Duped Chapter 4: The Flight
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): November, 2012 Read all my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
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Chapter 4
Three months ago I didn't know Anwar; we were yet to meet as business associates. More importantly, I had no idea that chattel slavery existed outside of my erotic fantasies.
But Anwar exposed me to genuine slavery back in London; firstly through the six slaves who served as waiters at his friend, Mustapha's restaurant and then through his personal house slave, Sven. Both these events were a revelation to me. Never in my wildest flights of fancy could I have envisaged such things happening in today's modern world let alone in a great metropolis like London.
Of course, I was aware of consensual slavery of the type practised between those with dominant and submissive natures. Although, I'd never actually participated - apart from the occasional spanking from a "master"- I was aware of some in the gay scene who lived as masters and slaves. But that is a lifestyle choice rather than real slavery and I'd always viewed it as a fetish thing. And that is how I saw slavery until I met Anwar.
From our first meeting, I'd been attracted to Anwar. In him, I saw the Arab Master I'd always craved in my solitary, erotic fantasies. And it would appear that Anwar was as drawn to me as I was to him. I wasn't to know that, at our first contact, he'd seen my true slave nature and had resolved to "liberate" it and make me a genuine slave. I was blissfully unaware of his plans for me and so I'd misinterpreted his motives as those of a genuine friend.
Over the past few months, I'd spent more time with Anwar both at the business and social levels. We met almost daily and I became a frequent visitor to his home where I came into regular contact with his slave, Sven. Sven had always treated me as his Master's honoured guest and I'd been flattered by his devoted attention to my needs.
Incrementally, I'd grown used to Sven's fawning obsequiousness to me. I looked to have him kneel before me and kiss my feet in welcoming and farewelling me to his Master's home whenever I visited. And I enjoyed those occasions not least because I was able to salivate at the sight of his magnificent, naked body as he served me coffee or refreshments. Through my regular exposure to Sven, I gradually overcame my reluctance to see him as an owned slave. Bit by bit my opposition to that crumbled until I fully accepted Sven for what he truly is - a chattel slave!
In the process of that happening, Anwar exposed me to more and more slavery. I became his regular guest at Mustapha's restaurant and he took me to visit his friends all of whom owned slaves. Anwar's friends treated me as an honoured guest and their slaves afforded me the courtesy and respect that was my due as a free man visiting their masters.
Of course, I had no idea that Anwar was playing me like a trout hooked on his line and that he was patiently reeling me in to his waiting net. Nor did I know that the warm welcome I received from his friends was all a carefully concocted facade. If I could read their minds, I would understand that they held me in utter contempt. To them I was an inferior white, fit only to kneel at their feet and they were happy to assist Anwar in grooming me for my future role as a slave.
I became increasingly confident - perhaps even overconfident - in my dealings with Anwar and I really valued his friendship. I suppose my acceptance into his circle of friends and their slaves had made me cocksure. It never occurred to me that I could become a slave. Such an idea was inconceivable. After all, I was a successful young lawyer with an enviable record among my contemporaries.
Recently, Anwar had told me that he was returning home to Maluchistan on business and he invited me to join him on an all-expenses paid trip. He justified this by telling me that I was now an integral part of his business operations - this was true as I had gradually assumed more responsibility for his legal affairs - and that it was important for me to know of his business interests in his homeland. Of course, I'd been flattered by his offer and I accepted without a second thought. He told me to leave all the travel and accommodation arrangements to him and all that I needed to do was pack my bags, relax and enjoy my first ever visit to the Middle East.
He also told me that his slave, Sven would accompany us on the trip.
Several days later, Anwar told me that Mustapha and his second son, Hussein would be travelling with us as they were taking their six, waiter slaves to Maluchistan to be sold.
The thought occurred to me that we would be a sizeable travelling group but my excitement at the upcoming trip kept me from thinking too much about that. In fact, I'd met Hussein on several occasions and I quite liked him. I hoped there would be time for us to spend together and that he could show me the sights of Maluchistan.
The flight from Heathrow to Maluchistan lasts from seven to eight hours and on the morning of our departure; I'd arranged to meet Anwar in the VIP Lounge of Air Maluch, the flag ship airline of Maluchistan for a pre-departure breakfast and an orientation talk about my visit.
The lounge left nothing to be desired. Its ambience and its cuisine surpassed anything I'd experienced with other airlines. Anwar and I sat in luxurious, deeply plush armchairs and were waited on hand and foot by an attentive young waiter wearing the uniform of Air Maluch. I wondered if he was a slave and when I looked, I saw that he was collared like Mustapha's slaves. Immediately, I thought of Sven; I knew he was to accompany Anwar on this trip but where was he? Why wasn't he with us?
"Anwar, I understood you to say that Sven was to accompany you on this trip. Where is he?"
"Matt, you are correct. Sven is indeed coming with us; after all I need my slave to serve me. Of course, as a slave he's not allowed into the VIP Lounge and has to wait in a holding area set aside for slaves who accompany their owners on the flight."
Anwar's comment about a "holding area set aside for slaves" surprised me. The more time I spend with Anwar the more I learn about real slavery. It would appear that Air Maluch gives its tacit approval to slavery. But I shouldn't be surprised by this. If slavery is practised in Maluchistan it would surely follow that the airline makes provision for those slaves who travel with their owners. I try to imagine the holding area and I wonder if Sven is the only slave who is held there. Then I remember that Mustapha is taking his six slaves with him to Maluchistan; surely they are waiting with Sven. Naturally one thought feeds another; I wonder how Maluchistani slaves travel. I suppose they travel economy class while their masters travel either first class or business class.
Over our delicious breakfast, Anwar hands me my flight ticket and I am surprised to see we are travelling first-class. I'd really expected that i'd go business-class and I'm flattered that I am to travel with him in the first class cabin.
Anwar tells me we are booked into separate suites at Maluchistan's leading hotel but that he will be briefly absent as he visits his father in a another part of the country. As we discuss this we are joined by Mustapha. He and Anwar embrace warmly and he shakes my hand and asks.
"Tell me Matt, are you looking forward to your visit to Maluchistan?"
"Indeed I am." I answer truthfully. "I'm very excited about this trip."
"Is this your first visit to the Middle East, Matt?"
"Yes Mustapha! It's an area I have never visited. I've been all over Europe, Russia and the Americas. Oh and yes, I've been to most major cities in Asia as well but I have never visited the Middle East."
"Then Matt, you are in for a most interesting visit. There are many surprises that await you in Maluchistan. But I have a question, Matt. Anwar mentioned that you are an Australian. Is that so?"
"It's half true, Mustapha. I'm half Australian and half German."
"What an interesting mixture you are Matt. How very fortunate; you have inherited the best traits of both nationalities."
Mustapha's gushing compliment leaves me blushing. Fortuitously, Anwar's next question changes the conversation from me to Mustapha's slaves. They conduct their conversation in Arabic which is alien to my ears.
"And are your six slaves prepared for their flight, Mustapha?"
"Yes they are, Anwar. But getting them here wasn't without a slight touch of drama. When they were woken this morning, I believe the significance of their journey finally hit home. They realized that they were being taken to Maluchistan to be sold. I am told by my sons that the slaves were surly and slow to unco-operate. I believe the cane was much in use to get them into the showers and dressed for the flight."
"But you got them here?"
"Indeed and they wait in the slave holding area under guard until embarkation time. I noticed your slave Sven was there also waiting to be put upon the flight."
"Yes, I dropped him off on arrival and gave all his trans-shipment documents to the airline personnel in charge of seeing the slaves are aboard and seated before the first passengers embark."
"Yes I saw him waiting there and I took the liberty of telling Hussein to supervise his loading and seating him with my six. I hope I haven't overstepped, Anwar?"
"Not at all, old friend! I thank you for your interest in my slave. It was most kind of you."
"Anwar, tell me what is the situation with our young friend here? Is he doomed to slavery?"
"But of course, Mustapha. There was never ever any doubting that he is to become a slave. He's been on my hook for some time now; now he's tiring and I have been reeling him in ever so slowly. Metaphorically, I have my net poised ready to land him."
"And how is it to happen? What plans have you for him?"
"Originally, I'd planned to use him as a slave in my household with Sven. But I have rethought that position. I foresee too many problems as he is well known in London and it's doubtful that he could just disappear off the radar so to speak. No, my old friend, I must be more circumspect!"
"Then what are your devious plans for the young Franj dog, Anwar?"
"Mustapha, as you can see, I'm luring him to Maluchistan much as flies are lured to a honey- pot. I have lulled his senses and flattered his ego by telling him how important he is to my business organisations. And with the self-importance so common to all infidels, he believed me. When I asked him to accompany me to Maluchistan he was beside himself and readily agreed. Just look at him, Mustapha! Can't you see the smugness written on his face?"
"Indeed, I do Anwar. I believe he knows we are talking about him. But I suspect he'll soon lose that smugness, Anwar?"
"Indeed he will, Mustapha! Indeed he will! Three days from now, he'll find himself naked, shackled and locked in a pen as he awaits sale."
"It will happen that soon, Anwar? You're not letting any grass grow under your feet in enslaving him."
"What is that saying infidels are so fond of quoting, Mustapha? Strike while the iron is hot."
"Speaking of irons, Anwar, the young Franj will soon feel the kiss of a hot branding iron on his white ass."
"Yes indeed Mustapha and I will be there to watch as he is branded. The last slave I watched being branded was Sven. I recall his tears and his entreaties to be spared the pain of the hot iron. It was all to no avail of course."
"Naturally, Anwar! It truly amazes me how the newly enslaved beg and plead. They can't understand that we are unmoved by the tears of an unbeliever. You must advise me when he is to be branded, I'd like to be present and watch him lose his arrogance."
"When I know for sure, Mustapha, I will let you know. But here's Hussein - perhaps the slaves have been embarked on the plane and we'll soon be called to board the flight. Let us make our way to the departure gate."
Anwar switches back to English and turning to me he tells me to.
"Matt, gather up your belongings. It's time to make our way to our departure gate."
My excitement is mounting! My big adventure is about to begin. How I'm looking forward to my eight days in Maluchistan. The colour and glamour of such an exotic destination entices me. I need no second bidding and gather my inflight bag, my laptop and a novel to read during the flight. I walk alongside my three Arab travelling companions; however I can't converse with them as they talk in Arabic.
If I could understand, I would turn tail and run from the airport. I fail to hear the sneer in Mustapha's voice.
"What a fool this young Franj is. Look at his excitement; he can barely contain himself. If only he knew this is a one way flight for him. It is flight of no return."
"Indeed, Mustapha! Very soon he'll be made aware of that. Then, we'll see his excitement give way to disbelief as he is enslaved and despair as he is placed on the auction-block."
I'd always known that the Middle East was hot. But being forewarned didn't prepare me for the stifling heat of Maluchistan. Fortuitously, the airport is air-conditioned. It was opened only recently to showcase the wealth and prestige of this supremely confident Arab kingdom which I have been told floats on a sea of oil - quite literally. Disembarking from the plane, Hussein took his leave of us to take charge of his father's six slaves and of Anwar's slave, Sven.
I'm not sure what is to happen to Mustapha's six slaves but I did hear that Sven will be brought to his Master in the arrivals' area. As Anwar said, he'll need the services of his slave to retrieve our luggage from the carousal and to carry it to his waiting limousine.
The flight from London to Maluchistan had been uneventful and most of our time had been spent eating and drinking the superb cuisine available to First Class passengers. Mostly, the passengers were Arabs - some wore Western business suits and others the more traditional robe of the Arab male - the white Thoub and the Gutrah as worn by Anwar, Mustapha and Hussein. As it was summer time, these garments were made of light-weight white cotton which contrasted with the black Ogal or head band.
What few women were in the First Class cabin sat together to one side and wore the traditional female attire of the black Abayah and Hejab.
At one stage, I'd joined Hussein as he checked on his father's slaves travelling somewhere at the rear of the plane. We'd walked almost the entire length of the plane - from the First Class Lounge at its front, through Business Class and Economy Class to the locked, secretive compartment at the tail end where the slaves travelled under guard.
As we approached the compartment, a burly Arab guard dressed in a dark suit stood and spoke to Hussein, Of course, I didn't understand what they were saying but I did notice the guard was scrutinizing me most intently. After Hussein produced a pass, the guard unlocked the door and held it open as we entered into another world. By now, I was used to the luxury of the First Class cabin and I was totally unprepared for what I saw. There wasn't any luxury here; the slaves travelled under the most primitive conditions. The area was compact - I guess I'd describe it as cramped - and the furnishings were basic. There weren't any cloth covered, upholstered seats and the slaves sat side by side on wooden benches, chained by their ankles to stout, metal rings set in the floor. I did a quick check and countered fifteen slaves; eleven males and four females. The presence of the female slaves surprised me. To date, I'd only seen male slaves and I suppose I'd not thought about the existence of female slavery.
The male slaves were all dressed in almost identical clothes of a drab, grey colour that reminded me of prison garb. Their clothes consisted of shorts, Polo shirts and undressed leather sandals. The female slaves wore identical costumes to their slave brothers.
The slaves were under the constant scrutiny of three sinister looking guards and judging by the holster bulges under their armpits all three were armed with weapons.
I noticed that Sven was sitting with Mustapha's six slaves. Unlike them, Sven appeared relaxed while they appeared subdued and apprehensive. Momentarily, I wondered about this and then it suddenly occurred to me that they were on their way to the slave-market to be sold. Sven, on the other hand, didn't face this appalling prospect. Who could blame the six slaves their fear and uncertainty. An uncertain fate inevitably awaited them and within days, all six will have new Masters. I tried to imagine the horrible thought of this happening to me. I shuddered at such a prospect and I gave a silent prayer of gratitude that I didn't share their futures.
We didn't linger in the slaves' travelling compartment any longer than was necessary. Hussein had satisfied himself that his charges were travelling well and we made our way back to the First Class Cabin and Anwar and Mustapha.
But this brief visit with Hussein to check on his father's six slaves had been most interesting and I caught yet another glimpse of what it means to be a chattel slave. As I followed Hussein back up the aisle through the Economy Class Cabin, it occurred to me the next time I see those slaves will be in a holding-pen at a slave-market. Anwar has told me that we are to visit them the day after tomorrow.
One part of me is repulsed by the thought of visiting the slave-pens. And yet my long held, erotic fantasies about Arab slavery impel me to go with Anwar to see real slaves and a real slave-market in operation.
But these thoughts are soon driven out of my mind as our plane lands, taxies to the terminal and we disembark. I have arrived in the Middle East and my excitement is boundless.
If only I'd had the gift of foresight!
To be continued ......................
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