Duped Chapter 12 Prince Omar: The Second Inspection
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) : May, 2013 Read all my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
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Chapter 12: The Second Inspection
This afternoon's inspection differs markedly from the morning's one at the hands of Ahmedu Hadi and his teenaged son, Abdel.
Their inspections had left me in a heightened state of readiness to serve them as a pleasure slave. Their arousal of me had fired my imagination as never before and I couldn't put it out of my mind. Uppermost in my thoughts was the realization that the two Africans had more than fulfilled my lifelong fantasies of serving as a submissive slave to a powerful Master.
And added to this was the thought that they were interested in buying Finbar for their harem of male pleasure slaves. I'd only just met Fin but already I feel a strong bond with him and it excites me to think that we could soon belong to the African oil billionaire and his son in faraway West Africa.
But this is conditional on the African successfully bidding to buy us when we mount the auction block. I'm not sure of what procedures will take place in selling us but I suppose - again using my overwrought imagination - that there will be many others present at Saturday's sale who'll gladly bid for the right to own us as their slaves.
There are no certainties at a slave auction and many a buyer, eager to purchase a particular slave, has been thwarted by a more determined - and richer - bidder. I realize there is no absolute guarantee that Ahmedu will emerge as the successful bidder for either Fin or me. Still, I fervently hope his bid will be the one that decides my ultimate fate. But all is in a state of flux!
Slave auctions can be likened to a lottery where the winner takes all!
After, the father and son dismissed us we were returned to our cell where the other remaining waiter slaves plied us with questions. We recounted all that had happened to us and I sensed there was a degree of envy among them. They'd watched as Fin and I were examined through the bars of our cell before being taken to the rutting room for a more specialized examination. Our fellow slaves had been impressed by Ahmedu and Abdel and saw in them the promise of a tolerable future - even if that future was as pleasure slaves. I will learn in the fullness of time that a slave much prefers the pleasurable work of sex in the bed-chamber to that of the whip-driven, back-breaking labour of the plantations or the quarries.
After we'd answered all of the questions of our fellow slaves and satisfied their curiosity, Fin and I sat in a corner and talked about the prospect of serving as slaves together. We both agreed that it was something that appealed to both of us. We talked about serving in Ahmedu Hadi's household and vowed if that were to happen, we'd strive to serve him and his son faithfully.
And I was amazed at my ready acceptance of my new slavery after less than forty-eight hours.
However, my enthusiasm is tempered by the thought that I still have another private inspection scheduled for this afternoon. Other than that he is a member of the ruling royal family, I know nothing of the man who requested to view me and so I am both understandably anxious and nervous. Uppermost in my thoughts is the question of whether he'll fuck me. If he does it will be the third time in less than twenty-four hours. It would seem that my ass is being much used which I guess is a foretaste of things to come - if indeed I am sold as a pleasure slave.
Talking to Fin helps to take my mind off this second inspection which I must face alone.
Inevitably, the overseers come to collect me and take me to the inspection-room. I expected to be taken to either of the two inspection rooms with which I am now familiar. Instead, I am taken to a suite far more opulent than either of them. I am unaware that this is the "royal suite" reserved for the many members of the ruling royal family who periodically visit Malik's sale house to privately view and inspect slaves for their households.
And Prince Omar, the man who is to examine me, is a frequent visitor to the establishment where, because of his exalted rank, the slave-dealer, Malik extends him every courtesy and he is given latitude in his perverted inspections of any hapless slave who attracts his lecherous interest. The wily Malik does this in the hope that one day he'll receive a "royal warrant" as the purveyor of fine slaves to the Royal Family.
As yet, such an exalted endorsement has failed to materialize. However, Malik isn't deterred and lives in hopes that one day such an honour will come his way.
At one end of the room is a raised dais carpeted in regal blue and upon which is an ornate gilt chair of throne like appearance and opulence. Immediately in front of the dais is an area of black marble tiles reserved for the slave to stretch out and pay his obeisance to whatever royal personage sits upon the chair prior to his inspection. But my blood is chilled by the sight of a metal rod with a threaded end protruding upwards from the tiles. Its use is lost on me and yet, I know instinctively, that it should concern me. I watch warily as an overseer selects a cock-shape dildo from several others ranging in size from small to monstrous from a rack on the far wall. The phallus is 'erect' and its surface heavily veined. I realize with sickening certainty that it is to be used on me and that its flaring knob will stretch me to the limit. I'm not to know that the phallus is, in fact, a silicon replica of the cock of a well-endowed slave who'd once passed through the auction-house.
My imagination goes into overdrive. Am I to be impaled on the oversized dildo? The thought of this fills me with dread.
My concern is justified; even as I think about the appalling prospect of the phallus stuffing my ass, an overseer liberally lubricates the phallus while his companion fastens my wrists to the back of my neck collar. Then, he places a hand in the small of my back and bends me double at the waist .At the same time he kicks my feet apart and spreads my ass-cheeks. He runs his finger up and down my hairless ass-crack pausing to playfully tease my anus and jeers at my quivering response.
"His Royal Highness will have fun with is Franj slave, Abu." He laughingly tells his fellow overseer.
"From what I hear he's be more of a spectator than a participant." The second overseer sneeringly replies. "Popular rumour has it that the prince is unable to run his royal standard up the flagpole and gets his satisfaction from voyeuristically watching his slave boys fuck one another."
"I have heard those rumours too. But it would be wiser to keep such matters to oneself. I also hear the prince is supersensitive about such comments and many a rumourmonger has lost his tongue for saying just that."
The conversation interests me. If what the overseers say is true then it would seem that I am to provide the prince with spectator sports rather than have him use me. Somehow there's some degree of comfort in knowing that.
I wait on his next move and feel a cold dollop of lubricant being applied to my sphincter. The overseer takes his time as he liberally smears it over my ass hole and then without warning a cruel finger thrusts through my anus. The finger - painful at first - is used to lubricate the inner reaches of my being as it slowly finger-fucks me. Soon, the initial discomfort subsides and I feel a warm flush of pleasure wash over me as the invading finger continues to excite me. I feel my balls contract upwards towards my body and my cock springs into life. I am massively erect!
The overseer continues to play with me until his companion speaks.
"Right then Ali, let's get him mounted! His Highness will be here shortly."
The overseer leads me to the phallus and orders me to straddle my legs on either side of it. He places his hands on both my hips as the second overseer presses down on my shoulders; expertly, they guide me down towards the tip of the waiting cock.
My nervousness is plainly evident in my laboured breathing and I feel my heart pounding within my heaving chest. Slowly the two overseers guide me downwards towards the waiting dildo and then suddenly I feel its tip pressing impatiently against my anus as it seeks entry. Involuntarily, my anal muscles contract in a vain attempt to deny it intrusion into my body. But it's an uneven battle and the odds are against me. I am no match for the determination of the two overseers who evidently are well-practised in mounting a slave onto the monstrosity. It is all done within a few seconds.
The overseers pause briefly before pushing down on my hips and shoulders in one quick, concerted effort to mount me quickly. Their actions seem cruel but there is a measure of "mercy" in that my suffering is soon over.
I feel the resistance of my sphincter ring weaken as it is stretched wide to encircle the phallus and I cry out in pain. I wince as the monstrous dildo slips further into me stretching and widening me to what seem impossible dimensions; the initial pain is agonizing and I beg for mercy.
"Please stop! I can't take any more, PLEASE!!!!"
My plea falls on deaf ears. The overseers have hard hearts and are long inured to the suffering and futile pleading of the slaves in their care. Why then would they treat me any differently?
The overseers retire to a back wall of the room leaving me impaled and rendered helpless to await the arrival of Prince Omar.
Initially, the phallus stuffing my ass causes me much discomfort and pain. Eventually my muscles relax as I adjust myself to its fit. Apart from the obvious feeling of "fullness" I almost forget that it is there until I attempt to ease the cramp in my body. As I do so, I find myself moving slowly up and down on the dildo and the sensation is most enjoyable. Slowly, I begin to slide my ass up and down and the sensations that sweep over me are most pleasant.
If I could look down upon myself, crouching straddle-legged over the phallus and riding its length, I would see what an erotic picture my naked body makes. Of course, I can't see that but I can enjoy the warm glow of sexual pleasure I derive from slow fucking myself.
The room's lighting is subdued and designed to highlight a slave's musculature for the appreciation of the potential buyer. It falls upon my lightly oiled body casting an erotic pattern of light and shade over the highpoints and recesses of my torso. My bunched biceps and pectorals are bathed in a soft golden glow and the hard ridges of my abdominals are accentuated by shade. For the first time, I see a mirror on a wall and I catch a glimpse of myself as I await the arrival of the prince.
Obscenely, I am impaled on a dildo with my hands fastened behind me and my knees splayed widely open. I project an image of man at his most vulnerable and yet the sight of myself rendered as a helpless slave is so powerfully erotic; the culmination of all my past fantasies. Despite my fear, I realize with clarity that I am now living my true destiny.
Consciously, I continue to "ride" the dildo stuffing my ass. I am lost in a warm reverie of sexual pleasure and I ignore the presence of the two overseers who stand watch over me. I hear their jeering reference to the "Nasrani slave slow fucking himself" but I don't care. I am beyond worrying about what they or any other free man thinks of me. For I am merely a slave who is finally fulfilling his natural calling!
Suddenly, I hear voices in the hallway outside the viewing-room. This spurs the two overseers into action and they take up their positions one on either side of me. Ominously, they unclip short leather quirts from their belts and uncoil them ready for use. One hisses at me.
"Slave, be on your best behaviour or you'll feel the whip across your shoulders. Remain silent and speak only when you are given permission to do so. And at all times you refer to His Highness as the "Royal Master"! Do you understand?"
"Yes sir!" My reply is both brief and fearful.
I'm aware of the entry of the exalted, royal personage and his entourage; as yet I can't see them as they are behind me and I know I am forbidden to turn my head in their direction. I hear Malik's voice and for the first time I hear his obsequiousness as he addresses Prince Omar as "your royal highness".
Instinctively, I know I am under the prince's close scrutiny and I can feel his eyes raking over my back and ass. Upon his entry, I'd stopped "riding" the phallus and now I remain perfectly still. I feel soft, pudgy hands on my shoulders before they squeeze the hard, rounded balls of my biceps. Satisfied with their hardness, the silky smooth hands slide down over my back to my ass. I flinch as each of my ass-cheeks is taken into the princely hands and kneaded as they are bread-cough.
When he speaks, I am surprised. I'd expected to hear a regal voice with an authoritative tone. Instead, the prince's voice is shrill to the point of being high-pitched and his words are mincing. I recognize it as the voice not of a manly prince but rather that of an effeminate "queen".
"Is this is the slave you boasted so glowingly of?" He asks dismissively of Malik. "If so, then I have a harem of such slaves. What makes this slave so out of the ordinary?"
"It's his newness to the role of a slave and his background that makes the slave interesting, Your Highness."
"How so? Explain yourself!"
The prince's tone is both haughty and imperious.
"Until several days ago, the Nasrani dog was a highly successful lawyer working in London for one of our most illustrious citizens and ........."
"And who is this 'illustrious' citizen you speak off?"
"Anwar el Rezi, your royal highness"
"The name is known to me but not the man. If memory serves me correctly he is a member of the mercantile class - and I don't number such men among my close intimates." The prince's tone is dismissive of my Master. "But continue! Tell me more about the slave."
"He appealed to Anwar and he recognized within him..."
"Does the slave have a name?" The prince interjects.
"Yes your royal highness. He is called Matthew."
"That's a good biblical name. But go on."
"Anyway as I was saying your royal highness, Anwar recognized within the lawyer, Matthew the deep seated desire and long held need to be a slave. And so he resolved to grant the Franj his wish. He lured him here to my slave-market where he was enslaved and branded just yesterday."
"So he's fresh meat?"
"The slave is very fresh, your highness."
"Is he unsullied?"
"I'm unsure of that your highness." Malik's answer is evasive and he knows that I have been used by both my Master and the African father and son. "But realistically, I would be surprised if his Master, Anwar hasn't sampled the delights of his body. The slave has an ass that just begs to be used."
"Indeed it does. It's a most delectable ass and I should I buy him I will see it used soon. You mention that the slave is smart?"
"Indeed your highness! From what I have been told he is regarded very highly among his former legal associates."
"His intellect is of no importance and it won't be of any use to him should I buy him. I don't buy a slave for his brain. I buy him for his body; it's how he uses his ass and cock that is of paramount importance. In my harem, a slave's intellect extends only to immediate, unquestioning obedience."
"I'm sure the slave won't disappoint in that area, your highness."
I'm aware that the prince is slowly pacing around me sizing me up from every angle like a predatory cat about to pounce upon a terrified mouse. As he stands in front of me, I catch my first sight of the man who could quite conceivably be my new master. And I am appalled for never have I seen such a gross caricature of a man.
Prince Omar has lived a good if somewhat debauched lifestyle and paid a heavy price for doing so. Born to vast riches and unchallenged authority, he's always indulged an insatiable appetite for fine dining and a unbridled passion for young, male, Nasrani slaves. His considerable wealth has allowed him to over-indulge both passions.
Advancing years haven't treated Prince Omar kindly. Physically, he has deteriorated to such a degree that, if he is perfectly truthful with himself, he'd have to admit his lecherous lifestyle has contributed substantially his present lamentable condition.
He is grossly overweight and his his mobility is severely limited so that the mere act of walking challenges his every resolve and endurance. Life for Omar has now become so sedentary that he relies on his young, body slaves to assist him in all aspects of his daily life. Each morning, they struggle to get him out of his oversized bed - especially constructed to accommodate his huge bulk - and then they wrestle to move him into the shower where they shave and bathe him before dressing him for the day.
Even within the shower it is necessary for his body slaves to raise his arms above his head - the effort being too great for his wheezing constitution - and the hanging folds of underarm fat thoroughly fill him with self-disgust. Viewed from any angle Prince Omar's body is elephantine in appear. The wrinkled, grey mottled skin hangs in loose folds from his stooped frame and even from the rear the view is no less flattering - the sagging ass cheeks remind him of an ageing elephant he'd once travelled behind in a royal parade for his cousin, the king.
Some time back, having reached the stage where he could no longer bear to catch a glimpse of his own image, he'd banned all the mirrors from his apartments to spare himself the sight of his own ugliness. Last time he'd stood before a mirror, he'd been repulsed by his own grotesqueness. Staring back at him from below a shiny, bald dome were two narrow, hooded eyes buried deep in a suet-pudding face and he was bitterly ashamed. Were those two sagging breasts resting on top of that enormous belly - whose overhang obscured his shrivelled, permanently limp genitalia - really his?
As he looked upon his reflection, Omar was overwhelmed with sadness. Was this morbidly obese creature staring back from the mirror really him? Where is the handsome, young royal prince of his youth; has his former beauty really deteriorated into the sad caricature of the man staring back at him from out of the mirror?
As a young teenager, verging on puberty, he'd been attracted to a young Frankish slave in his father's household. He recalled the first time he'd seen the slave; a new acquisition that his father had picked up at an illicit slave-auction on one of his many overseas trips.
His father, a younger son of the then reigning monarch, was a connoisseur of prime, male flesh and kept a harem of only the best slaves that his limitless wealth could buy. Always when on an overseas business trip, Omar's father looked for suitable "recruits" to add to his collection and never returned home without at least three or four new additions to his harem.
Omar had been exposed to white, Western slaves all of his life and it followed that he regarded them in the same light as his father - slaves were merely sexual objects to be used and abused by their owners.
The Frankish slave who'd attracted the young Omar's attention was an American construction worker who'd been spirited away and sold at exorbitant cost to his father.
The golden-haired slave was tall - over six feet - and robustly built. Indeed it was the slave's physique that had inflamed Omar's youthful passion. In keeping with all the harem slaves, this slave was kept naked and smooth-bodied which displayed his lightly oiled musculature to perfection. And whilst the slave was well-endowed it was his pert ass that had attracted Omar to him the most.
The slave's buttocks were perfectly formed; not overly large, deliciously curvaceous and firm to the touch. Omar had instructed the slave to "bend and spread" and for the first time he explored the mysterious depths of a male ass. At first, he'd been content to just play with the slave's asscrack by running his finger from the base of the spine down over the anus to the perineum and onto the low hanging scrotum. Initially, the slave stiffened to the touch of Omar's finger at his rapidly puckering asshole but the youth wasn't to be denied his pleasure. Gradually, the slave relaxed his sphincter and opened it up to Omar's exploratory finger. The slave's low moans of sensual pleasure as Omar finger fucked him awakened the young princeling's lust.
Omar was fascinated by the smooth, unblemished cheeks of the slave's ass. They were in every sense perfect - in fact they were too perfect he thought - and Omar wondered how they would look either marked by a cane or a paddle. He determined to find out.
Imperiously, Omar ordered the slave to open a cupboard on a far wall and to fetch him an ornately carved, wooden paddle hanging on a hook inside. At the sight of the heavy, wooden paddle the new slave blanched as he'd not yet suffered punishment other than an odd stroke of the cane or leather quirt.
As the slave returned and knelt at Omar's feet to proffer the paddle to his young Master, he was white faced with apprehension. Instinctively, he knew the paddle was to be used on him for no other reason than that it was Omar's wish.
Now aroused by the desire to inflict suffering on the slave, Omar had attendant slaves fasten him over a paddling bench. The hapless slave struggled in his bonds - to no avail - and Omar stood and savoured the moment.
Omar watched as the desperate slave strained to break free from the flogging bench and he salivated at the sight of the slave's wildly heaving ass fighting vainly against the impending punishment.
Omar walked to the bench and gently stroked the slave's ass and "shushed" him. The fact that the teenaged prince was playing mind-games with him was lost on the slave, who, despite his apprehension, ceased his wild struggling and settled down to a quivering of the limbs and the occasional spasm of a muscle.
As Omar almost lovingly stroked the slave's fear-sweaty back and ass, it was at that moment that he understood the power that he - as a Master - could exercise over a slave. And he was both empowered and energized by it. His youthful cock was as blood-swollen as he could ever remember and it throbbed with a new intensity he'd not felt before.
But overwhelmingly and sadistically, he wanted to inflict pain upon the slave.
Omar lovingly played with the paddle that the slave had offered him. In the past, he'd often watched his royal father use it on a luckless slave, but he'd never really looked at it. That day, he did so and was taken with its sinister beauty. Constructed of heavy wood, probably taken from a tree deep in some African rainforest, he admired the intricacy of the hand carved pattern and pressed the paddle against the hard flesh of the slave's ass. The pattern momentarily showed white against the yielding buttocks before turning bright pink. Omar was delighted that the paddle's pattern could impress itself so easily on such a vital, living canvas and wasted no more time playing with the slave.
He raised the paddle above his head and with all the force he could muster in his adolescent arm, he swung it downwards towards the upturned ass. The loud "smack" of wood striking naked flesh reverberated throughout the room and was followed by a momentary silence. Then from deep within the slave, a loud guttural scream burst forth to energize Omar to greater effort.
Omar didn't bother to count how many times the paddle rose and fell; that was immaterial. What was of greater importance was the elation he felt each time the paddle found its mark followed by the panicked shrieking of his hapless victim.
Omar only knew that his lust grew with each blow of the paddle and he was aware of his massively erect cock and the need for urgent relief. Now almost at the point of no return, he ceased his paddling and drove his cock deep within the slave's pain filled ass.
Was it his imagination or was this slave more receptive to his fucking? Omar was no stranger to fucking an acquiescent slave but in the past, these could be described as the juvenile, fumbling attempts of an inexperienced, pubescent teenager.
That day, however, the slave seemed responsive to his needs and eager to please. Certainly the slave appeared to work hard to satisfy his lust. And it was on that day, that the young Omar discovered - at least from his perspective - that a well-beaten ass is more receptive to his eager, young cock. From then on, Prince Omar liked his meat well tenderized!
This then became the pattern for Omar's sexual exploits. Always, prior to fucking a slave, he'd soundly beat the slave's ass with an ornate, wooden paddle of which he now had quite a collection. Over the years, he commissioned the making of many paddles and experimented with all types of wood and patterns. Omar saw his collection of paddles as things of beauty; his slaves saw them as cruel, ugly instruments of pain and suffering.
In recent years, as his health has degenerated and with the onset of his impotency, Omar has had to content himself with paddling a slave's ass and then watching as another slave, acting as his proxy, did the actual deed. At first, this had frustrated Omar but with the ingenuity of the truly perverted, he chose a special proxy named Gansu to act in his place.
Gansu, a Black from the African interior, was especially chosen for the over generous size of the genitalia with which a bountiful nature had endowed him. Omar loved to watch the reaction of his white slaves as they caught sight of Gansu's magnificent cock and realized it was to be used on them. At first, their eyes opened wide in disbelief; disbelief that soon gave way to fear and panic as they contemplated being raped by such a monstrosity. Most, probably out of fear of being rent asunder, pleaded with him to be spared Gansu's enormous, rampantly erect and copiously dripping organ but always their pleas went unheeded.
Ah yes! Omar enjoys watching as Gansu thrusts deep inside a helplessly restrained slave and listening to the slave's squeals of protest. Really, these Nasrani slaves - unused to real cock - yelp like virgins on their wedding nights.
And it has to be said that Gansu enjoys his work and endeavours to put on a good showing for his royal employer.
Still, as he watches these sexual tableaux, there are also moments of sadness for the now ageing Omar. Whilst he still enjoys beating a white, upturned ass, he does miss the thrust and parry of hard fucking them afterwards.
Before lumbering onto the dais to take his place on the regal seat, he gazes down on this new Franj slave obscenely impaled on the oversized dildo. The slave is sheer perfection and reminds him so much of that first Frankish slave of so many years ago and Omar salivates at the thought of Gansu raping him. This slave's ass - like the American's - is perfectly shaped and his golden body a delight to behold as it twists and contorts on the spit that holds him in place.
As his body slaves struggle to settle him into the pseudo, throne like seat, Omar leans forward and lasciviously licks his lips in anticipation of what is to follow.
I recoil in horror at the grotesqueness of the man who could soon be my new Master. Dismayed, I watch as his two body slaves struggle valiantly to settle him into the seat on the raised dais. These two slaves - both white - wear loincloths of a diaphanous, light material that hides very little and suggests much with the outline of their cocks and balls plainly evident. Both are superb creatures and worthy representatives of Prince Omar's harem of the primest male slaves that his vast wealth allows him to buy. The fact that he is considering adding me to his harem is, I suppose, a compliment; albeit one I would prefer he doesn't pay me.
Suddenly, my world has turned itself on its head; all my past erotic fantasies about being owned by an Arab master have turned sour. Never had I contemplated being owned by such a hideous master. But then this is the correct order of things. Masters choose their slaves; it is never the way that slaves get to choose their masters.
The two slaves are plainly from the Mediterranean region - either Italian or Greek - and their smooth, hairless bodies are lightly oiled to emphasize their magnificent physiques. Their oiled bodies capture and reflect the dancing shadows of the chamber's subdued lighting in the highs and lows of their musculatures. Even I, in my heightened state of unease, find myself gazing appreciatively at them.
I'd always thought of slavery and total nudity as being synonymous and to a degree it is. But yesterday, I'd seen Malik's slaves clothed in the flimsiest of loincloths and I have to say it enhanced them and titillated my senses. Now, as I look upon Omar's slaves, I feel there's a lot to be said for leaving something to the fevered imagination.
Malik is at his obsequious best as he fusses around Prince Omar. He loudly claps his hands and summons two of his household's slaves to step forward. One I recognize as the Spaniard, Miguel who'd acted as the honeypot to trap me into my own slavery. Miguel and the other slave kneel before Prince Omar and offer him refreshments of cool sherbet, iced melon and honeyed figs. For the moment Omar is less interested in food and more with me.
He cranes forward and his eyes bore into me. I know instinctively he is assessing me but for what I don't know. Nevertheless, I avert my eyes and I feel myself blushing bright scarlet. Suddenly, I am aware once more of the monstrous dildo stuffing my ass.
Omar's eyes are riveted on me as he lasciviously licks his lips. Finally he speaks to Malik.
"Have the slave fuck himself! But slowly at first!"
I don't see the almost imperceptible nod of Malik's head to one of the overseers standing just behind me. But I do feel the sharp sting of his quirt as it falls across my shoulders with the order to.
"Fuck, slave! But begin slowly."
Once more the quirt cuts across my back and it causes me to wince audibly. Omar smiles at my pain and his eyes gleam maliciously as he leans forward to watch.
Beginning slowly, I begin to obscenely ride the dildo. Using my knees and my legs as pistons, I slide my ass up and down its length taking care not to expel it. I haven't been warned about this but instinctively, I know I mustn't let this happen.
The dildo's initial discomfort soon gives way to feelings of growing pleasure when my anal muscles grip the heavily veined, pseudo cock as I traverse its length. How glad I am that the overseers had greased both the dildo and my ass which makes the experience all the more enjoyable.
Soon I forget that I have an audience and I give myself over to the pleasures of the moment. My balls tighten within the safe haven of my scrotum and my engorged cock springs to rampant attention and points horizontally in Prince Omar's direction. I am oblivious to all else except my own selfish sexual desires.
I catch sight of myself in the mirrored wall and I am surprised by the erotic spectacle I make. I see the enormous stress placed upon my torso as I slide my ass up and down over the length of the dildo. This strains and tightens the different muscle groups within my body and provides a tantalizing display of raw muscle power in action. No wonder Prince Omar watches with such interest. But he wants more from me and asks Malik to have me quicken the pace of my self-fucking.
I respond to the cut of the overseer's quirt and move faster.
Incrementally, Omar orders that I quicken my pace and as I do so, I am bathed in the heated, sex sweat of my exertions, the heady odour of which fills my nostrils. The sweat meanders down over my torso in slow moving rivulets and stains the tiles at my feet. My sorely taxed cock fires off a warning salvo and a long, creamy thread of my precum, unable to defy gravity, dribbles its way downwards to the floor.
My body is racked by the most exquisite torture. I have pictured myself in this situation countless times and the times I have masturbated to such scenarios are far too many to recall with accuracy. Those moments - figments of my erotic fantasies - had been intensely pleasurable but today I experience the real thing for the first time and I am overwhelmed by the experience.
Temporarily, I forget about the repugnant Prince who is watching until he gives the order to stop.
Painfully, the quirt cuts across my ass as the overseer orders me to "Stop!"
"Remove him from the dildo and free his wrists!" Prince Omar commands. "I would have the Nasrani slave pay me homage!"
Acting quickly, the two overseers ease me off of the dildo and unfasten my wrists from the back of my collar. I'm aware of a loud "plopping" noise as my ass is raised off the dildo and suddenly, I feel very empty. One overseer places his boot in the small of my back and viciously forces me face down on to the tiles as he instructs me to.
"Dog, assume the position of respect and pay the Royal Master your homage."
I scramble into the St Andrew's cross position and stretch my body so that it is on maximum display to Prince Omar. I am aware of my wildly beating heart pounding in my chest and my heightened breathing. If possible, I press my body closer to the tiles and I feel the clenching of my buttocks and the stretching of my thighs. Evidently, my efforts please the prince. He turns to Malik and comments.
"You are right, Malik! This slave does have the perfect ass. I'm sure Gansu would appreciate its perfectly rounded globes but even more so what lies hidden between them."
Who is Gansu, I wonder? Prince Omar isn't accompanied by the gigantic Black and mercifully, I am unaware of the appalling fate that awaits me should Prince Omar buy me. It truly is a case of ignorance being bliss.
"Have the slave stand at full display?" Omar asks of Malik.
The two overseers use their quirts to get me to my feet and I hasten into the full display position. I entwine my fingers behind my head and push back on my elbows so that my biceps and chest muscles are shown in hard relief. I suck in my belly and tighten my abdominals and thrust my hips forward in an obscene display of my genitals.
"The slave is most obedient," Omar comments, "and yet you say he was enslaved just two days ago? Is that not so? It's unusual to find a new slave who responds so readily to an order."
"Indeed it is your Royal Highness! But as the slave's master has told me, he is a born slave who was just waiting to be 'liberated' from within."
"Indeed! He's a most unusual case; a Franj who truly craves to be a slave. Have him move slowly to the left so that I can view him in profile."
I slowly rotate my body until it is in profile and I am ordered to stop as Prince Omar surveys me. He leans forward in his chair and I see his body slaves' looks of concern least their Royal Master should topple forward. I am left to stand in profile for several minutes before I am ordered to present my back for scrutiny.
With my back to the prince, I can't see the lecherous licking of the lips as he surveys my ass. Of course, I'm unaware of his penchant for savagely beating a slave's ass before its fucking and it is perhaps as well that I don't. If I could read the prince's thoughts, I would learn that he is visualizing me tied down over a trestle as he paddles me. I would know that he is wondering which of his many paddles he would use on me first. And most of all, he contemplates my reaction to my first sighting of Gansu's monstrous cock. He wonders if I would I cry out in alarm fearful of being split asunder and beg for mercy as all other of his slaves do? He decides that I would and salivates at the thought of this.
The order is given to face the front while Prince Omar talks to Malik.
"This slave interests me very much and I will be bidding for him at Saturday's auction. He reminds me of an American slave my royal father had so many years ago to whom I was quite partial."
"Indeed your Highness! That slave must have been quite memorable. May I ask if you still have the slave in your service?"
"No Malik," there is almost a note of regret in Prince Omar's answer, "that slave is long gone. In keeping with my family's policy a slave is kept in the harem for as long as his special charms last. But once they have faded - as regrettably happens with all slaves - they are sent to the family's royal estates to work on the farms, in the quarries or the saltpans. I should think the American is long gone worn out by hard, physical labour. But such is the fate of all my slaves and should I succeed in buying this one that too will be his ultimate fate."
"A task this slave will nobly rise to your highness. He is young, strong and robust and has many years of hard labour in him should that path await him. Of that I am sure. Does your Highness wish to see more of the slave?"
"I think not! I have seen all I need to. I must keep some delights for when I buy him. He will provide me with much sport as he is introduced into my harem and I want to surprise him. But for now, I'll leave him guessing. And now I must take my leave of your most admirable establishment but I will return on Saturday to bid for the slave."
"Then, I wish you every success, your Highness! May your bid be the winning one."
"Has much interest been shown in the slave, Malik?"
"Indeed it has your highness. Only this morning the slave was viewed by a father and son from West Africa who are quite smitten by him. I should think they will bid for him."
"Then I look forward to the cut and thrust of the bidding. I am always excited by the bids and counter bids that decide a slave's fate. Hopefully, mine will be the deciding one."
"I sincerely hope so your Highness! Good luck on Saturday."
As Prince Omar's body slaves help him out of his chair I fall to the tiles and assume the Saint Andrew's cross position and maintain it as a mark of respect as the he leaves the room. Then, the overseers return me to my pen where Finbar waits anxiously for my return. He and the other waiter slaves ply me with many questions which I try to answer.
As I tell Finbar about the Prince's obvious interest in me, I see a look of concern flicker across his handsome face. Is his concern in knowing that should the prince buy me we will be separated after so brief a friendship?
To be continued ......