GOING, GOING, GONE
A Fantasy by TakenAndTickled
Over the last year a number of young male backpackers from America, Canada, the UK and parts of Europe, had gone travelling to Eastern Asia and never returned. Local authorities had been evasive about the disappearances. Friends and families of the missing young men appealed to their governments for answers and investigations were launched, but to no avail. The backpackers, ranging in age from late teens to mid-twenties, had simply vanished and no one could say what had happened to them. Most were assumed to be dead, but the truth is that a strange and disturbing fate had befallen them.
Michael had become increasingly obsessed with the plight of the lost travellers. His own brother, Rory, was among the missing lads. Rory had just finished college when he decided to take a year out to go and travel the world on his own. That was six months ago, and since then no one had seen or heard from him. His last known location was somewhere on the coast of Thailand, but details were sketchy. The family had given up hope of ever finding him, but Michael was determined to discover what had happened to his brother.
He learned of the other missing backpackers through coverage in the national newspapers, international websites, and even personal contact with some of the families affected by the disappearances. He kept a small notebook of details, names and photos of the men who had vanished. His parents began to worry about Michael's state of mind. They had expected his obsession to burn itself out, that he would eventually accept the loss of his brother and move on. But Michael couldn't let it go. If someone could show him a body, irrefutable evidence that Rory was dead... but there was nothing.
Eventually, to his family's horror, Michael announced that the only way he would find the answers he was looking for would be to retrace Rory's steps. He was going to catch a flight to Thailand, find out where his brother had been staying shortly before his disappearance and try to uncover the truth. His parents begged him not to go, but his mind was made up. Later that week, he packed a few things and departed.
After arriving in the country, Michael decided the best way to retrace his brother's journey would be to pose as an innocent backpacker himself. He spent several weeks immersing himself in the full backpacker experience and met other young men and women who were on their gap years or just taking time out to explore the world and 'find themselves'. Almost all the travellers he encountered had no knowledge of the missing backpackers, or else they were too high or chilled-out to care. Besides, that sort of thing only happened to 'other people'. They were sure it wouldn't happen to them.
One night Michael joined a few of the guys from the hostel where he was staying at a beach party. The air was humid and filled with the smell of pot and the smoke from a small fire which was lit at one end of the beach. People were getting high and drunk, having a good time. Michael hadn't told anyone of his personal mission. Since his arrival he'd been asking discreet questions about the missing backpackers, but nobody had any reason to suspect his motives. To everyone he met he was just another traveller looking for a good time. He'd even indulged in a romantic fling with a girl called Naomi.
Naomi was also at the party. Michael watched her from a distance as she stood by the fire, her face illuminated by the dark red flicker of the flames. She glanced in his direction and flashed him a smile. Michael drank his beer and gave her a nod. A hand grabbed his shoulder. He looked around into the darkness and saw a nervous young woman hiding behind him. She was one of the locals; Michael had seen her a couple of times in the village near the hostel. At first he thought she was coming on to him, but when she spoke in a hushed and anxious voice he realised that she was scared.
Her English was broken, but he could understand what she was trying to say. She mentioned the 'missing boys'. Michael asked her what she knew. She was reluctant to answer, apparently worried that someone might be watching. Instead, she pressed a small piece of paper into Michael's hand and ran off back to her village.
Michael was slightly intoxicated from the heat and the alcohol and wondered if he was imagining the whole encounter. He examined the paper. It looked like a rudimentary map showing part of the local coastline and, out at sea, three small islands. One of the islands was marked with an X. Michael wasn't aware of any islands nearby, but he certainly recognised the piece of coastline. There was a distinctive cliff face which stuck out into the ocean like a boney finger, a short walk from the hostel, and it was unmistakeably this same cliff face shown on the map in his hand.
That night, at the hostel, Michael lay in bed with Naomi unable to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about the map. He needed to find out more about this mysterious island. He sensed he was getting dangerously close to discovering the truth behind the disappearances and his heart started to beat a little faster. Naomi woke up and asked him what was on his mind. He wanted to tell her, but he had grown to care for her and didn't want to risk potentially putting her in danger. He made an excuse and soon fell asleep in her arms.
The next day Michael headed into one of the local villages to see about hiring a small boat. He eventually found an old man with a modest fishing boat who, in his best English, agreed to take Michael to the island on the map in exchange for any valuables Michael had on him. Desperate to get to the island at any cost, Michael handed over his phone and wristwatch and the old man took him down to where the boat was docked.
It took about two hours to make the crossing from the mainland to the island. When they reached the shore Michael asked the old man to wait for him, but the old man explained that he needed the boat for fishing and promised to return later in the evening. Michael felt vulnerable as he watched the old man head back towards the mainland, and began to regret not telling Naomi of his plans. He threw his backpack over his shoulder and trudged off along the rocky beach.
The majority of the island was covered in thick forest and the tree coverage was so dense that it blocked out a lot of the sunlight. After an hour of walking, Michael sat and had something to drink. The air was sticky and humid and Michael's clothes were wet from perspiration. He was exhausted and began to wonder if he was being led on a wild goose chase. He took a bottle of water from his backpack and poured some of it over his face to wash away the sweat and dirt.
He spent another hour exploring his surroundings, but found nothing of any interest. Disappointed, he made his way back to the beach where the old man had agreed to pick him up. The sun was beginning to set and he hoped the man would return soon, but as it started to get dark there was no sign of the fishing boat. Michael began to feel restless, but was determined not to panic. Then he remembered that he had stupidly given away his phone and no one, apart from the fisherman, knew where he was.
Then, in the distance, a light. Michael stood at the edge of the shore and watched. It was a boat, but not the fishing boat. Two boats. Three. Several more followed, dimly lit on the horizon, coming closer to the shore. Michael wondered if the old man had sent someone else to rescue him, but why so many? Something in his gut told him to run and hide. He grabbed his backpack and retreated up the beach towards the edge of the forest, where he could watch proceedings from behind a cluster of trees.
The boats landed on the shore and large groups of men disembarked. From his hiding place Michael couldn't clearly see what was happening, but he watched a procession of men making their way deep into the forest. He ducked behind the trees and waited until it was safe to emerge. His heart was racing and beads of sweat were trickling down his face. After a while the shore fell silent and Michael stepped out onto the beach. A trail of footprints in the sand led from the boats into the forest.
The trail took him into a part of the forest he did not recognise, a place he hadn't found on his earlier exploration. He heard voices, saw lights in the distance, glinting through the trees. He trod carefully, keeping his wits about him, pausing every now and then to wipe the sweat from his brow as it kept dripping into his eyes.
He reached a large clearing filled with the men from the boats and lit up by large torches, blazing beacons filling a concentrated area of the forest with light like a mini stadium. He hid in the shadows, breathing heavily from the trek and trembling with anxiety. In the centre of the clearing, surrounded by the men, was a large wooden platform upon which stood two large vertical poles as thick as tree trunks and a pair of wooden stocks.
The crowd was agitated. No one was speaking English and Michael couldn't tell where the men were from. They seemed to be a collection of nationalities from all over the world. They all looked up to the platform, waiting impatiently for something to happen. There was a loud shout and Michael ducked down. When he dared to stand up again, he was confronted by a sight that made his stomach turn.
A white boy, nineteen or twenty years old, was being dragged onto the platform by two muscular guards dressed in black. He had been stripped naked and was making pathetic attempts to hide his modesty as the guards dragged him by his arms to one of the poles. The crowd were jeering and shouting, excitedly waving their arms in the air.
The boy looked familiar, Michael thought. He quickly took his notebook out of his backpack and flicked through the pages. He found a small photo of the boy. It was him. He was called Jonas, a German boy of nineteen who had been missing for a couple of months after setting off on a trip with two friends. There was no sign of the friends, but there was no mistake that the boy on the platform was definitely Jonas. When Michael looked up again he saw that Jonas had been chained to the pole with his arms held up over his head.
Michael felt sick. He'd heard theories about slave auctions, but hadn't taken the stories seriously. Such things couldn't possibly exist in real life. Yet here he was, witnessing something that certainly resembled some kind of perverse auction. Is this what had become of Rory? Michael shuddered at the thought.
Up on the platform Jonas struggled against his handcuffs, weeping and shouting. Although Michael couldn't speak German he had a good idea what the frightened young man was saying. Another man now stood on the platform with the two guards on either side of him. Michael couldn't tell what language he spoke, although the crowd seemed to understand him. The auctioneer, as Michael supposed he was, invited some men onto the platform to take a closer look at Jonas. The boy squealed and writhed against the pole as a small group of men approached him and took great delight in molesting his naked body, pinching his pink little nipples, fingering his soft belly button, squeezing his thighs...
Michael wished he could do something to help, but he knew he would only be putting himself in danger. And he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something distinctly... erotic about the sight of this naked young man on display at the mercy of his captors. Michael had never had sexual thoughts about another man, but still, there was something strangely arousing about the situation. He felt like a voyeur, lurking in the dark. He didn't want to be turned-on by the sight of Jonas being fondled and inspected like a piece of meat, but he couldn't help it; it was an inevitable biological response. He felt repulsed by the scene on the platform and yet found it oddly compelling.
Michael thought he had the measure of what was happening here - young men kidnapped while travelling through the region, sold off as sex slaves at a secret auction - but then something very unexpected occurred. The two guards ushered the group of men off the stage and the auctioneer said something which prompted malicious laughter from the crowd. Jonas cried out as the guards approached him and Michael feared they were going to kill the boy. They stood either side of him and, peculiar as it sounds, started to tickle his exposed armpits.
The crowd salivated as the guards cruelly tickled Jonas. He was quickly reduced from frightened shouting to pathetic giggling, laughing like a child tickled by an older sibling only there was a desperate, tortured tone to his laughter - much to the arousal of the crowd. Even Michael, sickened by the entire scenario, could feel his cock starting to grow as the boy's screams of laughter filled the air.
Someone in the crowd shouted something to the auctioneer, who in turn posed a question to the rest of the crowd. The crowd responded and the auctioneer said something to the guards that made them cease their tickle torture of the captive. Jonas was panting and crying, his naked body glistening with perspiration in the humid evening air. The guards unchained his hands from above his head and he collapsed into their arms, having spent all his energy laughing and struggling. They carried him over to the wooden stocks at the side of the platform. He tried to resist, but was no match for their combined strength. They laid him on the floor of the stage and held his legs up while the auctioneer unlocked and opened the stocks. They put his feet into the stocks and the auctioneer locked them in place, closing them around the boy's boney ankles.
Jonas could do nothing but lie helplessly on the floor of the platform, nervously mumbling in German, with his legs hoisted up and secured in the stocks. The auctioneer gave the guards another nod and they started to tickle the boy's feet. Jonas hiccuped with laughter and flapped about on the floor like a fish out of water, wriggling his toes as the guards' fingers scratched up and down his soft bare soles. The crowd were going wild and Michael was so overwhelmed by the noise, the heat, the danger, and a clash of disgust and excitement, that he slipped his hand into his trousers and began to fondle his increasingly hard cock.
While the young German's feet were being tickle tortured, a bidding war broke out and the auctioneer started the proceedings in earnest. It appeared to Michael that the more the guards tickled Jonas and the louder he laughed, the higher people were willing to bid. A stupid thought occurred to him: this entire auction was designed for people to buy young men based on how ticklish they were. He dismissed the idea as absurd. Still, the crowd seemed more excited by the sight of Jonas having his feet tickled than they had been by the sight of him bound naked to the pole.
Finally one bidder outbid everyone else and the auctioneer congratulated him. The guards stopped tickling Jonas and his feet were released from the stocks so he could be taken away, presumably to be held prisoner until his new owner was ready to take him away. As the guards led him off he seemed suddenly to realise the profound implications of what had happened; that he would likely never see his family again, that he would be subjected to all kinds of deviant perversions at the hands of the man who had bought him, and he reacted with a violent outburst of inhuman screaming and struggling. It was futile, of course. The guards barely flinched as he lashed out at them and soon his hysterical ranting faded into the distance, beyond the trees on the other side of the clearing.
Michael took a deep breath and continued to silently massage his cock, wondering what else he would witness tonight.
The next young man to be led onto the platform by the guards was also familiar to Michael. He was a Scottish guy, aged twenty-four, called Mark. He was engaged to a girl back home at the time of his disappearance three months ago. He had been a keen traveller in his student days and was supposed to be embarking on one last adventure before getting married. And now here he was, stripped naked like Jonas before him, but putting up an admirable fight. He was more athletic than Jonas and showed signs of defiance rather than trepidation, but even he was no match for the two well-built guards.
More jeers and excited yelling came up from the crowd. Mark dug his heels in and spat at the auctioneer as he was dragged to the front of the stage, for which the auctioneer repaid him by striking him across the face with the back of his hand. He must have caught Mark off guard as the Scot seemed to be stunned into submission for a brief second before resuming his vain struggle and shouting abuse at the crowd below him.
Michael could feel his pulse racing. He had never been attracted to another man before, but even he could appreciate the fine body of the young man on the stage. He lightly stroked the shaft of his cock as the guards manhandled Mark over to the stocks.
Mark was shouting, "No way, no fucking way! Get your fucking hands off me!" One of the guards kicked the back of his legs and Mark crumpled onto the floor. Just as they had done with Jonas, the guards forced Mark to lie down and took hold of his ankles. With the auctioneer's help they locked his feet in the stocks. Mark propped himself up on his elbows. His stomach was toned, suggesting that he probably did a whole bunch of sit-ups every morning. He shook his head and flexed his feet, so angry that he was practically frothing at the mouth.
This time the auctioneer invited a few men from the crowd to come up and help themselves to the Scottish lad's vulnerable feet. Three men, two black and one white, stepped up, grinning and licking their lips. They stood around the stocks as Mark continued to holler at them. One of the guards put his booted foot on Mark's chest to push him down and hold him there.
The three men at Mark's feet made sure to take their time, to savour the experience and antagonize the captive even further. They each took turns sniffing his soles, pulling his toes apart with their fingers as if performing some thorough inspection of the goods, rubbing his feet all over. Mark squirmed and tried not to shriek with laughter as their wandering fingers pinched at his toes, but he could no longer contain himself when they started tickling his feet. The spectacle of this lean, athletic, straight Scottish boy at the mercy of these sadistic perverts roused the crowd into an orgasmic roar and, upon hearing Mark's screams, Michael dropped his notebook and started to masturbate vigorously.
In the melee another young lad was brought onto the stage by one of the guards. As Michael jerked off to the sight and sound of Mark's torture he noticed the other boy, whom he recognised as Colin, an eighteen year old from England who had gone missing just a few weeks before Michael had left for Thailand. Colin was, by all accounts, a quiet and sensitive young man who was taking time out before starting university to travel the world and gain some confidence. What a shame that he should come to this.
Colin looked shocked and upset and was visibly trembling. Unlike the others he was still fully clothed. The guard marched the snivelling boy over to the edge of the stage, like a pirate making his prisoner walk the plank, and pushed him off into the clutches of the seething rabble below. Colin cried out as a mass of hands grabbed at him and he was dragged into the middle of the crowd.
The three men on the platform were sucking on Mark's toes and licking his soles. Mark was still shouting and laughing, but no one could hear him anymore. The excited crowd were making too much noise as they molested their own plaything. Colin was hauled to his feet and held up by his arms as a group of men tore at his clothes. Many eager hands made short work of ripping Colin's shirt apart, exposing his pale unblemished skin. Colin's body was almost the exact opposite of Mark's. Where Mark was sporty and gym-fit, Colin was more the academic type. He was skinny and awkward-looking, with barely any muscle at all. Someone clamped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet while more hands grappled the waistband of his shorts and pulled them down. He was wearing tight briefs underneath, and these were also pulled down.
The mob lifted Colin in the air as though he were at a rock concert, holding his legs up to pull his shorts and underwear off completely. His shoes and socks were ripped away from him and he was suddenly totally naked and crying for help, but the only person who could possibly have helped him was Michael, still masturbating in the shadows. Colin screamed and struggled as dozens of warm, rough hands groped and probed his naked body. Someone was nibbling on his toes. Someone else was licking his thigh. Another person was fondling his dick. And more people, anonymous amongst the blur of faces, were pinching his nipples, stroking his hair, biting his earlobes. There were even a few hands pulling his buttocks apart, fingers invading his asshole, pressing and poking into places that had never been touched before.
While all this was occurring at one side of the clearing, some of the bidders were mindful that there was still an auction going on and were already bidding on Mark. It truly did appear to Michael that these men liked their slaves ticklish. Mark, whose feet were still under attack from the three men kneeling around the stocks and who was still shrieking with hysterical laughter in-between gasps of empty threats, was about to be sold for an inordinate amount of money judging by the reaction of the auctioneer. The other bidders congratulated the winner, while Mark was released from the stocks and taken off by the guards, still cursing and telling them that they wouldn't "get away with this".
Michael turned his attention back to Colin, who had disappeared amongst the throng. He could hear childish laughter and as the crowd parted he could see Colin pinned down on the forest floor in a spread-eagle position, four strong men holding him down by his wrists and ankles while others were tickling his upper body. Colin was hissing with laughter, trying to scream out 'no' and writhing about on the ground. His armpits and sides were tickled, his neck and under his chin, his ribs, his stomach (which was especially ticklish), and his belly button. As he wriggled about, his limp cock flopped from side-to-side, slapping against his crotch.
"Stop!" he cried, gasping for air. Michael could feel himself about to cum and Colin's pathetic whimpering only made him more horny. Some of Colin's tormentors began tickling his feet and Colin screamed like a girl, howling as someone ran a sharp fingernail along the underside of his toes. Michael bit his lip to avoid moaning as he shot a load inside his pants.
The sensation of fingers all over Colin's body was starting to cause his dick to rise involuntarily. The poor kid was terrified, but his skin was so sensitive to the touch that he was powerless to stop his body from reacting and soon he was semi-erect. He looked down to see his cock sticking straight up into the air and blushed through his laughter, humiliated and helpless. The men around him had noticed his slowly rising cock with glee and they lifted him up again, holding him up straight and passing him about from person-to-person to have his cock stroked and his balls tickled.
Michael was leaning against a tree with his pants pushed down around his knees while he jerked off to the sight of the nervous teenager being milked by various men. Colin was too scared to protest or fight back, and barely uttered a whisper as his dick was tickled and teased to the point of climax by the sadists gathered around the platform. He was really too frightened for them to be able to coax much more than a trickle of juice from his balls, but they did manage to make him cum properly two or three times in total. They were content merely to have the opportunity to play with this straight teen lad's privates.
The fact that almost everyone had a chance to get their hands on him and 'test him out' for themselves meant that plenty of men were willing to part with vast sums of money to own him. The bidding for Colin lasted much longer than it had for either Jonas or Mark and seemed to get particularly tense towards the end when it came down to just two bidders, an Arab and a European, both of whom were prepared to pay well over the odds.
In the end the Arab ceded and Colin was sold to the European. As he wiped the cum from his hands, Michael felt guilty; not only had he made no attempt to save the boy, he had even derived sexual pleasure from watching his torture. Colin was taken away by the guards, sobbing and quivering, and Michael pulled his pants up. He had seen enough. He wanted to get away from this evil place and these twisted bastards. As he turned to pick up his backpack, he was grabbed from behind and dragged into the light.
Next up on the stage were two young men, one of whom was a recent acquisition. One of the guards marched onto the platform first with Zach, a twenty-one year old surfer and slacker from the USA. He was shirtless and barefoot but wearing jeans and yelling something about his rights as a US citizen. He was led over to the pole on the left of the stage and handcuffed, like Jonas had been, with his arms in the air.
He was followed by the second guard who brought another captive onto the platform, a twenty-two year old by the name of Michael, from England. Unlike the others who had gone before him Michael knew exactly what sort of fate was in store and he felt numb with terror. His throat was so dry he couldn't speak or cry out. Beads of sweat were running down his cheeks as he was taken to the pole on the right and handcuffed the same as Zach. He was still fully clothed - for the time being.
Zach looked over at the guy chained up next to him and appealed to him for help, but this time Michael was in no position to rescue anyone. He looked into Zach's wide-open blue eyes and shook his head in a gesture of despair. Zach started to weep; he never cried in front of other guys, but this time it was different. Michael's guard removed a flick knife from his pocket and used it to cut Michael's shirt to shreds.
Now they were both shirtless, side-by-side, and the crowd were baying for more tickle torture. They wanted to see how the two boys compared to each other and the guards were only too happy to oblige. One guard positioned himself next to Zach, the other next to Michael and, with a wave of the auctioneer's hand, started tickling their armpits.
Michael was hellishly ticklish, although he hadn't been tickled by anyone since he was a child. He prayed he wouldn't be put in the stocks as his feet were especially sensitive. He clenched his teeth, determined not to laugh. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction. He was breathing heavily through his nose, grunting and stubbornly refusing to give in.
Zach, on the other hand, had no idea that he was being sized-up by the crowd based on how ticklish he was. He was naive, he had no idea that another man could get a sexual kick out of watching him being tickled. He tried to understand why he was being tortured; he wasn't in the army or a political activist, he didn't cause any trouble. He tried to tell them they had the wrong guy, but as the guard's fingers dug into his hairy armpits he cried out with laughter.
Michael was still refusing to play ball so the auctioneer invited a member of the crowd to assist the guard in tickling him. An Asian man stepped forward, stood beside the guard and started to run his hands up and down Michael's sides. Michael pressed his lips together. He could feel his muscles twitching as two pairs of hands tickled his torso. He struggled. He didn't want to, but he couldn't help it; it was an instinctive reaction. And then, as the sensation became increasingly unbearable, fingers creeping up and down his sides and underneath his armpits, he burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
The two chained guys, their armpits and torsos exposed to the crowd, giggled and gasped and begged with every spare breath they could muster. Michael felt as if he was going to suffocate from laughing so much, barely able to catch his breath. He started to wonder if the old cartoon joke of 'laughing to death' was actually a real possibility. He laughed so hard that his chest began to ache. He heard Zach cry out, "Oh God... oh God, no!" and looked over to see that Zach's guard had ceased tickling his prey and had begun to unzip the young American's jeans.
Zach's jeans and boxer shorts were pulled down to his ankles and the guard moved on to tickling his thighs and crotch. It appeared that Zach was just as ticklish down there as he was under his arms. He kept making futile attempts to squeeze his legs together to fend off the malicious guard, whose fingers were creeping up to his balls.
Michael's attackers stopped tickling him and he feared that they would remove his trousers and underwear, revealing his still semi-hard cock. But the auctioneer had other plans. He wanted to punish and make an example of Michael for spying on them and for stubbornly trying to resist his tickle torture. He ordered the guard and his accomplice to unchain Michael and drag him over to the stocks.
His hands were released and he thought about making a run for it, but he was too worn-out from fighting. He was quickly seized by the guard and the other man and taken to the stocks. The crowd were practically chanting to see the captive's feet. Within seconds, Michael was on the floor with his legs raised up and his ankles locked in place in the stocks. His two assailants pulled off his shoes and slowly peeled off his socks to reveal a nice pair of soft bare feet, slightly moist with sweat.
The guard and the Asian from the crowd took a foot each and tickled Michael's soles up and down, first with their fingers and then with their tongues. Michael could feel his cock bulging in his pants as their rough tongues lapped at his toes, slipping in-between them. He convulsed and beat his fists on the wooden floorboards around him, doubled-up with laughter so intense that he went from hearty belly laughs to a sort-of sharp, breathless clucking sound.
Behind him the American boy was being steadily milked by the other guard. He had tickled and teased Zach's crotch until his dick was almost completely hard and sticky with pre-cum. Then he wrapped his fingers around the young hunk's shaft and started to masturbate him while Zach moaned, "Please, not this... don't do this." Within minutes fresh milk was dripping from the boy's cock, which the guard collected in the palm of his hand and smeared over Zach's pretty lips.
While Zach moaned with unwilling sexual release and Michael clucked with reluctant laughter, the crowd were caught up in a bidding frenzy over the pair of them. The two boys were so immersed in their sexual ordeals that neither of them noticed they had been bought by the same man, an Eastern European who had enjoyed the little show so much that he decided he wanted to own them both.
He also happened to have a big mouth and made the mistake of goading his fellow bidders by arrogantly flaunting his wealth. The other bidders were displeased and felt that he had disrespected them. They appealed to the auctioneer to intervene, but when he refused to get involved the situation quickly turned nasty. The man who had just bought Zach and Michael was set upon by a small gang of angry men and a fight broke out. In the tussle, another section of the crowd surged forward and climbed up onto the platform. The two guards broke off from abusing their respective captives to tackle the mob, but were easily overpowered.
From his position on the floor, Michael couldn't see what was going on. He could only look up into the dark empty sky above. He tried to lift his head a little to see the front of the stage, but his view was obscured by the big heavy stocks holding his feet up. The entire platform shook and he could hear footsteps all around. The stocks were broken open and Michael breathed a sigh of relief, thinking he was free.
His hope was premature. He was surrounded by dozens of men from the crowd, each of them whipped up into a sexual mania. As he lay on the floor, dazed and exhausted, the men grabbed him. His trousers and underwear were quickly pulled down and thrown over the edge of the stage and the men hauled him up off the floor. As they spun him round he caught a glimpse of a cluster of men around Zach. He was still handcuffed naked to the pole and two men were holding his legs up in the air while a third stood with Zach's ass lifted up to his waist. Zach was screaming and hollering as the man pulled his hard cock out of his pants and started to rub it against the American boy's butt crack.
Michael couldn't see what happened next, although he could hear Zach groaning and crying out in pain. The gang of men assembled around Michael dragged him over to the stocks face first and locked his wrists where his ankles had previously been secured. The stocks were so low that Michael was forced to stoop at an angle, bent over. He started to sob and shake his head, pleading with the men to stop. He felt someone pulling his butt cheeks apart and he frantically tried to wriggle his wrists free. In the background Zach was screaming, "Oh Jesus, somebody help me!"
A man stood before Michael, waving his dick in front of Michael's frightened eyes. Someone gave Michael's ass a good hard smack and as he yelped in pain the man seized the opportunity to force his dick into Michael's mouth. Michael immediately thought of biting down on his abuser's cock, but didn't want to risk making things worse by antagonizing the man. He had no choice but to suck, reluctantly, with tears in his eyes.
He felt a finger probing into his ass, rubbing against his anus. Then something wet between his butt cheeks... a tongue. The man kneeling behind Michael had buried his face in his ass and was licking his asshole. Michael kept sucking the cock in his mouth, fighting his gag reflex and choking. Then he felt something else pressing against his anus; not a finger or a tongue, but something larger and harder. He experienced an unusual pain, something between agony and pleasure, as a cock was forced inside him. He had never felt so scared or disgusted in his life. He was quaking with sheer terror as one man fucked him from behind and another fucked his throat.
The other men who were gathered around him pulled their cocks out and started rubbing them all over his body. Men were jerking off all over him, shooting warm cum over his back and his face. The man raping his mouth shot a load in his throat and Michael was forced to swallow. He spluttered and gagged. Cum was trickling down his chin. The man with his dick inside Michael's ass was pushed aside by another member of the group, who in turn started raping Michael from behind.
Michael and Zach were gang-raped late into the evening. As the moon rose in the sky, order was gradually restored. The men, having satisfied their lust, were content to let the auction finish as planned. Apparently interruptions of this sort were common in these auctions. However, the two young men on the stage were deemed to be somewhat less valuable after their debasement. They were still sold, but for much less money than had previously been bid. This time the auctioneer made sure they were sold separately, so as not to offend anyone.
Michael was led away from the stage by one of the guards. His body was limp and weak, his vision blurred and his mind in a state of distress. He was mumbling incoherently and quivering as if his bones had melted into jelly. He was taken to a smaller clearing beyond the trees where the other captives, sold and unsold, were waiting and sobbing in small metal cages. As he was locked into his cage, naked and afraid, he glanced around at all the other young men. He wanted to tell them not to laugh, no matter how ticklish they were, but he couldn't speak.
The moonlight shone through the bars of the cage and Michael slowly fell asleep, his dreams haunted by the sounds of innocent young men laughing hysterically in the distance.