As the luck of the draw would have it, lot one – or the first slave offered for sale – is one of Mustapha’s six waiters. It is Andrew, the young American from Alabama.
Malik has decided it is better to sell Mustapha’s six slaves individually rather than en bloc and he has spaced them at regular intervals among the other offerings. The six slaves are superb specimens and deserve no less than to be offered to the buyers as separate lots.
Despite the fact that he’d been sold about twelve months ago and knows what is to happen, Andrew is understandably nervous and hesitant. The bravado he and Mustapha’s other five slaves had displayed in the holding pens has deserted him. As an overseer attaches a chain to Andrew’s neck collar he begins to tremble from the emotion of the moment; he’d rather another slave had been chosen as the first offering. Impatiently, the overseer tugs on his leash to lead him up the steps and through the doorway opening onto the selling platform. However, he baulks and pulls back against his leash. Such behavior is unacceptable and no delays in the proceedings will be tolerated; the buyers mustn’t be kept waiting because of a temperamental slave’s reluctance to take his place on the auction-block. Malik would be furious if he were present to witness Andrew’s stubbornness. The overseers are well aware of Malik’s attitude and know what has to be done.
While the overseer tries to pull lot one forward another applies his cane to the slave’s unprotected ass and shoulders. The cane bites deep into the yielding flesh but it has the desired effect. With no way of avoiding the cane other than by going forward, Andrew yields and hastily scrambles up the steps and disappears through the doorway on to the selling stage.
Momentarily, he hesitates while he takes in the scene before him. It is a scene that is painfully familiar to him as he recalls his sale to Mustapha last year. He is swamped with the hopelessness of his present situation but he knows that he must capitulate. No other options are open to him. Sorrowfully, he bows his head in submission and docilely allows himself to be lead to the auction-block. As he takes his place on the block he looks out at the tiered stands where the buyers are seated. Altogether, he estimates there are some fifty to sixty buyers present. He looks down at the first row and sees Malik watching his every movement.
His arrival on the selling stage is greeted with loud applause from the buyers and as he steps up on to the block, the handclapping gives way to cheering. The sale is about to begin and the eager buyers are ready to open the bidding.
The auctioneer raises his hand and calls for silence before he speaks.
“Gentlemen, you have before you lot one and I’m sure you’ll agree that he is a worthy introduction to today’s sale. The House of Malik is proud to present thirty-one, prime, Caucasian male slaves for your consideration and selection. I can assure you that every slave offered for sale today is, at the very least, the equal to lot one. The slaves on sale are multi- faceted and will serve you in whatever capacity you require a slave to serve. If you are looking for a slave to grace your home, to serve you as a bed-buck or merely as a work slave, then gentlemen, there is a slave suitable to your every need among those on offer today.”
As the auctioneer continues with his sales spiel, lot one settles down and regains his composure. He scans the buyers’ faces trying to judge which of them is looking for a pleasure slave to serve in both the house and bedroom. It’s hard to tell but he knows there are some among the buyers who’d appreciate his bedroom talents. It is time to capitalize on them and he poses his body so as to attract their attention.
Malik:
I have declared the auction open and having spelt out the conditions of sale, I leave the selling platform to my auctioneer and his helpers. I move to take up my seat on the first tier of seats immediately in front of the auction-block from here I can see all that is going on around me. I can observe the buyers as they bid for the merchandise and I can watch as the slaves are sold. I turn to the right and I see that Prince Omar is sitting in the royal enclosure which isolates him from the other buyers. His exalted rank as a member of the royal family dictates that he sit alone attended only by his personal slaves and protocol dictates that he must remain aloof from the sordid business of personally bidding for a slave. Just outside the enclosure, his agent, a man well known to me, is on hand to take the prince’s instructions when to bid for a slave and how much to offer.
On the second tier of seats, my old friends Anwar and Mustapha sit together and wait to watch as their slaves are sold. I acknowledge their cordial greetings to me and wish them every success in their business transactions.
As the first item nervously steps up on to the auction-block, I have time to peruse the other buyers. It seems to me there is an almost carnival-like atmosphere prevailing and that there is a particularly lively element present at today’s sale. This is most probably due to a combination of factors; the excitement of the sale, the hospitality of my house and the conviviality they’d enjoyed over the superb lunch served to them by my household slaves.
Before the commencement of the auction there’d been a feeling of camaraderie among the buyers as they waited on the auctioneer’s call for silence. They masked their impatience by boisterously joking with one another and loud laughter. I knew however that these shows of friendship wouldn’t last and when they got down to the serious business of bidding for the merchandize, they’d become keen rivals and it would be a case of each acting in his own best interest. In fact, I always count on this rivalry. Ultimately, they try to outbid one another and I reap the financial rewards of their bidding wars.
Their noisiness doesn’t worry me too much. In fact, I always enjoy a bit of boisterous activity at a sale; it makes for a more interesting afternoon. And I know from past experience that these buyers will place great demands on the slaves as they stand on the block.
Good-humoredly, they’ll request the auctioneer to have a slave display himself in ways other than the usual posing and posturing routinely demanded of him. Apart from the usual flexing, stretching, twisting, crouching and bending that a slave is made to do when he is on the block, these buyers will eagerly make other requests of him.
I suspect the slaves in today’s sale are in for an interesting afternoon. And the buyers, in all probability, are in for an entertaining spectacle as the slaves “bend over backwards” to meet their demands. For me, the only downside to all this is that it will slow down proceedings as I wait longer for all thirty-one lots to be sold.
The slave offered as lot one has pride of place in the selling order – a fact I hope the slave appreciates. Somehow I doubt the miserable wretch does. Slaves are such the ungrateful creatures and never fully appreciate their masters’ actions.
He is one of Mustapha’s six and he truly is a worthy specimen to bring before the buyers. I scrutinize him and I have a vague recollection of selling him last year. If my memory serves me correctly the Nasrani was one of a pair of American tourists who’d been enslaved and brought to me to sell.
He is a most handsome slave aged in his early twenties with brown hair and hazel eyes. His body is that of a slave who has been well looked after by his owner and he would be at home in any discerning master’s bedchamber. His musculature is pronounced without the overblown muscles of the over-zealous fitness fanatic and he is happy to display it to the buyers. Without any prompting from my overseers, lot one suggestively poses his body to both titillate and arouse their lustful interest in him. This is a phenomenon common to most slaves and who can blame them. I suppose, from a slave’s point of view, serving a master’s cock is preferable to the heavy duty labors of a field slave.
However, it is his genitals and ass that define him. His cock is long and meaty and his lopsided balls are what we in the trade refer to as low-hangers. But, when he turns to display his back to us, it is his ass that draws the buyers’ attention. It is curvaceous, pert without being too small and carried high on the strong columns of his muscular legs. And when he bends at the waist and spreads his ass-cheeks to display the rosy-pink, striated anus an appreciative murmur of approval ripples through the buyers. Plainly the slave has strong appeal to the buyers who impatiently call for the auctioneer to open the bidding. And I am pleasantly surprised; the strength of their bidding is more than I’d expected.
The bidding for lot one borders on the frenzied and it’s evident that the buyers are eager to relieve their overstuffed wallets. As bid and counterbid flow down from the tiered rows, I can hardly believe what I am witnessing. Eventually, lot one is sold to an Asian businessman for an extravagant price that both delights Mustapha as his owner and me as the selling agent, My commission on the slave’s sale is more than I’d expected. The trend has been set and it will continue until the last slave is sold. At the end of the day, I will be well pleased with my profits.
One by one, the other lots are led up to the auction block and sold. I have to say that the merchandize offered at today’s sale is top quality; in fact I’ll go further and describe them as superb. I try to think back to when I last offered prime livestock of an equally high caliber to such an appreciate group of buyers. Off hand, I can’t recall one in recent memory. These slaves are, without exception, the youngest, the fittest and most handsome, male animals that it has been my pleasure to offer to my esteemed clientele.
As the slaves are brought to the auction block, displayed and sold, my earlier assumption that the buyers would place great demands on them proves correct. Repeatedly, there are shouted requests from the buyers’ to have the slave “bend and spread”, “show us his hole”, “get him to play with his nipples”, or “let’s see him stroke his cock”.
These are reasonable requests and the slaves’ responses, depending on their natures, range from quiet acceptance to embarrassment and shame. However, it does slow up proceedings but given the buyers’ interest and the strength of their bidding it is a minor inconvenience.
There is very little to differentiate the slaves; they are all superb. But from time to time, there is one that interests me more than his fellows – and one of those is lot five.
The auctioneer introduces him to the buyers who, sensing that this slave is somehow different, watch with great interest as he is presented to them. The auctioneer tells them that he is twenty years of age and is a British soldier picked up after he’d been on a drunken spree with his friends and became separated from them.
Lot five is tall, fair-skinned and blond and what attracts the buyers’ interest is his wildness. Clearly, he is new to slavery and therefore he is an unbroken slave. He has an air of belligerence about him that doesn’t augur well for his immediate future. Indeed, his new master will need to work hard to establish his authority over this troublesome slave.
As he is dragged to the auction block, he struggles and kicks in the grasp of his handlers; one leads him by the chain attached to his collar as another two manhandle him into position. He’d fought all the way from the holding race, up the steps, across the platform and on to the block and several times we’d heard the sound of leather striking his naked flesh – yet not once did he cry out.
In truth, I have a grudging respect for his bravery and unwillingness to submit – yet submit he must.
Forced up onto the block, he stands proud and defiant; he obviously still thinks of himself as a soldier and not yet as a slave. These are traits to be admired in a free man but a slave is unworthy of them. A slave doesn’t need to feel pride in anything other than in his master’s possession of him and any show of defiance can’t be tolerated. Eventually it will be whipped out of him and he`ll yield to the inevitable.
I watch as his body trembles with emotion – I wonder is it from fear or anger? He glares out at the buyers with hate-filled eyes and his whole manner is menacing. This slave is indeed rebellious and I note that the overseers don’t carry their usual canes; instead each is armed with a thick, leather strap. No doubt, they expected this slave to misbehave and had armed themselves accordingly.
Foolishly, he thinks as a freeman and not as the slave he has become. His bearing suggests this much to the buyers who treat him with derision. They seek to humiliate him by calling on the auctioneer to exhibit his naked body in ways that truly emphasize his new status.
The slave, as I expected, refuses to co-operate with the auctioneer’s demands and stands firm. His resolve is matched by that of the auctioneer who has had considerable experience in controlling difficult slaves. He calls on his overseers for assistance.
The determined overseers restrain the slave but it takes several very painful slaps to his back and naked ass with their straps to quieten him. Held fast in their grip, he is now powerless and the overseers force him into a position that better displays his body to the buyers.
His response to a buyer’s request to the auctioneer to “stroke his cock” is to struggle violently in a vain attempt to break free. Futilely, he roars out his anger and shame as an overseer obligingly brings him to an unwilling erection.
For all the trouble he causes, this slave proves to be a very popular lot with the buyers. Whilst he exhibits a number of regrettable traits – namely his pride and resentfulness – he has an appeal to those owners who feel challenged to break and train a slave very much as a horse- trainer does with a high-spirited colt.
The slave isn’t aware that his futile protests are adding to his value. There are masters who relish the opportunity to own such a slave and who’ll take great pleasure in breaking him in. For such a master there is the thrill of robbing the slave of his free-will and turning him into a non- thinking, obedient and docile animal. How long that training lasts and how much pain the slave suffers in the interim is dependent on the slave. If he is smart, the slave will submit very quickly and spare himself much suffering. Continued truculence will extend the training period and strengthen the Master’s resolve and the slave will suffer accordingly. But inevitably, the slave – as is the case with all slaves – will break and kneel at his Master’s feet in abject humility.
I can’t help but make a comparison between this new slave and my friend, Anwar’s new slave Matthew. Lot five futilely rejects his inevitable transition into slavery whereas I am given to understand that Matthew has always hungered to be owned as a slave. Well today, the slave, Matthew is to have his heartfelt wish granted. Very soon he too will stand where lot five now stands. Somehow, I suspect that Anwar’s slave will be more compliant than lot five.
There are owners present today who are prepared to pay a high price for a slave who exhibits such high spirits and bidding for lot five is keen. Eventually, he is sold and I watch as he is dragged away to an uncertain future. But again I am delighted with the price paid for him. It far exceeds the reserve price I’d placed on him.
Another slave who attracts my attention is lot nine – a mere stripling of great promise. I watch as he is led by his handlers to the auction-block. I recall this slave had been troublesome and I’d been told he had lunged at a prospective buyer when undergoing an appraisal of his body. Of course, such rebellious behavior can’t be tolerated and the overseers had used their canes on him. Later, I’d demonstrated my own displeasure by soundly kicking his ass. Clearly, he’d learned his lesson for now he is very much subdued even if he isn’t fully reconciled to the changed circumstances of his life.
As lot nine steps up onto the block, he receives a round of applause as a murmur of appreciation ripples among the buyers who comment most favorably on the young slave.
Even though he only came to me three days ago, I do know a little about his background. I know his name is Jeremie that he is seventeen and he is a French-Canadian by birth. He’d been gathered up by slavers operating in the holiday resorts along the Mediterranean shoreline.
I watch closely as lot nine stands shyly on the block. As I said, he is a young, eighteen year old slave who is to celebrate his eighteenth birthday next week. Now of course, that is unimportant as a slave’s birthdate is only recorded in his owner’s slave-register but never celebrated.
For his age, he is well developed with the lithe, trim body of an athlete and it is devoid of any prepubescent fat. Obviously, he played sport and it shows in his burgeoning musculature which promises that one day soon he’ll be a powerfully built slave.
He is quite handsome with a shock of tight, black curls framing his face which is dominated by his grey-green eyes and full red lips which part to show even white teeth. It has to be said he is a most impressive slave and I’d been correct in surmising he’d arouse great interest among the buyers.
And for those reasons, I’d not scheduled any private viewings of this slave. From past experience, I knew that he’d introduce a surprise, novelty element to today’s auction. I’d surmised – quite rightly – that he’d be well received by the buyers and taken by surprise, they’ll bid handsomely for him.
Even as I look, I can see Prince Omar’s lustful interest in the slave, J‚r‚mie. He leans forward and lasciviously licks his lips and obviously he is salivating at the thought of having this slave strapped to his paddling bench and watching as his ass is beaten by Gansu. Prince Omar speaks to his agent and it’s apparent that he will be bidding for the slave.
Looking at him, it is clear the slave has lead a sheltered home life as his tearful nervousness suggests. Clearly, he is unaccustomed to total nudity and being so openly displayed. Although he lacks the sophistication of the more worldly of the slaves on offer today, he possesses a charming innocence and I recognize in his vulnerability his potential to be trained as a bed buck.
He appears to be shy and unsure of what to do next. He looks out into the crowd and I note the look of bewilderment on his tear-stained face. I find this youthful shyness and his unworldliness to be beguiling.
Then, turning to the auctioneer, he seems to seek direction; his pleading eyes ask “what should I do?” Not unkindly, the auctioneer indicates to an overseer to assist the slave. The overseer gains the slave’s attention by lightly tapping his ass with a cane and then patiently guides him through his routine.
The slave begins shyly at first, but spurred on by the many shouts of encouragement from the buyers, he is soon at his ease – so much so that his long, thick cock is now rampantly erect and at a forty-five degree angle to his belly.
Looking around, I see Prince Omar is leaning forward ogling the slave’s nakedness and lasciviously licking his lips. Then, speaking through his agent he asks.
“Auctioneer, can we have the slave turn around so that we can assess him from rear, please?”
Viewing the slave from the rear only re-enforces the buyers’ already favorable impression of him. His broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist and his small, shapely buttocks, which are divided by their deep cleft, delightfully curve into the muscular columns of his legs. The clearly defined back muscles, highlighted by the market’s dappled sunlight, ripple and dance under his coating of oil.
Again, the prince’s agent asks.
“Could you move his feet apart and have him bend over?”
It takes just gentle tap of an overseer’s cane on his ass for the slave to assume the required position. Bent double, the slave’s ass shows the crisscrossed pattern of the stripes that his earlier rebellion had earned him. Somehow, they add to his overall appeal.
Then, anticipating the prince’s next request, the auctioneer orders the slave to spread the cheeks of ass and to expose his hole for scrutiny.
He is left in this position long enough for the buyers to scrutinize the slave’s winking anus. But this is done from a distance as they’d had ample opportunity to closely inspect him earlier in the day and to determine that he is indeed a virgin.
As he holds his ass-cheeks apart, I wonder about his feelings. Had I been able to see his face, I would note the deep crimson blush of his embarrassment and the eyes brimming with the tears of his shame. His display is rewarded with good-natured, appreciative comments from the crowd.
However, the prince still isn’t finished with the slave. His agent now asks.
“Can we have the boy on his knees, facing the front and with his legs spread wide, please auctioneer?”
Another tap of the cane sees the slave scrambling into position. At first, he doesn’t spread his knees widely enough and the overseer loses patience – perhaps he feels he is being too lenient with the slave. He flicks the slave’s scrotum with the end of his cane as he orders him to.
“Spread your knees, boy! Quickly now, spread them wider so that the buyers can see your cock and balls.”
Taken by surprise the slave gasps at the sudden, sickening pain but hastens to obey. It would seem that this slave will learn his lessons in obedience very quickly.
The prince has one more final demand to make of the slave. Through his agent he asks.
“Have the slave stroke his cock to show us the strength of his erection.”
The slave takes his rampant cock in his fist and begins to slowly masturbate. It is obvious that the slave is no stranger to masturbation and soon he gives the appearance that he is enjoying the experience. As the tempo of his fisting keeps pace with his mounting pleasure, a slim, silver thread of his precum hangs precariously from the eye of his cock.
The auctioneer, evidently considers he has allowed sufficient time for buyers to observe the slave’s self-ministrations and calls a halt to them by asking.
“Are you all done gentlemen? If so, then let’s move on. We still have other slaves waiting to be sold!”
The auctioneer orders the slave to stand at full display. He is puzzled by the order and looks around seeking guidance. An overseer steps forward and quickly poses him in the correct stance. I see the slave’s lips move but don’t hear his words and I wonder what he’d said. Perhaps he’d thanked the overseer for his assistance. The slave now faces the buyers and his presence on the auction-block is an enticing invitation to the buyers to bid for the privilege of owning him.
I follow the stripling slave’s sale with mounting pecuniary interest. It will be interesting to see who buys him and for what purpose. Standing alone on the auction block he seems so vulnerable which adds to his overall appeal. But he is a slave and the best he can hope for is that he is sold to a kind master – one who’ll treat him well and provide him with a good home. But in harsh reality, his future is of no interest to me. What happens to a slave once he has left my premises doesn’t concern me. My only interest in him is how much profit he’ll return on my initial investment in him.
The auctioneer calls for the first bids and is answered with a frenzied barrage from the buyers. There is no doubt that the young slave engenders a lot of interest among the buyers – he is after all a most desirable property – and I’m not surprised at the strength of the bids he attracts.
I look around to see who is bidding for him and it would seem just about every buyer is trying to buy this slave. Usually the bidding for a slave is confined to just a few buyers and the occasions when there is almost total buyer involvement are rare. But if a slave has good buyer appeal – as this one obviously does – then you can expect strong bidding for him. And it goes without saying that I am delighted by this interest. It augers well for my profits.
Inevitably, by a process of elimination – and no doubt governed by the amount of money the individual buyer has to spend – the bidding war has become less frenetic until just a handful of buyers remain. Then, one by one, they also stop bidding until only two determined buyers remain.
And those buyers are Prince Omar and the African businessman, Ahmedu Hadi. Both men are determined to buy this slave and for the next few minutes the prince’s agent and the African are engaged in a bitter war of bid and counter-bid.
I watch as Prince Omar grows increasingly agitated. Protocol dictates that whenever the prince, as a member of the royal family, bids for a slave the other bidders should, after a reasonable period, withdraw and leave the way clear for the prince’s agent to make the final, successful bid. But that isn’t the case today. The African is either unaware of the custom or chooses to ignore it. Either way, I don’t care and I am delighted these two determined rivals are locked in a tussle where neither will give way to the other. Ultimately, I will benefit financially from their refusal to yield.
For the next few minutes, the slave stands wide-eyed and trembling as these two bid and counter-bid for the right to own him. I wonder what he is thinking; what emotions are tumbling around in the vortex of his mind. Is he thinking of his lost life, his former family and his home? I suppose all new slaves are troubled by such thoughts at first until their new owner trains them into an acceptance of their servitude. And yet, it would be intriguing to know his innermost thoughts as he waits and watches helplessly while the two buyers battle one another for the right to own him.
Jeremie’s Story:
My family’s visit to La Belle France was a longtime coming. Indeed it had taken so long that I’d long given up any thought that we would make the trip. Over the years of my boyhood it had been spoken of numerous times and I know my parents had, on several occasions, begun to make arrangements for the trip. However, always, some unforeseen circumstance such as work or commitments to the wider family intervened and plans for the trip had been abandoned.
As Qu‚b‚cois de souche, the trip was important to my family; we needed to see our ancestral homes for ourselves and discover the roots that give us our proud identity. Of course, as a boy, I’d grown up with the family’s aural history and it had always fired my imagination. But it was a poor substitute for actually seeing La France at first hand and visiting the places that had once been home to my “old world” ancestors. But I’d been disappointed before and I didn’t build up my hopes even when my parents told me we would spend our long, summer vacation in Europe.
And I wasn’t finally convinced until my parents, my younger brother and sister and I were seated in the Airbus A380 as it left Toronto for Paris.
What can I say about our visit to France? It surpassed all my expectations and after we’d visited the areas where our ancestors had lived before settling in Nouvelle-France, I felt I knew myself better and I had a sense of belonging.
Our visit reads like something out of a tourist’s brochure. We viewed all the Paris landmarks before driving into the countryside to visit our ancestral homes. This was the raison d’ˆtre for our trip and after we did so we became regular tourists doing all those things that regular tourists do.
There were so many places we visited and things we saw and it is hard for me to pick which I enjoyed the most. We visited Chartres Cathedral, drove through the green fields of Normandy and explored the chateaux of the Loire Valley. But I guess Mont Saint Michel, the Roman ruins at Glanum and the old, previously deserted medieval village of Les Baux de Provence which is now home to artists and poets are the outstanding ones that stay with me.
We continued our meandering journey through Provence to Carcassonne before driving over the Pyrenees into the verdant green valleys of the Basque country and spending two days in the vibrant city of Barcelona. Then we continued down the Spanish coast to the Costa del Sol where we planned to rent an apartment and spend a few days relaxing and swimming in the warm, brilliantly blue waters of the Mediterranean. And it was here that my life changed irrevocably and forever.
As a eighteen year old, I wanted some independence and time way from my parents and siblings. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with them but after two weeks travelling in the close confines of our hired car I really did need time on my own. My parents understood this and allowed me the freedom to wander the streets of our resort town and to explore the sandy beaches that swarmed with holiday makers from the UK and Northern Europe.
These beaches, with their wall to wall, unfit, overweight and lobster red sun worshippers, held no appeal for me and so I wandered along the coastline looking for a less crowded beach where I could stretch out and work on my suntan. And as luck would have it, I found a small patch of isolated, white-gold sand tucked away between to rocky promontories – and fortuitously I had the beach to myself.
I scrambled down over the rocks and onto the beach. The day was hot – more of a scorcher really – and I hastily stripped until I was buck-assed naked. Then, I ran into the azure blue sea and cavorted for some twenty to thirty minutes to cool off before returning to the sand to lie in the sun.
I already had a light tan but it was marred by my ass’s alabaster whiteness which jars on me. Of course, I’d kept my ass covered at home when swimming and sunbathing. But, on that secluded beach, there were no impediments to me sunbathing in the nude and it felt great. There are no words to describe the freedom or the pleasure of nude sunbathing and letting it all hang-out.
After I’d liberally coated myself with sunscreen – a sunburned ass or cock and balls weren’t on my agenda – I then stretched out on my back on the sand. The seawater droplets on my skin glistened like tiny diamonds and I watched as they trickled down my chest along the hairline of my treasure trail and then down through my thick pubic bush to dampen the towel beneath me.
I would describe my body as lithe. I have reached that stage of my development when the puppy-fat of boyhood has given way to the burgeoning muscle of adolescence. I take pride in my youthful, trim figure and I work hard to maintain it. I play Lacrosse at a local level and I swim competitively and both sports keep me fit.
My musculature is clearly defined though, as yet, it lacks the bulk of an adult male. Still it holds the promise of better things to come and I am happy with my overall appearance. I have grey- green eyes, full red lips which part to show my white, even teeth and my head is crowned by luxuriant, thick curls of the deepest black. Because of my youth – I began shaving sometime between my twelfth and thirteenth birthdays – my body hair is still emerging. There is the promise that I will be hairy-chested and my legs and lower arms are dusted with a light covering of hair as black as that on my head.
I have been told that I have Gallic charm and good looks and I have no reason to dispute this. Perhaps it’s conceited of me, but I know that I turn female heads and I suspect some male ones too. I am aware that in the communal showers, after a strenuous game of Lacrosse or a vigorous swimming session, some of my team mates are surreptitiously “eyeing” my naked body. And rather than be offended or annoyed by this attention from my male team mates, I am flattered by it. Sometimes, I have wondered what this says about me and my own sexuality.
The combination of sun, sand and the soft murmur of the waves gently lapping at the shore relaxed me and put me at my ease. The warmth of the sun on my naked body stirred my blood and I felt an impending erection. As I was alone on the beach, I could give free expression to my actions and I took hold of my cock and began to masturbate. Determined to make it last as long as I could, I stroked my circumcised cock and tickled my balls. Tantalizingly, I teased my piss-slit and fingered my perineum awakening the myriad of nerve endings which sent shockwaves of pleasure surging through me. As my erection became harder I slipped a finger beneath me and began to excite the sensitive tissue of my anus.
As my breathing became more labored, I wanted more pleasure and so I slipped my finger into the tight, virgin recesses of my ass and began to fuck myself – something I did regularly at home with a dildo in the nighttime solitude of my bedroom when my parents and siblings are asleep.
But on that beach, I was alone with no one to watch me and I gave in to my lust. I lost track of the time but inevitably, I climaxed. As I grunted out my eruption – with almost geyser-like force – the stream of my ejaculate arched high and landed with a soft “splat” on my chest and face scorching my skin with its heat. Spent, I rested in the delicious afterglow of the most intense masturbation I had ever experienced.
I turned over onto my belly and lie there to color the alabaster whiteness of my ass as I regained my composure. Then, as the sun sank below the hills behind the beach and the shadows lengthened, I took a final swim to wash away the telltale odor of my spunk splattered torso before dressing and returning to our holiday apartment.
I returned to that beach the next day and the one after which was to be the final day of our stay on the Costa del Sol. Naturally, I masturbated on both days and, while these were most enjoyable, they lacked the “volcanic fury” of the first day.
On the second day, as I sunbathed on the sandy beach, I turned over onto my stomach to add yet more color to my ass. As I did so, I noticed the solitary figure of a man standing on a rocky promontory and looking in my direction. I thought nothing of this – perhaps he was a voyeur who got his kicks from looking at naked guys – and I wasn’t too concerned that he saw me naked. I was sure that I wasn’t alone in sunbathing nude along the Costa del Sol.
However, had I known his true intent, then I would have been worried. Very worried indeed! His presence was to change my life irrevocably and in less than twenty four hours I would be on a no return journey to a living hell on earth.
That third, fateful day I returned to my beach and stretched out on the warm golden sand. After I’d jacked-off, I was lying on my belly and as the sun beat down on my back, I daydreamed about the remainder of our trip through Spain and Portugal where we were to finish our vacation in Lisbon before flying home. Although, I was excited about visiting Madrid and Seville, it was Granada that I looked forward to seeing the most. I was eager to see the beautiful Moorish architecture, gardens and fountains of the famed Alhambra. For me this was to be one of the highlights of our trip to Europe.
With such pleasant thoughts and the sun’s warmth on my naked body, I became drowsy. Lulled by the almost musical lapping of the waves gently breaking on the shore I drifted in and out of sleep. I was so contented and I remember thinking that all was well with my world.
I don’t know how long I dozed; it could have been merely minutes or much longer and I had no way of knowing. It was the murmur of men’s voices that woke me and as I stirred, I saw the shadows of two men cast on the sand – one on either side of my prone body. I moved to roll over onto my back but rough hands held me down. Suddenly, I was afraid. What did these two men want? Were they about to rob me? The only things I had of any value were about twenty euros and my watch. I recall thinking that I would offer these to them in the hope that they’d take them and leave me alone.
Then fear took hold of me. Did these men mean to do me harm? Were they to assault me, to beat me up or even worse to rape me? Suddenly, I was seized by blind panic and I began to desperately struggle to break free. The men became agitated and spoke in a language I didn’t recognize. Their words were unintelligible to me but I understood their meaning. I was to stop struggling and submit. And to emphasize this, one of the men placed his foot on the back of my neck and forced my face down into the sand. As I struggled to breath, I felt a sharp pinprick pain as a syringe was viciously jabbed into the fleshy orb of my right buttock.
Then mercifully, I blacked out! I was now their prisoner and they moved quickly to remove me from the beach. And from the world I had known for seventeen years.
But before they did so, they set the scenario for my unfortunate disappearance and one that would suggest that I had drowned. They left my gear in a crumpled heap on the beach but placed my bathers at the water’s edge to suggest that I’d removed them before taking one final skinny-dip for the day.
Of course, I wasn’t aware of this or of the subsequent events.
When I failed to return home my anxious parents contacted the police who searched the beaches before discovering my belongings. Naturally, they assumed the worst. I was another stupid tourist who’d chosen to swim alone and most probably, I’d been caught in an undertow and swept out to sea where I’d drowned. And of course the chances that my body would ever be found were minimal.
At first my distraught parents refused to accept this and lived in hope that I would return to them. However, as the days passed and with no news, they too had to accept that I had drowned. Heartbroken, they returned home to mourn the loss of their eldest child within the comforting circle of family and friends.
I don’t know the length of time that I was drugged into unconsciousness. I remember nothing after being jabbed with the syringe on the beach. My next recollection was waking up in an isolated slave pen in the House of Malik. I was naked, shackled and destined to be sold within a few days along with thirty other slaves.
In the intervening days, unlike the other slaves, I’d not been privately displayed to any prospective buyers. In fact, I was unaware that this was a possibility. I don’t know the reason why? Perhaps the slave-dealer who owns me did this deliberately?
And now I stand lost and bewildered on the auction block of a medieval slave-market somewhere in the Middle-East not knowing what the future holds for me.
This morning, I’d been shackled in a line of other naked, young men and subjected to the lecherous scrutiny of the men who see me as a slave and who now bid for the right to own me.
At first, because of my youth, I’d been too frightened to show any rebelliousness and I’d sullenly submitted to the ongoing inspections of my body. As my body was groped, I sunk into a trough of deep despair and when two African buyers inspected me, I stood docilely as the younger one ran his hands over my body. It seemed to me they were father and son and momentarily I wondered about my own father, mother and siblings and the memory of the family now forever lost to me overwhelmed me. A silent sob welled up inside of me and caught in my throat. Their examination of me was cursory – they appeared to quickly lose interest – and they walked away slowly sauntering down the line of chained slaves perusing them as they went. Eventually, they stopped and subjected two slaves to the closest scrutiny.
Later, they returned and as the younger one placed his hands upon my chest, I seethed with indignation. His air of some “god-given” superiority and his expectation that I would simply obey his every command annoyed me. Slowly, as he continued to explore my nakedness, that annoyance consumed me and when he ordered me to “turn, bend and spread”, my stubborn pride decided enough was enough and I stood my ground and stared defiantly into his handsome face. I was totally unprepared for what happened next!
His dark complexion couldn’t hide the red flush of his anger at my show of defiance. Furious with my intransigence, he suddenly slapped my face. This was the catalyst that released all my pent-up emotions of the past few days and my fear and apprehension gave way to rage and anger. Impulsively, I lunged at him but was restrained by my ankle chain. My punch fell short of making contact with him.
My anger blinded me to the two overseers who moved quickly to subdue me. Mercilessly, they beat me to the ground and still they weren’t satisfied. Their canes continued to rain down me until finally my spirit broke and I heard my pitiful pleas for mercy. I had no option other than to capitulate and when the young African once more ordered me to “bend and spread”, I didn’t hesitate. I quickly scrambled to my feet and did as he commanded. I stood quietly as he inspected my body while his father looked on offering suggestions and words of encouragement.
But now, I stand on the auction-block as my future is being determined for me. At first, I tried to make sense of the bidding process but the frenzied shouting of so many buyers made it incomprehensible. Gradually, one by one, most of the buyers stopped bidding and left the field to just two – an Arab in traditional robes and the father of the African youth who’d examined me earlier.
This makes it easier for me to follow the bidding process although the auctioneer’s exchanges are largely unintelligible. However, it seems to me that the two who are bidding for me are locked in a fierce tussle with neither giving way to the other. Then suddenly, the African counterbids and as he does so there is a collective gasp from the watching buyers. I can only judge by their surprised reaction that the African’s latest bid has raised the stakes much higher. He appears to be out-maneuvering the Arab bidder who turns to another richly dressed Arab sitting alone in a small enclosure.
This second Arab is grossly overweight and is attended by two semi naked men who I assume are his slaves. I’m unaware that he is a prince and a member of the royal family but his isolation from the rest of the buyers tells me he is a person of importance. Even from my position on the auction-block, I can see the anger and fury on his face; obviously he’s used to getting his own way and the African’s determination thwarts him. He confers briefly with the other Arab who then turns and indicates to the auctioneer they won’t be entering any further bids.
The auctioneer calls for any more bids.
“Gentlemen are there anymore bids for this fine slave?” He waits patiently for a response. “Gentlemen is there any advance on the last bid?” Again he pauses for a few seconds before continuing. “If not, I will sell the slave. Going once …….. Going twice………. Are you all done?”
The loud clap of auctioneer’s hammer reverberates around the enclosed courtyard and his words confirm that I am now an owned slave.
“SOLD!! The slave is sold to Mr Ahmedu Hadi. Congratulations Mr Hadi, you have purchased well. May the slave serve you faithfully for many years to come and add immeasurably to your wealth?”
His words are greeted with a round of sustained applause from the other buyers. I’m not to know that my new owner has paid a high price for me and that I am to be a present from him to his son.
As another slave is brought up to the auction-block, a slave-handler attaches a chain to my neck collar and I am lead away and placed in a holding pen to wait until my new master comes to collect me.
To be continued ……
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