Date: Sun, 21 May 2006 16:09:37 GMT
From: "anonymous4371@juno.com" <anonymous4371@juno.com>
Subject: DISAPPEARANCES: Case No. 3 (Authoritarian)

DISAPPEARANCES

by Bill Smith

[If you are new to the DISAPPEARANCES series, the story below story needs
to be read in the context of the introduction which was previously posted
with Case. No. 1.  As usual, I would appreciate your comments on this story
at anonymous4371@juno.com.  Thanks.  Bill Smith]


Case No. 3:

[The third story is about a handsome soldier from Bosnia-Herzegovina who
was captured by the Serbs and never heard of again.]

     I was 20 when a government agent arrived at my parent's small farm and
delivered in person my induction notice into the army.  I wasn't surprised.
Everyone I knew was either already in the Army or expected to be in the
next few months.  Told to report at the nearest village police station the
very next noon where a truck would be waiting for me and about 16 others
from that province, I was given a sheet listing my new address, a notice
that the only clothes I would need would be one change of civilian clothes,
and that everything else, even a toothbrush, would be furnished.

     My mother cooked me a "last meal" of all my favorites, my father gave
me his prized wrist watch to "remember him by," and my most recent girl
friend gave me her body to enjoy once again but this time "all night" if I
promised to always use a fresh condom each time I entered her.

     The next morning, well fed, wearing my father's wrist watch, and
feeling tired and totally drained from fucking all night long, I trudged
down with my one change of clothes in a small paper sack to the local
police station.

     There I waited alongside the other 16 who had been drafted, all about
my age and with the classic Bosnian good looks that belied our common
heritage (straight noses, thick black hair, high cheekbones, deep set dark
eyes, pronounced jaw lines usually outlined by well- trimmed pencil-line
beards, and well-defined muscular bodies without an ounce of fat on them),
we chatted with each other about what Army life would be like, how much we
hated the Serbs, and what we were going to do for sex with our girl friends
left behind. We joked about the low pay, the ill-fitting uniforms, the
antiquated weapons we would be issued, and the half-drunk officers that
were legend when talking about the country's armed forces.

     The Army truck arrived and within two hours we were at our "training
camp" which was dilapidated, had only the most basic supplies of a well for
fresh water, a mountain stream for washing and taking a crap, a large tent
serving as a mess hall where we were fed only twice a day, and some ragged
tents to sleep under.  We were issued guns rumored to have been
manufactured in the late 1950s along with 10 bullets each which we had to
keep in our pants pockets for lack of a proper ammunition belt. The
training consisted of learning how to load the old guns, how to fire them,
and how to recognize symptoms of dysentery, dehydration, gonorrhea, and
impetigo, an old disease associated with severe uncleanliness.  Other
training consisted of admonitions against use of uninspected whores who
were probably disease-ridden, of jerking off which would decrease our
energy as well as our fighting spirit, and the mere thought of desertion no
matter how bad the food got or how many of our buddies got killed in the
forthcoming battles.  After all, we were defending our country against the
'heathen mongrels' as the Serbs were usually called and our families were
depending on us for their protection from being raped and tortured into
abandoning their sacred religion which would assure a perpetual Hell for
them.

     Within a week, we were in a three day march to the front lines which
were as bloody as they were disorganized.  A day after arriving there, 40%
of my regiment had been slaughtered, another 50% were badly injured, but
uncaptured, and had been trucked back to the training center, and the
remaining 10%, including me, were captives of the 'heathen mongrels.'

     As the Serbs herded their fresh captives into a 'holding pen,' we were
each issued two hard biscuits that were foul tasting but were at least
eatable if you had good teeth, a plastic bottle of fresh water, and an old
newspaper to use as a blanket. That night we managed to get some sleep
since the weather was warm and we were too tired to do anything else.

     Unbeknownst to any of us, the Serbian government financed their war
against us by selling off their captives to the underground market in
slaves instead of incurring the expense of feeding, clothing, and
sheltering them as was called for in the Geneva Conventions.  The profits
where so great from this enterprise they were not only able to buy the
latest and best equipment for their army but had enough left over to
finance a good part of their normal government costs as well, thus lowering
taxes for their populace.  In fact, most Army salaries (including hefty
bonuses for the officers) came out of these funds which insured the
officers and the troops under them took great interest in getting the
greatest number in the best shape possible to the appropriate markets. The
humane part of this practice was that fewer captives were killed in that
they were considerably more valuable as merchandise to be sold; the
downside was that their own soldiers could expect the same treatment or
worse if they were captured although, as far as I knew, Bosnia wasn't into
the slave trade yet.

     The next morning, we were told to strip and put all of our uniforms
and underclothing into a large plastic barrel they had placed by the front
gate of our pen. They then sprayed us with a firehouse until most of the
dirt was off us and we were pretty beat up from the water pressure but we
were given a couple more of those biscuits and another bottle of water as
we tried to dry our bodies off in the breeze.  We assumed an issue of
prisoner-of-war clothing would be issued shortly to cover our nakedness.

     Instead, a large naked worker of some type entered and painted a large
two digit number on each of our backs as we stared at the heavy metal
collar around his neck and the fact that all the hair had been shaved off
his body, even the hair around his manhood which made him look very weird -
like a boy with a grown man's equipment. He didn't look like the typical
Serb so we assumed he was Greek or Russian or maybe even a Romanian. As we
looked up, we saw a number of men and even a few women climbing up to the
guard towers surrounding our pen, each clothed like civilians and each with
a pair of binoculars along with a pen and pad to write things on. As soon
as they had ascended the towers, they spent their time studying us through
their binoculars, occasionally jotting something down on the note pads they
carried. Those of us in the pens, still damp in spots from the hosing,
tried to cover ourselves as best we could with our hands, especially when
we saw women's binoculars trained right at us, but as this went on for well
over an hour, we soon got tired of this game and gave up trying to cover
our privates, just blushing and feeling humiliated as we thought of these
strangers ogling us for God knows whatever reason.

     After an hour or so, some Serbian soldiers entered the pen fully armed
and with huge bull whips in their hands.  They ordered us via a loudspeaker
to run around the perimeter of the compound at full speed if we didn't want
to feel their whips cutting our backs open.  After demonstrating they meant
business by slashing across a couple of the captives with their whips until
their backs turned red from all the blood and their screams of pain echoed
throughout the compound, that's what we did, despite our embarrassment of
running around in front of a bunch of observers, including quite a few
women, with our pricks and balls bouncing around between our legs.

     After a good 15-minute run until our bodies glowed with sweat, we were
ordered to line up face forward with our legs spread and our hands in back
of our necks.  After standing like that for a good 15 minutes, we then were
ordered to turn around in place, again keep our legs apart and with our
hands in back of our necks, and stood in that position for another 15
minutes.  Those up in the towers observing us with their binoculars never
left and the glint of their binocular lenses were about all we could see of
them other than it was obvious they were jotting down things on their pads
from time to time.

     The observers eventually moved down the steps of the towers and
disappeared.  Then one by one, two digit numbers were called out and told
to go to a side gate where a couple of guards escorted them away to a large
warehouse about a block away. We were surprised they still weren't issued
any clothes but assumed that was what they were being taken to the
warehouse for.  We couldn't tell since none of those escorted away ever
returned.

     Eventually, my number was called and since I couldn't see it on my
back or ever been told what it was, I had to rely on others in the pen to
prod me when I was summoned. As soon as I entered the 'warehouse,' I found
out what happened to all the observers.  They were now in small groups
crowded around some captive that matched the number written down in their
little pads - a fact evident since they frequently checked the number on my
back with the number they had written down. My number matched the numbers
written down, apparently, by six men and two women, all eager to get a
close-up inspection of my body.  Other captives scattered around had groups
as little as two and as big as twenty crowded around them for a better look
which I quickly found out included a hands-on appraisal once we had our
wrists tightly shackled behind our backs, our legs hobbled by a rod
fastened to each ankle which forced our legs wide apart, a tall metal
collar locked around our necks which forced our heads up and forward at all
times, and a plastic gag forced in our mouths and held there by a band
around our head.

     The group around me lost no time in feeling every muscle in my body,
stroking my cheeks, squeezing my tits until they were bright red and erect,
and fondling my penis until it too, despite the circumstances, was fully
erect and hard while simultaneously hefting up my balls and juggling them
in their hand as if they were weighing them. While doing all of this, I
writhed and twisted and screamed behind my gag in a futile objection, but
heard them shouting out bids against each other as the assessment
continued.  Finally, when they stopped trying to outbid each other, an Army
officer identified the high bidder and took both him and me over to a
nearby table where cash quickly changed hands, receipts were scrawled out,
and a leash was fastened to my neck collar as the ungainly leg separator
was replaced with a more orthodox pair of ankle shackles so I could again
walk more or less normally.  A key capable of removing the collar, wrist,
ankle, and gag restraints was handed to the person holding the receipt
and... I suddenly realized with horror.. I was his!

     Around me all other captives were in the same predicament. The
handsome lad right next to me had a older woman holding his neck leash; a
man in back was dragged away by a black man, a rarity in these parts; and a
man in front had an Italian man no older than himself leading him
away. Still others seemed to have Americans taking their high bid, a Middle
Easterner in a full length robe had a blond man in his late 20s, a stern
looking woman had a leash in each hand, both attached to extremely handsome
boys no older than 18 or so; a dark rotund man looking like he came from
Latin America had another couple of young boys in tow; and a dark skinned
man I heard say he was from Los Angeles had a very muscular green eyed man
that looked to be in his early twenties on his leash.

     Over in one corner were a few who had no leash on them and were still
wearing their leg separator so they had to squat in position.  Since there
were no observers around them now, I assumed no one had bid enough to get
them.  No doubt the Serb Army officers had minimum prices they expected and
if they didn't get them today, they might at the next big offering.  But an
overheard conservation quickly told me the Serbs didn't have that much
patience.  I found out those in the corner hadn't received a minimum bid,
all right, but there was to be no second observation.  Once all of the
rejects were collected for the day, they would be sold off as a lot to a
contractor who was only looking for draft labor anyway - the Army would get
cash in hand that day; the contractor would get lots and lots of labor at
minimum cost and where little training or supervision would be needed since
these boys would be worked in chain gangs under a whip at some
out-of-the-way secret work site far from their native land until the last
ounce of energy had been extracted from their bodies.

 The nicely clothed people talking about this, obviously buyers, mentioned
these facts as if everyone in the world was well aware you could buy people
as easily as you bought a sack of flour, that these bought people were not
only used for their labor - they were talking about chain gangs as casually
as my parents would talk about the weather - but it was obvious from our
'inspections' that many people were bought with their sexual potential in
mind. I, on the other hand, had never heard of slavery outside of a history
book, had never seen a slave back in Bosnia-Herzegovina, and had never
heard from our Army training of that possibility if we were captured.  I
had certainly never heard of slaves being bought for sexual purposes
(outside of some wild Roman history novels based on possible events over
2000 years ago).  Standing there stark naked, with a collar around my neck
attached to a leash, watching people buy humans like cattle was absolutely
surreal - like almost all the other captives, I couldn't believe what was
happening or that I was there.  The shock of it all made me both speechless
and inactive - the usual response looking at all the others standing there
meekly with a collar around their neck staring straight ahead almost
catatonic with tears streaming down most of their cheeks. Only a few were
rebellious and trying to lash out at this appalling situation, but they
were quickly gagged and were, of course, shackled like the rest of us so
their muted protests didn't change the situation in any way.

 I stayed there long enough to see those ex-soldiers destined for the labor
gangs led away shackled together in a long line by their neck collars.
Each one was closely chained to the one in front of him with no more than a
foot between them so it was hard for them to keep their pricks from rubbing
against the butt of the soldier in front of them as a whip landing on their
shoulders urged them on hurriedly. It was their introduction to life in a
chain gang, a situation, I was to learn later, that wouldn't change for
most of them until death from overwork, excessive discipline, disease, and
poor food brought release from the chains closely binding them to their
colleagues. I remembered reading about the agricultural slaves the Romans
used extensively on their latifundas (plantations) who were also worked in
chains under a heavy whip and how short their life spans were estimated to
be. We were taught in school that the area now called Bosnia-Herzegovina
was a major source of slaves for the Roman markets and, as I watched the
newly-collared captives led away, I thought how little the world had
changed in 2000 years if all I was witnessing was actually true.  I was
jolted back by the voice of the man who had 'bought' me.

 "Time to get you properly prepared," he said as he summoned over a couple
of huge muscular Serbians.  They quickly demonstrated they were well
experienced in what they did.  This pair of "preparers" promptly strapped
me down to a "prep table" and gave me three enemas in succession rather
roughly until I "ran clean" as they said, scrubbed me thoroughly with hot
soap and water, shaved off all the hair on my body below my necks, trimmed
my head hair to a 1" crew cut with some electric clippers, fitted me with a
new chrome collar which this time was welded on permanently, and finally,
tattooed me with an identification bar code on my right forearm and burnt a
small "ownership mark" onto my left butt cheek.

 While this was being done to me, it was simultaneously happening to dozens
of other captives, each with two 'preparers' working on him. Despite our
shock and shame, all of us screamed and howled throughout the entire
process until we either fainted, didn't have the strength to scream any
more, or realized our protests only amused the Serbs working on us. I had
never had anything enter my ass and when the enema nozzle first entered me,
I screamed in protest and humiliation to absolutely no avail.  When my
pubic hair and fine mop of head hair (of which I was very proud) was
quickly modified, I felt my manhood slithering away with it But it was
having a collar welded around your neck that sunk home I was undergoing a
drastic change in my status and was being treated as no different than an
animal.  But what really cut to my soul was when I was branded just like
the cattle we had back on our farm.  I realized then I was now just
property.  Before I was released from the prep table, a large well
lubricated plastic dildo was forced all the way up my ass until it was
fixed in place.

 With a freshly burnt ass, a body devoid of any hair just like a baby, a
slave property bar code permanently inked into my arm, and now a huge dildo
rammed up my ass, I was leashed and handled back to the man who had
'bought' me.  The dildo forced me and all the others similarly 'prepared'
to walk splay-legged.

 "Thank God you've been properly trimmed or we'd have to wait around for
you to heal," he commented as he motioned to a nearby captive who was
strapped down tightly to a prep table screaming in terror while one of the
Serbs carefully razored off his foreskin ."Where you're going, everyone
wants their boys trimmed," he added as he led me out of the building,
shackled my wrists behind my back, gagged me, and then forced me into a
cage built into the interior of a delivery truck where two other captives
were already imprisoned with the dildos jutting out of their backsides and
their own gags in place.

 After a short ride, the three of us were stuffed into the cargo area of a
small Cessna turboprop and about five hours later felt the plane hit the
airstrip of someplace very hot.  As soon as the plane stopped, the three of
us were placed into another open delivery truck that really was nothing
more than a big cage behind the cab.  Anyone looking at the truck speeding
down the road could get a complete view of its naked contents which made us
wonder just where in God's name we had been taken.

 The answer was made apparent no more than 30 minutes later when we were
unloaded inside a large tent in the middle of some desert and placed in a
holding pen while swarthy looking men in long robes armed with bull whips
stood guard around the 20 or so now in the pen. As soon as were added to
the others and greetings were exchanged between our 'owner' and his
friends, the auction commenced.

 One of my fellow soldiers on the airplane with me was placed on a small
stage no more than 3' high so all in the audience could see him.  He was
about 18, blond, and green eyed with a muscular build, very striking good
looks, and exceptionally large sex organs.  The minute he was on the stage,
a murmur of appreciation spread throughout the audience and I saw him
shudder as he realized every eye was examining him in detail.  The
auctioneer reached down and stroked him until he was fully erect, turned
him for the entire audience to see him aroused, and then whirled him
around, bent him over at the waist, and casually inserted his third finger
well up into the boy's ass as he gasped and then buckled in protest.

 "Easy boy," the auctioneer said his first words in English as he jerked
the boy's leash and smacked his whip across his rump as a reminder of who
was in control.  "Every buyer expects to see a boy's hole opened up when he
is being sold."

 That said, the boy was again jerked around by his collar until he was once
again facing front and told to thrust his pelvis out to best display his
organ.  When he failed to do so instantly, the auctioneer lashed the boy
harshly across his rump whereupon the boy compiled with the command with a
sharp yelp which amused the audience.

 He was sold within three minutes and delivered to his new owner.

 Second up on the stage was my other flight companion and fellow soldier -
a brown hair man of about 22 with rugged good looks, bulging muscles, and
who had a nice 7" very thick prick even flaccid and big low-hanging balls
swinging between his legs.  Despite the fact he was older that the soldier
just sold, he was totally humiliated at being publicly displayed like this
and was bright red and sweating in shame as he was displayed front and back
to the audience.  When the auctioneer stroked him to a full erection (11"
in his case), he gasped and started crying right there in front of
everyone.  This seemed to only add to his appeal in that the bids quickened
and within minutes he too was led to his buyer, the same one who had bought
the green-eyed boy.

 Next a couple of blacks were sold off.  Both were jet black, probably from
Central Africa somewhere and were huge - all over.  They were fine-looking
specimens who obviously had been slaves before - there were a few whip
scars on their backs and rumps, their necks were permanently chafed from
numerous collars fitted to them, the rings through their tits looked like
they had been there for years, and both of them had thick bands welded
around their gigantic genitals to insure they showed off well and were easy
to grab.  Neither one displayed the slightest bit of embarrassment or shame
at being displayed like this, and when stroked to the erection these buyers
seemed to demand, they thrust their pelvis out as far as they could to make
it easy for the auctioneer with a huge inviting smile on their face as if
they welcomed it.  Quickly, I learned they did welcome it - both shot a
full load after only a few strokes right into the audience with a roar of
relief and appreciation.  Those two were sold to the same man seated at the
back of the audience and they quickly joined the two already sold beside
their new owner.

 Next I was jerked by my collar onto the stage and had to display myself in
the same fashion despite my abhorrence at what was happening.  When the
auctioneer reached down and starting stroking me, I struggled to get out of
his hands but two huge blacks, obviously slaves themselves with huge rings
through their nose septums that matched their genital bands, quickly
grabbed me and forced me to stand still with my legs spread as the man
pumped me to a full erection and then showed my organ off proudly to the
audience while I blushed and burst into tears.  By the time my 'hole' was
displayed to the audience, I was sobbing and had simply lost it and started
praying to my Christian God which seem to amuse the audience all the more
as they shouted out "Infidel" with a tone that revealed they certainly
thought infidels should be slaves if allowed to live at all.

 I too was bought by the man in the back who had bought all four slaves
offered so far and so I quickly joined my colleagues and the two blacks.
We had to wait while he successfully bid on three others, two more blacks
and a white, out of the next twenty up for sale and finally all seven of us
purchased were herded into a delivery van, close shackled to the van's
walls, and delivered to the resort he ran on the shores of the Red Sea a
little south of Jedda.  It was only when we taken out of the van,
unshackled, fed, and locked in the slave quarters I learned my fate.  All
of us were being added to the resort's staff since business was booming and
more help was needed.  Not only were we to clean the rooms, change the
bedding, and serve the meals, but, most importantly, we were there to
please the clients with whatever use of our bodies they wanted anytime of
the day and anyplace on the resort's grounds, no matter who was using us,
what they wanted us to do, or whether it was in the privacy of their rooms
or publicly in the dining hall or out by the pool.

A YEAR LATER:

 The three blacks bought the same time the rest of us were had been owned
by a resort before they were sold to this one.  They knew exactly what to
expect and taught us how to live with it and insure our survival.  Their
patience in teaching us how to suck the client's off to their complete
satisfaction, how to take even the biggest ones up our backsides without
experiencing too much pain, and how to feign we were pleased when customers
exploited every aspect of our youthful bodies day and day.  We learned to
serve dinner to the guests with grace and dignity despite them constantly
pawing our naked bodies; we learned to stoically bend over the pool side
and let the customers fuck us hour after hour right in front of everyone
else; we learned that the black customers liked the white slaves best and
the white customers seemed to prefer black slaves to fuck; and we learned
that there would never be a night where we slept in the slave quarters - we
were always in a customer's bed who had arranged for our use for the entire
night.  Although we served the most lavish foods to the resort's guests, we
ourselves were kept on a strict diet of slave chow to control our weight
and fine physiques along with our mandatory exercises every day. When one
or another of us rebelled during the early weeks, we quickly learned to
control ourselves and just do whatever we were told after being subjected
to the severe shocks from the electric prods, the withdrawal of all water
for 48 hours, or a good 50 strokes with the elephant-hide whips which
caused terrible pain but never ripped the surface of our well-oiled
hides. The green-eyed Army friend of mine was the most resistant.  He had
to be tied down over a "fucking horse" for his first six customers who
simply wanted to fuck him; was subjected to so many whippings he couldn't
remember his ass and back not aching from the damage done beneath the skin
when he twisted and shouted every time a customer toyed with his sex organs
and nipples, and had all his teeth pulled out without any anaesthesia and
replaced with dentures after he bit a customer when he was on his knees and
had an exceptionally ugly old man force his smelly prick down his throat.
But he shaped up within a month and what he had brought upon himself in
terms of horrific punishments was not lost on the rest of us who shaped us
without too much trouble, being, I suppose, basically cowards to pain.  The
black slaves were anything but stoic - they flirted with the customers,
teased them with their throbbing pricks which they seemed to be able to get
erect almost instantly without manual stimulation of any type, yielded loud
moans of pleasure when anyone fucked them, and smacked their lips in
appreciation whenever they swallowed yet another load of some customer's
freshly extracted cum. Watching them in action, our little gestures of
resistance or dislike seemed silly and I suspect only added to our appeal.
In fact, I noted several customers only picked out slaves who tended to
pull back when their sexual organs were first grabbed and who gave dark
looks of hidden resentment when told to bend over for a good fucking or get
on their knees to swallow yet another prick clear down their throat.  I was
certainly in this last category until I wised up and realized it was only
making me more popular with the resort crowd.  My green- eyed companion
soon learned what I had and within two months was as cooperative as the
rest of us as far as the clients were concerned.

SIXTEEN YEARS LATER:

 It was amazing I was now 37 years old and still reasonably attractive and
sexy - a tribute to my forced exercises and strict diet of slave chow only.
But age does take its toll and my master replaced me with another boy of 18
who had been kidnaped from the ghettos of Los Angeles and was promptly
smuggled into the Saudi markets.  He was a handsome blend of half
Latino/half mulatto so he ended up golden colored with black eyes and
ringlets of curled smooth black hair.  He was well hung of course or he
wouldn't have ended up being bought by the resort. I knew that once he
accepted the idea his body was no longer his own, he'd have a long and
successful career here at the resort, just as I had.

 My master sold me off as a worker in the oil fields where I was placed in
a work gang under the supervision of a hard-nosed whip-wielding overseer
who assured the national oil company got their money's worth out of me,
despite the terrible heat and the 14 hour work day seven days a week.  For
the first time in 17 years I was clothed to protect me from the sun, was
fed all I wanted to eat of ordinary food at the company mess hall, and
given a small cot in the company slave barracks.  If we weren't too tired
to get it up, we fucked each other once we were locked into the barracks at
night, but most of us weren't too interested after working 14 hours in 130
degree heat.

FIFTY-FIVE YEARS OLD:

 Amazingly, I am now a ripe 55 years old, highly unusual for a slave in the
oil fields.  I look 100 and hadn't been able to get an erection in five
years now.  My supervisor has taken to beating me more and more with the
vicious steel-tipped whip routinely used on rebellious or worn-out slaves
to get me to keep pace with the others in his gang, but even that whip,
which has torn my back to shreds, doesn't seem to have much effect lately
other than making me moan in agony and only temporary make me move a little
faster.  I heard him complain to his boss the other day that I was more
trouble than I was worth and he doubted if the company was getting the
value back from what it costs to feed me any more.  He bluntly asked for a
replacement within the next few weeks as his arm was getting tired of
beating me if the company was stupid enough to keep feeding me.

 Fortunately, I solved the problem.  The very week, he was once again
beating me unmercifully in that I had simply couldn't seem to keep going by
late afternoon.  As the first wave of pain from the whip reached my brain,
I simply slumped over permanently never to rise again.  My last thoughts as
I faded away weren't of his continued tearing of my flesh apart, but of my
family back in Bosnia sharing a happy meal together the day before I was
drafted.  As I closed my eyes for the last time I remembered my father
giving me his treasured wrist watch (which was taken from me the first time
I had to strip for my captors) and fucking my girl friend all night right
before I left for the Army (which was the last time I was involved in sex
of my choosing).