Date: Sun, 29 Sep 2013 17:01:48 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "Duped" Chapter 15    (Gay Male / Authoritarian)

Duped
Chapter 15
"The Stripling Slave"

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

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

"The characters and ideas in this story belong to the writer's imagination
and bear no resemblance to actual persons or events. Please respect the
integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add
other artists' pictures."

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Chapter 15:

As the luck of the draw would have it, lot one - or the first slave offered
for sale - is one of Mustapha's six waiters. It is Andrew, the young
American from Alabama.

Malik has decided it is better to sell Mustapha's six slaves individually
rather than en bloc and he has spaced them at regular intervals among the
other offerings. The six slaves are superb specimens and deserve no less
than to be offered to the buyers as separate lots.

Despite the fact that he'd been sold about twelve months ago and knows what
is to happen, Andrew is understandably nervous and hesitant. The bravado he
and Mustapha's other five slaves had displayed in the holding pens has
deserted him.  As an overseer attaches a chain to Andrew's neck collar he
begins to tremble from the emotion of the moment; he'd rather another slave
had been chosen as the first offering. Impatiently, the overseer tugs on
his leash to lead him up the steps and through the doorway opening onto the
selling platform. However, he baulks and pulls back against his leash. Such
behavior is unacceptable and no delays in the proceedings will be
tolerated; the buyers mustn't be kept waiting because of a temperamental
slave's reluctance to take his place on the auction-block.  Malik would be
furious if he were present to witness Andrew's stubbornness. The overseers
are well aware of Malik's attitude and know what has to be done.

While the overseer tries to pull lot one forward another applies his cane
to the slave's unprotected ass and shoulders. The cane bites deep into the
yielding flesh but it has the desired effect. With no way of avoiding the
cane other than by going forward, Andrew yields and hastily scrambles up
the steps and disappears through the doorway on to the selling stage.

Momentarily, he hesitates while he takes in the scene before him. It is a
scene that is painfully familiar to him as he recalls his sale to Mustapha
last year. He is swamped with the hopelessness of his present situation but
he knows that he must capitulate. No other options are open to
him. Sorrowfully, he bows his head in submission and docilely allows
himself to be lead to the auction-block. As he takes his place on the block
he looks out at the tiered stands where the buyers are seated. Altogether,
he estimates there are some fifty to sixty buyers present. He looks down at
the first row and sees Malik watching his every movement.

His arrival on the selling stage is greeted with loud applause from the
buyers and as he steps up on to the block, the handclapping gives way to
cheering. The sale is about to begin and the eager buyers are ready to open
the bidding.

The auctioneer raises his hand and calls for silence before he speaks.

"Gentlemen, you have before you lot one and I'm sure you'll agree that he
is a worthy introduction to today's sale. The House of Malik is proud to
present thirty-one, prime, Caucasian male slaves for your consideration and
selection. I can assure you that every slave offered for sale today is, at
the very least, the equal to lot one. The slaves on sale are multi- faceted
and will serve you in whatever capacity you require a slave to serve.  If
you are looking for a slave to grace your home, to serve you as a bed-buck
or merely as a work slave, then gentlemen, there is a slave suitable to
your every need among those on offer today."

As the auctioneer continues with his sales spiel, lot one settles down and
regains his composure. He scans the buyers' faces trying to judge which of
them is looking for a pleasure slave to serve in both the house and
bedroom. It's hard to tell but he knows there are some among the buyers
who'd appreciate his bedroom talents. It is time to capitalize on them and
he poses his body so as to attract their attention.

Malik:

I have declared the auction open and having spelt out the conditions of
sale, I leave the selling platform to my auctioneer and his helpers. I move
to take up my seat on the first tier of seats immediately in front of the
auction-block from here I can see all that is going on around me. I can
observe the buyers as they bid for the merchandise and I can watch as the
slaves are sold. I turn to the right and I see that Prince Omar is sitting
in the royal enclosure which isolates him from the other buyers. His
exalted rank as a member of the royal family dictates that he sit alone
attended only by his personal slaves and protocol dictates that he must
remain aloof from the sordid business of personally bidding for a
slave. Just outside the enclosure, his agent, a man well known to me, is on
hand to take the prince's instructions when to bid for a slave and how much
to offer.

On the second tier of seats, my old friends Anwar and Mustapha sit together
and wait to watch as their slaves are sold. I acknowledge their cordial
greetings to me and wish them every success in their business transactions.

As the first item nervously steps up on to the auction-block, I have time
to peruse the other buyers. It seems to me there is an almost carnival-like
atmosphere prevailing and that there is a particularly lively element
present at today's sale. This is most probably due to a combination of
factors; the excitement of the sale, the hospitality of my house and the
conviviality they'd enjoyed over the superb lunch served to them by my
household slaves.

Before the commencement of the auction there'd been a feeling of
camaraderie among the buyers as they waited on the auctioneer's call for
silence. They masked their impatience by boisterously joking with one
another and loud laughter. I knew however that these shows of friendship
wouldn't last and when they got down to the serious business of bidding for
the merchandize, they'd become keen rivals and it would be a case of each
acting in his own best interest. In fact, I always count on this
rivalry. Ultimately, they try to outbid one another and I reap the
financial rewards of their bidding wars.

Their noisiness doesn't worry me too much. In fact, I always enjoy a bit of
boisterous activity at a sale; it makes for a more interesting
afternoon. And I know from past experience that these buyers will place
great demands on the slaves as they stand on the block.

Good-humoredly, they'll request the auctioneer to have a slave display
himself in ways other than the usual posing and posturing routinely
demanded of him. Apart from the usual flexing, stretching, twisting,
crouching and bending that a slave is made to do when he is on the block,
these buyers will eagerly make other requests of him.

I suspect the slaves in today's sale are in for an interesting
afternoon. And the buyers, in all probability, are in for an entertaining
spectacle as the slaves "bend over backwards" to meet their demands. For
me, the only downside to all this is that it will slow down proceedings as
I wait longer for all thirty-one lots to be sold.

The slave offered as lot one has pride of place in the selling order - a
fact I hope the slave appreciates. Somehow I doubt the miserable wretch
does. Slaves are such the ungrateful creatures and never fully appreciate
their masters' actions.

He is one of Mustapha's six and he truly is a worthy specimen to bring
before the buyers. I scrutinize him and I have a vague recollection of
selling him last year. If my memory serves me correctly the Nasrani was one
of a pair of American tourists who'd been enslaved and brought to me to
sell.

He is a most handsome slave aged in his early twenties with brown hair and
hazel eyes. His body is that of a slave who has been well looked after by
his owner and he would be at home in any discerning master's
bedchamber. His musculature is pronounced without the overblown muscles of
the over-zealous fitness fanatic and he is happy to display it to the
buyers. Without any prompting from my overseers, lot one suggestively poses
his body to both titillate and arouse their lustful interest in him. This
is a phenomenon common to most slaves and who can blame them. I suppose,
from a slave's point of view, serving a master's cock is preferable to the
heavy duty labors of a field slave.

However, it is his genitals and ass that define him. His cock is long and
meaty and his lopsided balls are what we in the trade refer to as
low-hangers. But, when he turns to display his back to us, it is his ass
that draws the buyers' attention. It is curvaceous, pert without being too
small and carried high on the strong columns of his muscular legs. And when
he bends at the waist and spreads his ass-cheeks to display the rosy-pink,
striated anus an appreciative murmur of approval ripples through the
buyers. Plainly the slave has strong appeal to the buyers who impatiently
call for the auctioneer to open the bidding. And I am pleasantly surprised;
the strength of their bidding is more than I'd expected.

The bidding for lot one borders on the frenzied and it's evident that the
buyers are eager to relieve their overstuffed wallets. As bid and
counterbid flow down from the tiered rows, I can hardly believe what I am
witnessing. Eventually, lot one is sold to an Asian businessman for an
extravagant price that both delights Mustapha as his owner and me as the
selling agent, My commission on the slave's sale is more than I'd
expected. The trend has been set and it will continue until the last slave
is sold. At the end of the day, I will be well pleased with my profits.

One by one, the other lots are led up to the auction block and sold. I have
to say that the merchandize offered at today's sale is top quality; in fact
I'll go further and describe them as superb. I try to think back to when I
last offered prime livestock of an equally high caliber to such an
appreciate group of buyers. Off hand, I can't recall one in recent
memory. These slaves are, without exception, the youngest, the fittest and
most handsome, male animals that it has been my pleasure to offer to my
esteemed clientele.

As the slaves are brought to the auction block, displayed and sold, my
earlier assumption that the buyers would place great demands on them proves
correct. Repeatedly, there are shouted requests from the buyers' to have
the slave "bend and spread", "show us his hole", "get him to play with his
nipples", or "let's see him stroke his cock".

These are reasonable requests and the slaves' responses, depending on their
natures, range from quiet acceptance to embarrassment and shame. However,
it does slow up proceedings but given the buyers' interest and the strength
of their bidding it is a minor inconvenience.

There is very little to differentiate the slaves; they are all superb. But
from time to time, there is one that interests me more than his fellows -
and one of those is lot five.

The auctioneer introduces him to the buyers who, sensing that this slave is
somehow different, watch with great interest as he is presented to
them. The auctioneer tells them that he is twenty years of age and is a
British soldier picked up after he'd been on a drunken spree with his
friends and became separated from them.

Lot five is tall, fair-skinned and blond and what attracts the buyers'
interest is his wildness.  Clearly, he is new to slavery and therefore he
is an unbroken slave. He has an air of belligerence about him that doesn't
augur well for his immediate future. Indeed, his new master will need to
work hard to establish his authority over this troublesome slave.

As he is dragged to the auction block, he struggles and kicks in the grasp
of his handlers; one leads him by the chain attached to his collar as
another two manhandle him into position. He'd fought all the way from the
holding race, up the steps, across the platform and on to the block and
several times we'd heard the sound of leather striking his naked flesh -
yet not once did he cry out.

In truth, I have a grudging respect for his bravery and unwillingness to
submit - yet submit he must.

Forced up onto the block, he stands proud and defiant; he obviously still
thinks of himself as a soldier and not yet as a slave. These are traits to
be admired in a free man but a slave is unworthy of them. A slave doesn't
need to feel pride in anything other than in his master's possession of him
and any show of defiance can't be tolerated. Eventually it will be whipped
out of him and he`ll yield to the inevitable.

I watch as his body trembles with emotion - I wonder is it from fear or
anger? He glares out at the buyers with hate-filled eyes and his whole
manner is menacing. This slave is indeed rebellious and I note that the
overseers don't carry their usual canes; instead each is armed with a
thick, leather strap. No doubt, they expected this slave to misbehave and
had armed themselves accordingly.

Foolishly, he thinks as a freeman and not as the slave he has become. His
bearing suggests this much to the buyers who treat him with derision. They
seek to humiliate him by calling on the auctioneer to exhibit his naked
body in ways that truly emphasize his new status.

The slave, as I expected, refuses to co-operate with the auctioneer's
demands and stands firm.  His resolve is matched by that of the auctioneer
who has had considerable experience in controlling difficult slaves. He
calls on his overseers for assistance.

The determined overseers restrain the slave but it takes several very
painful slaps to his back and naked ass with their straps to quieten
him. Held fast in their grip, he is now powerless and the overseers force
him into a position that better displays his body to the buyers.

His response to a buyer's request to the auctioneer to "stroke his cock" is
to struggle violently in a vain attempt to break free. Futilely, he roars
out his anger and shame as an overseer obligingly brings him to an
unwilling erection.

For all the trouble he causes, this slave proves to be a very popular lot
with the buyers. Whilst he exhibits a number of regrettable traits - namely
his pride and resentfulness - he has an appeal to those owners who feel
challenged to break and train a slave very much as a horse- trainer does
with a high-spirited colt.

The slave isn't aware that his futile protests are adding to his
value. There are masters who relish the opportunity to own such a slave and
who'll take great pleasure in breaking him in. For such a master there is
the thrill of robbing the slave of his free-will and turning him into a
non- thinking, obedient and docile animal. How long that training lasts and
how much pain the slave suffers in the interim is dependent on the
slave. If he is smart, the slave will submit very quickly and spare himself
much suffering. Continued truculence will extend the training period and
strengthen the Master's resolve and the slave will suffer accordingly. But
inevitably, the slave - as is the case with all slaves - will break and
kneel at his Master's feet in abject humility.

I can't help but make a comparison between this new slave and my friend,
Anwar's new slave Matthew. Lot five futilely rejects his inevitable
transition into slavery whereas I am given to understand that Matthew has
always hungered to be owned as a slave. Well today, the slave, Matthew is
to have his heartfelt wish granted.  Very soon he too will stand where lot
five now stands. Somehow, I suspect that Anwar's slave will be more
compliant than lot five.

There are owners present today who are prepared to pay a high price for a
slave who exhibits such high spirits and bidding for lot five is
keen. Eventually, he is sold and I watch as he is dragged away to an
uncertain future. But again I am delighted with the price paid for him. It
far exceeds the reserve price I'd placed on him.

Another slave who attracts my attention is lot nine - a mere stripling of
great promise. I watch as he is led by his handlers to the auction-block. I
recall this slave had been troublesome and I'd been told he had lunged at a
prospective buyer when undergoing an appraisal of his body. Of course, such
rebellious behavior can't be tolerated and the overseers had used their
canes on him. Later, I'd demonstrated my own displeasure by soundly kicking
his ass. Clearly, he'd learned his lesson for now he is very much subdued
even if he isn't fully reconciled to the changed circumstances of his life.

As lot nine steps up onto the block, he receives a round of applause as a
murmur of appreciation ripples among the buyers who comment most favorably
on the young slave.

Even though he only came to me three days ago, I do know a little about his
background. I know his name is Jeremie that he is seventeen and he is a
French-Canadian by birth. He'd been gathered up by slavers operating in the
holiday resorts along the Mediterranean shoreline.

I watch closely as lot nine stands shyly on the block. As I said, he is a
young, seventeen year old slave who is to celebrate his eighteenth birthday
next week. Now of course, that is unimportant as a slave's birthdate is
only recorded in his owner's slave-register but never celebrated.

For his age, he is well developed with the lithe, trim body of an athlete
and it is devoid of any prepubescent fat. Obviously, he played sport and it
shows in his burgeoning musculature which promises that one day soon he'll
be a powerfully built slave.

He is quite handsome with a shock of tight, black curls framing his face
which is dominated by his grey-green eyes and full red lips which part to
show even white teeth. It has to be said he is a most impressive slave and
I'd been correct in surmising he'd arouse great interest among the buyers.

And for those reasons, I'd not scheduled any private viewings of this
slave. From past experience, I knew that he'd introduce a surprise, novelty
element to today's auction. I'd surmised - quite rightly - that he'd be
well received by the buyers and taken by surprise, they'll bid handsomely
for him.

Even as I look, I can see Prince Omar's lustful interest in the slave,
J‚r‚mie. He leans forward and lasciviously licks his lips and
obviously he is salivating at the thought of having this slave strapped to
his paddling bench and watching as his ass is beaten by Gansu. Prince Omar
speaks to his agent and it's apparent that he will be bidding for the
slave.

Looking at him, it is clear the slave has lead a sheltered home life as his
tearful nervousness suggests. Clearly, he is unaccustomed to total nudity
and being so openly displayed. Although he lacks the sophistication of the
more worldly of the slaves on offer today, he possesses a charming
innocence and I recognize in his vulnerability his potential to be trained
as a bed buck.

He appears to be shy and unsure of what to do next. He looks out into the
crowd and I note the look of bewilderment on his tear-stained face. I find
this youthful shyness and his unworldliness to be beguiling.

Then, turning to the auctioneer, he seems to seek direction; his pleading
eyes ask "what should I do?" Not unkindly, the auctioneer indicates to an
overseer to assist the slave. The overseer gains the slave's attention by
lightly tapping his ass with a cane and then patiently guides him through
his routine.

The slave begins shyly at first, but spurred on by the many shouts of
encouragement from the buyers, he is soon at his ease - so much so that his
long, thick cock is now rampantly erect and at a forty-five degree angle to
his belly.

Looking around, I see Prince Omar is leaning forward ogling the slave's
nakedness and lasciviously licking his lips. Then, speaking through his
agent he asks.

"Auctioneer, can we have the slave turn around so that we can assess him
from rear, please?"

Viewing the slave from the rear only re-enforces the buyers' already
favorable impression of him. His broad shoulders taper down to a narrow
waist and his small, shapely buttocks, which are divided by their deep
cleft, delightfully curve into the muscular columns of his legs. The
clearly defined back muscles, highlighted by the market's dappled sunlight,
ripple and dance under his coating of oil.

Again, the prince's agent asks.

"Could you move his feet apart and have him bend over?"

It takes just gentle tap of an overseer's cane on his ass for the slave to
assume the required position. Bent double, the slave's ass shows the
crisscrossed pattern of the stripes that his earlier rebellion had earned
him. Somehow, they add to his overall appeal.

Then, anticipating the prince's next request, the auctioneer orders the
slave to spread the cheeks of ass and to expose his hole for scrutiny.

He is left in this position long enough for the buyers to scrutinize the
slave's winking anus. But this is done from a distance as they'd had ample
opportunity to closely inspect him earlier in the day and to determine that
he is indeed a virgin.

As he holds his ass-cheeks apart, I wonder about his feelings. Had I been
able to see his face, I would note the deep crimson blush of his
embarrassment and the eyes brimming with the tears of his shame. His
display is rewarded with good-natured, appreciative comments from the
crowd.

However, the prince still isn't finished with the slave. His agent now
asks.

"Can we have the boy on his knees, facing the front and with his legs
spread wide, please auctioneer?"

Another tap of the cane sees the slave scrambling into position. At first,
he doesn't spread his knees widely enough and the overseer loses patience -
perhaps he feels he is being too lenient with the slave. He flicks the
slave's scrotum with the end of his cane as he orders him to.

"Spread your knees, boy! Quickly now, spread them wider so that the buyers
can see your cock and balls."

Taken by surprise the slave gasps at the sudden, sickening pain but hastens
to obey. It would seem that this slave will learn his lessons in obedience
very quickly.

The prince has one more final demand to make of the slave. Through his
agent he asks.

"Have the slave stroke his cock to show us the strength of his erection."

The slave takes his rampant cock in his fist and begins to slowly
masturbate. It is obvious that the slave is no stranger to masturbation and
soon he gives the appearance that he is enjoying the experience. As the
tempo of his fisting keeps pace with his mounting pleasure, a slim, silver
thread of his precum hangs precariously from the eye of his cock.

The auctioneer, evidently considers he has allowed sufficient time for
buyers to observe the slave's self-ministrations and calls a halt to them
by asking.

"Are you all done gentlemen? If so, then let's move on. We still have other
slaves waiting to be sold!"

The auctioneer orders the slave to stand at full display. He is puzzled by
the order and looks around seeking guidance. An overseer steps forward and
quickly poses him in the correct stance. I see the slave's lips move but
don't hear his words and I wonder what he'd said.  Perhaps he'd thanked the
overseer for his assistance. The slave now faces the buyers and his
presence on the auction-block is an enticing invitation to the buyers to
bid for the privilege of owning him.

I follow the stripling slave's sale with mounting pecuniary interest. It
will be interesting to see who buys him and for what purpose. Standing
alone on the auction block he seems so vulnerable which adds to his overall
appeal. But he is a slave and the best he can hope for is that he is sold
to a kind master - one who'll treat him well and provide him with a good
home.  But in harsh reality, his future is of no interest to me. What
happens to a slave once he has left my premises doesn't concern me. My only
interest in him is how much profit he'll return on my initial investment in
him.

The auctioneer calls for the first bids and is answered with a frenzied
barrage from the buyers.  There is no doubt that the young slave engenders
a lot of interest among the buyers - he is after all a most desirable
property - and I'm not surprised at the strength of the bids he attracts.

I look around to see who is bidding for him and it would seem just about
every buyer is trying to buy this slave. Usually the bidding for a slave is
confined to just a few buyers and the occasions when there is almost total
buyer involvement are rare. But if a slave has good buyer appeal - as this
one obviously does - then you can expect strong bidding for him. And it
goes without saying that I am delighted by this interest. It augers well
for my profits.

Inevitably, by a process of elimination - and no doubt governed by the
amount of money the individual buyer has to spend - the bidding war has
become less frenetic until just a handful of buyers remain. Then, one by
one, they also stop bidding until only two determined buyers remain.

And those buyers are Prince Omar and the African businessman, Ahmedu
Hadi. Both men are determined to buy this slave and for the next few
minutes the prince's agent and the African are engaged in a bitter war of
bid and counter-bid.

I watch as Prince Omar grows increasingly agitated. Protocol dictates that
whenever the prince, as a member of the royal family, bids for a slave the
other bidders should, after a reasonable period, withdraw and leave the way
clear for the prince's agent to make the final, successful bid. But that
isn't the case today. The African is either unaware of the custom or
chooses to ignore it. Either way, I don't care and I am delighted these two
determined rivals are locked in a tussle where neither will give way to the
other. Ultimately, I will benefit financially from their refusal to yield.

For the next few minutes, the slave stands wide-eyed and trembling as these
two bid and counter-bid for the right to own him. I wonder what he is
thinking; what emotions are tumbling around in the vortex of his mind. Is
he thinking of his lost life, his former family and his home? I suppose all
new slaves are troubled by such thoughts at first until their new owner
trains them into an acceptance of their servitude.  And yet, it would be
intriguing to know his innermost thoughts as he waits and watches
helplessly while the two buyers battle one another for the right to own
him.

Jeremie's Story:

My family's visit to La Belle France was a longtime coming. Indeed it had
taken so long that I'd long given up any thought that we would make the
trip. Over the years of my boyhood it had been spoken of numerous times and
I know my parents had, on several occasions, begun to make arrangements for
the trip. However, always, some unforeseen circumstance such as work or
commitments to the wider family intervened and plans for the trip had been
abandoned.

As Qu‚b‚cois de souche, the trip was important to my family; we
needed to see our ancestral homes for ourselves and discover the roots that
give us our proud identity. Of course, as a boy, I'd grown up with the
family's aural history and it had always fired my imagination. But it was a
poor substitute for actually seeing La France at first hand and visiting
the places that had once been home to my "old world" ancestors. But I'd
been disappointed before and I didn't build up my hopes even when my
parents told me we would spend our long, summer vacation in Europe.

And I wasn't finally convinced until my parents, my younger brother and
sister and I were seated in the Airbus A380 as it left Toronto for Paris.

What can I say about our visit to France? It surpassed all my expectations
and after we'd visited the areas where our ancestors had lived before
settling in Nouvelle-France, I felt I knew myself better and I had a sense
of belonging.

Our visit reads like something out of a tourist's brochure. We viewed all
the Paris landmarks before driving into the countryside to visit our
ancestral homes. This was the raison d'ˆtre for our trip and after we
did so we became regular tourists doing all those things that regular
tourists do.

There were so many places we visited and things we saw and it is hard for
me to pick which I enjoyed the most. We visited Chartres Cathedral, drove
through the green fields of Normandy and explored the chateaux of the Loire
Valley. But I guess Mont Saint Michel, the Roman ruins at Glanum and the
old, previously deserted medieval village of Les Baux de Provence which is
now home to artists and poets are the outstanding ones that stay with me.

We continued our meandering journey through Provence to Carcassonne before
driving over the Pyrenees into the verdant green valleys of the Basque
country and spending two days in the vibrant city of Barcelona. Then we
continued down the Spanish coast to the Costa del Sol where we planned to
rent an apartment and spend a few days relaxing and swimming in the warm,
brilliantly blue waters of the Mediterranean. And it was here that my life
changed irrevocably and forever.

As a seventeen year old, I wanted some independence and time way from my
parents and siblings. It wasn't that I didn't want to spend time with them
but after two weeks travelling in the close confines of our hired car I
really did need time on my own. My parents understood this and allowed me
the freedom to wander the streets of our resort town and to explore the
sandy beaches that swarmed with holiday makers from the UK and Northern
Europe.

These beaches, with their wall to wall, unfit, overweight and lobster red
sun worshippers, held no appeal for me and so I wandered along the
coastline looking for a less crowded beach where I could stretch out and
work on my suntan. And as luck would have it, I found a small patch of
isolated, white-gold sand tucked away between to rocky promontories - and
fortuitously I had the beach to myself.

I scrambled down over the rocks and onto the beach. The day was hot - more
of a scorcher really - and I hastily stripped until I was buck-assed
naked. Then, I ran into the azure blue sea and cavorted for some twenty to
thirty minutes to cool off before returning to the sand to lie in the sun.

I already had a light tan but it was marred by my ass's alabaster whiteness
which jars on me. Of course, I'd kept my ass covered at home when swimming
and sunbathing. But, on that secluded beach, there were no impediments to
me sunbathing in the nude and it felt great. There are no words to describe
the freedom or the pleasure of nude sunbathing and letting it all hang-out.

After I'd liberally coated myself with sunscreen - a sunburned ass or cock
and balls weren't on my agenda - I then stretched out on my back on the
sand. The seawater droplets on my skin glistened like tiny diamonds and I
watched as they trickled down my chest along the hairline of my treasure
trail and then down through my thick pubic bush to dampen the towel beneath
me.

I would describe my body as lithe. I have reached that stage of my
development when the puppy-fat of boyhood has given way to the burgeoning
muscle of adolescence. I take pride in my youthful, trim figure and I work
hard to maintain it. I play Lacrosse at a local level and I swim
competitively and both sports keep me fit.

My musculature is clearly defined though, as yet, it lacks the bulk of an
adult male. Still it holds the promise of better things to come and I am
happy with my overall appearance. I have grey- green eyes, full red lips
which part to show my white, even teeth and my head is crowned by
luxuriant, thick curls of the deepest black. Because of my youth - I began
shaving sometime between my twelfth and thirteenth birthdays - my body hair
is still emerging. There is the promise that I will be hairy-chested and my
legs and lower arms are dusted with a light covering of hair as black as
that on my head.

I have been told that I have Gallic charm and good looks and I have no
reason to dispute this.  Perhaps it's conceited of me, but I know that I
turn female heads and I suspect some male ones too. I am aware that in the
communal showers, after a strenuous game of Lacrosse or a vigorous swimming
session, some of my team mates are surreptitiously "eyeing" my naked
body. And rather than be offended or annoyed by this attention from my male
team mates, I am flattered by it. Sometimes, I have wondered what this says
about me and my own sexuality.

The combination of sun, sand and the soft murmur of the waves gently
lapping at the shore relaxed me and put me at my ease. The warmth of the
sun on my naked body stirred my blood and I felt an impending erection. As
I was alone on the beach, I could give free expression to my actions and I
took hold of my cock and began to masturbate. Determined to make it last as
long as I could, I stroked my circumcised cock and tickled my
balls. Tantalizingly, I teased my piss-slit and fingered my perineum
awakening the myriad of nerve endings which sent shockwaves of pleasure
surging through me. As my erection became harder I slipped a finger beneath
me and began to excite the sensitive tissue of my anus.

As my breathing became more labored, I wanted more pleasure and so I
slipped my finger into the tight, virgin recesses of my ass and began to
fuck myself - something I did regularly at home with a dildo in the
nighttime solitude of my bedroom when my parents and siblings are asleep.

But on that beach, I was alone with no one to watch me and I gave in to my
lust. I lost track of the time but inevitably, I climaxed. As I grunted out
my eruption - with almost geyser-like force - the stream of my ejaculate
arched high and landed with a soft "splat" on my chest and face scorching
my skin with its heat. Spent, I rested in the delicious afterglow of the
most intense masturbation I had ever experienced.

I turned over onto my belly and lie there to color the alabaster whiteness
of my ass as I regained my composure. Then, as the sun sank below the hills
behind the beach and the shadows lengthened, I took a final swim to wash
away the telltale odor of my spunk splattered torso before dressing and
returning to our holiday apartment.

I returned to that beach the next day and the one after which was to be the
final day of our stay on the Costa del Sol. Naturally, I masturbated on
both days and, while these were most enjoyable, they lacked the "volcanic
fury" of the first day.

On the second day, as I sunbathed on the sandy beach, I turned over onto my
stomach to add yet more color to my ass. As I did so, I noticed the
solitary figure of a man standing on a rocky promontory and looking in my
direction. I thought nothing of this - perhaps he was a voyeur who got his
kicks from looking at naked guys - and I wasn't too concerned that he saw
me naked. I was sure that I wasn't alone in sunbathing nude along the Costa
del Sol.

However, had I known his true intent, then I would have been worried.  Very
worried indeed!  His presence was to change my life irrevocably and in less
than twenty four hours I would be on a no return journey to a living hell
on earth.

That third, fateful day I returned to my beach and stretched out on the
warm golden sand. After I'd jacked-off, I was lying on my belly and as the
sun beat down on my back, I daydreamed about the remainder of our trip
through Spain and Portugal where we were to finish our vacation in Lisbon
before flying home. Although, I was excited about visiting Madrid and
Seville, it was Granada that I looked forward to seeing the most. I was
eager to see the beautiful Moorish architecture, gardens and fountains of
the famed Alhambra. For me this was to be one of the highlights of our trip
to Europe.

With such pleasant thoughts and the sun's warmth on my naked body, I became
drowsy. Lulled by the almost musical lapping of the waves gently breaking
on the shore I drifted in and out of sleep. I was so contented and I
remember thinking that all was well with my world.

I don't know how long I dozed; it could have been merely minutes or much
longer and I had no way of knowing. It was the murmur of men's voices that
woke me and as I stirred, I saw the shadows of two men cast on the sand -
one on either side of my prone body.  I moved to roll over onto my back but
rough hands held me down. Suddenly, I was afraid. What did these two men
want? Were they about to rob me? The only things I had of any value were
about twenty euros and my watch. I recall thinking that I would offer these
to them in the hope that they'd take them and leave me alone.

Then fear took hold of me. Did these men mean to do me harm? Were they to
assault me, to beat me up or even worse to rape me? Suddenly, I was seized
by blind panic and I began to desperately struggle to break free. The men
became agitated and spoke in a language I didn't recognize. Their words
were unintelligible to me but I understood their meaning. I was to stop
struggling and submit. And to emphasize this, one of the men placed his
foot on the back of my neck and forced my face down into the sand. As I
struggled to breath, I felt a sharp pinprick pain as a syringe was
viciously jabbed into the fleshy orb of my right buttock.

Then mercifully, I blacked out! I was now their prisoner and they moved
quickly to remove me from the beach. And from the world I had known for
seventeen years.

But before they did so, they set the scenario for my unfortunate
disappearance and one that would suggest that I had drowned. They left my
gear in a crumpled heap on the beach but placed my bathers at the water's
edge to suggest that I'd removed them before taking one final skinny-dip
for the day.

Of course, I wasn't aware of this or of the subsequent events.

When I failed to return home my anxious parents contacted the police who
searched the beaches before discovering my belongings. Naturally, they
assumed the worst. I was another stupid tourist who'd chosen to swim alone
and most probably, I'd been caught in an undertow and swept out to sea
where I'd drowned. And of course the chances that my body would ever be
found were minimal.

At first my distraught parents refused to accept this and lived in hope
that I would return to them. However, as the days passed and with no news,
they too had to accept that I had drowned. Heartbroken, they returned home
to mourn the loss of their eldest child within the comforting circle of
family and friends.

I don't know the length of time that I was drugged into unconsciousness. I
remember nothing after being jabbed with the syringe on the beach. My next
recollection was waking up in an isolated slave pen in the House of
Malik. I was naked, shackled and destined to be sold within a few days
along with thirty other slaves.

In the intervening days, unlike the other slaves, I'd not been privately
displayed to any prospective buyers. In fact, I was unaware that this was a
possibility. I don't know the reason why? Perhaps the slave-dealer who owns
me did this deliberately?

And now I stand lost and bewildered on the auction block of a medieval
slave-market somewhere in the Middle-East not knowing what the future holds
for me.

This morning, I'd been shackled in a line of other naked, young men and
subjected to the lecherous scrutiny of the men who see me as a slave and
who now bid for the right to own me.

At first, because of my youth, I'd been too frightened to show any
rebelliousness and I'd sullenly submitted to the ongoing inspections of my
body. As my body was groped, I sunk into a trough of deep despair and when
two African buyers inspected me, I stood docilely as the younger one ran
his hands over my body. It seemed to me they were father and son and
momentarily I wondered about my own father, mother and siblings and the
memory of the family now forever lost to me overwhelmed me. A silent sob
welled up inside of me and caught in my throat. Their examination of me was
cursory - they appeared to quickly lose interest - and they walked away
slowly sauntering down the line of chained slaves perusing them as they
went. Eventually, they stopped and subjected two slaves to the closest
scrutiny.

Later, they returned and as the younger one placed his hands upon my chest,
I seethed with indignation. His air of some "god-given" superiority and his
expectation that I would simply obey his every command annoyed me. Slowly,
as he continued to explore my nakedness, that annoyance consumed me and
when he ordered me to "turn, bend and spread", my stubborn pride decided
enough was enough and I stood my ground and stared defiantly into his
handsome face. I was totally unprepared for what happened next!

His dark complexion couldn't hide the red flush of his anger at my show of
defiance. Furious with my intransigence, he suddenly slapped my face. This
was the catalyst that released all my pent-up emotions of the past few days
and my fear and apprehension gave way to rage and anger. Impulsively, I
lunged at him but was restrained by my ankle chain. My punch fell short of
making contact with him.

My anger blinded me to the two overseers who moved quickly to subdue
me. Mercilessly, they beat me to the ground and still they weren't
satisfied. Their canes continued to rain down me until finally my spirit
broke and I heard my pitiful pleas for mercy. I had no option other than to
capitulate and when the young African once more ordered me to "bend and
spread", I didn't hesitate. I quickly scrambled to my feet and did as he
commanded. I stood quietly as he inspected my body while his father looked
on offering suggestions and words of encouragement.

But now, I stand on the auction-block as my future is being determined for
me. At first, I tried to make sense of the bidding process but the frenzied
shouting of so many buyers made it incomprehensible. Gradually, one by one,
most of the buyers stopped bidding and left the field to just two - an Arab
in traditional robes and the father of the African youth who'd examined me
earlier.

This makes it easier for me to follow the bidding process although the
auctioneer's exchanges are largely unintelligible. However, it seems to me
that the two who are bidding for me are locked in a fierce tussle with
neither giving way to the other. Then suddenly, the African counterbids and
as he does so there is a collective gasp from the watching buyers. I can
only judge by their surprised reaction that the African's latest bid has
raised the stakes much higher.  He appears to be out-maneuvering the Arab
bidder who turns to another richly dressed Arab sitting alone in a small
enclosure.

This second Arab is grossly overweight and is attended by two semi naked
men who I assume are his slaves. I'm unaware that he is a prince and a
member of the royal family but his isolation from the rest of the buyers
tells me he is a person of importance. Even from my position on the
auction-block, I can see the anger and fury on his face; obviously he's
used to getting his own way and the African's determination thwarts him. He
confers briefly with the other Arab who then turns and indicates to the
auctioneer they won't be entering any further bids.

The auctioneer calls for any more bids.

"Gentlemen are there anymore bids for this fine slave?" He waits patiently
for a response.  "Gentlemen is there any advance on the last bid?" Again he
pauses for a few seconds before continuing.  "If not, I will sell the
slave. Going once ........ Going twice.......... Are you all done?"

The loud clap of auctioneer's hammer reverberates around the enclosed
courtyard and his words confirm that I am now an owned slave.

"SOLD!! The slave is sold to Mr Ahmedu Hadi. Congratulations Mr Hadi, you
have purchased well. May the slave serve you faithfully for many years to
come and add immeasurably to your wealth?"

His words are greeted with a round of sustained applause from the other
buyers. I'm not to know that my new owner has paid a high price for me and
that I am to be a present from him to his son.

As another slave is brought up to the auction-block, a slave-handler
attaches a chain to my neck collar and I am lead away and placed in a
holding pen to wait until my new master comes to collect me.



To be continued ......