Duped
Chapter 10
"At Last: the Appraisals Begin"
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for mature readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): April, 2013 Read all my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas in this story belong in the writer's imagination and shouldn't be copied or used with his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add other peoples' pictures."
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Chapter 10:
We're not permitted to talk and an overseer hovers nearby with his whip at the ready to see that we don't break our enforced silence.
Finbar and I kneel facing one another and wait patiently for the arrival of Ahmedu Hadi and his teenaged son, Abdel. Forbidden to talk, Fin and I exchange supportive glances and the odd encouraging smile. But our nervousness is plainly evident and as I look at my fellow slave I can see he has lost some of the bravado he'd displayed when being inspected by Abdel through the bars of our prison.
Boastfully, he'd then challenged the teenager to.
"Please young Master, feel my cock and judge how hard I am. Buy me young Master and you'll find me a most willing slave. Young Master, do you want to examine my ass?"
The African teenager had enthusiastically accepted the eager slave's invitation and Finbar had "risen" magnificently to the challenge.
Both Fin and I have been brought to this private viewing suite for one purpose. Here we are to be fucked by the African father and son as a preliminary to Ahmedu Hadi bidding for us when we mount the auction block in two days' time.
I'm no stranger to a viewing suite although the one I was taken to yesterday as my Master, Anwar test drove me was much smaller and a little less elaborate than this one. This room is larger and more luxuriously appointed. There are two double-bed sized rutting divans and two ornate wooden contraptions which leave nothing to the imagination. Their use is only too evident; the straps and chains hanging from them tell me they are used for restraining slaves and rendering them helpless. Obviously Malik's privileged clients are allowed to choose how they take their hapless victims; either unrestrained on a divan or imprisoned on a rutting trestle.
Apprehensively, I wonder how Ahmedu will take me. However, that choice will be his to make - not mine!
The lighting in the room is subdued and I watch the subtle play of light and shade on Fin's nude body. The high points of his superb musculature are highlighted by the warm, golden glow of the lights while the low points are like valleys cast in shadow. Fin is seductive and I am mightily aroused by the erotic spectacle of his nakedness. My rampantly erect cock points towards him at a slightly elevated angle and it twitches involuntarily as my blood-hot ardour rises.
I suppose my own body is cast in the same light and shade and I wonder if I am similarly affecting Finbar. But I need look no further than at his hard erection and the small, white pearl of his precum glistening at his piss-slit to know that he is. Both of us are in heightened states of arousal.
Standing in a corner, an incense burner diffuses its exotic perfume which wafts throughout the room enveloping us in its sweet fragrance. Many times, in my wild fantasies about slavery, I'd pictured such scenes of near oriental splendour and decadence that had me kneeling as a naked slave before my Arab Master awaiting his pleasure. Today, those fantasies have become grim reality for me.
As I wait on Ahmedu, I reflect on his recent inspection of me. Understandably, I'd been very apprehensive at the outset of his examination. After all, this was the first of two such examinations - I still have another pending with an Arab prince later today - and there was my fear of the unknown and an underlying sense of shame that I'd been reduced to such a sorry level. It's true that the six waiters had given me a graphic depiction of what would happen during my inspection and Finbar was there to share my fate and to inspire me by his example, but I was very uneasy and unsure of what was expected of me.
I recall those first, intense minutes when Ahmedu Hadi stood before my prison and peered intently through the bars at my nude, trembling frame. At that moment, I was at my most vulnerable and I was overcome with dread.
However, Ahmedu Hadi possessed an aura that soon calmed me. Supremely self-assured and full of confidence, he projected an air of easy authority; instinctively I knew that he'd taken control of me and all I had to do was follow his instructions.
In my role as a lawyer, I'd met many men who have this ability to take control of a situation and guide their subordinates. It was something I'd long admired and had aspired to in my own career but I'd never quite attained the ability to lead. Perhaps my slave's nature is to blame for this; it has equipped me as a follower rather than a leader. I am meant to obey orders rather than give them.
The first touch of his hands electrified my body and sent myriad volts of sensual pleasure surging to my brain. Very soon my initial reluctance to being inspected crumpled and I was as pliable putty in his hands. Soon, I'd put all thoughts of shame from my mind and no longer did I feel the humiliation of my slavery. I only knew this powerful man was lifting me to new heights of erotic pleasure that I'd not experienced before. And yet, I was unsatisfied. I wanted more from him; my basic needs were so primal and I required much more.
As he fondled my balls and teased my cock I willingly surrendered to his ministrations. As I yielded my ass to his probing finger, I saw him as my potential master.
Now as I wait on my knees for his arrival, my balls cry out for urgent relief, my straining cock screams for an eruptive release and my eager ass begs for his attention. I tremble at the delicious thought of what is to come.
In my mind, I quickly recall what Hussein had taught me the previous afternoon as I'd waited for my Master Anwar to arrive and I now rehearse these as I wait for Ahmedu and Abdel.
I wait on my knees with my right foot crossed over my left ankle and with my legs spread wide. I'm holding my upper body erect with my chest thrust out and my stomach sucked in and with my fingers intertwined behind my head. I try not to fidget or to sigh or to show any signs of boredom - no matter how long the two Masters keep me waiting. Hussein had told me, as a slave, I'm not allowed to be bored and I must always show my eagerness for a Master's attention.
I recall when the two Africans enter the room that I must prostrate myself on the floor in the St Andrew's cross position and wait for further instructions. When I'm given permission to pay homage to them, I am to crawl forward on all fours and kiss their feet three times and say.
"Master, your slave prostrates himself before you! Master, your slave presents himself to you! Master, what would you have your slave do to serve and please you?"
This does present me with a problem. To whom do I first pay homage - the father or the son? But common sense tells me it should be the father first - because of his seniority in years - and then the son.
I remember Hussein telling me that whenever I am on "all fours", I must keep my knees spread apart so that my cock and balls hang low and swing freely between my thighs and with my ass open and on full display. He tells me this is obligatory for all slaves as their owners like to see their slaves display themselves proudly and openly.
Inevitably, I am to learn that a slave uses his body to titillate and delight his owner. He must pose it in such ways that arouse and inflame the passions of his master and his master's friends.
As a new slave, there is so much for me to learn and I wonder if Fin is having the same problems but a quick glance in his direction tells me that he is well schooled in the protocols of slave etiquette. But then he has been a slave for a year and has had time to be trained into these by his Master, Mustapha and his two sons.
Time drags as we wait and then in the distance I hear voices and footsteps approaching. As they grow louder and more distinct, I recognize the voices as belonging to Ahmedu and Abdel.
As the door opens, the overseer's whip crackles into life and snaps above our heads. He commands us to prostrate ourselves before Ahmedu and Abdel.
I fall forward onto my belly and stretch out my limbs into the shape of the St Andrew's cross and await further instruction. My heart pounds within my chest; my surging blood fills my ears with a deafening roar- surely the father and son must hear my heart's loud, incessant beating - and greedily, I gulp air into my labouring lungs. My body spasms and my limbs tremble as I await Ahmedu's commands.
From my position of debasement, I'm aware that my ass is on prominent show and I suppose it is being closely scrutinized from above by the two Africans. My vision is restricted to floor level and I'm aware of two pairs of feet slowly pacing around Finbar and me. One pair of feet is encased in expensive, handmade, black leather shoes and belong to Ahmedu; the other feet wear more casual suede shoes and are worn by his son, Abdel.
Once more the overseer's whip crackles into life and we are ordered to pay homage to the father and son. Hastily, I rise to my knees and crawl to Ahmedu Hadi's feet and kiss them three times as I recite the "litany of submission" taught to me yesterday by Hussein. As I do so, I hear Fin paying identical homage to Abdel.
Then, I crawl abjectly to Abdel's feet and pay him the same homage as I'd just paid to his father. Fin does likewise with Ahmedu. Now we both wait for further orders. These aren't long in coming as Ahmedu commands us to.
"Get to your feet and assume the full display position!"
Hastily, we scramble to our feet and assume the full display position as both Africans circle us like predators hungrily sizing up their prey before the final, fatal lunge.
I'm still very new to the full display position that is mandatory for all slaves. I will learn very quickly this position best exhibits a slave's body to the scrutiny of his betters and that I must adopt it at all times whenever I am in the presence of a free man.
As Abdel circles me, I'm not aware that I'm not giving satisfaction until he delivers a series of sharp, stinging slaps to my naked ass. As these loudly reverberate around the room, he orders me to,
"Stand up straight, slave! Pull back on your shoulders, thrust your chest forward and suck in your stomach!"
My shame burns bright scarlet on my face at this humiliating treatment from the teenaged African and no doubt its redness matches the imprints of his hands on my bare buttocks. Nevertheless, I quickly do as he instructs and he nods his approval.
"That's better, boy! That's much better!"
I'm very aware that Ahmedu is standing just inches in front of me and I lower my eyes to the carpeted floor out of respect for him. Neither father nor son speaks and their silence weighs heavily upon me. As the seconds slowly tick by, my heart continues to race and I breathe in quick shallow bursts. My body quivers and my stomach knots with my apprehension.
Finally, Ahmedu breaks the silence and speaks to me.
"What is your name, slave? What does your owner call you?"
"Master, my Master calls me Matt."
"And Matt is the contraction of what?"
"Matthew Master! My name is Matthew."
"I like Matthew better than Matt. I shall call you Matthew and if you become my slave you'll keep that as your name, slave."
"Thank you Master."
"And tell me Matthew, what is your country of origin? Where were you born?"
"Master, I was born in Australia but I have lived and worked in the United Kingdom for several years."
"You're an Australian! I don't think we have ever had an Australian slave before, have we Abdel?"
"No Dad! If you buy him, he'll be the first one."
"I'm told you were a lawyer before you became a slave. Is that so?"
"Yes Master, that's true."
"Were you a good lawyer, Matthew?"
"I believe so, Master. But that is for others to comment on and not me, Master."
"And you're modest too, Matthew! That's a good attribute for a slave to have. I have no need for a clever, boastful slave. If I buy you, I won't need your intellectual skills. It will be your body that's used and not your brain."
Ahmedu is finished with me and now he turns his attention to Finbar.
"And what is your name slave?'
Master, it's Finbar but my owner calls me Fin."
"That's a most unusual name. What is its origin?"
"It's Irish, Master! I am from Ireland."
"I quite like Finbar. But I dislike Fin. I shall call you Finbar, slave."
"Thank you, Master!"
"Abdel, do we have any Irish slaves?"
"No Dad, like the other slave, he'll be a 'first' if you buy him."
"They are a most agreeable pair of slaves. And an unusual pairing too. It's most fortuitous that they are available for purchase at the same time. But it's time to examine them further. Which slave do you want to examine, Abdel? It's your choice. Which do you prefer?"
"If it's alright with you Dad, I'd like to inspect the Australian slave. I examined the Irish slave in the pens earlier and I've been itching to get my hands on the one you call Matthew."
"Then let's swap slaves, Abdel! You finger Matthew while I'll check out Finbar."
How can I describe what I feel as this self-assured - some would think almost cocksure - young teenager inspect me? Abdel has a natural-born arrogance about him that overwhelms me; yet it's not an acquired arrogance as is so often the case with many of the "noveau riche" who have risen too rapidly above their station in life. Rather it is an inherent arrogance of one who is born into a world of wealth and power and who is confidently aware of his proper place in the world. His arrogance goes hand in glove with his supreme self-confidence and as I look towards Finbar, who is undergoing his own examination under the hands of Ahmedu, I see that Abdel is a reflection of his father. He truly is a "chip off the old block". It is apparent that Abdel, like his father before him, was born to rule!
I stand submissively with my head bowed in humility as the teenager evaluates me. As his hands explore my nakedness and roam at will over the contours of my body, my emotions are a mixture of shame and humiliation and yet there is also erotic pleasure. I tremble most pleasurably under his touch. I wince as he playfully tweaks and twists my nipples to needle-point sharpness; I gasp as he grabs my scrotum and gently stretches it away from my groin for a closer examination of my balls. My knees sag and I quiver as he strokes my cock to a rock solid erection. Instantly, I obey his command to.
"Turn around, boy! Bend and spread!"
In obedience to his command, I stretch my buttocks apart as far as is possible and open up my ass to his scrutiny. As his finger explores my ass-crack all the way down to my perineum, I shiver from the pleasurable feelings Abdel is awakening in me. I hear the soft moans of my rising passion as his finger gently teases and excites my puckering sphincter. In anticipation of his next move, I relax and push back against his finger tip in a shameless invitation to him to enter me and to finger-fuck me.
He is only too willing to oblige and now I am eagerly riding his invading finger.
His finger probes the innermost reaches of my being seeking out the pleasure nub of my prostate. He finds it and subjects me to the most exquisite torture that renders me helpless. Eager for more, I use my anal muscles to milk his finger as though it was his invading cock; I am that willing to surrender to him. He controls the situation and I submit to his will; he is the master and I am merely his slave.
Evidently, I please him and he tells his father.
"This slave is so tight-assed, Dad! He'll be one helluva, great fuck!"
"It's the same with is this one, son!"
I'd been so lost in my own pleasure that I'd temporarily forgotten about Ahmedu and Finbar. I turn my head towards them and I see that like me, Finbar is bent double at the waist and is being digitally explored by Ahmedu.
Suddenly, Abdel withdraws his finger and leaves me with an unfulfilled sense of emptiness. Dismissively, he slaps my ass and tells me to stand and face him. He begins by playfully ruffling my hair - much as one would with a pet dog - before he examines my eyes, ears and nose. As he taps my cheek and orders me to open my mouth, I do so to allow him to inspect my teeth with the finger that had just moments before been thrust deep within me.
With his inspection now over, Abdel orders me to assume the full display position as he waits for his father to finish his inspection of Finbar. Once Ahmedu has finished with Finbar, he turns his attention to me and once more I am minutely examined.
Ahmedu's inspection of me is as thorough as his son's and yet it feels very different. Whereas Abdel's had been sexually motivated, I feel that the father's is more dispassionate and more professional. As Ahmedu's hands glide over me they don't seek to arouse me - although they do have that affect - so much as to appraise me. They are testing the firmness of my body and the hardness of my muscles. They are gauging my strengths and searching for any weaknesses. I am being appraised for my capacity for hard work rather than just an object of a freeman's lust. Although, if Ahmedu buys me, I know that part of my slave duties will be to serve as a whore slave and to give sexual relief to his business associates and favoured clients.
Ahmedu's appraisal is soon over and the two Africans are now eager to "test-run" us. Before that happens however, they debate which of the two of us they want to fuck. From the outset it appears that both Finbar and I appeal equally to both father and son and we present them with a hard choice. After much discussion it is decided to toss a coin for us - heads for Finbar and tails for me. Ahmedu gives his son the chance to choose and he calls "tails".
Ahmedu flips the coin high into the air and I wait with bated breath to see which of the two masters I will service. The coin lands silently on the thickly carpeted floor and both father and son eagerly crane forward to see the outcome. The coin has come up heads and Abdel has drawn Finbar.
To be continued .......