Subject:" The Aftermath 2 - Legacy and Consequence" Chapter 3
THE AFTERMATH 2 'Legacy and Consequence' Chapter 3: 'Waiting in the Race'
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years.
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Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): April, 2012 Read my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."
Chapter 3: 'Waiting in the Race'
The race and ramp leading up onto the auction platform reminds me of the animal crush we'd used on the farm I'd once owned but had so recently and foolishly lost. My former slaves had used it for immobilising a large beast for such routine tasks as branding, dehorning or seasonally administering an oral drench to rid it of any intestinal parasites.
The operation of the crush was simple. It was just wide enough to hold the animal and once driven in, the gates immediately in front of and at the rear of the beast were closed thus immobilising it.
And it is exactly the same principal with the slave race. All fifty of us, scheduled to be sold this afternoon, are indecently packed one behind the other with the gates ahead and behind us shut tightly. We have no freedom of movement and there is only one way out of the race; that is to shuffle forward and up the ramp and onto to the auction block.
Of course, I am unfamiliar with the ramp. This area is 'behind the scenes' and out of sight of the buyers who wait impatiently on the buyers' benches for the sale to begin.
Over the years, I have attended many slave auctions. Indeed, my father first took me to an auction soon after my twelfth birthday -the age he considered was appropriate for me to be introduced to the intricacies of the slave trade.
I still recall my boyish excitement - how grown-up and proud I'd felt as I watched him inspect the slaves on the viewing platforms before the auction. As he assessed the slaves he took pains to explain to me in minute detail what it was that he was doing. He pointed out a slave's good points as well as his deficiencies. And later I watched spellbound as the naked slaves appeared on the elevated platform- seemingly from nowhere - and were lead over, shackled, collared and leashed and made to step up onto the actual auction block.
As a boy, I had no idea of the existence of the ramp which was out of my line of sight and I remember thinking that the hapless slaves appeared from nowhere as if by magic.
Later of course, I did learn about the ramp but I'd never given it more than a passing thought - until today. Now I am intricately enmeshed in its use and I learn that its operation is very mundane.
There are fifty of us jammed tightly into crush and we are so closely packed in that our nude bodies touch despite our efforts to maintain a degree of self-respect and decency.
The early afternoon sun beats down upon us - the race is open to the elements - and so there's no shade. Unlike us, the buyers, who wait impatiently for the auction to begin, sit beneath the huge canvas awnings that protect them from summer' blazing heat and winter's chill winds and driving rain.
Today is uncommonly hot and so our sweat- slicked, oil-coated bodies slip-slither against one another. I am between two of my fellow slaves and we are so close that I can feel the fear induced beating of their hearts and their nerve-wrought breathing. And no doubt, they feel my own terror.
And to be truthful, I am terrified of what still awaits me. The traumas of the morning's inspections are behind me but the horror of the actual process of being sold as a mere chattel still lies ahead.
I think back several months to when I'd sold Toby. What were his thoughts as he waited in this same race before his sale? Did his heart race within his breast and his lungs feel they'd reached bursting point as mine do? Did his knees sag and his body tremble as uncontrollably as I am trembling? Did he feel the fear induced need to piss and had is bowels turned to water like mine? Did he struggle to maintain some personal dignity by controlling these two most basic of his bodily functions?
I am not alone in this. I suspect my fellow slaves struggle with the same problems and for some it's a losing battle. The race is splattered with their urine and excrement and the air is most malodorous. Our handlers, inured to the reeking mess by their long experience, are unaffected and simply turn their hoses onto us to cleanse us and to wash away our foulness.
I decide the answers to my silent questions would be in the affirmative and despite my own suffering, my heart breaks for what I'd done to Toby.
I am placed eighth from the front which means that I am Lot 8. I'm not aware of why I have been allocated to this position and from my past experience as a vendor, I know it would have been the slave-dealer, Dave Matheson who'd decided the order of my sale. But I don't know the rationale behind his decision.
I see being eighth in line as a mixed blessing. It means my time in the race will be shorter than those who wait behind me. But then I ask myself if I am that anxious to be sold. Obviously the answer is that I'm not.
I reflect bitterly that it was my own stupidity that sees me in my present predicament. I can blame no one else but myself. But the realisation of this doesn't help and I am full of self- pity. In a very short time I will be owned property subject to the whims of a new master. I worry about the type of master I will have by this day's end. And I worry about my future as his slave. What will my life as a slave be like?
Yet I do have some inkling of that. This morning, as I stood on the viewing podium, I attracted a lot of attention. Some of this attention was genuine in that I was appraised dispassionately by those who saw me simply as a slave they wished to buy.
Other inspections were less welcome! The circumstances of my downfall and enslavement were of 'novelty value' to many of my former arty friends. Many came to just look, to gloat or worse to finger me.
As I listened to their taunts and gibes, I felt ashamed. How could I have seen these people as being more important in my life than my devoted slave, Toby? Had I but the wisdom of hindsight to see it, I should have realised Toby was my one, true friend. His steadfast loyalty and love stood in stark contrast to their fickleness. When compared to their friendships, Toby's is worth a thousandfold.
This morning was an endurance test. The utter humiliation of standing naked waiting for someone to inspect me weighed heavily upon me - both body and soul. Then, as I was assessed, I was forced to submit to the most degrading of inspections and to pose my body in lewd positions that best displayed my musculature for the buyer's interest. And should I fail to please him there were the ever-present slave-handlers eager apply their canes and straps to my unprotected body.
I underwent many such inspections but two stood out from all the others for the utter humiliation which I felt. There was a lull in proceedings; the crowd seemed to have gathered at the far end of the viewing platform where they were watching the boisterous antics of a group of noisy, teenaged youths who were having some good-natured sport at the expense of an unfortunate slave. Consequently, I stood alone and this gave me the chance to calm down and regain my composure.
These youths are a looked for feature at slave auctions and their light-hearted antics are the cause of much mirth among the amused onlookers? On many occasions, I myself have watched their taunting of some miserable wretch and my laughter then was as loud as that of today's patrons.
How glad I was that I wasn't the butt of their callous treatment and ribald humour!
Of course, I knew my reprieve was only temporary and that all too soon I would be subjected to further inspections.
Not wishing to be boastful, my past experience as a slave-owner tells me that I am a highly desirable slave property.
I am tall and robustly built with a physique of which I've always been very proud. I have been told by others - principally by Toby - that I have handsome features and I have never been ashamed of my sexual endowments. In fact, I know I have been favoured with an above average sized cock and biggish, low hanging balls.
Suddenly, my self-assessment was interrupted. I was confronted by the slave-dealer, Dave Matheson and Mr Theodore Russell of Redgrove Plantation who was accompanied by his two sons, twenty year old Ben, a slave veterinary science student and sixteen year old Joel. Also with them was Redgrove's estate manager, Silas Hacker.
Dave Matheson walked behind me and viciously swiped his cane across my ass and added another to those I'd already received. As I 'danced a jig' on my podium, he imperiously ordered me to.
"Stand at full display, boy! Mr Russell wants to inspect you."
Trembling, I hastened to obey.
Dave Matheson was well known to me and I'd had business dealings with him in the past; the most recent being when I'd sold Toby and my other three slaves. I only knew Theodore Russell, owner of Redgrove Plantation by sight and reputation.
I knew Theodore Russell had shown great interest in Toby when he was sold. At the time, I'd been told by Dave Matheson that Theodore had seen Toby's potential as both a heavy duty field slave and as a potential breeding buck for his stud and that he'd had Silas Hacker inspect Toby prior to his sale. Of course, he'd been unsuccessful in buying Toby and had been outbid by the flamboyant Obadiah Clements. I recalled when Toby was led from the auction-block, Theodore was greatly piqued and his florid complexion bordered on apoplexy.
I was unaware that Dave Matheson had advised Theodore Russell of my own enslavement and he'd suggested I was a possible substitute for Toby. And acting on the slave-dealer's recommendation, he was here to assess my potential as a suitable slave for Redgrove Plantation.
"Dave, you mentioned that this slave is a bankrupt and that he was the owner of the slave I missed buying some months ago. What's his story? Do you know?"
"As a matter of fact I do, Theo. It's a sad tale really. His late father was a very successful, canny farmer who'd left him a profitable farm and a large slave-herd to work it as well as a small fortune in cash. Apparently it all went to his head and he had social pretensions above his station. He got in with the wrong crowd here in the city and he became very spendthrift in order to impress his new friends. Needless to say, they were only too eager to help him fritter away his inheritance. And foolishly, he sold his farm steward - the slave you were interested in. The slave, Toby was the one stabilising factor who might possibly have saved him from his current predicament. After he'd sold Toby, it was all downhill after that. He continued to borrow heavily to finance his high living and well you can see the result of that for yourself. He's now a court mandated slave offered for sale in today's auctions."
"As you say, Dave, it's a sad tale. His story reminds me of the 'prodigal son' syndrome!
"I think it's more the case of the 'profligate son', Theo."
"That's very true, Dave! It was criminal of him to squander his father's inheritance. He deserves his fate. And he'll have a lifetime to regret that foolishness. If I buy him, his hard labour in my fields and the overseer's lash will be a constant reminder to him of all that he's lost."
"And it will be a well-deserved punishment too! Theo, I'm sorry but I have to leave you." Dave Matheson apologised. "As you can appreciate I have a lot to attend to before the auction. Do you mind if I leave you?"
"Dave, I understand perfectly! Don't give it second thought. We can manage."
"Well, take all the time you need in inspecting the slave. He's at your disposal for as long as you like. And if the slave is troublesome don't hesitate to call on my overseers. They'll very quickly pull him back into line. "
"Thank you Dave! I'm sure we can manage. Ben will do the actual inspection and he knows how to handle a troublesome slave. Isn't that right, Ben?"
"Yes Pa! I haven't met the slave I can't handle. You simply let the slave know from the outset that you are in charge and take it from there. Looking at this boy, I don't anticipate any trouble. He looks very docile."
"Then in that case I'll leave Ben to get on with his inspection." Dave commented as he walked away. "We'll meet up later for drinks and lunch in my office if you're free."
"We're glad to accept your kind invitation, Dave" Theodore replied. "Thank you for it and I'm looking forward to lunching with you."
"Well Ben, the slave's all yours to inspect." Theodore continues. "Check him out and give me your honest opinion of him, son."
"Face the front!" the tone in Ben's voice told me he'd tolerate no show of resentment of defiance. "Stand up straight! Lower your eyes to the ground."
I obey and with my eyes downcast, I sensed rather than saw who it was standing in front of me. Submissively, I waited for him to take the initiative. Silently, Ben mounted the platform and I felt his firm hands placed upon my chest. The thought flashed through my mind that examining my oil-coated body would be messy, but I knew there were areas set aside where the buyers can wash-up after they have finished their inspections.
As Ben's hands confidently moved over me, I knew that I was being evaluated professionally and not sexually, unlike some of my earlier inspections. Those potential masters had left no doubt in my mind as what their true interest in me entailed; one had even whispered in my ear that we would enjoy fucking me.
Instinctively, I sensed this wasn't what Ben's inspection was about. Still, as his hands continued down over my stomach, I wondered - was there a difference? On the one hand, those earlier buyers' inspections had reduced me to an object of their lust, whereas Ben's inspection was evaluating me much as one would judge a work animal or a plough ox. His hands sought out my strengths and weaknesses, my capacity for hard work and what contribution I'd make to the Russell family`s fortunes. Both types of inspections reduced me to the status of a beast.
A hand was placed under my chin and as my head was lifted, I looked into the face of the young man who was examining me. I saw a youthful, handsomely arrogant face, staring intently into my own. Momentarily, our eyes met and then, submissively, I lowered mine. Slowly, he turned my face to the left as he studied my profile before turning it to the right and doing likewise. Satisfied, he then ordered me to.
"FLEX".
I obeyed as best I could, but my movements were restricted by the heavy chains I wore around my wrists. Nevertheless, I managed to raise my arms level with my shoulders and I bent my forearms upwards so that the tight balls of my biceps were prominently displayed. Breathing deeply, the rise and fall of my chest brought into play my powerful pectorals and clearly highlighted the definition of my abdominal muscles.
Embarrassingly, I felt the first stirrings of an impending erection.
I stood motionless as Ben's hands slid down over my chest and belly, pausing briefly to check my breathing before continuing down to my legs. I was surprised that he bypassed my genitals - completely ignoring my rampant erection - and concentrated instead on the front of my thighs and calves. Then, he commanded me to.
"TURN AROUND!"
Despite my deep sense of shame, I was over-awed by the imperious tone of his voice; his easy air of authority was that of a confident, free, young man who is in complete control of the situation. Should his father buy me, I knew instinctively that I would have to submit to his will. It was plainly obvious this young man wouldn't tolerate disobedience or slackness in a slave and I hastened to obey his command.
I stood passively as he gauged the power of my shoulders and the strength of my back. He didn't hurry in his examination of me. After all, I was at his disposal for as long as he needed. I felt the knuckle of a finger travel up and down my back testing the soundness of my spinal column - any experienced owner knows a slave's back needs to be flexible as it bends to its labours. Then, there was my involuntary shiver as his hands moved over the flaring curves of my buttocks. I tensed as he took both cheeks of my ass into his hands - kneading and squeezing them as a test of their firmness. Continuing down over my legs, he examined the hard, corded muscles of my thighs and calves.
Responding to his touch, my cock grew even harder. Next, he commanded me to.
"Bend and spread your legs".
Immediately, I shuffled into position and moved my feet as far apart as my shackles permitted. However, my wrist restraints didn't allow me to reach behind and open myself up to his scrutiny. Futilely, he tried to kick my feet further apart - they were already spread as wide as my chains allowed - but I recognised this more as a gesture on his part of his complete mastery over me.
"How's it going, Ben?" I heard Theo Russell's question to his son.
"Well so far, so good, Pa. He's a pretty impressive property. Perhaps a bit older than I thought but that isn't really a problem. He possesses a good, strong body and he appears to be sound in wind and limb as the saying goes. In time, he'll make a good field hand. That should make you happy, Silas. Another slave for the fields, eh? No doubt with the crops ready for sowing, you can use another worker, Silas? What do you say?"
"Indeed, Ben. That is, if your father decides to use him in that capacity? My view is that he should be used as a work slave and not as some fancy house servant." Silas replied sourly.
"Is there any doubt as to where you'll use him, Pa?"
"Well I'm not sure, Ben. He's a handsome slave and it's possible that your mother and sister will want him to serve as a house slave." Theo replies.
Bent double, I waited patiently as the three men discussed my future - a future in which I hadn't any say.
"Silas is right, Pa! This slave belongs in the fields. He has a strong body with the promise of many years' service. It's true that his years living as a free man have left him a little 'soft'. Obviously, he doesn't have the muscle tone of the true slave. But that not a problem. He has an impressive musculature so the building blocks are there to improve upon. Wouldn't you agree Silas?"
"Indeed I would Ben. Let me have him in the fields for six months and he'll be as fit as the rest of Redgrove's slaves."
"I don't doubt that for one moment, Silas." Ben chuckled. "You and your whip would see to that."
I felt Ben's finger brushing lightly up and down the cleft between my buttocks. It paused long enough to excite the sensitive area surrounding my anus. As I relaxed, the finger was thrust through my sphincter and sought out my prostate. My cock throbbed in response and I felt the precursors to an ejaculation as my pre-cum dribbled out of my piss-slit. As Ben's finger probed the depths of my body, my balls were cupped in his other hand and 'jiggled' up and down before each was rolled between his finger and thumb. Finally, he was satisfied and, with a dismissive slap on my naked ass, he ordered me to.
"Stand and face the front."
Once more, I stood at display and bowed my head. I watched as my cock, jutting out at right angles to my belly, bobbed up and down with each of its contractions and continued to dribble out the essence of my manhood.
"I`m nearly finished here, Pa." Ben told his father as his fist encircled my cock and tickled its sensitive tip. I re-acted involuntarily by clenching my buttocks and thrusting my hips back and forth as though I was fucking his fist.
"Well at least we know his dick works." He added laughingly.
Withdrawing his hand from my cock, Ben ordered me to.
"DROP TO YOUR KNEES!"
I obeyed and Ben ran his hands over my newly cropped head before he examined my ears, eyes and nose. Then, tapping the side of my face, he commanded me to.
"OPEN YOUR MOUTH! WIDE!"
I hastened to obey and felt his finger checking the soundness of my teeth and the health of my tongue. Finally, his inspection of me completed, Ben told me to.
"Stand, face the front and display."
"There Pa, all done. He gets my tick of approval." Ben advised his father.
"Well Ben! You see him as a good buy?"
"I certainly do, Pa! The slave has great potential. Once he's been broken in to hard labour, you'll get many years' profit out of him."
"Then I'll bid for him!"
As the Redgrove Plantation four walked away, I was left wondering about my future working as a slave on a plantation. I was a moderately small farmer and the number of slaves I'd owned reflected that fact. But Redgrove Plantation is large - some six thousand hectares, I believe - and it has a slave herd commensurate to its size. It, like most plantations, requires hundreds of slaves to till its fields, to sow and harvest its crops and to farm its animal herds.
For its unhappy victims I suppose all slavery is impersonal and even with my small number, apart from Toby, I'd never bothered to learn if my slaves had names. I'd simply followed the common practice of all slave-owners and recorded them as codified numbers and letters rather than names in my slave register.
Plantation slavery is very different to farm slavery. Whereas farm slavery could be seen as relatively 'benign', the plantations have a fearsome reputation in how they work and treat their nameless slaves. If the rumours are true, then I knew I faced a bleak future should Theodore Russell succeed in buying me. Quite simply, I'd be swallowed by slavery's gaping maw and disappear into his vast slave herd to spend the remainder of my days in anonymity toiling under the whips of his overseers.
The prospect of his terrified me. But even more frightening was the knowledge that there wasn't anything I could do to prevent it happening. Once I stood on the auction block, my fate would truly be in the hands of the gods. Who bought me would be conditional on the amount of money the buyers were prepared to bid for the right to own me.
My mood was sombre as I contemplated a future life as a Redgrove Plantation slave. I was so pre-occupied thinking about this possibility that I'd not paid attention to the happenings around me. Therefore I was taken by surprise as a cane cut across my exposed ass and one of the slave-handlers ordered me to.
"Snap out of your daydreaming, boy. Pay attention! Can't you see there is a buyer who's interested in examining you? Stand at display!"
I immediately complied with the overseer's command and assumed the display position. As I did so I looked to see who wished to inspect me. My heart sank and my eyes widened in horror.
Standing before me was the wheezing, hulking figure of Toby's new Master, Obadiah Clements who was accompanied by a young body-slave. The unhappy slave held a large parasol over his Master's vast bulk to protect his suet-hued pallor from the sun's burning rays.
There was something vaguely familiar about the slave which at first eluded me. However, I couldn't help but see the suffering reflected in the slave's face. So fearful was he of earning his Master's displeasure that his powerful frame trembled as he held the parasol aloft over Obadiah's perspiring head. And if I could see the slave's back I would understand his fear. From shoulder to ass, he wore the criss-cross pattern of the cane and the whip. Still, I wouldn't have been surprised by this; I'd heard rumours that Obadiah subjected his slaves to regular punishments and it didn't matter if they were warranted or not.
Inexplicably, my attention was drawn to the young slave. There was a sense of the familiar about him. It was as though I should know him and yet I didn't recognise him.
He was a most attractive slave and he had an appealing quality about him which could best be described as 'boyishly cute'. His sandy coloured hair framed his clean featured, open face which was without guile and his grey-green eyes reflected the gentleness of his nature. Obadiah had allowed his hair to grow to shoulder length and it was tied back with a dark green, velvet ribbon. In keeping with his Master's flair for the unusual, he wore a heavily embossed, gold torc around his neck in lieu of the more common stainless steel, slave collar.
His young body possessed the bulk of a fully matured slave and was most appealing. His broad shoulders tapered down to a slim waist. His chest swelled with his well-rounded pectoral muscles - each was dominated by a sharply pointed, copper coloured nipple -and the deep indent of his navel lay at the centre of his clearly defined abdominal muscles. And in keeping with the rest of his build, the slave was well endowed with large balls tightly constrained within his cinched scrotum which hung low and swung freely between his strong thighs. His generous, cut cock was most erotically aroused and poked out from his belly at a cheekily elevated angle.
My past association with Obadiah was limited to the occasional social event but I did know enough about him to know he had a penchant for always having a handsome, male slave attend him wherever he went. I'd always seen his need to do so as a precaution against his great bulk and indifferent health. But others among the art fraternity weren't as charitable. Often, I'd heard snide comments that Obadiah hoped people would focus their attention on the attendant slave's obvious good looks and not on his own ugliness. As I looked at Obadiah and his young slave, I could see the logic of such comments.
Then it came to me as to where I'd seen this slave. I remembered he'd been sold the same day as Toby and that Obadiah had bought him. I remembered him as Lot 2, a na‹ve, eighteen year old, farm bred slave who'd engendered a lot of interest among the more elderly and lecherous buyers.
I recalled his shyness and uncertainty as he'd mounted the auction-block and how he'd looked to the auctioneer and his assistants for guidance. I recalled that I too had been smitten with the young slave's innocence and vulnerability and I remembered my sense of disquiet when eventually he'd been sold to Obadiah.
And as I looked into his eyes and saw his unhappiness and the bleakness of his existence, I realised my fears were well-founded.
"Tsk, tsk, Andrew! I hear you've been very foolish and squandered your inheritance. You've been a very naughty boy and deserving of a hard spanking."
Obadiah's high pitched giggling at the innuendo of his words caused his immense frame to tremble.
Obadiah had addressed me as 'Andrew'. I knew from past experience that he frowned on the use of diminutives for free men and reserved abbreviated names for his slaves and so this puzzled me. I wondered why he called me 'Andrew' when I am so obviously a slave. He should have called me 'Andy' or, more appropriately, referred to me as 'slave' or 'boy'. Perhaps he is playing with my raw emotions.
"But I have to say, Andrew your stupidity in losing your freedom will work in some fortunate Master's interests. Your loss is their gain! You really are a fine looking slave and one I'd be proud to have in my household. When I heard about your 'fall from grace' I just had to come along as see you for myself. And I must say you don't disappoint me."
Obadiah's interest in me was most unwelcome. Horrified, I saw the precariousness of my situation. There were two appalling alternatives confronting me and neither appealed to me. There was the very real prospect of me being bought either by Theodore Russell or Obadiah Clements and I was powerless in both instances.
Faced with the prospect of a lifetime of unremitting hard labour toiling under the lash at Redgrove Plantation or serving Obadiah Clements - possibly as his pleasure slave - which life would I prefer?
Neither! However, in the face of their determined bidding, I would be powerless to prevent either man from buying me. At that moment, like Obadiah's young slave, I glimpsed the future bleakness of my own life serving as a slave to either man.
But such are the vagaries of a slave's life!
Fortuitously, Obadiah's obesity worked in my favour. His size and limited mobility prevented him from inspecting me personally and he had his young slave act as his proxy.
Acting under his Master's instructions, the slave subjected me to as close and as personal an inspection as the one I'd suffered under Ben Russell's hands. He ran his hands over my nude body appraising the different muscle groups and giving a running commentary on them to his Master as he did so. Several times we looked into each other's face and I saw his sorrow and shame reflected in his eyes. With his back to Obadiah, his lips formed his silent words of apology - 'I am sorry.' We each recognised the helplessness of our situations; both of us were slaves bereft of all dignity.
I took comfort from the young slave's silent words and I had to admit that I enjoyed the feel of his hands roaming at will over my nakedness to the extent that my cock stiffened itself into as hard an erection as I could remember. This delighted Obadiah who laughingly lisped.
"Tut, tut, Andrew! What a naughty slave you are. And a very eager slave too!"
Several times during his inspection of me, I caught a glimpse of the slave's back and saw there the red stripes of his most recent caning superimposed over the blue -black ones and the yellow bruising of his earlier chastisements.
What had the slave done to deserve such harsh treatment? He seemed so innocent and it was hard to imagine that he'd ever do anything to warrant such severe punishment. Then I remembered the two recent occasions when I'd seen Toby with Obadiah - first at my ill-fated soiree and again in the court-room - and that his back and ass showed similar stripes to those which the young slave wore. Suddenly, I realised, if Obadiah bought me, I would soon share in his anger with them. Such a prospect caused me to tremble with fear.
I no longer saw Obadiah as a caricature or a Dickensian -like character. Suddenly he took on a more sinister aspect and I saw him as the monster he really was. I knew he'd be a hard, sadistic Master and like all of his slaves I too would suffer under his authority.
Obadiah heaped further humiliation onto me. He had me turn with my back to him and ordered me to bend at the waist. Then he commanded his slave to part my buttocks and to expose the most intimate and private part of my body to his lascivious gaze. He ordered the slave to insert a finger into my body and to describe my 'tightness' to him. As the slave's finger explored my innermost regions, my body burned with the red flush of my shame.
As one final test, Obadiah had his slave masturbate me almost to the point of ejaculation before calling a stop which left me frustrated and dribbling pre-cum onto the platform.
Then, Obadiah ordered the slave down from the platform and without comment to me, he turned and walked away.
That was several hours ago - and further inspections followed. Several potential buyers declared their interest in bidding for me and I suspect that I will be a popular lot when I take my place on the auction-block.
Now I wait with my fellow slaves in the race for that to happen. We are growing restless. None of us want to be sold and yet our anxiety is so great that we want our ordeal to be over.
The slave immediately behind me re-acts to the sudden surge of bodies further down the race and pushes his body closer to mine. I feel his hard erection pressing against my ass. Then, I am aware that my own cock nestles into the ass-crack of the slave in front of me.
This is as it should be! Our handlers use their canes and the handles of their whips to continually prod us making sure that our naked bodies touch so intimately and that we excite one another. This keeps us in an aroused state and ensures we show 'proud' on the auction-block. After all, the buyers appreciate a slave showing hard when he is presented for sale. I know this to be true from those days when once I had been an appreciative buyer.
As we wait, we hear the loud murmuring of the buyers' voices as they wait impatiently for the auction to begin. Suddenly, a bell rings, the voices fall silent and we hear the auctioneer speak.
"Gentlemen, if you are ready then let's commence!"
A round of applause greets the auctioneer's words and at the head of the race Lot 1 has a leash attached to his collar, the gate is opened and he is dragged up the ramp over the platform and protesting loudly, he is made to step up onto the auction block.
There he waits while the auctioneer spells out the terms and conditions of today's sale.
In the race we all shuffle forward one place to fill the gap left by Lot 1. All of us are that nearer to being sold.
To be continued......