Duped

Anwar:

The House of Malik is excelling itself. The livestock in today's auction is superb and I have seldom seen so many prime slaves offered for sale in the one place and at the same time.

Impatiently, I look at my watch and see my time is running out. However, I decide I still have time to watch the sale of my slave, Matthew before I travel to the airport to board my flight back to London.  But my schedule will be a tight one.

Unfortunately, the high quality of the slaves offered in today's sale has slowed up proceedings.  Normally, a slave's time on the auction-block is short and the turnover in selling the livestock moves smoothly and quickly. However, today, the buyers are more demanding as the slaves are put through their paces and made to exhibit their bodies to an enthusiastic and appreciative audience. It would seem every buyer present today is determined to bid for each slave offered and this also slows the proceedings.

There'd been intense interest shown in a young stripling slave from Canada. He'd proved a popular lot and the bidding for him had been intense and protracted. Slowly, the unsuccessful bidders had fallen by the wayside until only two remained - Prince Omar and the African businessman I'd spoken to earlier as I inspected Matthew on the viewing podium. Both men were determined to own the young slave and fought relentlessly with their euros to do so. And of course, this slowed down the bidding process. Eventually, the African's bid of 125,000 euros won the battle much to Prince Omar's chagrin and it was amusing to watch as the fat lecher fumed and fussed in the royal enclosure.

Not that a slave's fate overly concerns me, but I was pleased to see the stripling sold to the African who I guessed might have bought him as a gift for his teenaged son. If this is so, then the slave's life will be a much happier one. The alternative - to be owned by the odious Prince Omar - would see the slave suffer the excruciating pain of the prince's infamous paddles and then ignominious defilement by the prince's ghastly proxy, Gansu. The slave deserved better than that and I sensed he'll be highly prized by his new masters.

Despite the delay, I am determined to see the final act in Matthew's transformation from a proud, corporate lawyer into an owned and submissive slave. After all, I have been the facilitator for his transition from free man to slave and it would be a pity for me not to view him standing naked on the auction block and to see who among the buyers is successful in buying him.

I wonder how he feels at this moment as he stands at the head of the race knowing he is next to be lead out and sold. I would think his emotions are very mixed and I wonder if he now regrets his wild, erotic fantasies of being an owned slave. Somehow, I suspect that he does - very much so!

Malik's Spanish slave, Miguel is presently standing on the auction block and he poses his nude body seductively in the hope of attracting a good owner. This experienced slave knows he has two valuable assets which could work in his favour to attract a kindly master. These are his body's appearance and his sexuality and he blatantly uses both as he primps and poses for the appreciative buyers.

Willingly, he responds to the overseer's instructions to twist and contort his torso so that his muscles ripple and flex beneath the sheen of display oil coating his body. When ordered to do so, he reaches upwards with his strong arms above his head to expose his hairless armpits and to highlight his well- formed, muscular chest and ripped abdomen.

Meanwhile, his cock is massively erect and pulses with nervous energy while a long, dribbling thread of his precum hangs precariously from his piss-slit.

When bidden to "turn, bend and spread" he turns with his back to the buyers, shuffles his feet apart and bends at the waist. With his head lowered to between his knees, the slave reaches behind and grasps a muscular ass-cheek in each hand and spreads them to their fullest extent. His balls hang low and slightly out of balance with one another between his thighs and his striated, pulsating anus is exposed to our view.

This slave is using all his wiles to attract the buyers' attention. Of course, the stakes are high and depending upon who buys him; his life can be one of comparative ease or one of unremitting, hard labour. It can be spent as a pleasure slave lying on the silken sheets of his master's rutting divan or as a miserable beast-of-burden forever toiling naked under the whips of pitiless overseers on a farm, in a sun blasted, dusty quarry or deep down a dark, dank mine.

Who then can blame the slave for trying to "sell" himself as a sex slave to an appreciative owner?

Impatiently, I look at my watch. Thankfully, the auctioneer is anxious to move on and make up for lost time and calls a halt. The overseer's slap on the slave's ass and the order to stand and face the buyers reverberates around the saleyard and the auctioneer now invites the buyers' bids.

Not surprisingly, this slave proves a popular lot and again the bidding for him is frenetic. I watch with great interest; the price this slave realizes could be an indication of what my slave is worth.

I watch as the fierce bidding takes the price of Malik's slave over 100,00 euros and it's not until it reaches 180,000 euros that it eases. Only a handful of bidders remain and one by one they are eliminated by the strong bidding of the African who'd earlier bought the stripling. It would appear he is determined to own this slave no matter at what the cost and inevitably he wins. The Spanish slave has sold to the African for the princely amount of 205,000 euros. Can I expect a similar return for my slave who must now take his place on the auction block?

As I wait for the Spaniard to be taken to a holding pen and for Matthew to be brought forward, my mind turns to the kernel of an idea that has lain dormant for some time. My family's business interests demand much of me and outside of them I have no hobbies or other leisure activities to relax me or to ease the stress of my hectic lifestyle. Lately, the nature of my work has bored me and I need to look for new enterprises to both challenge and stimulate my not inconsiderable energies.

The concept of slavery has always fascinated me and the notion that one man can literally own another and bend him to his will is what defines me as a man. I give expression to this in my ownership of my Norwegian slave Sven and in the enslavement of Matthew.

I recall with pride my ancestors were once slave-traders and it was they who laid the foundation blocks for my family's current wealth. The family's oral history proudly tells how these intrepid adventurers travelled into the deepest parts of Africa capturing slaves for the very profitable markets of the Middle-East. Their specialties were the prime, young males whose destinies were to serve as eunuchs in the harems of their Arab and Ottoman masters. Indeed, they had an enviable reputation for producing eunuchs of the highest quality and demand always outstripped supply.

Later, others of my ancestors were corsairs whose galleys roamed the Mediterranean Sea plundering Christian ships for booty and slaves and raiding Europe's coastal communities for white, Nasrani captives destined for the slave-market.

Several centuries ago, my ancestors built an impregnable, slave factory on a remote part of the coast where captives from Africa and Europe were trained and processed into slavery before being taken to the slave-markets. This facility, although now deserted and neglected, still belongs to the family and several days ago, I visited it to see its condition for myself.

Built from solid stone from a nearby quarry, I'd been surprised by its sturdiness and I marvelled at the professionalism of those who'd built it. When I closed my eyes, I was transported back through the years to another time - one that excited me. In my mind's eye, I could picture naked slaves toiling in the quarries hewing rock while other slaves hauled the dressed, stone blocks to the building site where yet more slaves hoisted them one on top of the other to build the massive fortress which served both as their prison and their training ground.

And in my imagination, I could hear the sounds of the slaves' labours and their suffering. I heard the clanking of their chains, the loud clunking of metal implements being used to pry the blocks of stone from the rock face, their rasping, ragged breathing in the hot, desert air and their pitiful cries as leather whips mercilessly scourged their naked, sun-blackened backs.

It could be said that I'd come face to face with my heritage and I was enthralled by it. I spent the whole day exploring the grim fortress and assessing if it could be salvaged. I wandered its long corridors, inspected the gloomy slave dungeons and even found what was once the private living quarters of my ancestors.

I discovered rooms whose purpose I could only guess at but one in particular caught my attention.  Still in place were the branding benches - as solid as the day when they were last used - and the braziers which heated the branding irons used to mark my family's slaves. And fortuitously, I found several of the original irons which showed the beautifully intricate design used by my ancestors. And in one large vault, I found sturdy chests filled with heavy, iron neck collars and thick wrist and ankle shackles. As I handled these very necessary accoutrements of slavery, I marvelled at their almost pristine condition. They'd lain abandoned and unused for many years and yet they were as sturdy as the day they were forged. Protected from the elements and preserved by the dry, desert air they are ready to be used once more.

I decided there and then that I would restore this monument to my family's history and wealth to its former glory and to its original use - a place where slaves are trained before being sent to auction. I left with plans formulating in my head and after I'd done a quick cost analysis. I knew it would take a vast amount of money to achieve the grandeur of bygone days.

However, money for restoring the building isn't an issue. The family has large reserves of capital that I can divert to this new project. More pressing is the labour needed to work on the restoration of the remote fortress.

And as I marvel at the price fetched by the Spanish slave, I wonder if I can expect a similar amount for my slave, Matthew. If so, then I will use that money to recruit a labour force to work on the restoration of my slave station.

Obviously, buying common, work slaves at auction to labor on the site is out of the question. The cost of doing so is prohibitive and besides the slaves I require would of necessity have to be strong animals of brute strength, bovine intelligence and capable of the hardest labor. It seems to me that the streets of London and other Western cities teem with suitable candidates for this type of slavery.  It's simply a matter of locating and harvesting them, transporting them to the fortress and setting them to work.

My plan of action is that firstly, I will use these slaves to restore the fortress and make it ready for its true purpose - the training of Franj pleasure slaves for the most discerning of masters.

I mentioned this to Malik who enthusiastically encouraged me to turn my dream into reality. He said that he would happily assist me in the marketing of my slaves and suggested that I use some of his contacts to recruit my initial intake of new slaves to work on the restoration. Armed with that information, I will make contact with Malik's slave harvesters when I return to London.

Of course, I can't neglect my other business responsibilities to the family and I will need an on-site assistant to organize the labour force and to supervise the restoration work. And for this important task I have chosen my twenty-three year old nephew, Karim who I love dearly as a son. Karim recently graduated as an architect and has the necessary skills for overseeing the project. And a lifetime's exposure to his family's slaves has made him a stern disciplinarian and I know he'll be a hard taskmaster for the slaves working under his control.

I have spoken with Karim and told him of my plans and he is as excited as I am about this new enterprise.  He shares my interests in our family's history and slavery and told me he looks forward to working with unbroken, Franj captives and turning them into docile, compliant slaves. It would appear in choosing Karim I have chosen wisely.

Suddenly, my pleasant reverie is broken by an appreciative murmur rippling through the buyers. I look to see what has aroused their interest and see my slave Matthew being lead to the auction- block. Overcome by what is happening, he baulks and as the overseer jerks his neck chain to keep him moving forward, a second overseer applies his strap to my slave's ass. The loud slap of leather striking Matthew's naked flesh and his audible gasp of surprise echo around the tiered seats and amuse the buyers.

I watch as my slave is led across the platform to the waiting block. He is a truly magnificent specimen and briefly I regret my decision to sell him. It is easy to envisage him serving with Sven in my household. But this isn't possible and my regret is fleeting!

As Matthew walks hesitantly to his fate, the sunlight filtering down through the high rafters casts shadows on his oiled and naked body and the contrasts of light and shade highlight his musculature most erotically. His fair skin glows with rude, good health.

Hindered by his shackles, he shuffles awkwardly forward and struggles to hold his golden head high while his piercing blue eyes nervously scan the tiered rows of the buyers' gallery. His muscular chest heaves with his apprehension and the fluttering of his stomach muscles betrays his nervousness. His semi-hard cock points the way to the waiting block while his pendulous balls swing freely within their loose sack which hangs low between his strong thighs.

Obviously, wishing to avoid the strap, my slave allows himself to be lead forward and when instructed to do so, he clambers clumsily up onto the auction-block and faces outwards towards the buyers.

Matthew's moment of destiny is finally here!  His erotic fantasizing about slavery is now reality and his heartfelt wish to be an owned slave is to be granted.

                                                          >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Matthew:

Within minutes, it will be my turn to be lead out and sold!

I now stand at the front of the line of my fellow slaves just inside the gate and I wait for an overseer to take me to the auction-block. The crush of naked bodies behind me leaves me with absolutely no room to move and I feel the comforting warmth of a hard body pressing up against my bare back. Somehow, I find strength in the touch of another man's flesh making contact with my own. I shuffle back against him until I feel his chest against my back and his groin pressed hard up against the curves of my buttocks. For a few brief seconds, I get to savour the delicious feel of his erection throbbing in my ass-crack.

As an overseer unbolts the gate, I stand quietly while a second overseer clips a chain leash to my collar. Both are armed with thick leather straps which they won't hesitate to use if I am troublesome. The overseer tugs at my leash and asks ominously.

"Are you going to come quietly, slave? Or do we have to strap your ass?"

"I'll come quietly, Sir." I answer docilely. After all, what choice do I have?

As I climb the steps, the indistinct conversation of the buyers grows louder. Waiting in the race for my turn, I'd heard the cheering that greeted each slave's arrival on the auction block followed by the lively banter between the buyers and the auctioneer as the slave was exhibited to them. I am now to experience this for myself.

Reaching the top, I temporarily lose my nerve and stop. I hear the shouted order to.

"MOVE FORWARD!"

And I feel the agonising bite of an overseer's strap cutting across my bare ass-cheeks. I gasp with the sudden, unexpectedness of this and hear a ripple of laughter coming from the buyers' seats.

I wonder - How can people be so heartlessly indifferent to another's suffering?

I am yanked forward by my leash and led over to a raised, wooden block approximately forty-five centimetres higher than the surrounding platform and I am ordered to

"STEP UP!"

Although the chains around my ankles hinder me, I do manage to clamber up onto the block. Over countless years, its smooth, sweat blackened surface has been worn into a concave by the feet of all those slaves who have stood upon the block and waited as they were sold. I lower my head in submission and wait.

I begin to shake uncontrollably with the full realization of my awful predicament. An overseer forces my feet apart and arranges my cock and balls into a prominent display so they are more visible to the buyers. Then, he commands me to raise my eyes and to look out over the heads of the buyers to a spot high up the far wall of the courtyard.

Despite my life long fantasies to the contrary, every fibre of my being now screams. ......."I don't want to be a slave!"

And yet I know that is exactly what I am and that I won't have any other choice but to yield to whoever buys me and to serve him dutifully as his slave.

Mercifully, my troubled mind shuts down and I'm only vaguely aware of what is happening around me. I hear the auctioneer talking, but don't fully comprehend what he is saying and as though from a distance, I hear the comments, laughter and good-natured bantering coming from the buyers' gallery.

Then, through the fog of my confusion, I'm suddenly aware that the buyers are silent and I listen as the auctioneer introduces me to the buyers,

"Gentlemen, you have before you lot 15, the property of Anwar al-Khaldun. As you would know from the profiles given to you on your arrival, this slave is a twenty-five year old Australian who, until a few days ago, had a very successful career as a corporate lawyer in London. He has been a slave for a mere four days having been lured here under the guise of friendship by his Master, Anwar al-Khaldun and enslaved. Therefore gentlemen, this is an unbroken and untamed slave who will challenge the more adventurous among you. Imagine the delights as you break this slave's spirit and meld it to suit your needs. Such a slave promises much sport. And I'm sure you would agree with me when I say that this robust slave is among the top offerings of today's sale. Gentlemen, I will allow you a few moments to peruse the magnificence of his body and admire the perfection of his nakedness and when you have finished please feel free ask whatever you want of the slave and it shall be done. Then, when you are satisfied, I will call for your bids. And gentlemen, be prepared to loosen your purse-strings for this slave won't sell cheaply."

Although I am dazed, I'm aware of an overseer posing me into positions which best display my naked body to its full advantage. I feel him stretching and pinching my nipples into needlepoint sharpness before stroking my semi-erect cock to full erection. Then, I am turned with my back to the buyers and bent double.

Now, I feel rough hands pulling my ass-cheeks apart and exposing me to the buyers' lustful scrutiny. I no longer care as I hear the crude laughter and ribald comments that the sight of my puckering ass- hole provokes.

The auctioneer continues to invite the buyers to call out their requests for my body to be posed and I hear their answering requests to exhibit my body in ways that excite their lustful interest in it.

From somewhere among the crowd, I hear a buyer ask.

"Please, place the slave on his hands and knees with his ass facing out towards us and his legs spread wide? I want to see how low his balls hang!"

The overseers waste no time in forcing me into position! Time is of the essence and there are other slaves waiting to follow me to the auction-block.

Other requests follow in quick succession as I am made to further exhibit my body for the buyers' scrutiny and, I suspect, their lasciviousness. Forced to front the buyers, I am made to twist and contort my torso, to flex my biceps and to reach up with my arms above my head to display my stretched pectorals and abdominal muscles. Then I am made to turn with my back to them and once more to raise my arms above my head to bring into prominence the different muscle groups of my shoulders and back.

An overseer spreads my legs and orders to bend and touch my toes. Once more, I feel the stretching apart of my ass-cheeks and the resulting stress on my anus. I am very conscious that the most intimate parts of my body are on prominent show and of the ribald laughter and crude comments from the buyers' gallery. Then, the overseer reaches between my thighs and tugs down on my balls so that they hang low in their sac.

An impatient hand slaps my ass and, once more, I am ordered to stand and face the buyers. Finally, and most humiliatingly, I am made to masturbate. Shamefaced at first, I tentatively begin to stroke my cock but as my arousal hardens, I lose my embarrassment and give myself over to the enjoyment of the moment. I am oblivious of all those watching me. I hear the buyers' appreciative murmurings and I'm vaguely aware of the auctioneer's praise of my "attributes" but I am unaffected by them.  Soon the tempo of my hip-thrusting matches itself to the speed of my fist and they are in perfect harmony with one another. My churning balls ache for release and I fire the first warning shots of an impending ejaculation.  My back arches and my muscles tense readying my body for a cataclysmic eruption but at the last minute an overseer pulls my hand away from my cock leaving me frustrated and unfulfilled.

Defeated, I am now to be sold and I hang my head in humility as the auctioneer - keen to move on - calls for the buyers' attention.

"Gentlemen, I'm sure we'd all agree that lot 15 is a most desirable property. If you are ready, I'll call for your bids! Who'll be the first among you to bid? Come gentlemen, don't be shy; who'll offer me an opening bid for this fine slave."

This moment is the culmination of all my erotic fantasies - the ones that had fired my imagination and given me untold pleasures over the years of my youth. Yet as I stand trembling on the auction- block, I wish that this isn't so. I yearn for my old life which is now irredeemably lost to me.

Within a few short minutes, I will be owned property; the slave of a new master!

 To be continued.....

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