Date: Sun, 24 Nov 2013 16:28:13 -0800 (PST)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: Duped  Chapter 16  (Gay Male/Authoritarian)

DUPED
Chapter 16
"The Future Awaits"

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

Written by Jean-Christophe: November, 2013
This story is archived at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

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Chapter 16:

Anwar:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Matthew:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"MOVE FORWARD!"

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

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

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

"STEP UP!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



To be continued.....