Red November Ch. 02

For the first time in ages Konni felt a blush rush to his cheeks. "I'm in disguise, surely that's plain enough. It's what's called travelling incognito," he declared solemnly.

The valet gave a shrug. "Okay. Follow me. The master's house is at the end of the moorings."

The docks smelled of fish and tar and the sea, and they walked for about fifteen minutes before they reached their destination, past stone quays where big steamships lay, and beyond wharfs and jetties that served smaller sloops and cutters.

His house was an imposing three-storey granite mansion in the Merchants Quarter overlooking the harbour, its tall front door sitting astride a set of steep double steps. Inside the furniture was of French design, white and gold and the walls were covered with guilt mirrors and sentimental paintings. They were greeted by an elderly man who seemed to have sprung from some picture in a Parisian magazine; a light suit of sand-coloured silk, shoes with pointed toes covered by white spats with silver press studs. The foppish attire didn't distract from his overall appearance which was one of imposing energy and fire. He regarded the world through clear blue eyes above a persistent smile, and his slim moustache with curled ends sat quite well with his regular features.

"Konni?" he asked.

"That's me."

The man smiled. "Welcome. I trust your journey was unexciting." His voice was quiet. Taken alone, it would have been dispassionate. Taken with the warmth in his eyes, it was - yes - it was sincere.

"Unexciting? I don't know what you mean."

"I meant safe. Your journey was safe, I hope."

"Ah! Yes. Safe. Our journey was safe."

He nodded and gazed at Lyuba. "And the woman?"

"Your new cook. My aunt said you needed a cook."

"Excellent! I am indeed in need of a cook. So many of my staff have taken fright at events and deserted me." He waved a hand at Petya. "Take her to the servant's quarters. She can start first thing in the morning." Lyuba went away without saying a word, content that in a kitchen she could always feed herself first and foremost, and suspecting that in such a fine house there was bound to be a good wine cellar with ample supplies of plum brandy.

On a table stood a whole okorok of ham and in front of it a loaf of bread and a small pot of salt. The table was highly polished, the cutlery silver, the glassware crystal. "Tuck in, my boy. The cold weather always gives one an appetite and there's no need to stand on ceremony with me when you're famished."

"Actually we've had a terrible journey. People are frightened and running around all over the place. Thousands of them are on their way here."

"Yes, I know. And thousands are already here. The Ukraine can be compared with a giant wash-tub these days, and all those who have a wish to avoid communism see Odessa as the bung-hole in the bottom through which they can escape."

"Everything as changed so quickly. Earlier in the year the Whites appeared to have the Bolsheviks on the run."

Sergei Golovina stroked his neatly combed black hair that had been shaded into silver grey at the temples. "Both sides in this war are inefficient, but the Whites have proved more inefficient than the Reds. You were obviously told of some grand plan that would give them victory, but unfortunately it was just a fanciful idea. The officer standard in Admiral Koltchak's White Russian Army is abysmally low, and being strung out on such a wide periphery meant his forces were strong nowhere. Everyone has fought bravely, of course. The city of Kiev as changed hands sixteen times, but the Whites have now been smashed on all sides. In Novocherkassk, the capital of the Don Cossacks, the Reds nailed the white epaulettes onto the shoulders of the officers they captured, one nail to every star they carried. They'll be here next. Soon only the Crimea will be left to the Whites, and goodness only knows how long that can last."

He glanced at his wristwatch. "You must excuse me but I need to attend to some business now. Petya with show you to your room and settle you in. He's a good boy. Loyal. Since you are not likely to be here very long he can act as your valet as well as my own."

He looked around, admiring the dark oak beams supporting the high ceiling, the orange and white and blue of the Moorish tilework along the walls. Like the dining-room the bedroom was panelled, and like the entire house it was beautifully furnished. Petya went before him and drew back the counterpane on a huge four-poster bed. "The boilers aren't lit, so there's no hot water tonight to bathe with. I'll ensure they're fired up in the morning."

Konni waved the young valet away, unbuttoned his boots himself and threw them carelessly into a corner. As he sat on the bed to unfasten his blouse he became aware of Petr lingering by the door watching him, perhaps fascinated by a boy who wore a girls ensemble so effectively. Slotting back easily into the role he had enjoyed with servants in the past Konni raised his nose imperiously.

"Off you go, Petya. I'm not a peepshow. I'll expect the bath you promised to ready first thing in the morning."

The inconvenience of accommodation in a strange house came in the middle of the night when he awoke thirsty and found the wretched servant had put no water in the room. A fine house of the kind he was in would have running water somewhere he concluded, so he decided to go in search of it. He went along the passage outside and through a wooden door where a cat was grooming itself, and then he stepped through into another passageway - a right turn where wooden steps twisted to double back on themselves. The house was large enough to be confusing. Corridor after corridor, room upon room, alcove after alcove, sofa after settee after Louis XVI chair. All the passage was unlit with only a narrow, small window on each level.

Eventually he found what he was looking for, but on the return journey he became lost. He came back to the second landing where the corridor was wide and plush and where an array of tasteful art adorned the walls. Inquisitive, he chose a door at random, turned the handle carefully and pushed until he had about a hands width to look through. A fire was blazing in a large fireplace. He saw an old oak desk, two wing chairs with linen covers.

Then he saw Uncle Sergei. His uncle was seated on a morocco-leather divan not wearing a stitch of clothes, while a naked Petya was seated on his knee allowing his uncle to play with the tresses of his long black hair, twisting and untwisting them in his fingers. When Petya closed his eyes for a moment and pressed forward, his long dark lashes brushing the man's cheekbone, and when he opened his eyes again they were bright and sexy.

The man put a hand behind his head and kissed him on the lips, and the youth opened his mouth so their tongues could meet in lush abandon. Uncle Sergei's arms were all over Petya like the tentacles of an octopus and as the servant writhed he tilted up his chest. Wordlessly the man lowered his mouth onto the exposed curves, drawing on one pert nipple and then the other.

Sergei Golovina's eyes glowed and he whispered something, and at once Petya climbed down between his thighs. The man's penis was revealed. Magnificent. Such a big thing. So big and manly, and as stiff as a gate post. Petya was working on it, holding the root of the upright flesh in his hand, lapping the top and making the tip of his tongue do a little wiggle in the pee-hole before contracting his lips and sinking his mouth right down onto a pair of fine fat testicles.

Konni's consternation at seeing such a scene was not complete, for from an area of the room unseen by his narrow view, another youth of a like age to Petya joined in, and he too was naked. When Petya observed him hovering close by he disengaged his mouth and urged the newcomer to straggle his master's thighs. When that was done the young valet proceeded to insert the tip of Uncle Sergei's tremendous erection into the lad's anus.

Quite out of breath at witnessing such debauchery Konni quietly closed the door and walked away in case he betrayed his presence. Uncle Sergei lived in opulence, and like so many men of wealth he clearly sought entertainment in unwise and unsavoury ways. But it had never occurred to him that the man indulged in homosexuality. Watching it happen, being able to hear the grunts of satisfaction and sighs of delight had excited him. Oh, Katerina, where are you when you're now needed? He went up s flight of stairs to the floor above, sat on the top step, and masturbated furiously.

Konni awoke the following morning when Petya brought him a cup of hot chocolate, and after rubbing his eyes he looked around for his clothes as he was accustomed to doing. "They were grubby," explained the young valet, "so I've taken them away to be cleaned." He held up a long, red silk robe. "I've found some decent male clothing for you to put on, but you may like to wear this until after you've bathed."

The bathroom was amazingly sumptuous, even grander than the facility his father had installed in his own house. Not porcelain, but marble throughout, and the bath itself, sunk into a marble floor, was large enough to accommodate four people simultaneously. To his unspoken joy, high-looped polished brass taps disgorged both hot and cold running water, a luxury he had not known for months. He couldn't resist smiling.

Such deplorable Roman decadence, and all so handsome too. Sadly, when the Communists arrived they'd probably insist it should be dismantled out of sheer spite. Throwing the robe from his shoulders he stepped into the bath and slowly submerged up to his neck in warm, fragrantly perfumed water to steam like a lobster.

Konni never made mention of what he had seen during his night time wandering, but as he soaked indulgently he critically observed Petya who was standing close by. The valet had a thick mane of jet-black hair that fell halfway down the back of his neck, hair so black it looked like it had been dipped in ink. Just a couple of years older than himself but his face was startlingly attractive, perfectly curved black eyebrows over dark limpid eyes that were huge and set well apart and seemed to be in constant search of something he had lost.

With just a small towel knotted about his loins he appeared tall and well sculptured, on the lean side but sleek and muscular. A body for all men to aspire to, and for all girls to admire. Little wonder Uncle Sergei had chosen him to join his house staff. No surprise that he employed him as a personal servant.

"You're not Ukrainian, are you?" Konni said, "I don't think you're even Russian."

The servant replied confidently, his vocabulary precise, his accent stiff. "Petya is not my real name; it's the name your uncle gave me. I'm Turkic. Your uncle bought me in a souk on the other side of the Black Sea and carried me back here to be his servant."

"He bought you at a market, like one would buy a slave?"

Petya shrugged. "I am a slave. But as long as I do as I'm told it's not a bad life." There was an air of self-assurance about him that set him apart from other servants he'd known in the past. Arrogant would be the wrong description, but he tended to do things as he saw fit and without scuttling around in dog-like subservience. Proof of that was demonstrated when he sat down on the lip of the bath and thrust his feet into the water. "Give me your hand and I'll massage your fingers."

Cosseted in the warm water Konni raised a rather limp hand which Petya seized, massaging each knuckle in turn before tugging gently on every finger with considerable expertise. When he'd treated each hand he unfurled the towel from his hips and slipped noiselessly into the water beside him. "Turn around. Let me do your neck."

The valet spread his fingers over his shoulders then worked them around his neck, stroking over the collarbone in outward and downward caresses. Konni had no idea just how sensitive the back of his neck was. Petya's touch was a light as a feather, yet it packed a school yard punch. He began to feel weak and his pulse raced. He loved to feel those hands on his skin, loved the little quiver of anticipation eddying through his body when the servant worked his thumbs into the tight little knots on either side of his neck. He was beginning to feel hotter than the water he was bathing in.

A sense of excitement stole up on him, a nervous excitement he was unable to share, and the distance he'd always been told to hold between himself and servants began to fade. His heart gave a little leap in his breathless chest, for what young man would not be taken with the idea of being cared for so intimately by such a good and handsome attendant.

He quivered as he remembered past indiscretions. He knew from the school in Kharkov that a neck massage could quickly develop into a shoulder massage, then into a back massage, then..." He swung about and suddenly the two of them began to giggle, hugging each other and squirming about, skin on skin, filled with hilarity and the delight of being so youthful and alive.

The young servants eyes glistened with excitement and Konni watched his lips draw closer, his breath mixing with his own. The last shred of good judgement he had snapped like a dry twig in the wind.

The servant's mouth was firm and strong, but his lips gentle. Konni's heart slammed in his chest as the youth nibbled the corner of his mouth. Liquid heat tumbled through his body and his skin felt tight. "Petya..." he whispered, his lips moving against his friends, "I don't think..."

"Me neither..." Petya answered.

Konni's brows pinched together in concern as he fought to ignore the fever that flashed through his veins. It wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be affected by a servant in that way, and certainly not by a slave. Nevertheless he embraced him, wrapped his arms about his neck as fire seemed to spread under his skin, every part of his trembling body pressed against Petya's bare flesh. His senses spun with the press of the demanding bare body. Beneath the water two upraises penises scraped together, and he was conscious of Petya's testicles rolled against his own. Without seeking permission the valet's lips began to ravage his mouth, while massaging hands combing his breasts and kneaded the small mounds. When Petya drew back it was only to lower his head and wrap his lips around a jutting pink nipple and suckle hard. "Ooooh!"

After a few moments the servant rose up, and Konni slumped against him, submerged in sensuality, surrendering and wanting more and more. "Petya, will you...take me to bed and make love to me?" he pleaded softly against his companions wet cheek. "Love me like you would love a girl."

"That may be difficult," croaked the youthful valet, "but I'll do it as near as I can. And no need for the bedroom. We can manage it here." Strong, knowledgeable hands gently turned Konni until his chin and forearms rested on the rim of the bath. "Yes, yes. Use me like a bitch." he gasped, whereupon he pushed out his backside and lifted it slightly; ready to accept whatever his companion could provide.

***

"You must excuse me for coming down to breakfast wearing just a robe, uncle. My own clothes are being cleaned and aren't ready yet."

His uncle sat across the table from him. There was nothing in front of him. He had already eaten. "Petya told me he had acquired a new outfit for you to put on."

"Yes, he as. But I'd prefer to wear my own clothes until I reach Greece."

"I see. Become accustomed to putting on a skirt, eh? Like to feel the swish of petticoats on your legs, do you? Your aunt as a lot to answer for."

"Really uncle, you make it all sound so sordid."

The man laughed. He adjusted his position in his chair, placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of his face. "Eat some food. You're free to follow whatever inclinations you wish whilst you're with me. I've travelled widely and have known men who have entire harems of boys dressed as girls."

Konni hoisted a blini onto his plate and hauled forward a pot of honey. "You live well here, Uncle Sergei," he said, purposely changing the direction of conversation, "but I suspect the Bolsheviks won't let you keep half of what you have when they get here."

"Everything will be fine." the man said, raising his voice and straightening his back. "They'll take some things away, but they'll be kinder to me than most. No one else knows the run of the port of Odessa better than me, and few others have as many trade contacts outside the country as I do. They'll find me a useful man who will deserve some favour."

For a moment Sergei seemed pensive, and then he got up from his chair with a grunt, walked across to the window and gazed out at the miscellany of ships in the harbour. Most of the larger vessels belonged to foreign intervenionalist nations who had supported the White Russians and who, in a gesture of mercy, had agreed to assist with a gigantic evacuation. Smaller craft, steam launches, tugboats and lighters, moved between the big ships likes bees in a hive. This was his hive and they were his bees, and although he was unaware of the finer points of what was happening he was confident he'd delegated the most vital tasks to capable people.

It was true what Konni had said. He was an astute young man. There would be hard times ahead, and yet he had heard the communists were basically bureaucrats, and he was a perceptive man who could play bureaucracy like a harp. They would need him. Whatever they planned when they arrived would be new, it would be gauche, self-serving and self-centred. That was always the way with people when they gained power. Since he was congenitally self-centred too he would fit in rather well.

He had made good use of his status as an official of the port of Odessa during the European War. At a time when there had been shortages of so many things he had developed a fine business of importing contraband luxury items from Turkey and Persia, which he sold on first to middlemen in Stravropol, then Rostov and finally straight to the market at Nizhny Novgorod. But the Civil War had ruined all that. These days' soldiers, whoever they served, raided anything that moved in Russia, and they didn't care if it was legal or illegal goods they were stealing.

He opened the window a little and a blast of salt air slapped him in the face. Beneath him the three huge quays of the harbour jutted out into the Black Sea. "There are ships at the harbour quays and others in the bay waiting to come in," he told Konni without turning around. "They will get many people away. Not all of them of course. One would need an armada ten times the size to move everyone. "There are ships leaving for Constantinople this morning. Others will depart tomorrow. I will arrange your passage from there into Greece."

"My brother Cornelius is a shrewd man who made a fortune by supplying the foreign troops based in Salonika during the late European war, but I should warn you you'll find him a hard taskmaster. Despite your family relationship there will be no lazing about with him. No sight-seeing or fancy tours. Since you're educated and know about figures he'll likely sit you on the end of a row of bookkeepers in his counting house, and that will be your life from now on."

"It doesn't sound very colourful or exciting. I'm not a common person destined for a life of drudgery, uncle. I expect to go to university one day and..."

"None of that will make any difference to Cornelius. He's as hard-boiled as they come I'm afraid, and you've no money of your own to finance a career."

"Couldn't I continue with my disguise and remain here in Odessa?"

"No, no. Far too dangerous. Disguises are only ever a temporary expedient. Sooner or later someone always sees through a façade."