Date: Mon, 27 May 2013 20:56:42 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject:  "Duped"  Chapter 12  (Gay Male/Aithoritarian)

Duped
Chapter 12
Prince Omar: The Second Inspection

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of
eighteen years.

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) : May, 2013
Read all my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

The characters and ideas in this story belong in the writer's imagination
and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity
of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add artists'
pictures.

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Chapter 12: The Second Inspection

This afternoon's inspection differs markedly from the morning's one at the
hands of Ahmedu Hadi and his teenaged son, Abdel.

Their inspections had left me in a heightened state of readiness to serve
them as a pleasure slave.  Their arousal of me had fired my imagination as
never before and I couldn't put it out of my mind.  Uppermost in my
thoughts was the realization that the two Africans had more than fulfilled
my lifelong fantasies of serving as a submissive slave to a powerful
Master.

And added to this was the thought that they were interested in buying
Finbar for their harem of male pleasure slaves. I'd only just met Fin but
already I feel a strong bond with him and it excites me to think that we
could soon belong to the African oil billionaire and his son in faraway
West Africa.

But this is conditional on the African successfully bidding to buy us when
we mount the auction block. I'm not sure of what procedures will take place
in selling us but I suppose - again using my overwrought imagination - that
there will be many others present at Saturday's sale who'll gladly bid for
the right to own us as their slaves.

There are no certainties at a slave auction and many a buyer, eager to
purchase a particular slave, has been thwarted by a more determined - and
richer - bidder. I realize there is no absolute guarantee that Ahmedu will
emerge as the successful bidder for either Fin or me. Still, I fervently
hope his bid will be the one that decides my ultimate fate. But all is in a
state of flux!

Slave auctions can be likened to a lottery where the winner takes all!

After, the father and son dismissed us we were returned to our cell where
the other remaining waiter slaves plied us with questions. We recounted all
that had happened to us and I sensed there was a degree of envy among
them. They'd watched as Fin and I were examined through the bars of our
cell before being taken to the rutting room for a more specialized
examination. Our fellow slaves had been impressed by Ahmedu and Abdel and
saw in them the promise of a tolerable future - even if that future was as
pleasure slaves. I will learn in the fullness of time that a slave much
prefers the pleasurable work of sex in the bed-chamber to that of the
whip-driven, back-breaking labour of the plantations or the quarries.

After we'd answered all of the questions of our fellow slaves and satisfied
their curiosity, Fin and I sat in a corner and talked about the prospect of
serving as slaves together. We both agreed that it was something that
appealed to both of us. We talked about serving in Ahmedu Hadi's household
and vowed if that were to happen, we'd strive to serve him and his son
faithfully.

And I was amazed at my ready acceptance of my new slavery after less than
forty-eight hours.

However, my enthusiasm is tempered by the thought that I still have another
private inspection scheduled for this afternoon. Other than that he is a
member of the ruling royal family, I know nothing of the man who requested
to view me and so I am both understandably anxious and nervous. Uppermost
in my thoughts is the question of whether he'll fuck me. If he does it will
be the third time in less than twenty-four hours. It would seem that my ass
is being much used which I guess is a foretaste of things to come - if
indeed I am sold as a pleasure slave.

Talking to Fin helps to take my mind off this second inspection which I
must face alone.

Inevitably, the overseers come to collect me and take me to the
inspection-room. I expected to be taken to either of the two inspection
rooms with which I am now familiar. Instead, I am taken to a suite far more
opulent than either of them. I am unaware that this is the "royal suite"
reserved for the many members of the ruling royal family who periodically
visit Malik's sale house to privately view and inspect slaves for their
households.

And Prince Omar, the man who is to examine me, is a frequent visitor to the
establishment where, because of his exalted rank, the slave-dealer, Malik
extends him every courtesy and he is given latitude in his perverted
inspections of any hapless slave who attracts his lecherous interest. The
wily Malik does this in the hope that one day he'll receive a "royal
warrant" as the purveyor of fine slaves to the Royal Family.

As yet, such an exalted endorsement has failed to materialize. However,
Malik isn't deterred and lives in hopes that one day such an honour will
come his way.

At one end of the room is a raised dais carpeted in regal blue and upon
which is an ornate gilt chair of throne like appearance and opulence.
Immediately in front of the dais is an area of black marble tiles reserved
for the slave to stretch out and pay his obeisance to whatever royal
personage sits upon the chair prior to his inspection. But my blood is
chilled by the sight of a metal rod with a threaded end protruding upwards
from the tiles. Its use is lost on me and yet, I know instinctively, that
it should concern me. I watch warily as an overseer selects a cock-shape
dildo from several others ranging in size from small to monstrous from a
rack on the far wall.  The phallus is 'erect' and its surface heavily
veined. I realize with sickening certainty that it is to be used on me and
that its flaring knob will stretch me to the limit. I'm not to know that
the phallus is, in fact, a silicon replica of the cock of a well-endowed
slave who'd once passed through the auction-house.

My imagination goes into overdrive. Am I to be impaled on the oversized
dildo? The thought of this fills me with dread.

My concern is justified; even as I think about the appalling prospect of
the phallus stuffing my ass, an overseer liberally lubricates the phallus
while his companion fastens my wrists to the back of my neck collar. Then,
he places a hand in the small of my back and bends me double at the waist
.At the same time he kicks my feet apart and spreads my ass-cheeks. He runs
his finger up and down my hairless ass-crack pausing to playfully tease my
anus and jeers at my quivering response.

"His Royal Highness will have fun with is Franj slave, Abu." He laughingly
tells his fellow overseer.

"From what I hear he's be more of a spectator than a participant." The
second overseer sneeringly replies. "Popular rumour has it that the prince
is unable to run his royal standard up the flagpole and gets his
satisfaction from voyeuristically watching his slave boys fuck one
another."

"I have heard those rumours too. But it would be wiser to keep such matters
to oneself. I also hear the prince is supersensitive about such comments
and many a rumourmonger has lost his tongue for saying just that."

The conversation interests me. If what the overseers say is true then it
would seem that I am to provide the prince with spectator sports rather
than have him use me. Somehow there's some degree of comfort in knowing
that.

I wait on his next move and feel a cold dollop of lubricant being applied
to my sphincter. The overseer takes his time as he liberally smears it over
my ass hole and then without warning a cruel finger thrusts through my
anus. The finger - painful at first - is used to lubricate the inner
reaches of my being as it slowly finger-fucks me. Soon, the initial
discomfort subsides and I feel a warm flush of pleasure wash over me as the
invading finger continues to excite me. I feel my balls contract upwards
towards my body and my cock springs into life. I am massively erect!

The overseer continues to play with me until his companion speaks.

"Right then Ali, let's get him mounted! His Highness will be here shortly."

The overseer leads me to the phallus and orders me to straddle my legs on
either side of it. He places his hands on both my hips as the second
overseer presses down on my shoulders; expertly, they guide me down towards
the tip of the waiting cock.

My nervousness is plainly evident in my laboured breathing and I feel my
heart pounding within my heaving chest. Slowly the two overseers guide me
downwards towards the waiting dildo and then suddenly I feel its tip
pressing impatiently against my anus as it seeks entry. Involuntarily, my
anal muscles contract in a vain attempt to deny it intrusion into my
body. But it's an uneven battle and the odds are against me. I am no match
for the determination of the two overseers who evidently are well-practised
in mounting a slave onto the monstrosity. It is all done within a few
seconds.

The overseers pause briefly before pushing down on my hips and shoulders in
one quick, concerted effort to mount me quickly. Their actions seem cruel
but there is a measure of "mercy" in that my suffering is soon over.

I feel the resistance of my sphincter ring weaken as it is stretched wide
to encircle the phallus and I cry out in pain. I wince as the monstrous
dildo slips further into me stretching and widening me to what seem
impossible dimensions; the initial pain is agonizing and I beg for mercy.

"Please stop! I can't take any more, PLEASE!!!!"

My plea falls on deaf ears. The overseers have hard hearts and are long
inured to the suffering and futile pleading of the slaves in their care.
Why then would they treat me any differently?

The overseers retire to a back wall of the room leaving me impaled and
rendered helpless to await the arrival of Prince Omar.

Initially, the phallus stuffing my ass causes me much discomfort and
pain. Eventually my muscles relax as I adjust myself to its fit.  Apart
from the obvious feeling of "fullness" I almost forget that it is there
until I attempt to ease the cramp in my body.  As I do so, I find myself
moving slowly up and down on the dildo and the sensation is most enjoyable.
Slowly, I begin to slide my ass up and down and the sensations that sweep
over me are most pleasant.

If I could look down upon myself, crouching straddle-legged over the
phallus and riding its length, I would see what an erotic picture my naked
body makes.  Of course, I can't see that but I can enjoy the warm glow of
sexual pleasure I derive from slow fucking myself.

The room's lighting is subdued and designed to highlight a slave's
musculature for the appreciation of the potential buyer. It falls upon my
lightly oiled body casting an erotic pattern of light and shade over the
highpoints and recesses of my torso. My bunched biceps and pectorals are
bathed in a soft golden glow and the hard ridges of my abdominals are
accentuated by shade. For the first time, I see a mirror on a wall and I
catch a glimpse of myself as I await the arrival of the prince.

Obscenely, I am impaled on a dildo with my hands fastened behind me and my
knees splayed widely open. I project an image of man at his most vulnerable
and yet the sight of myself rendered as a helpless slave is so powerfully
erotic; the culmination of all my past fantasies. Despite my fear, I
realize with clarity that I am now living my true destiny.

Consciously, I continue to "ride" the dildo stuffing my ass. I am lost in a
warm reverie of sexual pleasure and I ignore the presence of the two
overseers who stand watch over me. I hear their jeering reference to the
"Nasrani slave slow fucking himself" but I don't care. I am beyond worrying
about what they or any other free man thinks of me. For I am merely a slave
who is finally fulfilling his natural calling!

Suddenly, I hear voices in the hallway outside the viewing-room. This spurs
the two overseers into action and they take up their positions one on
either side of me. Ominously, they unclip short leather quirts from their
belts and uncoil them ready for use. One hisses at me.

"Slave, be on your best behaviour or you'll feel the whip across your
shoulders. Remain silent and speak only when you are given permission to do
so. And at all times you refer to His Highness as the "Royal Master"! Do
you understand?"

"Yes sir!" My reply is both brief and fearful.

I'm aware of the entry of the exalted, royal personage and his entourage;
as yet I can't see them as they are behind me and I know I am forbidden to
turn my head in their direction. I hear Malik's voice and for the first
time I hear his obsequiousness as he addresses Prince Omar as "your royal
highness".

Instinctively, I know I am under the prince's close scrutiny and I can feel
his eyes raking over my back and ass. Upon his entry, I'd stopped "riding"
the phallus and now I remain perfectly still. I feel soft, pudgy hands on
my shoulders before they squeeze the hard, rounded balls of my
biceps. Satisfied with their hardness, the silky smooth hands slide down
over my back to my ass. I flinch as each of my ass-cheeks is taken into the
princely hands and kneaded as they are bread-cough.

When he speaks, I am surprised. I'd expected to hear a regal voice with an
authoritative tone.  Instead, the prince's voice is shrill to the point of
being high-pitched and his words are mincing. I recognize it as the voice
not of a manly prince but rather that of an effeminate "queen".

"Is this is the slave you boasted so glowingly of?" He asks dismissively of
Malik. "If so, then I have a harem of such slaves. What makes this slave so
out of the ordinary?"

"It's his newness to the role of a slave and his background that makes the
slave interesting, Your Highness."

"How so? Explain yourself!"

The prince's tone is both haughty and imperious.

"Until several days ago, the Nasrani dog was a highly successful lawyer
working in London for one of our most illustrious citizens and ........."

"And who is this 'illustrious' citizen you speak off?"

"Anwar el Rezi, your royal highness"

"The name is known to me but not the man. If memory serves me correctly he
is a member of the mercantile class - and I don't number such men among my
close intimates." The prince's tone is dismissive of my Master.  "But
continue! Tell me more about the slave."

"He appealed to Anwar and he recognized within him..."

"Does the slave have a name?" The prince interjects.

"Yes your royal highness. He is called Matthew."

"That's a good biblical name. But go on."

"Anyway as I was saying your royal highness, Anwar recognized within the
lawyer, Matthew the deep seated desire and long held need to be a slave.
And so he resolved to grant the Franj his wish.  He lured him here to my
slave-market where he was enslaved and branded just yesterday."

"So he's fresh meat?"

"The slave is very fresh, your highness."

"Is he unsullied?"

"I'm unsure of that your highness." Malik's answer is evasive and he knows
that I have been used by both my Master and the African father and son.
"But realistically, I would be surprised if his Master, Anwar hasn't
sampled the delights of his body. The slave has an ass that just begs to be
used."

"Indeed it does. It's a most delectable ass and I should I buy him I will
see it used soon. You mention that the slave is smart?"

"Indeed your highness! From what I have been told he is regarded very
highly among his former legal associates."

"His intellect is of no importance and it won't be of any use to him should
I buy him. I don't buy a slave for his brain. I buy him for his body; it's
how he uses his ass and cock that is of paramount importance.  In my harem,
a slave's intellect extends only to immediate, unquestioning obedience."

"I'm sure the slave won't disappoint in that area, your highness."

I'm aware that the prince is slowly pacing around me sizing me up from
every angle like a predatory cat about to pounce upon a terrified mouse. As
he stands in front of me, I catch my first sight of the man who could quite
conceivably be my new master. And I am appalled for never have I seen such
a gross caricature of a man.

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

Prince Omar has lived a good if somewhat debauched lifestyle and paid a
heavy price for doing so. Born to vast riches and unchallenged authority,
he's always indulged an insatiable appetite for fine dining and a unbridled
passion for young, male, Nasrani slaves. His considerable wealth has
allowed him to over-indulge both passions.

Advancing years haven't treated Prince Omar kindly. Physically, he has
deteriorated to such a degree that, if he is perfectly truthful with
himself, he'd have to admit his lecherous lifestyle has contributed
substantially his present lamentable condition.

He is grossly overweight and his his mobility is severely limited so that
the mere act of walking challenges his every resolve and endurance. Life
for Omar has now become so sedentary that he relies on his young, body
slaves to assist him in all aspects of his daily life.  Each morning, they
struggle to get him out of his oversized bed - especially constructed to
accommodate his huge bulk - and then they wrestle to move him into the
shower where they shave and bathe him before dressing him for the day.

Even within the shower it is necessary for his body slaves to raise his
arms above his head - the effort being too great for his wheezing
constitution - and the hanging folds of underarm fat thoroughly fill him
with self-disgust. Viewed from any angle Prince Omar's body is elephantine
in appear. The wrinkled, grey mottled skin hangs in loose folds from his
stooped frame and even from the rear the view is no less flattering - the
sagging ass cheeks remind him of an ageing elephant he'd once travelled
behind in a royal parade for his cousin, the king.

Some time back, having reached the stage where he could no longer bear to
catch a glimpse of his own image, he'd banned all the mirrors from his
apartments to spare himself the sight of his own ugliness.  Last time he'd
stood before a mirror, he'd been repulsed by his own grotesqueness. Staring
back at him from below a shiny, bald dome were two narrow, hooded eyes
buried deep in a suet-pudding face and he was bitterly ashamed. Were those
two sagging breasts resting on top of that enormous belly - whose overhang
obscured his shrivelled, permanently limp genitalia - really his?

As he looked upon his reflection, Omar was overwhelmed with sadness. Was
this morbidly obese creature staring back from the mirror really him? Where
is the handsome, young royal prince of his youth; has his former beauty
really deteriorated into the sad caricature of the man staring back at him
from out of the mirror?

As a young teenager, verging on puberty, he'd been attracted to a young
Frankish slave in his father's household. He recalled the first time he'd
seen the slave; a new acquisition that his father had picked up at an
illicit slave-auction on one of his many overseas trips.

His father, a younger son of the then reigning monarch, was a connoisseur
of prime, male flesh and kept a harem of only the best slaves that his
limitless wealth could buy. Always when on an overseas business trip,
Omar's father looked for suitable "recruits" to add to his collection and
never returned home without at least three or four new additions to his
harem.

Omar had been exposed to white, Western slaves all of his life and it
followed that he regarded them in the same light as his father - slaves
were merely sexual objects to be used and abused by their owners.

The Frankish slave who'd attracted the young Omar's attention was an
American construction worker who'd been spirited away and sold at
exorbitant cost to his father.

The golden-haired slave was tall - over six feet - and robustly
built. Indeed it was the slave's physique that had inflamed Omar's youthful
passion. In keeping with all the harem slaves, this slave was kept naked
and smooth-bodied which displayed his lightly oiled musculature to
perfection. And whilst the slave was well-endowed it was his pert ass that
had attracted Omar to him the most.

The slave's buttocks were perfectly formed; not overly large, deliciously
curvaceous and firm to the touch. Omar had instructed the slave to "bend
and spread" and for the first time he explored the mysterious depths of a
male ass. At first, he'd been content to just play with the slave's
asscrack by running his finger from the base of the spine down over the
anus to the perineum and onto the low hanging scrotum. Initially, the slave
stiffened to the touch of Omar's finger at his rapidly puckering asshole
but the youth wasn't to be denied his pleasure. Gradually, the slave
relaxed his sphincter and opened it up to Omar's exploratory finger. The
slave's low moans of sensual pleasure as Omar finger fucked him awakened
the young princeling's lust.

Omar was fascinated by the smooth, unblemished cheeks of the slave's
ass. They were in every sense perfect - in fact they were too perfect he
thought - and Omar wondered how they would look either marked by a cane or
a paddle. He determined to find out.

Imperiously, Omar ordered the slave to open a cupboard on a far wall and to
fetch him an ornately carved, wooden paddle hanging on a hook inside. At
the sight of the heavy, wooden paddle the new slave blanched as he'd not
yet suffered punishment other than an odd stroke of the cane or leather
quirt.

As the slave returned and knelt at Omar's feet to proffer the paddle to his
young Master, he was white faced with apprehension. Instinctively, he knew
the paddle was to be used on him for no other reason than that it was
Omar's wish.

Now aroused by the desire to inflict suffering on the slave, Omar had
attendant slaves fasten him over a paddling bench. The hapless slave
struggled in his bonds - to no avail - and Omar stood and savoured the
moment.

Omar watched as the desperate slave strained to break free from the
flogging bench and he salivated at the sight of the slave's wildly heaving
ass fighting vainly against the impending punishment.

Omar walked to the bench and gently stroked the slave's ass and "shushed"
him. The fact that the teenaged prince was playing mind-games with him was
lost on the slave, who, despite his apprehension, ceased his wild
struggling and settled down to a quivering of the limbs and the occasional
spasm of a muscle.

As Omar almost lovingly stroked the slave's fear-sweaty back and ass, it
was at that moment that he understood the power that he - as a Master -
could exercise over a slave. And he was both empowered and energized by
it. His youthful cock was as blood-swollen as he could ever remember and it
throbbed with a new intensity he'd not felt before.

But overwhelmingly and sadistically, he wanted to inflict pain upon the
slave.

Omar lovingly played with the paddle that the slave had offered him. In the
past, he'd often watched his royal father use it on a luckless slave, but
he'd never really looked at it. That day, he did so and was taken with its
sinister beauty. Constructed of heavy wood, probably taken from a tree deep
in some African rainforest, he admired the intricacy of the hand carved
pattern and pressed the paddle against the hard flesh of the slave's
ass. The pattern momentarily showed white against the yielding buttocks
before turning bright pink. Omar was delighted that the paddle's pattern
could impress itself so easily on such a vital, living canvas and wasted no
more time playing with the slave.

He raised the paddle above his head and with all the force he could muster
in his adolescent arm, he swung it downwards towards the upturned ass. The
loud "smack" of wood striking naked flesh reverberated throughout the room
and was followed by a momentary silence.  Then from deep within the slave,
a loud guttural scream burst forth to energize Omar to greater effort.

Omar didn't bother to count how many times the paddle rose and fell; that
was immaterial.  What was of greater importance was the elation he felt
each time the paddle found its mark followed by the panicked shrieking of
his hapless victim.

Omar only knew that his lust grew with each blow of the paddle and he was
aware of his massively erect cock and the need for urgent relief. Now
almost at the point of no return, he ceased his paddling and drove his cock
deep within the slave's pain filled ass.

Was it his imagination or was this slave more receptive to his fucking?
Omar was no stranger to fucking an acquiescent slave but in the past, these
could be described as the juvenile, fumbling attempts of an inexperienced,
pubescent teenager.

That day, however, the slave seemed responsive to his needs and eager to
please. Certainly the slave appeared to work hard to satisfy his lust. And
it was on that day, that the young Omar discovered - at least from his
perspective - that a well-beaten ass is more receptive to his eager, young
cock.  From then on, Prince Omar liked his meat well tenderized!

This then became the pattern for Omar's sexual exploits. Always, prior to
fucking a slave, he'd soundly beat the slave's ass with an ornate, wooden
paddle of which he now had quite a collection. Over the years, he
commissioned the making of many paddles and experimented with all types of
wood and patterns. Omar saw his collection of paddles as things of beauty;
his slaves saw them as cruel, ugly instruments of pain and suffering.

In recent years, as his health has degenerated and with the onset of his
impotency, Omar has had to content himself with paddling a slave's ass and
then watching as another slave, acting as his proxy, did the actual
deed. At first, this had frustrated Omar but with the ingenuity of the
truly perverted, he chose a special proxy named Gansu to act in his place.

Gansu, a Black from the African interior, was especially chosen for the
over generous size of the genitalia with which a bountiful nature had
endowed him. Omar loved to watch the reaction of his white slaves as they
caught sight of Gansu's magnificent cock and realized it was to be used on
them. At first, their eyes opened wide in disbelief; disbelief that soon
gave way to fear and panic as they contemplated being raped by such a
monstrosity. Most, probably out of fear of being rent asunder, pleaded with
him to be spared Gansu's enormous, rampantly erect and copiously dripping
organ but always their pleas went unheeded.

Ah yes! Omar enjoys watching as Gansu thrusts deep inside a helplessly
restrained slave and listening to the slave's squeals of protest. Really,
these Nasrani slaves - unused to real cock - yelp like virgins on their
wedding nights.

And it has to be said that Gansu enjoys his work and endeavours to put on a
good showing for his royal employer.

Still, as he watches these sexual tableaux, there are also moments of
sadness for the now ageing Omar. Whilst he still enjoys beating a white,
upturned ass, he does miss the thrust and parry of hard fucking them
afterwards.

Before lumbering onto the dais to take his place on the regal seat, he
gazes down on this new Franj slave obscenely impaled on the oversized
dildo. The slave is sheer perfection and reminds him so much of that first
Frankish slave of so many years ago and Omar salivates at the thought of
Gansu raping him. This slave's ass - like the American's - is perfectly
shaped and his golden body a delight to behold as it twists and contorts on
the spit that holds him in place.

As his body slaves struggle to settle him into the pseudo, throne like
seat, Omar leans forward and lasciviously licks his lips in anticipation of
what is to follow.

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

I recoil in horror at the grotesqueness of the man who could soon be my new
Master.  Dismayed, I watch as his two body slaves struggle valiantly to
settle him into the seat on the raised dais. These two slaves - both white
- wear loincloths of a diaphanous, light material that hides very little
and suggests much with the outline of their cocks and balls plainly
evident. Both are superb creatures and worthy representatives of Prince
Omar's harem of the primest male slaves that his vast wealth allows him to
buy. The fact that he is considering adding me to his harem is, I suppose,
a compliment; albeit one I would prefer he doesn't pay me.

Suddenly, my world has turned itself on its head; all my past erotic
fantasies about being owned by an Arab master have turned sour. Never had I
contemplated being owned by such a hideous master.  But then this is the
correct order of things. Masters choose their slaves; it is never the way
that slaves get to choose their masters.

The two slaves are plainly from the Mediterranean region - either Italian
or Greek - and their smooth, hairless bodies are lightly oiled to emphasize
their magnificent physiques.  Their oiled bodies capture and reflect the
dancing shadows of the chamber's subdued lighting in the highs and lows of
their musculatures. Even I, in my heightened state of unease, find myself
gazing appreciatively at them.

I'd always thought of slavery and total nudity as being synonymous and to a
degree it is. But yesterday, I'd seen Malik's slaves clothed in the
flimsiest of loincloths and I have to say it enhanced them and titillated
my senses. Now, as I look upon Omar's slaves, I feel there's a lot to be
said for leaving something to the fevered imagination.

Malik is at his obsequious best as he fusses around Prince Omar. He loudly
claps his hands and summons two of his household's slaves to step
forward. One I recognize as the Spaniard, Miguel who'd acted as the
honeypot to trap me into my own slavery. Miguel and the other slave kneel
before Prince Omar and offer him refreshments of cool sherbet, iced melon
and honeyed figs. For the moment Omar is less interested in food and more
with me.

He cranes forward and his eyes bore into me. I know instinctively he is
assessing me but for what I don't know. Nevertheless, I avert my eyes and I
feel myself blushing bright scarlet.  Suddenly, I am aware once more of the
monstrous dildo stuffing my ass.

Omar's eyes are riveted on me as he lasciviously licks his lips. Finally he
speaks to Malik.

"Have the slave fuck himself! But slowly at first!"

I don't see the almost imperceptible nod of Malik's head to one of the
overseers standing just behind me. But I do feel the sharp sting of his
quirt as it falls across my shoulders with the order to.

"Fuck, slave! But begin slowly."

Once more the quirt cuts across my back and it causes me to wince
audibly. Omar smiles at my pain and his eyes gleam maliciously as he leans
forward to watch.

Beginning slowly, I begin to obscenely ride the dildo. Using my knees and
my legs as pistons, I slide my ass up and down its length taking care not
to expel it. I haven't been warned about this but instinctively, I know I
mustn't let this happen.

The dildo's initial discomfort soon gives way to feelings of growing
pleasure when my anal muscles grip the heavily veined, pseudo cock as I
traverse its length. How glad I am that the overseers had greased both the
dildo and my ass which makes the experience all the more enjoyable.

Soon I forget that I have an audience and I give myself over to the
pleasures of the moment.  My balls tighten within the safe haven of my
scrotum and my engorged cock springs to rampant attention and points
horizontally in Prince Omar's direction. I am oblivious to all else except
my own selfish sexual desires.

I catch sight of myself in the mirrored wall and I am surprised by the
erotic spectacle I make.  I see the enormous stress placed upon my torso as
I slide my ass up and down over the length of the dildo. This strains and
tightens the different muscle groups within my body and provides a
tantalizing display of raw muscle power in action. No wonder Prince Omar
watches with such interest. But he wants more from me and asks Malik to
have me quicken the pace of my self-fucking.

I respond to the cut of the overseer's quirt and move faster.

Incrementally, Omar orders that I quicken my pace and as I do so, I am
bathed in the heated, sex sweat of my exertions, the heady odour of which
fills my nostrils. The sweat meanders down over my torso in slow moving
rivulets and stains the tiles at my feet. My sorely taxed cock fires off a
warning salvo and a long, creamy thread of my precum, unable to defy
gravity, dribbles its way downwards to the floor.

My body is racked by the most exquisite torture. I have pictured myself in
this situation countless times and the times I have masturbated to such
scenarios are far too many to recall with accuracy. Those moments -
figments of my erotic fantasies - had been intensely pleasurable but today
I experience the real thing for the first time and I am overwhelmed by the
experience.

Temporarily, I forget about the repugnant Prince who is watching until he
gives the order to stop.

Painfully, the quirt cuts across my ass as the overseer orders me to
"Stop!"

"Remove him from the dildo and free his wrists!" Prince Omar commands. "I
would have the Nasrani slave pay me homage!"

Acting quickly, the two overseers ease me off of the dildo and unfasten my
wrists from the back of my collar. I'm aware of a loud "plopping" noise as
my ass is raised off the dildo and suddenly, I feel very empty. One
overseer places his boot in the small of my back and viciously forces me
face down on to the tiles as he instructs me to.

"Dog, assume the position of respect and pay the Royal Master your homage."

I scramble into the St Andrew's cross position and stretch my body so that
it is on maximum display to Prince Omar. I am aware of my wildly beating
heart pounding in my chest and my heightened breathing. If possible, I
press my body closer to the tiles and I feel the clenching of my buttocks
and the stretching of my thighs. Evidently, my efforts please the
prince. He turns to Malik and comments.

"You are right, Malik! This slave does have the perfect ass. I'm sure Gansu
would appreciate its perfectly rounded globes but even more so what lies
hidden between them."

Who is Gansu, I wonder? Prince Omar isn't accompanied by the gigantic Black
and mercifully, I am unaware of the appalling fate that awaits me should
Prince Omar buy me. It truly is a case of ignorance being bliss.

"Have the slave stand at full display?" Omar asks of Malik.

The two overseers use their quirts to get me to my feet and I hasten into
the full display position. I entwine my fingers behind my head and push
back on my elbows so that my biceps and chest muscles are shown in hard
relief. I suck in my belly and tighten my abdominals and thrust my hips
forward in an obscene display of my genitals.

"The slave is most obedient," Omar comments, "and yet you say he was
enslaved just two days ago? Is that not so? It's unusual to find a new
slave who responds so readily to an order."

"Indeed it is your Royal Highness! But as the slave's master has told me,
he is a born slave who was just waiting to be 'liberated' from within."

"Indeed! He's a most unusual case; a Franj who truly craves to be a
slave. Have him move slowly to the left so that I can view him in profile."

I slowly rotate my body until it is in profile and I am ordered to stop as
Prince Omar surveys me. He leans forward in his chair and I see his body
slaves' looks of concern least their Royal Master should topple forward. I
am left to stand in profile for several minutes before I am ordered to
present my back for scrutiny.

With my back to the prince, I can't see the lecherous licking of the lips
as he surveys my ass.  Of course, I'm unaware of his penchant for savagely
beating a slave's ass before its fucking and it is perhaps as well that I
don't. If I could read the prince's thoughts, I would learn that he is
visualizing me tied down over a trestle as he paddles me. I would know that
he is wondering which of his many paddles he would use on me first. And
most of all, he contemplates my reaction to my first sighting of Gansu's
monstrous cock. He wonders if I would I cry out in alarm fearful of being
split asunder and beg for mercy as all other of his slaves do? He decides
that I would and salivates at the thought of this.

The order is given to face the front while Prince Omar talks to Malik.

"This slave interests me very much and I will be bidding for him at
Saturday's auction. He reminds me of an American slave my royal father had
so many years ago to whom I was quite partial."

"Indeed your Highness! That slave must have been quite memorable. May I ask
if you still have the slave in your service?"

"No Malik," there is almost a note of regret in Prince Omar's answer, "that
slave is long gone. In keeping with my family's policy a slave is kept in
the harem for as long as his special charms last. But once they have faded
- as regrettably happens with all slaves - they are sent to the family's
royal estates to work on the farms, in the quarries or the saltpans. I
should think the American is long gone worn out by hard, physical
labour. But such is the fate of all my slaves and should I succeed in
buying this one that too will be his ultimate fate."

"A task this slave will nobly rise to your highness. He is young, strong
and robust and has many years of hard labour in him should that path await
him. Of that I am sure. Does your Highness wish to see more of the slave?"

"I think not! I have seen all I need to. I must keep some delights for when
I buy him. He will provide me with much sport as he is introduced into my
harem and I want to surprise him.  But for now, I'll leave him
guessing. And now I must take my leave of your most admirable establishment
but I will return on Saturday to bid for the slave."

"Then, I wish you every success, your Highness! May your bid be the winning
one."

"Has much interest been shown in the slave, Malik?"

"Indeed it has your highness. Only this morning the slave was viewed by a
father and son from West Africa who are quite smitten by him. I should
think they will bid for him."

"Then I look forward to the cut and thrust of the bidding. I am always
excited by the bids and counter bids that decide a slave's fate. Hopefully,
mine will be the deciding one."

"I sincerely hope so your Highness! Good luck on Saturday."

As Prince Omar's body slaves help him out of his chair I fall to the tiles
and assume the Saint Andrew's cross position and maintain it as a mark of
respect as the he leaves the room.  Then, the overseers return me to my pen
where Finbar waits anxiously for my return. He and the other waiter slaves
ply me with many questions which I try to answer.

As I tell Finbar about the Prince's obvious interest in me, I see a look of
concern flicker across his handsome face. Is his concern in knowing that
should the prince buy me we will be separated after so brief a friendship?


To be continued ......