Duped

Sven hurries from the room to do his Master's bidding and returns almost immediately with an ornamental, oblong box. Once more he kneels in front of Anwar and holds the box out at arms' length before him and waits patiently for his Master's next move.

The box is both narrow and shallow and I'm reminded of the musicians' cases that flautists use to carry their flutes. The case is approximately four feet in length and it is made from highly polished, dark timber with a hinged lid inlaid with an intricate pattern of ebony and ivory. Anwar opens the lid to reveal four, cruel canes resting on their bed of rich, red velvet.  I shudder at the sight of the canes and contrast their ugliness with the beauty of the box in which they are housed.

Of course, I'm no stranger to the cane. I have several at home which I use as part of my masochistic, slave fantasies. But they are "toys" - mere playthings to help me escape into the realms of my erotic dreams. By contrast, these canes are "real" in that they are used by a Master to punish his slave. And soon one of them will be used to punish Sven.

I look to see what affect this is having on the slave but his expressionless face shows no emotion. But I think I do detect a nervous trembling in his arms and I believe I sense his fear of the coming punishment in his heightened, shallow breathing.

Almost ritualistically, Anwar goes about choosing a cane. Methodically, he removes each cane from the case and in a limbering up exercise; he swishes it through the air. The sibilant hiss of the canes both chills and excites me and I place myself in Sven's position as he waits for his Master's final choice. What are his thoughts? Is he afraid? I know if I was in his place, I'd be absolutely terrified.

Finally, Anwar make his choice and decides on a vicious, rattan cane.

"We'll go with this one!" Anwar announces. "Slave, assume the caning position."

Standing before us, in the centre of the room, is a sturdily constructed, low coffee table made of solid timber - possibly of teak. Sven clambers onto its top and assumes the all fours position with his head bowed low and his ass pointing towards us. Grimly he grasps both sides of the table in a white-knuckle grip to steady himself under the cane's cruel onslaught.  He also moves his knees apart - obviously he isn't a stranger to this position - and instinctively, he knows exactly what his Master expects of him.

I am given an unimpeded view of the slave's rear end. The spreading of his knees has the effect of opening up his ass-crack to my scrutiny. I see his cinched balls - constrained in his tightly stretched scrotum - hanging low between his thighs. Even as I watch, I see the fear- induced shrinking of his balls as they retreat upwards to the safe sanctuary of his body.

Lasciviously, I watch the nervous puckering of his anus. I see the wrinkled striations of his sphincter folding and unfolding like the unfurling of the petals on some exotic flower. As I gaze at it I am reminded of why some call the ass-hole a "rosebud".

Lewdly, I wonder about his ass-hole's tightness and its capacity to give pleasure. I'm sure that it must do so or otherwise Anwar would soon replace Sven with another slave who met his stringent requirements. Obviously, Anwar is an exacting Master and I'm sure he has high expectations of a slave's capacity to give him sexual pleasure. Failure on the part of a slave to do so isn't something that Anwar would easily tolerate.

Anwar walks over to the table and runs his hands over his slave's body. He strokes Sven's back much as one does with a favourite dog before lovingly taking an ass-cheek in each hand and gently kneading them. He runs a finger up the dividing cleft between the buttocks and mischievously tickles the pulsating sphincter at its centre. The slave quivers under his Master's touch but no words are spoken. Anwar reaches between the slave's thighs and gently rolls each of his balls between his forefinger and thumb before he tucks them away out of the way of the cane.

The message from Anwar's actions is obviously suggestive. The laying on of his hands asserts his ownership of his slave's body and his right to do with as he will. As the slave waits expectantly for the cane, I wonder - has he prepared himself for the ordeal he knows is to follow?

Finally, Anwar dismissively delivers a stinging slap to Sven's upturned ass. As the loud sound of his hand making contact with the slave's naked flesh reverberates throughout the room, Anwar signals he's ready to begin with his slave's punishment.

I can't put into words the emotions I am feeling. One part of me is sorry that Sven is to be punished and yet another side of me wants to witness it so badly. The slave side of my own nature is aroused as it has never been before. My cock aches for release and I have given up my unequal battle with its waywardness. I know that with the first cut of the cane across Sven's perfect ass that I could ejaculate - violently!

"Let's begin!" Anwar's words cut into my thoughts. "Slave your offence was serious enough to warrant the most severe of punishments. What have you to say?"

"Master, I am sorry I offended you and I beg for your forgiveness. Please Master punish me as you must and then forgive me?"

"Indeed I shall punish you. You are fortunate that I have a guest present tonight and so your punishment will be a light one. Rest assured however that if we were alone you'd feel the full force of my anger. You are to receive just eight strokes of the cane."

I see the trembling of the slave's body as he crouches on the table top and I hear his fear reflected in the hoarseness of his reply to his Master thanking him for his "leniency".

"Thank you, Master. Thank you for your mercy to your careless slave.

"Slave, you are to count each stroke and you have my permission to cry out your pain should you feel the need to do so."

"Thank you, Master!"

Anwar positions himself behind Sven but he's not yet ready to apply the cane to his body.  There is a cruel ritual to be played out before the first stroke cuts into the slave's buttocks.

Anwar maliciously swipes the cane through the air. He swings it down towards the waiting ass-cheeks but stops just short of making contact with them. The sibilant hiss of the cane causes his hapless victim to flinch and to cry out. As he does so, Anwar laughs loudly and comments to me.

"That always happens, Matt! What exquisite torment it is for the slave as he waits for the first cut of the cane. Imagine how he prepares his mind and body for the expectant pain that doesn't eventuate. Like a tightly coiled clock, his body is wound up as he waits for that first agonising surge of pain through his ass.  Of course, after a few false alarms, he relaxes and is totally unprepared for when the cane does make contact with him. Imagine his powerlessness at not knowing when the cane will strike. And hopelessly knowing that is a decision for his Master alone to make."

Obviously, Anwar is playing a cruel game of cat and mouse with Sven. I'm dismayed by Anwar's callousness and at his complete disregard for the mental anguish he is causing his slave as he "toys" with him. I am seeing Anwar as he really is - a brutal Master whose actions border on the sadistic. Still, I shouldn't be surprised by this; Arabs have practised slavery for many centuries and no doubt during that time they have perfected their skills at controlling and handling their slaves to an art form. I've always known this to be the case and I have even used that as a theme in my own wild, erotic slave fantasies on times too numerous to remember.

How many times have I craved for slavery such as this in my imagination? Yet tonight, for the first time, I have come face to face with the grim, awful reality of genuine slavery and I am appalled. While the fantasy of slavery excites me the reality of it terrifies me. How glad I am that I am free and how thankful I am that I'm not in Sven's place!

And yet, it would be hypocritical of me if I didn't admit to being mightily aroused at what I'm witnessing - my cock is clear evidence of my salacious interest. You need only to look at the tenting at the front of my trousers - similar to the tenting that Anwar is sporting - to see how all this is affecting me. How eager I am to see Anwar wield his cane against his helpless slave's yielding body.

Anwar continues to torment his unhappy victim. I stopped counting the false alarms after four swipes of the cane and I can't begin to imagine the effect of all this on the slave's fraught nerves. I'd always thought of canings and whippings as something you administered instantaneously. I'd never considered how they can be prolonged to add immeasurably to the slave's suffering.

Each time Anwar stops just short of applying the cane to Sven's ass cheeks and the slave's body relaxes just a little and he is lulled into a false sense of hope. The expectant pain doesn't eventuate and the slave heaves a sigh of relief.

This is all part of the ritual. The victim's expectation of the pain that doesn't eventuate is followed by a brief, false respite. I can only guess at Sven' sense of momentary relief as the cane fails to connect with him. But surely, he knows this relief is ill-foundered and that inevitably, pain will soon follow.

As I watch, Anwar continues to play with Sven until he doesn't hold back and the cane viciously slashes across the slave's upturned ass. The sickening sound of the cane cutting into naked flesh is followed by an animal-like scream of pain from Sven who counts out the first of his eight strokes of the cane.

"AHH!  Oh shit Master! Oh please Master, that's stroke one Master. Oh Master, that hurt!  Please Master, stop?"

From where I am standing, I see the angry stripe show livid red against the white perfection of the slave's buttocks. Soon it is joined by another and then another until all eight strokes have been delivered by Anwar. Each strike is followed my Sven's anguished cry, his counting of the stroke and a vain plea for mercy.

Despite my earlier fears, I fortuitously managed to save myself the embarrassment of an unwanted, spontaneous ejaculation. But it took a considerable amount of willpower on my behalf and I will need relief when I return home.

Eventually, Anwar's anger is assuaged by the sight of Sven's bruised, reddened ass and by his tears of pain and remorse. The slave knows he angered his Master by his dereliction of duty and that his punishment was justified.  And yet his pain is as nothing to the heartfelt disappointment he feels at failing his Master.

Anwar walks over to where Sven waits on the table top and examines his handiwork. Sven winces as Anwar examines his ass and runs his hands over the raised, welted flesh. Satisfied that no skin has been broken - and therefore no ointments or unguents are needed to assist in the healing - Anwar slaps his slave's ass and orders him down from the table.

Clambering down, the slave stands and ruefully rubs his painfully throbbing ass much to his Anwar's amusement as he waits for his Master's instructions.

"Slave, leave your ass alone. And fetch us some fresh coffee. QUICKLY NOW!"

As Sven hurries from the room, Anwar asks for my reaction to his slave's caning.

"Tell me Matt, what is your reaction to watching my slave's caning? Have you any thoughts on the matter?"

"Well Anwar, I guess my first thought is that it was brutal."

"Indeed it is brutal. But Matt, a Master has to be cruel to be kind to his slaves. A slave only learns respect for this Master through fear and he acquires the total, unquestioning obedience to his Master's wishes through punishment. Pain is a powerful motivator when it comes to training a slave. I hope you can understand that, Matt?"

"Anwar, I guess I'm still trying to come to grips with the concept that real slavery still exists.  And then to actually see a slave's punishment is a lot for me to grasp in one evening."

"Tell me Matt, have you never thought about slavery?"

"What do you mean, Anwar?"

"Well Matt, as a gay man, have you ever had fantasies about you being a slave. Have you ever acted out those fantasies in your own mind and imagined that you are a real slave?"

Anwar's question does strike a chord and if I am absolutely truthful, I would have to tell me that I often have erotic fantasies about serving as a slave. That is - until tonight when I have seen a real slave in service to an Arab Master. Any notions I had that such slavery is glamorous have now been put to rest and there's no way that I want to be a slave. I have no desire to be like Sven and so I tell a lie.

"No Anwar, I can't say I have."

"You have had none whatsoever, Matt? Are you quite sure?"

"No Anwar," I blushingly answer because of my lie, "I have never had any desire to be a slave."

"I see!"

Do I detect a note of disbelief in Anwar's reply?

Fortunately, Sven returns with freshly brewed coffee and its delicious aroma tantalises my tastebuds. I gladly accept the cup that Sven offers me and after he serves his Master's coffee, he stands before us in the full display position with his legs apart and his hands clasped behind his head. His physical presence is overwhelming and I am besotted by his naked beauty. My eyes roam lustfully over his nude body; how I would welcome the opportunity to reach out and touch him. But then, my attention is drawn to the chastity device that imprisons his cock and my curiosity is once more aroused.

"Anwar, why does your slave have his cock locked away?"

"To impress upon him that he is just a slave and that his cock no longer belongs to him. As a slave he doesn't have the right of free use of his body. And that all things are decided for him by his Master."

"But it must frustrate him?"

"That's of no consequence. A slave's feelings are of no interest to his Master. What are of paramount importance are his Master's desires and not his own needs. A slave's sexuality is never considered by a Master."

"Can I ask a personal question, Anwar?"

"Let me guess, Matt. You want to know about my use of Sven for sex. Am I correct?"

"Well, yes, Anwar. I hope it's not too personal a question."

"No, not at all, Matt. We are talking of just a slave. It's not as though he is a man. Of course I use my slave for sex. That's one of his major duties. I fuck him all the time and I have to say he's a delight to use. And of course, I allow a few honoured guests to my home to use him too. He's very popular; very tight-assed and most eager to please too."

"So others are allowed to have sex with him?"

"But of course, Matt! Within reason, a favoured few of my honoured guests are extended that courtesy. Does this surprise you?"

"Well yes, Anwar it does. I'd have thought that you'd have kept him for your own use."

"Matt, he's a slave." Anwar laughs. "He's not my wife. He's a possession like any other of my goods. When I welcome a guest into my home, my possessions become his possessions for the duration of his visit. And of course, the rules of hospitality demand that we make our slaves available for the use of those guests."

"And does keeping him locked away in a cock-cage help?"

"Indeed it does, Matt! You'd be surprised at how receptive my slave is to his Master's or his Master's guest's cocks thrusting into him after a prolonged period in chastity. The denial of sexual gratification makes him very responsive to our needs and of course, he does get to enjoy the experience too. Isn't that so, slave?"

"Yes Master! Your slave is always pleased to have you or your guests use me for your pleasure, Master."

"Good boy! How long have you been in chastity?" Anwar asks Sven. "I tend to forget the exact time. But I know it's been a while."

"Master, it's been five weeks and three days since you placed me in your restraint."

Five weeks and three days; that's thirty-eight days since Sven's cock was locked away. For someone like me who is used to masturbating whenever the urge arises, thirty-eight days seems an eternity. I masturbate every day - and sometimes twice a day - and it's inconceivable to me that this most basic of pleasures is denied to Anwar's slave. But as Anwar has said a slave's needs are of no consequence and they are subject to his Master's desires.

Still, as I think on this, I begin to understand the total control that Anwar exerts over Sven.  Anwar's authority as the Master is all encompassing whereas the slave, Sven has no rights whatsoever. Tonight, I have witnessed genuine slavery exercised in its entirety. I have watched as Sven debased himself at Anwar's and my feet. I have heard him hurry to carry out his Master's orders and I have witnessed him being punished for what can only be described as a minor breach. And I have heard how his Master uses him for his sexual pleasure and loans him to others to satisfy their lust filled gratifications.

Tonight, I am witnessing slavery at it basest and as it has been practised for millennia; it is the type of slavery that elevates the Master to unprecedented heights of control and denies his slave his humanity and reduces him to the level of an animal.

Tonight, my eyes have been opened to the horrors of chattel slavery and I am appalled.  Suddenly, my freedom takes on new significance. How glad I am that I'm not Sven and owned by such a Master as Anwar.

I can't think of any further indignities that can be heaped on to Sven. But I am wrong for Anwar has one final humiliation to be played out; it is one that involves both Sven and me.

Anwar invites me to inspect his "property" and reminds me that he would see it as a slight on his hospitality if I refused. Of course, I can't run the risk of offending Anwar; after all we haven't as yet concluded our business and so I accept his offer to "finger" his slave.

"Matt, I've noticed that my slave holds a certain fascination for you. Is this the case?"

Anwar's words make me blush. I'm not aware that my interest in Sven's naked body is so obvious. Through my confusion, I manage to blurt out an answer.

"Yes Anwar, you have to admit that the slave has a body that is most appealing. So yes, I do find it hard not to look at him as he stands in front of me."

"And is that the gay man in you speaking Matt? Or is it a new found interest in slavery?"

"It could be a little of both Anwar. The boy's body does appeal to me as a gay man. I mean wouldn't most gay men find him attractive. I know I do. But I also have a fascination with him as a slave. I've learned so much from you tonight - not the least being that there are real slaves in the world. That both appals and fascinates me, Anwar."

"Matt, my slave is but one among many. You'd be surprised at how many thousands of young men serve as slaves in certain parts of the world."

"Where do they come from, Anwar?"

"Slaves come from anywhere and everywhere, Matt. The world is full of young men who are eligible for enslavement. It's best not to ask too many questions about that. And as long as the slave-pens are filled with presentable young slaves, why should we concern ourselves with where they come from or how they came to be slaves. As I said earlier such things are of no consequence to a Master."

Anwar's answer is ambiguous and I'm left wondering how slaves are "recruited". Are they lifted from the streets and clubs of our cities and spirited away to secret slave-markets in the third world? I suppose there's every chance that they are.

"But come, Matt. Do me the great honour of inspecting my property."

"Anwar, what about Sven? Will he mind?"

"Matt, Sven is a slave and he has no say in the matter. I've invited you to inspect him and he knows that is my wish so he'll happily submit to you examining him. So Matt -don't be shy.  My slave isn't and he'll be disappointed if you don't check him out"

So what options do I have other than to accede to Anwar's invitation? And it would seem from Anwar's words that Sven is happy for me to examine him. I get up out of my seat and move over to him.

This is all very new to me and I'm unsure of what to do. But Sven is a true slave and he knows what is expected of him. Of course, I don't know that he has been in this situation countless times over the years whenever his Master gave permission to other guests to "finger" him. So in a way, Sven takes the initiative and leads me into my inspection of him.  He moves his feet apart, rises up onto the tips of his toes and he suggestively thrusts this groin forward. This is a blatant invitation to place my hands upon him and to begin my examination of him. I do so now and the sensation is electric.

His body is both hard and soft to the touch. My fingers gauge the hardness of his muscles yet I feel his warm flesh yield softly to my touch. Sven is trembling from his emotions and he's not alone. My own body is shaking with my mixed emotions. All this is so new to me.

My hands slide down over his chest to his nipples. Now some deeply ingrained instinct takes over my actions and I find myself teasing them into needle-point sharpness. I feel the sharp intake of the slave's breathe and a soft moan escapes his lips. Obviously, he is nearing the point of arousal and he fights against the constriction of his cock cage.

"Steady on there, Matt." Anwar laughingly tells me.  "You've got the poor boy all worked up.  Remember he's in a cock cage."

Anwar's words act as a circuit breaker and I regain my composure. I continue with my inspection of Sven as dispassionately as I can. But this is not easy. The slave is so responsive to my touch.

My hands move down over his belly and I pause long enough to explore his deeply indented navel with a fingertip. Wisely, my hands bypass his genitals and move down his long powerful legs. I examine his feet and toes before standing up. Instinctively, my next move suggests itself and I hear me ordering Sven to turn around. He does so and presents his back for my inspection. I'm becoming more confident and I take a firm, rounded and battered buttock in each hand and squeeze hard. Then releasing them, I gaze at their deep, dividing cleft and wonder if this is out of bounds to me. As though he is reading my thoughts, Anwar instructs his slave to.

"Bend and spread!"

Obediently, Sven bends at the waist and reaching behind him he pries both ass cheeks apart exposing that most secret part of him to my view. Momentarily, Sven's willingness to expose himself so openly shocks me. But then I realise he is a slave and no part of his body belongs to him. His body belongs to another and as a slave he can have no secrets from his Master or his Master's guests.

Suddenly, Anwar steps forward and delivers two stinging slaps to his slave's striped, bruised ass. Sven gasps from the unexpectedness of this and as the sound echoes throughout the silent room, his Master angrily admonishes him.

"I told you to spread! Now do it! SPREAD THEM! NOW!"

Poor Sven! I'm not sure that he could part his ass cheeks any more than he has. But his Master had ordered him to do so and struggles to oblige his Master's demand. In doing so, he reveals more of himself to me.

I now see his large, pendulous balls hanging low between his widely spread thighs and they jiggle with just the slightest movement of his body. His anus is stretched open and the pink striated flesh of his sphincter is winking an invitation to me. I want so much to reach forward and touch it and I look to Anwar for guidance. He simply smiles and nods his head.

The next few minutes are unlike any I have ever had and the memory of them will stay with me forever. This is my first close physical contact with a real slave - and I hope it won't be my last by a long shot. I reach in between Sven's thighs and fondle and play with his balls and when their novelty has worn off I finger his hole. At my first touch, he shudders violently and suggestively thrusts his ass backwards as though he is seeking to impale himself on my finger.  No words are spoken and none are needed. His action tells me what this slave wants and who am I to disappoint him. My finger enters him and I explore the warm, silky smooth interior of his body and delight in the tight embrace of his sphincter muscles.

But all good things must come to an end.  Eventually, I withdraw my finger from his body and with a new found confidence I slap his ass - not as hard as Anwar - and tell him to stand and face me.

Momentarily, we look at each other and slave smiles enigmatically at me. Does he know something that I don't? However, he appears to be genuinely happy with the attention I am paying to him.

Anwar tells me the final part of an inspection is the examination of the slave's mouth and teeth. I take my cue from him and order Sven to open his mouth. Again Anwar steps forward and punishes his slave. This time, he angrily slaps his slave's face and orders him to.

"OPEN WIDE Fuck you!"

Poor Sven! His face is reddened by his Master's slap and I see tears forming in his eyes. I try not to prolong his discomfort for too long and quickly examine his tongue and teeth all of which are in perfect condition. But my considerations for the slave's feelings are misplaced. Eventually, I am to learn all slaves deserve nothing else than to be treated with unremitting firmness.

Anwar congratulates me in what he calls my inspection techniques and tells me I have all the attributes of a true Master. I am flattered by Anwar's words and return the compliment by heaping fulsome praise on his slave.

Sven falls to his knees and crawls over to me. He inclines his head and kisses my feet three times before speaking.

"Thank you, Sir for inspecting me. And thank you for your fulsome praise of me to my Master. Sir, you pay him great honour by praising me as his property."

Then he leans forward once again and kisses my feet. I'm touched by his actions and words but inexplicably I now see them as my due.

My inspection of Sven has left me with in an aroused state. Desperately, I need relief and want to return home. Fortunately, the hour is late and I can respectfully take my leave of Anwar.

He escorts me to the door where Sven once more falls to his knees and removes my slippers. He kisses my feet and then replaces my shoes. Once more, he leans forward and kisses my feet in farewell homage. I accept this as my due and ignore the slave kneeling abjectly at my feet. However, in the hallways suffused lighting I don't miss the play of light and shadow on his crouching form. Nor do I miss the eight, angry red stripes that run roughly parallel across his upturned ass.

Anwar and I shake hands and confirm that we are to meet tomorrow for a working lunch. As I walk to a nearby taxi rank, I think back over the night's events. When I'd accepted Anwar's dinner invitation, not even in my wildest flights of fancy could I have envisaged the events of this momentous night?

Blissfully, I'm unaware of Anwar's plans for me. As he'd remarked to Mustapha earlier in the evening, he'd casted his baited rod and hooked a fish. I am that fish and over the coming weeks he is to play me with all the skills and finesse of a true fisherman before ensnaring me in his net.

Over the next few weeks, Anwar will feign his friendship for me. He'll have me believe that we are the closest of friends and I will be lulled into a false sense of security. He'll expose me to other Arabs and their slaves - all carefully hidden behind closed doors away from prying eyes. Through Anwar, I will come to see that chattel slavery is real in every sense of the word. Foolishly, not once will I ever relate it to my situation. I am secure in the certain knowledge that Anwar is my true and close friend.

Eventually, he'll invite me to travel with him to Maluchistan to inspect his many business interests. Unsuspecting, I will join him on a journey of no return that is to change my life forever.

To be continued.....

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