"Master" part 1

[gideon]

It’s been a while since I posted anything, so here’s the beginning of a new tale. Those of you looking for a little retribution against the greedy bankers and financiers who got the world economy into such an almighty mess might find it has that little extra zest!

In the noisy babble of excited waifs who mobbed my slow progress from the taxi to the harbour, eager for any coins I might be willing to spare, he stood out from the herd. All of the clamouring street urchins were blessed with the stunning olive skin and high-cheeked beauty of Indonesia, but this kid was particularly striking. Just as poorly clad in filthy cotton T shirt and shorts, he was right at the back of the eager crush. He was several inches taller than the others, yet I was sure it wasn’t just his height that had caught my eye. Whatever it was, my gaze was now fixed on his beautiful face with dark brown eyes that sparkled with mischief and intelligence. I noted with approval that he was not merely taller, he was also more lithe and muscular. By the time I forced my way through to the harbour edge I had lost sight of him. He appeared to have melted away in the melee.

I clambered down the rickety ladder into the old launch and sat down in the open stern, leaving the sweating cabby to heave my few items of baggage into the boat. I cast a glance back at the quayside and suddenly there he was again, loosing the bow mooring rope from the bollard. I stared dumbfounded at the muscle and sinew that rippled on his slender frame, making short work of the heavy coils. He threw the rope down to old Lee who returned to the wheelhouse to get the boat underway. As we chugged away from the harbour wall I once again found it impossible to tear my eyes from him. Responding to my blatant interest, he rewarded me by ramming his hands under his armpits and making his biceps flex sexily. My dick was now starting to throb as vigorously as the launch’s marine diesels, and our eyes remained locked together until the little boat bobbed out of his view, heading for my private island paradise.

My name is Peter Morton, a fifty-something rogue financier and speculator of the City of London. I flatter myself that my portfolio of interests is regarded enviously by my colleagues and the many casualties I have managed to impoverish or bankrupt in my greed. Such has been my ability to enrich myself at the expense of others that a number of years ago I was able to buy myself a tiny Indonesian island as an exotic bolt hole, a place of escape whenever the brutal world of finance and investment was wearing me down. The island – my island - is totally uninhabited but for old Lee and his wife, a seemingly ancient Indonesian couple, who have the run of the place in return for cleaning, cooking and general maintenance.

I looked up at Lee, whose diminutive, thin figure was in full view through the open wheelhouse, and smiled. Such a nice old man, I was lucky to have him and his charming wife tend to my needs and look after the property while I was away in London on business. It was only a few minutes before my island hove into view. As Lee carefully nudged the launch towards the jetty, I startled him by bounding into the prow and grabbing hold of the rope the stunning youth had unfastened. It was bizarre, for I would never normally help berth the boat, but somehow I wanted to run my hands through the rope the youth had touched. I made fast the launch, climbed onto the jetty and headed for the house, leaving Lee to cope with the baggage.

Dinner was, as ever, superb. I had no idea how well Lee and his wife ate when I was away on business, but they made certain that the larder was well stocked with the finest provisions whenever I was in residence. As I stretched out on a padded chair on the patio, watching the setting sun paint the neighbouring island is glorious russet tones, I sipped at a glass of cognac and puffed contentedly on a huge Havana cigar. My thoughts returned to the beautiful youth, and I wondered if he was still wandering the streets of the little port with the other urchins, begging for food. Unable to satisfy a gnawing desire to know, I strolled to the jetty and freed the launch from its moorings. Setting off through the twilight towards the port, I reasoned that my sole purpose was to enjoy a drink at one of the harbour bars.

As the boat approached the quayside I was astonished to see the willowy youth sitting on the wall staring at me, his long legs dangling over the edge. He ran to accept my rope and tied up the launch before scurrying back to help me clamber onto dry land. We faced one another for several wordless seconds. Once again I felt that curious, inexplicable attraction to this stunning Indonesian youth who I now saw was just a little shorter than my 5 foot 10 inches. I was totally mesmerised by him. His beautiful face with its olive skin and high, patrician cheekbones was framed by long locks of glossy black hair that hung down to his shoulders. Aware that my arrival had attracted other curious onlookers I made an attempt at conversation.

“You … you’re still here” I stammered lamely.

He gave me an uncomprehending look.

“Oh shit” I said, “You don’t speak English, do you?”

He smiled (God that stunning smile, that beautiful face, those perfect teeth) and pinched an imaginary grain of salt between his thumb and forefinger.

“A little” he said in a low, mellow voice.

I indicated a concrete bench further along the quay. He understood and followed me, earning us a bit more privacy from the prying eyes. In a comical mixture of English and gestures I uncovered the basics. Despite his boyish appearance he was in fact 18 years old and from a village in the interior. Virtually unschooled and illiterate, he had set out for the little port in the remote chance that he might hitch a ride to Jakarta and the chance of a better life. With such little movement of shipping in and around our backwater he had been waiting for several weeks, more in hope than expectation, living rough with the street urchins and surviving on scraps of food.

My heart melted at his plight, and admittedly my feelings were not driven solely by a sense of unselfish philanthropy. As well as melting, my heart was pounding at the tempting nearness and trusting approachability of this stunning manchild. Indonesian youths were good looking at the best of times, but this one was positively radiant. I knew there and then that I must have him and add him to my list of possessions for my own selfish indulgence. Expecting him to be wary of my intentions, I invited him to sample the hospitality of my island home. To my surprise and delight he accepted eagerly, jumping up from the bench and running to untie the rope that tethered the launch to the quayside.

With the navigation lights lit, I headed away from the harbour and fearlessly into the darkness on a course that was very familiar to me. The youth was intensely excited, and at one stage I surrendered the wheel to him. As he steered the launch for a few seconds I hovered behind him, savouring the nearness of his strong, toned body. My hands gently parted his long, glossy hair, and my lips hovered dangerously close to the inviting skin on the nape of his neck.

Uncertainty at how he might react put a brake on my ardour. Moments later we were tying up at the jetty and I was walking my prize towards the villa, studying his reaction. The house was ablaze with light, all of which was reflected in his awestruck eyes. Lee emerged from the patio door, anxiously concerned about where I had suddenly taken off to in the launch. His eyes darted momentarily towards the unexpected guest before returning deferentially to me.

I offered no explanation, I had no need to. I merely instructed that one of the guest bedrooms be made available for use with clean towels and linen. Then I gestured to the beautiful youth to sit down on one of the patio’s padded chairs. His name was Joyo but, as master of all that I surveyed, I renamed him Kim.

With a smile, Kim clambered out of the chair and settled at my feet. Then he leaned forward, wrapped his arms around my legs and began to run his warm, graceful fingers through the hairs on my calves, gently kneading the travel weariness out of the muscles. He gazed up at me, smiled and used an English term he had just overheard old Lee use.

“Master” he breathed.

I sighed contentedly, scarcely able to believe my luck. Kim, I was sure, was going to be someone very special in my life. Had I known at that moment just how special, I might have dumped him back on the quayside among the urchins. But, like the ancient gates of Troy, my heart lay open and vulnerable to the blandishments of a guest. I was entirely unaware of the impending threat to my pampered lifestyle.

(more to follow)

[silvershadow]

Wow this is very interesting I can't wait to see where you go with this.

[philat99]

Intriguing! I see another winner in the offing!!!

[umlerian49]

A great setup! I sense a great (and likely very sexy) morality play coming on.

[michaelv2]

A most excellent beginning. Carry on!

[arpeejay]

Yep, this one's gonna be good! :-)

xoxo

Richard