the Tribute Boy died, ah how our dear lads made him scream, they ran a needle through the sluts balls, in one side out the other. But afterwards they could not agree; did that kill him alone or did all the other funny things they did to him help. So my clever little Ludwig thinks lets put a needle through the balls of that brat sitting on the floor by your head keeper Karl and see if the brute lives or dies. An excellent idea. Come here brat."

I put my hand on Jacinto's shoulder. I had promised his father that I would be responsible for him. It would have been different if he had been branded and his Tribute paid. The his treatment would have nothing to do with me. The German's proposal then would have been a matter to have been sorted out between Herr Peiper and Don Carlos. That was not the position and the boy was in my care.

"Señor," Don Carlos said making a sign to me to remain calm, "Ludwig's idea may or may not be an excellent one but I regret enormously that it cannot be put into effect. Unfortunately the brat has not yet been branded nor his Tribute paid. Until such time as those things have been done he enjoys full protection under the law."

"Then have him branded and pay his Tribute tomorrow and then give him to our boys."

"Señor, I am devastated but the Tribute Officer next comes to Muros our nearest town in four weeks time."

"Ach it is all a question of money. Very well I will pay you a thousand euros for you to split with the sluts father in what proportion you deem fit. That I am sure will take care of the legalities. What Spanish peasant would not sell his son for a fraction of that sum."

"Señor, yet again I cannot meet your request. Here we obey the law and the law is as I have said. Now why do not your boys leave us here to discuss the details of the hunt. They could explore the Hacienda grounds. I am sure they will find much to entertain them there. I would only remind you that the law must be followed, so no boy can be deliberately killed or permanently damaged without my prior agreement and that all accidental damages must be paid for and obtain from each of you and your friends a printout of your platinum cards as surety."

When the boys had gone we spent an hour or so going over the arrangements for the next fortnight. That discussion concluded Don Carlos asked if the Germans would care to dine with him that night.

"No, we have promised ourselves that we will enjoy our first night at your Hacienda," Herr Peiper replied rudely, although it did not seem to me that Don Carlos was upset by the refusal of his invitation. "We will have a barbecue."

"If you want to select anything from my stock pens?"

"That will not be necessary. We have brought our own meat with us. We will need a pit a long spit and charcoal."

"Each bungalow is fully equipped in that respect or there are barbecue pits on the beech if you prefer to eat there."

"The beach I think. We will not need any of your cider or wine so you need not offer it. We still have a sufficiency thank god of good Bavarian beer."

Perhaps fortunately at this moment there was a commotion and two of the three German boys reappeared. It was clear that they had been in some sort of fight one was bleeding from the nose and the other had a very large black eye both were crying."

"My God," Herr Peiper shouted, "What has been happening."

"We were attacked by two Tribute Brats," one of the boys sobbed out.

"And where is my son, my Heinz?"

"He… The Tribute Boys attacked us with sticks and one of them knocked Heinz down and he is… he is fucking him."

"My Heinz being fucked by a Tribute Boy. So this Don Carlos is how guests at your very much famed Hacienda are treated. I will complain to the Tourist Board and the Association of Owners of Hacienda. I will have you closed down but first you must rescue my Heinz and have the two Tribute Boys responsible for this outrage skewered."

"First perhaps," Don Carlos said calmly, "we had better establish exactly what has occurred. Now my boy pull yourself together and tell me from the beginning."

"We were looking round and we went in the woods and we came across two Tribute Boys and one was fucking the other and we knew that was not allowed so Heinz ran up and kicked the one doing the fucking and he jumped up and Heinz said he was going to tear his balls off because that's the punishment for a Tribute Boy who has sex without permission. And this boy tells Heinz not to be silly and Heinz wouldn't stand that and tried to punch him but the boy ducked and hit Heinz instead. Then we went to join in but the other slut who had just been standing still jumped up and picked up a big stick that was nearby and went for us and…"

"You ran off and came to tell us," Don Carlos said not attempting to hide his disgust. "Describe the boy Heinz kicked."

"Well he was about my age fourteen and he was dark and he had been recently beaten you could see the marks on his back."

"Was he branded?"

"Yes… Yes of course."

"You are sure?"

"Yes…"

"Well I think we have enough information to identify the two miscreants. Karl would you get all the fourteen year old boys on the Hacienda other than the children of guests here and we can arrange whatever punishment is appropriate. All fourteen year olds … You understand me Karl."

I went off to do his bidding. As soon as I was safely out of ear shot of the terrace I began to laugh.

Christopher continues

"Well Christopher, what is your judgement as to what to do about Young John here?" said Hassan as he ruffled the brats hair trying to calm him a little. "He has been very brave, but he has been away with out leave for a day and a half now and is therefore a runaway and must be skewered."

The brat looked desperate and started to moan. I thought quickly as we moved out of earshot, "Well he needs some reward for his effort, but he is not worth the vet's bill to wait for a trial, even if pardoned nobody will want him. I reckon we should put him down now?"

"Good choice boy! Do it." I felt my guts turn to water, I had never actually killed a boy, though I had enjoyed the sight of them killing each other or themselves many times. "But how Hassan?"

"Well I would give him his reward by fucking him, then strangle him as you both cum!" I must confess I found Hassan's suggestion both terrifying and very stimulating… and after being prompted by him I agreed. Hassan called a couple of older boy's over and they bent the brat over the end of one of the tables.

"John, your Young Master has agreed to fuck you, make sure you show your appreciation!"

The boy grinned through his ruined face, spread his legs wide and thrust his bottom out. I needed no more prompting but shucked off my loincloth, grasped his hips and trust in, he moaned and thrust back. A crowd of boys was round us murmuring encouragement, most were hard. The boy scarcely noticed as Hassan slipped a leather noose round the brats neck. I pulled tight and he began to struggle, but it also seemed to increase his lust building towards orgasm. I relaxed and he gasped for air but still thrust back against me. I repeated this a couple of times, but my own building orgasm could not be delayed. I pulled really tight and the brat flailed underneath me, fighting for life. His anus started contracting as orgasm coincided with death spasms, I thrust hard and orgasmed myself. I pulled away and the brat's body, fell away, face blue and eyes protruding.

He had also shit in those last moments, but Hassan, told the boys who had held him to start with to clean me up. I felt sick. Hassan put his arm round me as we left, "Well done boy! Its not a bad way to go you know. It is just kindness to put them down when they get into that state, they get satisfaction from serving you until the end. I reckon that brat your Father gave me will wish it could be so quick for him, I think I can make him last the whole days!"

That night I slept with Mir's tight rump pushed into my belly. I dreamed of what it would be like to slit his belly at my ceremony, I got very hard, and planned that tomorrow I would fuck him for the first time in front of everybody at the Falls.

Chapter 3f

Christopher continues

Mir collected our picnic from the kitchen and we jogged down the road away from the house, it was such a nice day I decided not to ride but run. I was a little out of breath when I reached the bridge, and was pleased to find Juan had not yet arrived, it would be bad manners to keep a full citizen waiting, even if he were not my friend and lover. I did not have to wait long before he rode up, dismounted giving the reins to the small brat that he had brought with him. He came over and gave me a big hug, and with his left had gently squeezed my testicle beneath my loincloth, I groaned as I became hard.

"Well you are eager, aren't you boy? For a start you can leave the loincloth with my boy you will not be needing it."

Naked there was no hiding my erection.

"Well I am sure you know some of the rules about here, but I will tell you again. First you will need to wear this," and he clipped a red carnation into my hair, behind the left ear, he did the same for Mir, only his was pink.

"Any boy, not wearing a flower is considered fair game by any free citizen, even if he is not tributed. Next anything goes up here except sadism, a boy must be in a fit state to walk and swim out at the end of the day. The boys enjoy coming up here because they can try and seduce the clients, as you know on the rest of the estate a boy gets thrashed for suggesting he is desirable, also here is no limit to the number of clients he can go with but he is expected to know when to stop! Of course this is where you can get good money in obols, even find somebody who will care for you over a long period. Up until lunch time the boys are free to swim and play, but can be as provocative as they can. Being invited to help a client eat his picnic, or even share it marks the first of the afternoons adventure after that anything can happen! What do you want to happen?"

"Well I would like to fuck Mir for the first time, and I want you to fuck me, the idea of people watching is very exciting too. Also I want to watch other boys being used by the clients, do they really enjoy it?"

"Oh yes my boy they certainly do, I can vouch from personal experience. In fact they live for nothing else! Come on off we go!"

He stripped off, and I immediately wanted his hard brown body next to mine but I had to follow. We walked up the sandy banks of the river, at first the going was easy.

"Did I tell you, Christopher, that a couple of days before the storm I had to deliver a kitchen brat up to the Monastery, and they showed me how the training of that brat of yours that is now Sebastian is getting on with his training. They have fattened him up a bit and are getting him to sing nicely. He was standing in front of a tree stump when I saw him whilst the archer boys fired practice arrows with rubber tips at him. The little slut was loving it, he was even hard! The priest said they think he might even be good enough to just stand there on the float and not be tied at all! That would be something new!"

We arrived at the little hydroelectric plant and the engineer on duty gave us a wave, it must get boring just checking the settings whilst others are having fun, but I noticed he had a small Tribute Boy with him to carry things so I guess he would amuse his master. Now the river bed is full of boulders and deep pools, the going is quite difficult and you have to swim at times; The gorge side close in, then suddenly you are out in the open of the big pool just under the falls and the smaller one right underneath it. It is very warm here. The two pools are connected by waterways and a number of boys were sliding down with screams of glee. I immediately noticed Fathers little favourite Sky by his copper skin and long hair, this must be his first time up here as he has only just been broken. There are also boys lying in the sun, and climbing up the gorge sides to make the long jump into the deep pool. A number of them I notice are this summers Release with their mignons, probably up here with their sponsors as most are wearing flowers. I also notice the little Russian Vass, shamelessly trying to seduce everybody in sight! In all I guess there are about 30 boys up here and about ten clients are already here to see the fun. Above the pools is the sheer face of the fall itself, a fearsome climb when Father runs a cross country course up it. I gaze up and see a number of vultures wheeling about very graceful in the still blue air. One glides down to a small ledge with a stunted tree about two thirds up and I notice something there, it is the small brown body of the other lost boy, already torn open by the birds. Juan just says serve him right and the insurance will cover it!

The morning passes in high spirits even Mir joining in the fun, his terror forgotten for a while. More clients come up, singly and in pairs. Like all fathers clients they come from all ages and races, but all are quite rich! Then to my surprise the Davies family appears, mother still has the tall Maasi boy Leytoa in tow and father the Chinese boy, Li. Their own two sons are by themselves, both very fair they are naked and brown like Tribute Boys, except they are wearing stout trainers and white socks and of course are neither collared or branded. I note only the sons wear flowers in their hair. I notice two of the older men gazing at them with lust, many eyes had been on me too for 'A free boy makes a nice change!' according to Juan, and he fondles my testicles in full view of everybody! I burn with embarrassment but feel very sexy! Soon everybody settles down to eat and drink, one or two boys to each client, feeding him and shamelessly exposing themselves. The Davies family asks if they can join us, I do not want to but Juan says fine. Mrs Davies wants to make conversation, but Mr Davies is concentrating on being fondled by Li.

"Your father is making us so comfortable here, Christopher, we are always so pleased to come back. Do you know our boys James and John?"

Like all women she chatters on not waiting for an answer as the meal progresses, Leytoa is feeding her and fondling her breasts as he does so, she keeps gazing at my cock, but I ignore her. After about an hour the meal is all cleared away and I feel slightly woozy from the wine.

Then Juan starts on me I want him inside me quickly as I notice several other boys getting their first fucks including Li, he is sucking the smaller Davies boy off at the same time. Vass has cocks in both ends at once greedy little slut! Juan lies back and I straddle him, Mir is well trained and greases Juan's cock and my anus and gets him positioned. With a grunt of pain and pleasure I press my self down on him and start to ride him slowly to prolong the pleasure. All around are cries and moans and pleas for more. I can not help glance at Mrs Davies, curious never having seen a woman have sex, she is writhing as Leytoa pumps his big cock into her, well endowed like many of his tribe though only a 6th year. What turns me on is that her bigger boy, John, is humping his little cock into her mouth! As I watch she reaches up to fondle the boy, then pulls the flower out of his hair and throws it into the pool.

One of the men quickly notices and come over, "Tell your brat to grease him up will you boy? The bitch obviously wants her son broken!" I nod to Mir who trots over to the little boy and greases him, increasing if anything the pace of his humping. The man grips his hips, he suddenly starts to struggle but Mrs Davies hold him fast and the man drives straight in getting a long scream out of the boy, but soon he is begging him to fuck him harder, as his mother moans in ecstasy. I cant watch any more because I want Juan to cum inside me… and then I want to fuck Mir very hard.

It is hard to remember everything that happened, but I managed to fuck Mir twice, as I did so I could not help fantasise about his death agonies, imagining that smooth, flat, golden stomach opened with his blade… He kept moaning "Thank you Master… Now I sure… I belong to you… Harder Master!"

And I had to try little Vass, it is quite different when they are so full from previous fuckings. But best of all Juan fucked me three times until I was quite sore, then he gave the Davies boy his second fuck, he bled like any 3rd year getting broken though his mother said he is twelve.

I got hard again watching my adult lover pound his brown body against the small golden one. I noticed Sky looking a little subdued, normal for his first sex after being broken, I called him over and got Mir to clean him up. Then I got him to suck me and Mir off, Mir was very pleased that I had let him cum! Sky I rewarded by giving a wank until his little body convulsed with dry orgasm.

By now the sun was getting lower and it was time to make our way back. Most of the clients has already left. I noticed that most of the boys walked stiffly, their inner thighs streaked with blood, shit and spunk, some too had face smeared with spunk and it matted in their hair. They had swum a little in the river, and friends helped wash each other. Mir of course cleans me. All were happy and chattering, exchanging numbers of times and sizes and credits paid! Vass slapped Mir on the back and said, "Now you one of us! Young Master very good fuck!" I was exhausted as I leaned against Juan on the way home, so I knew I would sleep well with a contended Mir curled against me and I knew I would come here often again…… But first, I was sobered by the thought, I have to think about proving myself worthy to be my loving Father's heir.

NEXT PART