Duped Chapter 13: "The House of Malik"
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): August, 2013 Read 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 bear no resemblance to actual persons or events. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add other artists' pictures."
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Chapter 13:
Slave auction days at the "House of Malik" are always frenetic and cause Malik much concern; the principal one being the slaves who are to be sold.
Without doubt, there is no surlier creature than a slave who knows he is scheduled to mount the auction block within a few hours. He can be more difficult and obstinate than even the most cantankerous, flea ridden, desert caravan camel that must be whipped by his handler to get it to its feet.
And so it is with the slaves! They have to beaten into obedience and although Malik doesn't like to see his slaves heavily marked as they step up onto the block, he nevertheless accepts the odd stripe or two on a slave's naked ass or shoulders as inevitable - and in some ways even desirable.
Long experienced in successfully marketing his livestock - and there is no more successful slave-trader than Malik - has demonstrated to him that the buyer is quite prepared to accept the odd superficial stripe of the cane or the strap on a slave's body as he inspects the merchandize. Indeed, Malik's keen observation over many years has convinced him that a buyer likes to see a slave so marked. At times too numerous for him to recall, Malik has watched as a buyer used a fingertip to almost lovingly trace along a welt raised by a cane or a strap in what resembles a gentle caress. Perhaps, at these times, the would-be buyer is fantasizing about adding his own marks to the slave's body.
Malik does understand this position and has some sympathy with it. He personally believes a few punishment marks enhance a slave's appearance when being shown to a prospective buyer. What better way of demonstrating to the buyer that the slave is property to be used, abused and punished at his owner's discretion than to see the results of previous chastisements.
Why, only the day before yesterday, he'd looked down on his friend, Anwar's new slave as he crouched at the feet of Prince Omar. Of necessity, the slave, Matthew, had felt the cane and the quirt as he was put through his paces before the prince and, earlier in the day, when he'd been presented to the African father and son who'd shown so much interest in him and the Irish slave with the unusual name of Finbar.
As the slave knelt with his striped ass pointing to the heavens, Prince Omar couldn't contain himself. He leant forward in his chair - to the consternation of his two body slaves who worried that his overburdened body could topple forward - and leered at the slave. The old lecher had salivated at the sight of the slave's naked ass and he'd licked his lips lasciviously as he contemplated brutally beating it with one of his ornately carved, wooden paddles.
Rumours are whispered about Prince Omar's impotence and his infamous, black proxy, Gansu who always stands in his place after Prince Omar has sadistically beaten the slave. He is the butt of many crude and lewd jokes but only a fool would peddle these publicly and those who do are dealt with harshly. After all, Maluchistan is an absolute monarchy and any disrespect to the reigning king or members of his family are viewed as treasonable and harshly punished. Forget that and you pay the price for your carelessness.
And so, while Malik is well aware of Prince Omar's "deficiency" - after all, he has seen it fail to manifest itself many times as the prince examines a potential purchase - he wisely keeps a still tongue in his head least it be plucked out as has happened to those foolish enough to give voice to the rumours.
There is much to be done to prepare the slaves and make them ready for the viewing area. Indeed preparations for today's showing and auction began yesterday when the slaves were fed early in the morning and given a purgative to empty their bowels. After that, they received no more solids and were given only water to drink.
Malik is most fastidious in this. One thing he abhors is the possibility of a nervous slave voiding his bowels on the viewing platform. No, it's far better that the slave abstain from eating, even if he does suffer hunger pangs, rather than to disgrace himself in front of Malik's esteemed clients.
The rest of yesterday was spent preparing the slaves for today's public viewings. The slave-handlers worked tirelessly to crop heads, smooth shave bodies, pare and buff finger and toe nails and to enhance the slaves' overall appearances and thus their marketability. After they'd finished, Malik minutely inspected the slaves. He is very "hands-on" and leaves nothing to chance. Each slave was inspected individually to see there were no stray hairs to mar the smoothness of his nude body. Really, nothing detracts from a slave's overall appearance as much as a stray hair under the arms or in the ass-crack.
Then each slave was fitted with a special, made-to-order, stainless steel collar and matching cock ring; each artistically engraved with the logo "House of Malik" in delicate, cursive lettering. Although the collars and cock rings are expensive - these are especially made for him by a skilled, metal working artisan in the Souq - Malik considers the prime quality of his merchandize merits this goodwill gesture to his esteemed clients. And the collars and rings do enhance the slaves as they stand on the viewing platform and later as they step up on to the auction-block. Malik considers that the collars emphasize a slave's abject servitude while the cock rings re-enforce his absolute slavery to the buyers.
When Malik was completely satisfied with their appearance, each slave's body was given a light coating of display oil to enhance his physique and to highlight his musculature. Then the slaves were returned to their pens to rest for the morrow, their public displaying and finally the auction.
Malik is personally supervising all aspects of today's operations and there is much to be done. As is customary on sale-days, he is liverish and bad-tempered and his household slaves bear the brunt of his bad humour. The wretched slaves have come to dread sale days as much as Malik looks forward to them. For Malik there is the chance of ingratiating himself with his wealthy clients and the prospect of much profit to be made by day's end.
However, for his household slaves, they must abjectly endure his verbal and physical abuse. Malik will flail about him with a cane of a short leather whip - whichever is at hand - and woe betide any unfortunate slave who incurs his wrath.
Today, the apprehensive house slaves are busy in the viewing area set aside for the purchasers and laying out refreshments for them to enjoy as they peruse the animals on display or debate among themselves the merits of a particular slave.
Malik is a traditionalist and eschews the modern practise of displaying his livestock in showrooms that glitter and shine with chrome and gilt. He is well aware that some of his competitors have gone to great expense to do so and he is sometimes urged by his friends to keep pace and modernize his establishment. However, he has resisted all such urgings and maintains the status quo.
The "House of Malik" has stood virtually unchanged in the same location for several centuries and to Malik's thinking it has admirably stood the test of time. It's true that his establishment reflects its medieval origins and lacks the glamour and sparkle of the newer slave emporiums to be found in the more salubrious areas of the city. But the "House of Malik" has things they seriously lack and these are "gravitas and atmosphere" with which his family's slave-trading has imbued it. One has only to walk through the solid wooden gates opening from the street into the courtyard of his premises and immediately you feel the difference between Malik's traditional slave-market and his newer competitors' faux slave emporiums.
Here, at the "House of Malik", the very ambience lends itself to the successful display and marketing of slaves; it suggests to the visitor that this is, in every sense, a real slave-market. The venerable walls of the courtyards have re-echoed with the sad whisperings and entreaties to be set free; the ancient, clay bricks have reverberated with the sound of leather striking naked flesh and of the anguished cries of the countless, suffering slaves who have passed through over the centuries.
The walls of the slave pens are covered with the names of those luckless victims who have recorded their names there in the vain hope that someone will eventually find them. More poignant are the sad messages of those who have abandoned hope and recorded their last goodbyes to family and loved ones. All who have passed through these pens have left something of their essence behind in their fear induced sweating as they waited for their turn on the auction-block. The cobblestone floors have been worn shining-smooth by the shuffling of their shackled, naked feet moving under the overseers' whips from the pens to the display podiums and ultimately up onto the auction-block.
And today is market day! Malik has thirty-one prime, male slaves chained to the viewing podium and soon the first of his esteemed clients will be arriving to inspect them and hopefully to bid for them. On auction days, Malik usually offers thirty slaves for sale; over the years he has found this to be the optimum number to work with. Today however, that number has increased to thirty-one; the additional slave being Anwar's new slave, Matthew. Malik does this as a special favour to his old friend who is anxious that his slave be sold before he returns to London tomorrow.
Today's offering has much to commend itself to the discerning buyer. The slaves, as Malik has noted, are a superb collection ranging through the whole spectrum of hair colouring. There are flaxen haired beauties from the Slavic regions, tow-haired blonds from Northern Europe and the decadent West and olive skinned slaves with the blackest of black hair from the Mediterranean area. Why, there is even one with smooth, milky white skin and flaming red hair. Of course, slaves such as this aren't suited to outdoor labour as the sun speckles their hides with unsightly blemishes. Such slaves are suited only to the bedchamber or to serve in the household. Nevertheless, the red-haired slave will attract strong bidding as he stands on the auction-block.
The slaves range in age from a mere stripling of some seventeen or eighteen years through to those aged in their mid -twenties. Malik considers this age range to be the optimum one and he considers any slave over twenty-five as "mature" and not offering the buyer good value for money.
Malik has a few minutes to spare and is inspecting the slaves shackled into position on the viewing platform. The slaves' oiled torsos glisten sensually in the diffused sunlight filtering down through the stout timbered rafters and the walls and arches of the ancient courtyard provide an evocative backdrop to their naked forms. Mostly the slaves stand placidly as they await the arrival of the buyers but boredom causes them to fidget and rattle their chains. Their movements accentuate their superb physiques and bring into play the rippling and flexing of their hard, well-defined muscles. Altogether, the slaves make a most agreeable sight and Malik is well pleased with today's offerings.
And like cattle chewing the cud, the slaves munch on sprigs of freshly picked mint to sweeten their breath as the buyers examine the soundness of their teeth and the health of their tongues.
Each slave has his lot number painted onto the podium at his feet and, additionally, it is marked on his right pectoral and left flank. That way the slave's lot number is always visible to the buyer no matter at what angle the slave is viewed.
As Malik walks slowly along the line of slaves he is gratified. Today's offering includes Mustapha's six waiters and Anwar's new slave. And additionally, there is his Spanish slave, Miguel whom he has decided to sell.
In a way, he regrets parting with Miguel who has served him well as both a house slave and a bed-buck. He was always a delight to fuck with his tight, eager hole and unceasing willingness to please. Malik hasn't any complaints about Miguel's abilities to serve but the slave is at the peak of condition and after a year's slavery, he is ready to sell. Malik knows from experience that Miguel will sell well and return him a handsome profit. And he knows Miguel will more than please the most discerning of new masters.
Malik stands in front of Miguel who is offered for sale as lot 14 and surveys him for one last time. The slave stands with his legs apart - which displays his generous genitalia to perfection - his muscular body held erect and his head bowed in humility. Of course, he is buck naked and without his customary loincloth which is as it should be. Like all animals offered for sale, slaves should be displayed "au naturel" and with nothing hidden from the prospective buyers. His clients expect no less!
However, Malik has a preference to clothe his house-slaves in minimalist loincloths. It's not that he is prudish nor is it done for any moralistic reasons. Indeed, Malik enjoys looking upon the naked bodies of his slaves. But he is of the opinion that loincloths lend an air of mystery to a slave. A small cloth covering a slave's ass and genitals whets the appetite and inflames the imagination. One can salivate most erotically at what lies hidden behind those small scraps of flimsy material.
Standing next in line to Miguel is lot 15, Anwar's golden-haired slave, Matthew. Both slaves are opposites of one another; Miguel's olive complexion and black hair show his Mediterranean origins whereas the other slave is more Germanic in appearance. Nevertheless, they complement each other beautifully. What a winning combination they'd make for the discerning buyer. They are a stunning pair of slaves; a glorious rarity for the genuine connoisseur of magnificent, male slave-flesh!
The fact that Matthew stands next to Miguel isn't by mere chance. No indeed, it was cunningly planned by Malik who unerringly knows how to display his slaves to full advantage on sale day. He'd recognized the potential these two slaves had to engender the erotic interest of the buyers. Seen together, Miguel and Matthew are superb. The genuine connoisseur would recognize that fact and would find it hard to choose between the two. Hopefully, the buyer, unable to decide which slave to buy, would loosen his purse-strings and bid for both slaves. This is the clever ploy that the ever canny Malik often employs and most times it works to his monetary advantage.
Anwar's slave is a superb animal with all the lines of a true thoroughbred. Tall, long-limbed and muscular, this slave will excite the most jaded buyer. And how superb he looks fitted with his new slave collar and cock ring. As the slave nervously fidgets on his podium, both collar and cock ring glint in the filtered sunlight and add to his overall allure. The neck collar certainly suits the new slave but it is the cock-ring that does most to enhance his appearance. The ring has the desired effect of bundling up the slave's cock and balls into a tight package and showing them to perfection. The slave is massively aroused and his circumcised cock points in the direction of where Malik is standing.
Like Miguel, the slave, Matthew stands with his legs apart and his head bowed. But his nervousness is more evident in the quickened rise and fall of his heaving chest and the fluttering of his abdominal muscles. Yet despite this, the slave is massively aroused almost as though he is enjoying the new experience of being displayed so publicly. And most delightfully, a slender, silver thread of his precum hangs precariously from his piss-slit.
What was it that Anwar had said about this slave?
Ah yes! It was that Matthew was a born slave who craved slavery as much as life itself. Well, the slave is to be granted his wish. Within a few hours, his new owner will lead him from this place to his new home and into lifelong slavery.
Malik wonders who'll be the successful bidder for this slave. Will it be the African father and son? Or will it be Prince Omar. In a way, Malik hopes that it will be the Africans who buy Matthew rather than the odious prince. The slave's beauty is such that it should be savoured like the rarest of wines with him lying on a silken covered rutting couch and not quaffed as a raw, newly brewed beer with Matthew doubled over the prince's ornate wooden paddling bench.
Still why should he be concerned with who buys the slave. After he is sold, the slave will be of no interest to Malik and who buys him of no consequence to him. Such is the nature of chattel slavery. Slaves are simply commodities to be bought, sold and used at the whim of their masters.
Malik looks at the lot number written on the slave's chest and ass and notes that he will be offered immediately after his own slave, Miguel. He'll enjoy watching as these two slaves are sold and he will follow the bidding wars they'll engender with great interest as his auctioneer entices the buyers to part with their cash.
Malik glances at his watch and notes that the arrival of the first of his clients is imminent. He takes his leave of the slaves and hurries to the entrance courtyard to be on hand to personally welcome the first of his clients. Malik wonders who that will be.
Slave Matthew:
I'm shackled to the viewing podium next to the slave I know as Miguel; this is the same Miguel who'd been used by my Master and Malik to entice me into my slavery. Like Miguel, I stand naked with my feet apart and my head bowed in humility - we'd been ordered to do so by an overseer - and our bodies have been lightly coated with scented oil to display our physiques to better advantage. I have a very new collar fastened around my neck which tells the buyers that I am a product of the "House of Malik".
More humiliatingly, my genitals are imprisoned in a cock ring that perfectly matches my neck collar and thrusts my cock and balls forward in an obscene display for the buyers, who are yet to arrive. Despite the fear of my unknown future, I am mightily aroused and leaking profusely.
Many times in the past, in my wild erotic fantasies, I had imagined standing in a similar position as my present one while I was inspected and sold to an Arab master. Today, fantasy gives way to reality and imagination becomes fact. However, there is now one change in my desire to be an owned slave. I now hope my Masters will be the African father and son who'd inspected me two days ago rather than the Arab, Prince Omar.
The prince had repulsed me with his toadlike grotesqueness and his all too obvious cruelty and now I live in fear that I could, by day's end, be owned by him. The thought of such an appalling prospect fills me with dismay and, if that happens, my erotic dreams of slavery will become nightmares of cruel reality. And because a slave doesn't control his destiny, I pray to whatever gods or fates decide the future of a slave and ask that this not happen to me.
I haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning when I'd been given my last meal of solids and purged. Consequently, my bowels are empty but hunger gnaws at my stomach causing it to squirm and rumble. However, whether this is purely from hunger or possibly fear is debateable. Similarly, I was denied water overnight and my bladder is also empty. So there is no risk of me disgracing myself in front of the buyers. The same is true of all my fellow slaves.
The overseers continually give us sprigs of fresh mint to chew as we stand and wait for the buyers. This is to sweeten our breath as our teeth and mouths are inspected by anyone interested in bidding for us. The taste of the mint is most refreshing and the chewing of it also helps to ease my thirst.
We are under the strict supervision of six burly overseers and all carry thin, rattan canes or whips to use on any surly or uncooperative slave. Three supervisors have taken up positions in front of the viewing platform while the other three slowly prowl along our line at the rear. The eagle-eyed overseers are looking for any breaches of slave etiquette on our part and we have been warned of the dire consequences of offending the buyers whom we have been ordered to respectfully address as "Master" in anticipation of them owning us.
Whenever a buyer shows an interest in us, we are under orders to willingly respond to that buyer's demands and to fully cooperate with him. In fact, we are warned to put on a "happy face" and show the buyer that we genuinely appreciate his interest in us. And further, the buyers' commands - no matter how humiliating or degrading they may seem to us - must be obeyed instantly and without any show of resentment.
Along with the other slaves, I was instructed in the correct procedures I must adopt on the viewing platform. Whenever a buyer pauses in front of me, I must immediately stand at full display with my hands on top of my head, my feet apart and with my hips thrust forward to obscenely display my cinched cock and balls. My actions must be seen by the buyer as an unspoken invitation to him to inspect me.
"Master, come and look at me. Please inspect me, Master!"
And when we aren't actually under inspection, we are to adopt the "at rest" or modified display position with our feet apart, our hands clasped behind our backs and resting on our asses. Additionally, we must stand with our heads bowed to show our humility and as a sign of our total submission.
Even though my head is bowed and my eyes downcast, I'm aware that Malik stands before me. Is he perusing me or thinking about parting with his slave Miguel? What are his thoughts? Is he thinking about the uncertain futures that await us or is he calculating the profit that he'll make on us when we are sold. I'm not privy to his thoughts but somehow I think they'd be mostly concerned with the latter.
Suddenly, Malik hurries away and we are left alone to await the arrival of the buyers and, with them, our ultimate destinies. Silence reigns in the courtyard and it is broken only by the rattling of our chains and the sinister swishing of the overseers' rattan canes which cower us into submission. But my inner silence is broken by the wild, erratic beating of my heart, the ear deafening pounding of blood racing through my veins and my loud, rapid breathing as I struggle to replenish my depleted lungs.
Surely this is the lull before the storm!
Malik waits as one of his slaves ushers the first of today's clients into his presence. Only it isn't a buyer but rather a seller, his friend Anwar who has arrived early to inspect his slave, Matthew before he goes on public display.
Evidently keen to see his slave, Anwar graciously declines Malik's invitation to partake of refreshments and asks instead to be taken directly to the courtyard where Matthew is shackled to the podium. Malik apologizes profusely that he can't personally escort Anwar to where the slaves are on display because, out of courtesy, he must be on hand to greet his clients as they arrive. Anwar tells Malik that he understands and will find his own way to the display courtyard.
Malik's sense of hospitality doesn't allow him to accept this and he insists that Anwar be taken to see his slave. Impatiently he loudly claps his hands to summon a slave forward from where he'd been unobtrusively waiting with several other slaves until their service is required by their Master.
The slave hurries forward and falls to his knees in front of his Master. Anwar looks down at the slave and sees several very recent and angry red stripes on his back and shoulders. These had been put there earlier this morning by a very liverish Malik.
Impatiently, a still bad-tempted Malik lashes out with his foot and peevishly kicks the slave's ass as he orders him to.
"You insolent dog! Crawl to the feet of the Lord Anwar and pay him the respect due to him and then escort him to the display yard."
Hastily, the slave, fearful of incurring his Master's further wrath, crawls to Anwar and grovels at his feet as Anwar speaks with Malik.
"And tell me old friend, how is my slave, Matthew faring? Well, I trust!"
"Anwar, he's truly magnificent! I have just this moment left him and you'll be most pleased with the way he presents himself. I am sure that his sale will be keenly contested and one of the highlights of the day. But go see for yourself. My worthless slave will show you the way and stay with you should you require his services. Should you desire refreshments just order him to fetch them to you. And if he displeases you then tell me and I'll have the worthless Franj cur soundly whipped."
"If the slave offends me I will indeed draw his offence to your attention for retribution. But now Malik, with your permission, I ask that he take me to see my slave."
With another well-placed kick to the ass, Malik orders his slave to his feet and tells him to escort "Lord Anwar" to the viewing yard. As Anwar and the slave disappear into the inner recesses of the slave- market, another slave approaches Malik, kneels at his feet and announces the arrival of his first clients for the day.
Adopting a more pleasant disposition than he'd shown towards his slaves, Malik hurries forward to greet them and to welcome them to his humble market and to offer them refreshments before they too follow Anwar into the viewing yard.
He is delighted to welcome Ahmedu Hadi and his son Abdel back to his establishment. Quite obviously, they intend to follow through on their intention to bid for the slaves Matthew and Finbar. And dare he hope that his own slave, Miguel will attract their attention enough for them to also enter a bid for him.
Slave Matthew:
With my eyes downcast in the attitude of humility and respect for my betters, I'm aware that someone is standing in front of me and instinctively I sense that it is my Master, Anwar. I can't explain how I know it is him; just put it down to my sixth sense. And he confirms his presence when he addresses me.
"Good morning, Matt! Your day of destiny has finally dawned. Today, you become the slave you've always longed to be in every sense of the word. By day's end you'll be owned property; the slave of a new Master."
Of course, I am already owned property as I belong to Anwar. But that was only ever meant to be a temporary situation. Despite my pleadings with him to take me back to London to live and serve as his slave alongside of Sven, he'd always told me that wasn't an option and that my future slavery would be in the hands of another Master. I'm not sure how to respond to Anwar's greeting. After all, the overseers - and one hovers close by with his cane at the ready - had specifically warned us against speaking to a buyer until we are given permission to speak or to reply to questions put to us.
Then, Anwar disdainfully gives me his permission to speak.
"You may greet your Master, slave! And raise your head so that I may gaze into your eyes as you do so."
I lift my eyes and look towards Anwar as I humbly greet him.
"Good morning, Master!"
"Indeed it is a very good morning, Matt! And the day promises to be most rewarding for both of us. Today will be the culmination of all your erotic fantasies and you'll be granted your lifelong wish to become a true slave. I, of course, will be the richer for that with the price I receive for you. I must say, Malik has excelled himself in presenting you for sale. You are indeed a fine slave and I am almost tempted to keep you and take you back to London to serve with my slave, Sven."
Anwar's words give me some slight hope and I plead with him.
"Please, Master! Keep me and take me back to London with you. I swear that I will serve you faithfully and obediently."
"Ah, slave if only I could trust you! But as I have said before, Matt, that's not possible. It would be most unwise of me to return you to where you are so well-known and could be recognized by your former friends or business associates. No, your future lies elsewhere with a new Master. And from what my friend Malik tells me that future could be in West Africa or even here within our own royal family. But before I take my leave of you I wanted to view you for one last time. Turn slowly to the left so that I can view you in profile and from the rear."
I do as Anwar instructs and turn slowly to my left. As I stand in profile he orders me to "stop" before commanding me to "continue". I have my back to him and I'm not aware that he has been joined by the first of today's buyers. As they greet Anwar, my heart skips a beat for I recognize the voices as belonging to Ahmedu Hadi and his son, Abdel. It is Ahmedu who speaks first.
"That's his best angle wouldn't you agree? The slave has a most shapely ass that just begs to be fucked. Are you interested in buying him? If so, then we are in competition with one another."
"No not at all!" You have nothing to worry about from me bidding against you. Although I expect there'll be others who will. I hope so - you see, he's my slave and I'm selling him before I return to London tomorrow."
"Ahh, so you are the one that Malik told me about. It was you who lured the unsuspecting, young lawyer from London and had him enslaved. I congratulate you on your initiative in doing so. And he suspected nothing was amiss?"
"No, it was all too simple. All it took was a bit of pretence at friendship and false flattery that pandered to his ego and he was easily hooked. But then he is very na¾Ãe and easily led. Add in the fact that he'd always fantasized about being a slave and he was ripe for the taking. But tell me, what is your interest in my slave? Should you buy him what awaits him?"
"He'll return with us to our home in Africa and serve in our household as a pleasure slave. And there will be times when he'll be called upon to serve as a "hospitality" slave to my visiting business associates. That is his immediate future but ultimately he'll be sent to work on one of my plantations in the interior. I have a high turnover of pleasure slaves; usually they serve as such for two to three years and then I replace them with newer stock. I also have my eye on another slave who we inspected with this one the other day. But now lot fourteen has also caught my eye. Standing alongside your slave he presents very well. I could well include him in my bidding."
"And what about the other slave we just looked at, Dad?"
"Ahh, what impetuosity my son, Abdel shows!" Ahmedu laughs. "He is smitten by a very young slave - a mere stripling - who he believes shows great potential for the future. Abdel fancies him as his personal body slave."
"This young slave is on show?"
"Yes, I believe he is numbered as lot nine. Is that not so, Abdel?"
"Yes Dad! That's right!"
"Then I must check out this slave and see what it is that appeals to your son. I will do so as I leave which I must now do. I still have much to do before my return to London. However, I will return later to watch as Matt stands on the auction-block. I wish you luck as you bid for my slave and if you are successful in buying him, I wish you good fortune. May the slave serve you faithfully and well for many years to come?"
"Rest assured that he will! Should he become my slave then he'll need to perform to the highest standards within my household or he'll be sent to one of my plantations to work out his days under the whips of my overseers."
"Ah, you see what the future could possibly hold in store for you Matt; labouring under the whip as a common field-slave. I wonder if, in those erotic moments as you fantasized about being a slave, it ever occurred to you that this could be your fate. Or did you only ever see yourself serving a Master as his pleasure slave?"
Anwar's words strike a chord. It's true that I'd always fantasized about a benign form of slavery where I would serve as a sex slave to an appreciative Master. It had never crossed my fevered mind that there were worse types of slavery than the one I imagined for myself. Ahmedu Hadi has just stated my ultimate fate should he buy me. After a period of service as a pleasure slave I will end my days toiling on one of his vast plantations.
Suddenly, I am very afraid. My foolish notion of story-book slavery has been turned on its head and I now see that real slavery isn't at all as I had always imagined it to be. The awful realization of the fate that possibly awaits me is overwhelming and I feel the hopelessness of my situation.
Tearfully, I plead with Anwar to set me free or to at least take me back to London to serve as his slave and I promise that I will be a loyal and devoted slave to him. Disdainfully, he ignores my pleas and as he takes his leave of Ahmedu and Abdel, I throw myself at his feet and embrace his ankles as I continue to beg for his mercy. As I grovel before him, I'm unaware of the embarrassment he feels and I don't see the slight nod of his head to an overseer to intervene.
Unaware of my Master's silent call to the overseer for help, I am taken by surprise as a whip cuts diagonally across my back and ass. Momentarily, I feel nothing but then, as the pain explodes within my consciousness, I hear the overseer's angry shout.
"STAND UP, YOU MISERABLE DOG! GET TO YOUR FEET, NOW!!!!"
Once more, I feel the whip's cruel cut across my shoulders and it serves its purpose. Anxious to avoid more pain, I hastily scramble to my feet and assume the display position. As I do so. Anwar turns and walks away from me without a backwards glance or a word of farewell. Such is the fickleness of his feigned friendship towards me and the next time I see my Master, it will be from the auction-block as he watches while I am sold.
"That was foolish of you Matt!" Ahmedu admonishes me not unkindly. "Did you really think your Master would set you free after all his efforts to entice you here? I'm afraid there'll be no freedom for you. You will remain a slave for the rest of your life and it is in your own interests that you resign yourself to the inevitability of your fate. Now let's have an end to your histrionics; they'll gain you nothing other than further cuts of the overseer's whip."
As I struggle to regain my composure, Ahmedu and Abdel turn their attention to Miguel. The father steps forward and minutely examines the Spanish slave's body before ordering him to
"Bend and spread!"
I watch as Miguel shuffles into position and presents his ass for inspection. Ahmedu takes his time and soothingly strokes the slave's back before slowly running an exploratory finger down the deep cleft between his smooth, olive skinned buttocks to his anus. Ahmedu playfully tickles the puckering sphincter to excite it and then, when the Miguel is relaxed, he thrusts his finger deep within the slave's ass.
"How is he, Dad?" Abdel asks eagerly. "Is his ass tight?"
"It's as tight as a drum, son!" Ahmedu laughs. "Quite obviously it's been well used and well trained by the slave's Master."
"How do you know that, Dad?"
"Simply by the way the slave's ass is gripping my finger and the squeezing it. Obviously, he's well used to milking an eager cock."
Ahmedu's thrusting finger continues to excite the slave; I hear his soft sigh of pleasure and see the trembling in his legs as Ahmedu reaches between his thighs and cradles his balls in the cup of his free hand. Ahmedu displays the expertize of a true connoisseur of prime, male flesh as he rolls each ball between his fingers and thumb before gently tugging down on the slave's scrotum and stretching it out between his legs. Abdel watches his father's actions with growing interest as evidenced by the suggestive bulge in the front of his tailored shorts.
"Hey Dad, you seem to have a handful!! The slave looks to have a good pair of gonads."
"Indeed they are, Abdel. They are most impressive. Now let's see if his cock matches his balls."
Ahmedu withdraws his finger and playfully slaps Miguel's buttocks and orders him to.
"Stand and face the front!"
I watch as Miguel obediently assumes the full display position. His thick, heavily veined cock is rock solid hard and protrudes from his groin at a slightly elevated angle while a pearl like drop of his precum glistens suggestively at his piss-slit. By comparison I am now limp-dicked; something Abdel is quick to notice and draw to his father's attention.
"Dad, the other slave isn't putting on much of a show is he?"
"I put that down to his nerves! Unlike this slave, Matthew has never been sold and naturally he is very much 'on edge'. It's natural for a new slave to be concerned for his future as he waits to be sold. Anyway, we know what he's capable of from our recent inspections of him and the Irish slave. Certainly he enthusiastically rose to the occasion then and he didn't disappoint us."
Ahmedu now turns his attention to Miguel's cock. He uses his hand to encircle the slave's rampant erection and begins to slowly masturbate him. Miguel makes soft appreciative noises as he arches his body backwards and thrusts his groin forward as an invitation for Ahmedu to continue.
A few buyers have entered the viewing area and some are attracted by the African's inspection of Miguel and stop to watch. They stand in a small group and talk among themselves as Miguel appreciatively responds to Ahmedu's stimulation. As the Spanish slave synchronizes the forward thrusts of his hips to the movement of Ahmedu's hand, they nod appreciatively and comment that "the slave responds well to the touch of a Master's hand" or that "he has a powerful thrust". I hear one favourable comment of how "the slave's delectable ass cheeks tighten nicely with each thrust of the hips."
Any doubts I have that these buyers see slaves as anything other than sex objects are rudely dispelled.
More buyers have joined the group to watch and, as yet, they show no interest in me. Therefore, I am free to study these men who have come to bid for the right to buy and own us. I am surprised at the eclectic mix; for some reason the buyers in my fantasies had always been Arab. But this isn't so in the House of Malik!
It's true there are Arabs present in the group - their dress indicates this - but others are dressed in smart casual western garb while still others are expensively dressed in business suits much like Ahmedu Hadi. And they aren't confined to any one particular racial grouping. Among them are Africans, Asians and Caucasians. Their accents tell me they are from a wide variety of countries and I overhear one expensively dressed black man commenting favourably about Miguel and his accent tells me he is from New York City.
Ahmedu ignores his impromptu audience as he further tests the vigour of Miguel's erection. It seems he is oblivious to their presence and he confines his comments to his son.
"Abdel, I'm impressed with this slave and I'm tempted to bid for him. But I have one further test to make before I make my final decision."
"What's that Dad? What's the test?"
"I want to see if his mouth is as good as his ass and his cock. You just commented on Matthew's limp dick. Let's see if this slave can correct that situation."
Ahmedu turns to Miguel and commands him to.
"Kneel slave and bring your fellow slave to full erection! Show me how proficient you are with your mouth and tongue."
Miguel quickly drops to his knees. Hampered by the shackles that restrict his movements, he shuffles awkwardly towards me until his face is just inches from my groin. Momentarily, he looks up at me and slyly smiles. Then he places a hand on each of my hips and turns me around so that my ass is level with his face. Somehow I know what is to follow and I am overcome with embarrassment. His hands part my buttocks to their fullest extent and I wait for the inevitable. I feel the Spaniard's hot breath on my ass cheeks as a precursor to his tongue exploring the crevasse dividing them. While I ready my body for Miguel's ministrations, I also steel myself - as best as I can - for the inevitable crude comments and rude laughter of the watching buyers which I know must surely follow.
As I wait on Miguel, the seconds pass slowly and each seems like a minute. He snuggles his face into my thighs as his mouth hungrily searches for my testicles. I feel his hot breath scorching my skin and then, as he takes one of my balls into the warm, moist enclosure of his mouth, I feel a familiar stirring in my loins; Miguel has barely begun but already I am responding positively to his stimulus. It's obvious the slave is expert at giving oral pleasure and as he suckles each of my balls in turn, I hear the snickering laughter of one of our audience of interested buyers. But I no longer care!
I abandon myself to Miguel's stimulation and the pleasurable sensations enveloping me. Although I'm aware of their presence, the watching buyers no longer bother me.
Miguel now uses his tongue to explore further. I feel its moist, warm tip flicking at my very sensitive perineum and I am reduced to a quivering mass of over stimulated nerve endings. Slowly and with deliberate delicacy he moves his tongue from my perineum to my anus. And the tip of his tongue - just like Eros's arrowhead - finds its willing target in my puckering sphincter.
Miguel tries to drive his tongue ever deeper into me and with each flickering attempt I am driven wilder; I cry out my acceptance and eagerness for him to continue. Involuntarily, I thrust my hungry ass back against his face silently begging for more.
Then suddenly Ahmedu orders him to.
"Stop! Take his cock into your mouth."
Once more, Miguel places his hands on my hips and turns me to face him. He needs no second bidding and takes the tip of my semi-tumescent cock into the warm embrace of his mouth. At first he suckles my cock much like a hungry calf feeds at its mother's teat and again demonstrates his sexual prowess. The tip of his tongue licks at my piss-slit and it is almost too much to bear. My legs shake and my knees buckle and I reach out and take hold of his ears in a firm grasp to steady myself. I hear my soft, appreciative moaning as wave after wave of sensual pleasure washes over me.
I arch my back and thrust my hips forward as I try to force more of myself into his mouth. Momentarily, my fellow slave gags and I feel the tightening of his muscles as they try to repel my invading cock. But he is well trained at giving pleasure and I feel the quick relaxation of those muscles and the opening up of his throat allowing more of me into him. I look down at him and watch the rhythmic bobbing of his head timing the movement of his lips as they slide up and down the hard shaft of my cock.
As Miguel's mouth and throat continue to "milk" me, I feel a wonderful churning in my balls which serves as a precursor to my impending ejaculation. Already I have fired several warning salvos into Miguel's mouth and I am almost at the point of no return. I brace myself for a cataclysmic ejaculation into the mouth of the slave kneeling before me but I am denied the opportunity as Ahmedu Hadi orders us to.
"STOP! Stand and both of you face me in the display position."
Quickly Miguel scrambles to his feet and stands alongside of me in the full display position. Surreptitiously, I sneak a sideways glance towards Miguel and see that he is massively aroused. His erection matches the intensity of my own and our two cocks point outwards toward the watching buyers. And like me, a silver thread of his pre cum hangs from the eye of his cock. Obviously our little tableau has pleased the buyers and they reward us with a spontaneous round of applause.
Ahmedu stands with his back to his audience and takes hold of our cocks - one in either hand - as he compares our erections and gauges their rigidity. Speaking softly to his son so that those watching don't hear his comments, he tells Abdel.
"Both slaves are very pleasing to the eye and to the touch! The thickness and hardness of the Spaniard's cock is the equal of Matthew's and we will bid for him. Naturally, he's been a slave longer than Matthew and therefore he is more talented. But that will work in our favour; with his experience as a pleasure slave I can immediately use him to entertain my business associates."
Ahmedu's words fill be with both hope and some little concern. The hope is that he will successfully bid for me but my concern is that he now finds Miguel a better buy than Finbar. I worry that I am soon to be parted from my new Irish friend. But Abdel's question to his father allays my concern about Fin's future. And their following conversation confirms that there's every chance that Finbar will be bought and I won't be parted from him.
"You'll still bid for the Irish slave, won't you Dad?" There's a just a hint of anxiety in Abdel's voice. "You're still interested in buying him, aren't you?"
"Of course, son!" Ahmedu re-assures Abdel. "I most certainly will bid for him. We came to buy two slaves and it would seem I am now to bid for four."
"Which four Dad? There are these two and the Irish slave. Which is the fourth slave?"
"Why, the young slave who caught your eye earlier. I watched your cursory examination of him and you seemed most smitten by his charms. Isn't that so, Abdel?"
"Yes Dad! I liked the look of him and thought how good it would to own him and train him as my personal body-slave. But it was just wishful thinking on my part."
"Ahh, sometimes if you wish hard enough, wishes do come true, Abdel. I think he'd make a worthy addition to our household. He has an interesting background too. He was enslaved just days ago and delivered here to be sold."
"How do you know that about him, Dad?"
"While you were busily engrossed in fingering him, I asked an overseer for details of his background He's seventeen - still a boy really - and he's French-Canadian. His name is Jeremie.
"I like his name, Dad! It sounds exotic. Although it's too pretentious a name for a slave. I suppose it could be shortened back to Jerry or even Jem. But then you are allowing Matthew to keep his full name. How did he become enslaved, Dad? Do you know?"
"The overseer told me he was picked up by slavers at a holiday resort on the Costa del Sol where he was vacationing with his parents and younger siblings. He was observed swimming and sunbathing at a secluded beach by a spotter who considered Jeremie to be a suitable candidate for slavery. I guess it was a simple matter to wait until he was on his own and to snatch him and spirit him away."
"But how would the slavers cover up his mysterious disappearance?"
"I'm not familiar with how the slave recruiters operate, Abdel. But in J£"£Îie's case I understand he was the only one on the beach and the slavers arranged his clothing and personal effects in such a way that it appeared he'd gone swimming on his own and went missing. No doubt the local authorities assumed he'd drowned."
"He was unlucky, Dad! He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. In a way, you can feel sorry for him."
"Yes I believe you can pity his plight. However it's irreversible and he's now a slave for life. And he'll make a most admirable slave for some discerning Master. And Abdel, you may well be that Master."
"Do you think so Dad? Are you going to bid for him?"
"I'll give it my best shot, son. And it won't be for want of trying. But I expect stiff opposition as there'll be others who wish to own him. His youth will be his main selling point and he is quite handsome and his body holds great promise."
"So Dad, you'll be bidding for four slaves?"
"That's correct, Abdel. I'll be bidding for these two, the Irish slave and the younger one, J£"£Îie."
"When we fly home tonight we could well be taking four new slaves with us."
"Indeed son! In all probability there'll be four new slaves on our jet as we fly out tonight. And speaking of the Irish slave, we should move on and inspect him. I've finished my inspection of these two. All that remains now is to wait until they mount the auction block and bid for them. And after we've examined the Irishman, we could, if you like, double back and subject J£"£Îie to a closer, more intimate inspection. What do you say?"
"Please Dad! Now that I know you intend to bid for him I'd like to check him out more thoroughly."
"I thought you might." Ahmedu laughs at his son's eagerness. "This time you can finger him in the knowledge that he could soon be my gift to you."
I watch as father and son walk away leaving Miguel and me for the other buyers. As I look after Ahmedu and Abdel my earnest hope is that I will belong to them at day's end. My thoughts distract me and I don't notice an elderly, Asian buyer in an expensive business suit waiting impatiently to inspect me. Nor do I see two of Malik's overseers approaching until it's too late. Viciously, they use their canes to force me to my knees and with my nose to the ground.
They apologize profusely for my inattention and bad manners and hover nearby in the background should they again be needed.
The Asian buyer orders me to my feet and tells me to stand in the full display position.
I am now ready for another inspection; it is the second for the day and just another of the many that are to follow before the auction bell rings.
To be continued .....