THE GALLEY SLAVE A Young Man's Odyssey into Slavery CHAPTER 11
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) "To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"
Chapter 11: New Purchases.
My trip to the market today was made necessary by the deaths of two of my longer serving slaves. This happened during my most recent voyage and was most unfortunate for their oar fellows who had to take up the slack occasioned by their untimely demises.
I never keep slaves in reserve. This goes against the grain. To my mind a slave has to be fully and gainfully employed at all times. I would never countenance having a slave sitting idly by and stuffing his belly on the off chance that he might be needed at the oar. And then there is the cost of buying such a slave. Most times a slave is an expensive commodity and the outlay in purchasing him and feeding him does take away from the overall profits of my business enterprises.
It is true that our corsairs are having a good raiding season - in fact it is the best for many years - and the pens at the slave-market are overflowing with the newly enslaved. This glut has served to lower the price of a slave and, as today's prices have shown, a slave can be purchased for the proverbial song. Indeed the two I purchased today were exceptionally cheap and as a comparison, only yesterday I'd purchased a new pair of red slippers made of the softest kid goat skin for almost the same amount as I'd paid for them. And so, on today's values, each of my new slaves is worth the equivalent cost of just one of my new slippers.
But whether the purchase price for a slave is costly or cheap, the principle remains the same. To my way of thinking a slave exists for hard labour.
Both the dead slaves had toiled at my oar for an inordinately long period of time - I can't recall the exact number of years as I don't keep records of my slaves. Really I have enough to do with keeping the accounts of my trading activities without maintaining records of my galley slaves. It's true, I have a young, educated Greek slave who serves as my book-keeper and who sails with me on my trading voyages. His duties are twofold; he keeps records of all my business affairs on the voyage and acts as my treasurer at our ports of call. Additionally, he provides me with solace during the long, solitary nights at sea.
This slave, whom I have allowed to retain his infidel name, Dimitrios, is truly a delight. Young and handsome, his body is a great comfort to me during the loneliness of my time spent at sea. The slave's face is framed by a shock of tight, black curls and his brown eyes sparkle whenever he smiles and he does that a lot. I suppose this is a sign that he is a happy slave. I hope so and I try my hardest to keep him happy. Although I have to admit that his sexual appetite borders on the insatiable and I am hard-pressed to keep him satisfied. But I am very attracted to him and as fond of him as it is possible for me to be with a slave.
He has full red lips that part to display the pearly white of his strong, even teeth, a very generous mouth and a deep throat capable of accommodating my not inconsiderable member. And a tongue that is capable of raising me to sublime heights of ecstasy.
Within my home, I allow Dimitrios to wear minimal clothing that displays the beauty of his form to perfection. The garment consists of just a brief loincloth that covers very little and suggests much. I don't do this out of any prudery on my part; rather it is to observe the proprieties of my household. I have wife and daughters and it would be unseemly to allow a male slave to appear naked and rampantly erect in their presence.
During my voyages, I keep Dimitrios as naked as my oar slaves. My personal belief is that nudity is the natural condition of the slave and this is more so when the slave is an accursed infidel. I despise all Nasrani unbelievers with such intensity that I see it as a duty on my part to give them a foretaste of the fiery pit to which their foul heresies condemn them after their deaths. Truly, those sons of Shaitan, who serve me on my galley, experience some of the awful torments in this life that will be their deserved lot in the Hellfire of their erroneous beliefs.
But Dimitrios's nudity isn't of the same order as that of my galley slaves. For the miserable wretches who tug at my oars, nakedness is a necessary part of their condition. For practical reasons, once a slave is chained to his oar at the commencement of a voyage, he remains in place until we return to Tripoli. The time lost in unshackling ninety slaves from their oars at the end of the day and feeding and watering them before locking them below decks for the night would require much effort on the part of my overseers. And of course, the next morning, they would be faced with doing all this in reverse.
And there is always the threat that the slaves, once freed of their chains, could rebel. This is an ever present possibility and as the slaves outnumber my crew by the ratio of six to one it isn't a risk I am prepared to take. No it is far better - and safer - to leave the slaves sitting and sleeping in their chains at the oars.
Practicality dictates that we keep the slaves naked. A slave's nude body is an open book. My overseers can see by the stress placed on a slave's muscles whether or not he is applying himself fully to his labours. And should a slave be judged by an overseer to be shirking in his duties, then he is driven that much harder and his naked back makes a suitable target for the whip.
As you would appreciate sanitation on board a galley is very much a hit and miss affair. Again it isn't practical to unshackle a slave to allow him attend to the 'calls of nature'. However, at the outer edge of every rowing bench, there is an aperture opening onto the sea where the slaves can relieve themselves and ensure that all their bodily wastes are deposited overboard. The theory behind this is sound but putting it into practice is more problematic.
The slave closest to the outer end of the bench is undoubtedly the luckiest of his fellow slaves for he has ready access to the latrine. But for his oar-fellows -those on his inboard side - there is much effort involved in clambering over one another to reach the latrine. And of course they are somewhat constrained by their shackles and while their chains are sufficiently long enough to allow them to move to the outside of their rowing bench, it is difficult within the narrow confines of their allotted work space.
It should be realised that the galley slave's world is restricted to just a few square feet of space where he lives and works cheek by jowl with his fellow oar slaves. Freedom of movement is something largely denied the galley slave.
Inevitably, the slaves find the effort of moving to the outer end of their rowing bench just too much trouble and they simply abandon all attempts to do so. From their perspectives, it is easier to urinate and defecate where they sit. Pitifully, they try desperately not to soil the benches they sit upon but rather to crouch beneath them and to deposit their foulness into the galley's bilges.
The antics of a newly acquired slave when chained to the oar for the first time always afford me some amusement. At first, the slave tries to preserve some measure of his foolish self- respect by clambering over his oar fellows and along his bench to the latrine. But very quickly, the angry abuse and pummelling by the other slaves discourage him and, inevitably, he too abandons all pretence for the social niceties and just pisses and shits where he sits.
Inevitably, the two young slaves I bought today will be confronted with this situation. I will watch with interest from the shade of the after deck to see how long it takes them to a drop their prideful pretensions.
Most of a slave's waking hours are spent in tugging at his oar and once the galley has reached the speed I require of it, I won't allow any slackening in the drum beat. It is unfortunate for the slaves, but if they are seized with a sudden urge to empty their bladders or void their bowels, then they must either wait for their next rest period or do so without any interruption to the rhythm of the rowing.
At great expense, I have covered all my rowing benches with the skins of sheep and goats. The long years of experience as a galley captain has taught me that this is necessary. Why do I do this? Am I acting benignly towards my galley slaves and showing them some small measure of mercy? The answer is no!
This is no simple act of kindness on my part as slaves are undeserving of any acts of compassion. My reasons for covering the benches with animal skins are far more pragmatic. These skins provide a useful buffer for the exposed flesh of the slaves and eliminate the friction between a slave's naked arse and the wooden bench. I'd discovered this for myself when I had gone to sea to gain my sea-legs and the experience to command my first galley and it is a lesson that has stayed with me throughout the years.
The captain of that galley was of the old school who fervently believed it was incumbent on him to subject his hated Nasrani slaves to as many torments as they could endure this side of Hades.
This is a view I share to this day but I have a reputation as a wily trader - learned on my trading expeditions to the far side of the Sahara Desert - and a galley owner and this constantly reminds me that a galley slave is simply an investment necessary for the successful operation of my trading voyages. Quite simply, without my slaves to ply the oars, my galley wouldn't sail.
It costs me money to purchase a slave in the first instance and so I want to return my initial capital outlay on him as quickly as possible and then to maximise my future profits. This is wise business practise and it is in my own interests to keep my oarsmen in healthy condition. It is one thing to beat a slave but it is quite different to render him virtually useless through unnecessary ill-treatment.
I mean, the farmer will whip his ox to make him pull the plough but he ensures the animal stays fit enough to do so.
I recall the pitiful condition of those slaves of my first trip. They sat upon uncovered benches and in my mind's eye; I still see the miserable state of their bodies. Their buttocks were rubbed raw and were blistered from the constant friction of the rowing benches and both the dry, salt laden air and the sea-spray added to their suffering.
As they rowed they were made to wear their wooden mouth-gags to drown out their sorrowful cries of pain and their pleas for mercy. It seemed to me that those wretched slaves were too debilitated and their suffering too great for them to give of their best at the oar and they had to be whip driven that much harder to keep them labouring. I remember the whips of the overseers were in continuous use and it was on the lacerated backs of those slaves where I honed my own skills with as a whip master. Of course, I seldom whip a slave now. I leave that to my own overseers.
But the lessons learned on my first voyage have stayed with me and my slaves do have a covering to protect their arses from the rough, splintered timber of the rowing benches.
But let me return to Dimitrios. As I have said; his nudity isn't of the same order as that of the galley slaves. Their nakedness is born out of necessity whilst Dimitri's is purely ascetic. His is a nakedness that focuses my attention on the physical perfection of his strong, muscular form and the sensual delights of his body as he serves me in my cabin or as he moves around the galley.
I never tire of gazing at his heavy pendulous balls swinging freely between his thighs or at the thick meaty cock which seems to be in a permanent state of near or full arousal. And the soft, rounded contours of his arse always excite me. Both curvaceous cheeks are covered in soft, silky fuzz and his arse reminds me of a succulent peach inviting me to partake of it sweet nectar.
And I am not Dimitrios's only admirer. As he struts proudly around my galley the eyes of my crew members never leave him. Their lascivious eyes rake over his nakedness and I see in them their envy of my ownership of so delectable a pleasure-slave.
Sea voyages are by their very nature long, tedious and lonely. Confined to the cramped, on board conditions of a galley, tempers can become frayed and frustrations levels reach flashpoint intensity very quickly. Deprived of their conjugal rights, it is only natural that my crew look to the galley slaves to satisfy their healthy, sexual appetites.
Therefore I allow the crew unrestricted access to my oar-slaves to accommodate their manly urges. But in truth, I would never use them to satisfy my lust. As I gaze at the filthy condition of the slaves, I wonder how anyone could find pleasure in them. They repulse me.
However, my next voyage will provide a welcome change for my crew; the two new oar- slaves I purchased today. Young and comely, they are sure to excite the interests and inflame the passions of my crew. Their, as yet, unsullied bodies will provide the freshness so lacking in their fellow slaves. I imagine both these slaves are still virgins and it will be amusing to watch as the crew draw lots to decide which of them will have the right to rob the slaves of their virginity.
I have no doubts that both two slaves will be put to hard usage to satisfy the demands of the crew members and I know from past experiences that their mouths and arses will be sorely pressed.
But as the galley-master, I am above such things and I have Dimitrios to comfort me in the privacy of my quarters. But this does present me with a problem.
Next voyage, my son Daoud will travel with me and whilst I have determined that he will start at the bottom and work progressively through the ranks of my crew, he won't sleep or live with them. I won't have him exposed to the coarseness of the crews' quarters and he is to stay with me in the galley-master's quarters.
These quarters are of necessity small and are meant for just one person and it will tax our patience and good-will. There is just a single bunk and for his first voyage, Daoud must sleep on the floor with Dimitrios. Both are young and lusty and can they be trusted? It's not that I wouldn't share Dimitrios's charms with my son. Quite the contrary, what's mine is also my son's.
Rather it is Dimitrios that I worry about. Sharing him with my son could confuse him and divide his loyalty. It has always been my preference that my personal body-slaves give me their undivided loyalty and I don't want this to change.
During the off-season, I will have the galley-master's quarters modified and have a second bunk built for my son. This was always my intention and if Daoud had waited until next rowing season before joining with me then this problem wouldn't have arisen.
And I worry at how Daoud will perceive my sexual use of Dimitrios. Will he be repulsed by it? Or will he be envious of me and could his envy become resentment?
I know that Daoud isn't averse to using a male slave for his own pleasure. Indeed I have known this for several years and I have watched indulgently as he took the more comely of my house slaves into his bed. To this end, whenever I was at home between my voyages, I purchased new slaves and installed them in my household. This ensured that there was always a newer attraction for him during my absences.
Daoud's tastes are eclectic. I know that he appreciates the black, African slave equally with the fair-skinned Christian and so my household is made up of both.
This problem of Daoud sharing my cabin has vexed me in recent times and to day I believe I resolved it in a manner that will be to our mutual satisfaction.
After purchasing the young English and German slaves to toil at my oars, I also bought a third slave, a young Lowlander of a similar age to Daoud. My inquiries revealed that this slave was also a passenger on the same vessel as my new German slave. He too was the son of a wealthy merchant returning to the Low Countries when they were taken by our corsairs.
The father was purchased by an acquaintance of mine who told me that he is hopeful of negotiating a rich ransom with the merchant's family. He was chagrined that I had bought the son - obviously he'd hoped to purchase him - and negotiate a ransom price for both father and son. He even offered to negotiate on my behalf - for a percentage of the ransom - with the family's agents for the freedom of my new slave. Naturally, I declined his offer.
I would never negotiate to grant a Nasrani slave his freedom. To my mind when an accursed Christian is enslaved then he remains a slave until he dies. And besides how could I make a present of this slave to Daoud only at some future date to take him back and grant him his freedom.
The father might - and most probably he will - regain his freedom. But the son is to remain a slave for the remainder of his days. And his future is in the hands of my son, Daoud.
I'd been drawn to the young slave by his air of youthful innocence. His body lacked the muscularity of the more mature, adult slave but what it lacked in bulk was more than compensated for by the slave's slim tautness. His open, boyish face had a look of guilelessness that only added to his charm. Quite obviously, he was bewildered at being stripped naked and sold in the slave market and his eyes reflected his fear and uncertainty.
I was genuinely surprised that the Pasha hadn't exercised his right to include the slave in his penjic. To my mind the slave is eminently suited to the roles of either a dancing boy or a pleasure slave.
And it was my good fortune that the Registrar of Slaves overlooked him in favour of a younger, cabin boy for inclusion into his harem of young, male slaves.
That both the Pasha and the Registrar had passed over this slave surprised me for his beauty is such that his rightful place is in the harem and not labouring in a the furnace like heat of a stone quarry or ceaselessly tugging at the oar of a galley.
As I examined him, he quivered - most delightfully - at the touch of my hands and he briefly looked into my face before lowering his frightened gaze to the ground. Before he did so, I saw that they are coloured the same startling blue of the deepest part of the Middle Sea. With his eyes downcast, I looked upon his tousled, honey-blond hair and marvelled at both its colour and thickness.
It has been my experience that a young, newly enslaved male is similar to an unbroken colt. Both colt and slave are highly strung and when first approached they are seized by a violent trembling. I have had considerable experience with both horses and slaves and I moved quickly to ease the slave's stress.
Reaching out, I softly stroked his tear-stained face and spoke soothing words to him. Naturally, he couldn't understand what I was saying to him but the gentle tone of my voice worked its wonders.
Bit by bit he learned to relax under my gentle touch and his violent trembling gave way to a nervous quivering and a flaring of his nostrils.
Docilely, he stood as my hands roamed down over his chest and belly to his genitals. Instinctively, he moved away as I cupped his balls in one hand and lovingly stroked his cock with the other. A sharp slap to the face brought tears back to his eyes and even though he didn't understand my instruction to stand steady he did comprehend the intent of my words and he obeyed me.
He was slow to respond to the ministrations of my fist and perhaps his limpness could be attributed to his fear of me. I had to work hard to arouse him.
However, I persisted and I was delightfully surprised as his cock slowly inched itself into a full and hard erection. Finally, I stepped back to survey my handiwork and I was surprised by both the proportions and the rigidity of the slave's member. Both were mightily impressive.
Then, very gently, I placed my hand on the slave's shoulders and turned him around so that I could better see him from the rear. My hands traced out the gentle concave of his back before coming to rest on the flaring curves of his buttocks where they paused to gauge them for their firmness. For several minutes, I savoured what I saw.
The slave's arse was perfection and the hard rounded cheeks were divided by a deep cleft that promised much pleasure to his new owner. I was reminded of a saying from my youth which said one could find a sensual, earthly paradise with a male slave by entering through the rear, Golden Portal.
Gently, yet firmly, I bent the slave double and moved his legs apart to give me a better view of his Golden Portal. His dainty pink rosebud moved most delightfully with his every breath and its pulsating, striated beauty reminded me of the unfurling of the petals of a delicate flower.
The young slave pleased me and I was sure he'd please my son, Daoud and so I bought him. Subsequent to buying him I found out that he is called by the infidel name of Hendrikus. Whether or not he is allowed to retain that name or to lose it will be a decision for his new Master, Daoud. Perhaps Daoud will prefer to have him as a nameless slave or he might grant him the privilege of retaining it much as I did with Dimitrios.
Now, Hendrikus awaits my pleasure in a holding pen with the other two Nasrani slaves I purchased to labour at the oar. Those two slaves are now nameless and will in future be known simply by the number allocated to them at the oar.
Soon, I and my right-hand man, Osmani will take delivery of all three of my purchases and process them into their new roles as slaves. Osmani serves me as my boatswain and I have placed him in charge of my galley -slaves. A former Christian slave, Osmani had 'turned Turk' and converted to the True Faith and with that happy event his former master had given him freedom. Now he works for me as the overseer of my slaves and he performs this task most diligently.
As a former slave, he is only too well aware of the wiles and cunning schemes employed by a slave to lighten his load and as a renegade he is naturally anxious to prove himself to me and so he is a savage taskmaster.
My oar-slaves power my galley but it is Osmani and his assistants who provide the incentive for them to do so.
After ensuring all three slaves were safely secured in a holding-pen, Osmani had left me at the slave-market and went to arrange for the branding and collaring of my new purchases. All three are to bear the imprint of my personal brand on the right hand pectoral just above the nipple. Then they will be fitted with the collars that signify to the world their new status as slaves. The older two - destined for the oars - will be fitted with the heavy, rough, iron collars of a common work slave.
Hendrikus is luckier. His special status as my son's personal body slave warrants a special collar; one more ornate than the others are to wear.
While Osmani attended to more mundane matters concerning the slaves, I had paid a quick visit to my favourite goldsmith. There, I'd purchased a collar for Hendrikus that matches perfectly the one worn by Dimitrios. It is a light torc and made of woven bands of finely wrought gold which is in keeping with his new role as a pleasure slave. And to complement the collar, I'd also bought a matching genital cinch.
And it is perhaps ironic that the torc and its matching cinch are more valuable than the slave they are to adorn. They out-value him by a ratio of five to one. Still, good fortune smiles upon us; the supply of slaves exceeds demand and today's prices are at an historic low.
What I had saved in purchasing Hendrikus allowed me to spend more on his collar. The collar can be seen as an extravagance for one who is normally so cautious with his money. Yet, I can deny my son nothing. Daoud deserves the best that my money can buy, whether it is either a slave or a collar.
To be continued..............