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29.The Kazakh’s Story 7

Chapter 7 – A good evening

When the Master returns at half past four, I
am there to meet him, and this time I say
clearly and without fear or stumbling, `Good
afternoon, Master' and he replies, `Good
afternoon, Yuriy.' My Master is such a
civilised man that he talks politely to
slaves. The driver call me over as there
were three boxes to be taken out of the boot
of the limousine. I take the largest one and
the driver follows with the smaller two boxes.

The Master has already gone upstairs and we
are to follow with the boxes, and go into his
bedroom. But the boxes he tells the driver at
not be left there but in my room.

I undress the Master or rather help him just
drop his clothes in a pile on the floor. He
takes a towel from the bathroom and wraps it
around his waist and I have to follow him out
and around and into the swimming pool area.

He drops the towel on a chair and jumps into
the water, surfaces like a dog and shakes the
water off his face and hair. I see that his
arm is in a new type of plaster which the
water is not harming. I am to get into the
pool with him at the side and he goes to one
end and waits for me to arrive. We are to
have a race!

The Master starts off but the plaster on his
arm makes his strokes very ungainly and off
balance. I barely propel myself through the
water using the frog stroke. Now the Master
has turned over and is only propelling himself
along with his feet and a one armed
backstroke. I do the same and he laughs when
he sees me doing it only with one arm.

When we get out, I carefully towel him down.
The arm is still very painful because at one
point he did something to it and I could see
the pain register on his forehead.

Having gone back to the bedroom, the Master
wanted to shave again, so I carefully wet and
lathered his face with shaving cream.

It was definitely the good work out earlier on
and the pleasant relaxing swim with the Master
just now, but as soon as I smelt the shaving
cream aroma, I knew I was in trouble. I
started to get a hard-on to beat all hard-ons.
You would think that I had not come in a week
and that last night had been a dream. The
Master accidentally compounded the matter when
he stretched up his chin for me to shave his
neck and he breathed out deeply. His breath
smelt of strong mint. Now I was in real
trouble. I could feel the hard-on beginning
to hurt and it was not even within the
confines of any clothes.

When we were finished the Master looked at me
and could not but help seeing my predicament.
He went over to the toilet bowl and took the
metal attachment from the wall. His foot
pressed a button on the floor and water
started to come out the top of the attachment.
He let the water run over the fingers of the
hand of his sore arm and the water tinkled
like piss into the toilet bowl.

With his head, he motioned me across and he
had me bend over. The backs of my legs were
against the toilet bowl and I was grasping my
knees at the back. The Master was going to
put that thing up my bum!

There was a slight push and it was in and then
I felt the flow of warm water. It just filled
me up and then some more. The pressure was
building up inside me. Oh Master, don't make
me hold on too long! I let a grunt, and the
nozzle was out of me. The Master's fingers on
my back pushed my bum onto the toilet bowl. I
did not need a written invitation, I can tell
you!

And then the Master did it again, for what I
would say about for about fifteen seconds. I
was poetry in motion sitting down on that
bowl, that was me!

The Master then held up a tube of something
which I did not recognise and gave it to me.
I was to put some of the clear gel like
substance on the Master's fingers which I did.
It was not like the white cream he had last
night. I think I got the message very quickly,
the Master was going to put his fingers up my
bum. Even the thought of anything going up
the Volga makes me clench so tight back there,
even though I had almost passed out with the
pleasure of it last night!

But the Master brought me into the bedroom and
had me kneel on the bed, with my ankles over
the side and my backside up in the air like a
baboon. He worked his middle finger in,
pausing, inserting, touching, pausing,
lubricating. I jerked when he touched my
prostate, as I now know it to be, which is
down and to the left in me. He did not touch
it again. I was kneeling there in passive
acquiescence to my Master.

The Master was now to take my virginity. He
separated my legs as far as they would go, and
put my two hands in the centre of my back. My
face and left cheek were touching the bed
clothes.

I did not resist my Master's entry which was
preceded by the light touch of his wet
cockhead on my flower bud centre. I could feel
that the Master was very hard and erect.
Holding my hands in the centre of my back in a
sort of inverted handshake, the Master
positioned himself, or rather his cock, and
with one firm thrust he was sliding inside
me.

They say that such penetrations hurt. His
penetration of me did not. There was no
pushing or shoving or groaning or grunting.
The Master's hand grasped mine firmly and I
moaned a little, but it was the moan of an
unusual feeling of intrusion, not that of
pain. He set up a gentle motion, never fully
coming out, but letting the tightness of my
anal passage and rectum beyond feel the
fullness of his cock's six inch circumference
and its seven and a half inch length.

The Master kept up this thrusting action for
some minutes and then the something magic
happened, the muscles of my chute just
relaxed. Just relaxed like that. It was as
if a switch was thrown which said don't be
tight, don't be afraid, don't clench, and I
and they did not.

The Master now directed all his thrusts down
towards the left and soon I was ecstatic. He
was hitting my prostate each time. His
breathing became ragged at the same time as
mine, but the Master had better control in
holding his emission and I unleashed the pent-
up semen in my balls in five or six gushes
which I could see looking right under me
splattering even the Master's thighs. My cries
of pleasure I could not hold on to them and
echoed around the room. I felt the Master's
cock grow inside me and he shot various loads
of his seed into to me.

The Master flipped me over with his good and
waddled up my body with his knees on either
side of my chest. I was perspiring like in the
desert of the border foothills of Kazakhstan
and my sweat was making body slick, though the
room was not hot. The Master slipped his still
dripping cock, wet with his own cum and my own
tastes and the remnants of the gel like
substance into my mouth. I sucked the Master
clean as if I were licking the palm of his
hand and not his most intimate and prized
physiological possession. I was so happy at
pleasing my Master that I let my tongue do an
extra little dance under his frennulum.

Our sex was over. The Master had taken my
anal virginity and I had loved it. I had
loved him in me and his shooting of his seed
up my tightness.

The Master reached across to the digital cloak
and set the alarm. He spooned up with me
behind him, and simply fell asleep. He would
tell me afterwards when I could speak the
language, that this was the `after-sex sleep
of lovers'.

It was only five thirty and I did not sleep as
I just held on to my Master and marvelled at
the smoothness and paleness of his skin
thought his tan. I memorised the curve of his
neck and the shape of his ears, and then the
alarm went and it was six o'clock.

The Master jumped up and literally ran into
the shower. Before I could set it properly,
the Master was under a hard cold spray and
pulled me under it as well, as much to say,
`if I have to do it, so do you.'

The Master was dressed carefully for dinner,
and putting on his watch, indicated that I
should leave him. I pointed to the boxes
still unopened in my room, and he remembered.
He told me to open the largest one, and I
understood the meaning of his gesture if not
the words.

It was a TV, no, it was a video monitor. The
second box contained a VCR with a remote
control and the third box, twenty videos and
twenty books. He held up the first book and I
saw the word ENGLISH. The Master had bought
me videos to learn English, and a video and a
VCR! No one ever had spent that amount of
money on me. Not even the glorious army when
I was made Captain and I received two fine new
uniforms!

The Master handed me a white book of
instructions in many languages set up the
video and I saw that one of the languages was
Russian. But I am Speznaz – special forces -
and have assembled Kalashnikovs blindfolded
and even hanging upside down from a beam, I
could have assembled that video and VCR by
touch alone! I turned to say thank you to the
Master but he was gone, so I assembled the
monitor and the machine and left it ready for
whenever I was supposed to use it.

I actually moved it five or six times to see
the best angle of it. Would I sit on the
floor when viewing it, or on the bed, or
should I sit at all? The decisions that I
would have to make in learning English for my
Master!

There was nothing else to do, so I went across
to the kitchen and as it was just seven, I
was given my two biscuits. I noticed that
Cook barely gave me a glance as he followed
the bubblings of his pots and pans. I did
notice that I got my water in a plastic cup
and that the driver ran his hand through my
closely cropped hair. He gave me a thumbs up
sign and pointed to the courtyard. I think I
was doing part of his former duties and he was
pleased with how I did it.

I had nothing else to do until the Master
called me so I went back to the pool area to
do some of the Kazakh Air Force Academy
exercises. If only I could remember them all,
and I tried to visualise my old drill
instructors and the sequence of exercises
which they ...


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