Date: Sun, 10 Jul 2011 23:32:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "The Aftermath"  Chapter 15  Gay Male/Authoritarian

THE AFTERMATH
(Or What Follows Next)

Chapter 15: Preparing the Livestock for Sale


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

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris)
"To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"

Chapter 15: Preparing the Livestock for Sale

Part 1: Dave Matheson
An Early Morning Start.

Dave Matheson is hard at work. Sale days are always busy and Dave is in his
office at 6.00 AM sharp to ensure that all goes as planned. Fortunately, all the
transfer of ownership documents and other paperwork for today's sale had been
prepared by his secretary the previous afternoon. This allows him to devote all
his time, this morning, to preparing the slaves for auction.

To the casual observer, sale days at the dealership appear chaotic. The slaves
destined for sale that day are roused at 4.00 AM by his overseers. There is much to
be done before they go on display at the auction yards. Dave leaves the
preparation of the slaves to his capable and experienced steward - himself a
slave; albeit a highly valued and trusted one.

The slaves haven't been fed since the previous morning; this is to avoid any
unpleasant surprises due to nerves as they stand on the display platform or the
auction block. Long years of experience have shown Dave that all slaves approach
their impending sale with trepidation and that they can't always control their
bodily functions. Therefore, it is better to deny them food and to allow them to
settle down before placing them before the public. He has found this method to
be the best way to avoid any unsightly accidents.

The slaves are, of course, malodorous after the time spent in the pens and need
sweetening up. Therefore, they are hosed down and scrubbed clean with a strong
smelling, carbolic soap under the supervision of his overseers; before that
however, their heads are cropped and their faces shaved smooth. Again,
experience has shown this to be desirable; the buyers do like the slaves to be
clean. Unlike some dealers, Dave doesn't body shave his stock - instead he
allows his slaves to retain their body hair. It really is too much trouble and it
is time consuming to strip the bodies of fifty slaves prior to sale. Anyway, he
believes in selling his slaves au naturel - this allows the new owner to choose
whether or not to keep his new slave 'as is' or to go with the smooth look. Once
the slaves are hosed down and dry, their bodies are marked with their lot
numbers and then liberally coated with display oil.

For Dave presentation is everything. If you have a product - and you're proud of
that product - then you ensure that it's seen at its very best. And so it is with
the slaves he sells. After all, as a businessman, he has an obligation to his
valued clients - both buyers and sellers - to ensure that the slaves entrusted
to him are presented for sale in the best manner possible.

Dave likes his stock to 'sparkle and shine' as it stands on the display
platform; the oil highlights the slaves' naked bodies and they do look so much
better than an un-oiled slave. Dave personally ensures that his stock is always
well presented to the public. He finds it most gratifying to see fifty, superbly
fit and muscular, young slaves oiled up and standing at display. He takes great
personal pride in their appearance and he is constantly on hand to make sure
everything goes as he intends.

Once the slaves are ready, they are removed to the adjacent sale-yards and
placed in the holding cages next to the display platforms. Now they have time to
rest and to settle down before they are placed on display. Dave insists that they
are in the holding cages by no later than 7.00 AM. He believes this time spent in
the cages is necessary to allow the slaves to familiarise themselves with the
environment of the sale-yards. When first placed in the cages, the traumatised
slaves look disbelievingly through the bars at their surroundings. And even at
that early hour there are always people visiting the pens eager to see the day's
offerings and, under their keen scrutiny, the slaves pace nervously around their
cages.

Then, promptly, at 8.30 AM, the slaves are removed from the cages and chained, in
the numerical order of their sales, on the viewing platforms. They are now ready for
public  inspection. Officially, this doesn't commence until 9.00 AM, but Dave likes
to cater for the early shopper.

                            ....................................

At approximately 7.45 AM, he'd met with Jeb Wilson, the estate manager for the
Middleton family, who had inspected the two, blond slaves who'd so interested the
Middleton sisters.

Jeb had impressed Dave with his skill and expertise at handling the two slaves.
He'd subjected both slaves to the most thorough physical examinations and each
was expertly put through his paces to determine his suitability for use by the
two elderly sisters. As he pointed out, although the slaves are young and
powerfully built and can appear intimidating, they are in fact, tame enough to
be easily controlled by the formidable Miss Harriet. Laughingly, he added he is
yet to see a slave who doesn't yield to her strong personality - as these two
slaves will soon discover.

Jeb, having decided that the slaves were suitable for use by the two sisters,
then pointed out to Dave, there was also the added bonus of both slaves being
eminently suitable for stud duties at the plantation. As the Middleton's
stud-master, he is always keen to introduce new blood into the `Beauchamp' herd.

Dave sensed that Jeb Wilson knew his livestock and, as their estate manager, he
would be highly valued by the Middleton's. In his eagerness to ingratiate
himself with the Middleton family, Dave decided to develop a temporary
friendship with their manager and invited Jeb back to his office for a quick
breakfast.

                            ...............................


Part 2: Toby
A Slave Reflects:

Unusually, for a slave, I have a name - Toby. Although, after I'm sold today, I
expect to lose it and to be referred to in the common vernacular as simply 'slave' or
the more derogatory term 'boy'.

Toby isn't the name given to me by my parents - I have long forgotten what it
was that they called me. The name Toby was bestowed upon me by my owner and
master, Andy Trevorrow when we were still boys together. Over the years I have
borne it proudly and gratefully. The naming of a slave is very rare and usually
signifies the high regard and affection the master has for his slave. I have
always seen my naming in that light and I returned this affection in my complete love
and devotion for my soon to be ex-master.

I have now accepted that my master is selling me and that by the end of today I
will have a new owner. Over the past two days, I have been appraised by three
prospective buyers all of whom have shown great interest in buying me.

My years of slavery have conditioned me to accept that an owner has an
unquestioned control over his slaves' destinies. Anything a master decides is
indisputable; after all slaves are property, commodities to be used, abused and
disposed of at the whim of their owners. It has always been this way and will
continue to be so.

Nevertheless, I have always given my complete loyalty to my master and I
foolishly supposed that he returned my loyalty. In my great love for him, I'd
forgotten one of the cardinal rules of slavery - that a slave owes his master
absolute loyalty at all times but it is something that is seldom, if ever, given
by an owner to his slave. And as a slave, I should never have had the temerity
to expect such a gift from my owner.

I now number this lack of loyalty among his many faults, all of which I'm aware
of and have tried to protect him from. I know that he can be thoughtless,
sometimes even cruel in his treatment of his slaves and exploitive of their
labour. He has never acknowledged their efforts on his behalf and beyond the
necessary housing and feeding of them; he has never given them any encouraging
extras in way of rewards. They are a means to an end and I, as his steward,
often found myself in the situation of driving them ever harder to meet his
insatiable demands.

From my perspective, I worried most about his spendthrift habits and naivety. He
always assumes that there is an inexhaustible income from the farm to finance
his lifestyle which is now spinning out of control. As his steward and keeper of
his accounts, I know however, that his extravagant lifestyle can't be sustained
- his spending exceeds his income. I am, after all, his book-keeper and
unusually for a slave, I had received basic training in reading, writing and
arithmetic to equip me for this job. But I must remember to keep this from my
new master. Most masters prohibit learning in their slaves and can go to extreme
measures to protect their slaves from such a dangerous influence as knowledge.

Naively, my master moves in a circle of art-loving friends in the city who
pander to his vanity and encourage him in his profligate spending. It goes
without saying they are the beneficiaries of his generosity and they are
inventive in their ways of helping him to spend his money.

It was difficult for me, a slave, to advise my master on how he should conduct
his affairs; but I had on several occasions tried to do so. Displeased at my
interference, he reprimanded me that "a slave doesn't chide his master" and
abruptly pointed out that it was my duty as his farm steward to ensure there
were always sufficient funds available to him. This meant that I had to work his
slaves longer and harder to meet his demands; a fact they blamed on me and
resented.

His erstwhile friends were frequent visitors to his home and they sensed my
distaste for them. They were always telling my master that I was 'uppity' and
needed a good whipping to bring me into line with how a good and obedient slave
should act. Fortunately for me, my master never took them at their words but he
did adopt a sterner master/slave approach to me in their presence. It puzzled me
that I, a mere slave, was able to see their true worth yet he, as my master,
couldn't. Of course, it's all of no further consequence to me now - he has
decided to sell me.

Still, my mind seethes at the injustice of his actions. I hide the anger, shock
and disappointment I feel buried deep within me. Yet, at the same time there
remains within me enough residual affection for him to cause me to worry for
his future. Lacking guidance, overawed by his arty friends and obsessed by the
need to justify himself in their presence, I fear that his naivety and
spendthrift habits could see him facing financial ruin; a situation he is
totally unprepared for. But of course, after I'm sold, he won't be my concern
and all my energies will be directed at serving my new master; what happens to
my former master will be of no further concern to me.

                        ..........................................


Preparations:

As I stand on the display platform, I think back over this morning's happenings.
At 4.00 AM, together with all the slaves listed to be sold today, the blond cousins
and I were rudely roused from our restless slumbers by the overseers' impatient
shouting and cracking whips. We hadn't been fed or watered the previous night
but, nevertheless, we were driven out of our cages and made to squat communally
one behind the other over the open drain toilets. I am unused to this 'communing
with nature' with other slaves - at the farm, I was accorded some privacy but I
very much doubt that my new master will allow me this privilege.

It was still dark outside the pens, but within, the dark, stinking interior was
suddenly lit by bright lights which momentarily dazzled us. From my perspective
chaos now reigned. I am a naturally organized person and in my former duties as
farm steward, I always ensured that everything functioned in an orderly manner.
Here, it seemed to me, there was complete disorder as the overseers shouted and
cracked their whips over our heads and shoulders forming us into five lines
each of ten slaves. However, once in line, order was restored and working in
five teams, the assistants began to prepare us for sale.

Working under the fussy direction of the steward, his slave assistants went
about their duties with astonishing proficiency and speed - it was obvious they
had performed these tasks many times before. We were ordered to drop to our
knees and one by one, the assistants quickly ran shears over our heads cutting
our hair back to an acceptable slave crop before shaving our beards; apparently
the proprietor of this establishment insists his slaves are clean-shaven before
being placed on display. Once they'd finished, we were ordered to our feet. Now the
shears were used to trim back the hair in our armpits and pubes; again a requirement
of the proprietor. Little or no attention was paid to the rest of our body hair
other than a quick trim of any chest or belly hair considered by the steward as
too long. In my case, my body was smooth, having been shaved two days ago prior
to my pre-sale inspections. Then still standing in line, our finger and toe
nails were examined and trimmed if necessary.

I was amazed at the speed with which all this was carried out and now corrected
my first impression that all was chaos.

For the next stage in our preparation, we were whip-driven into the ablution
block for cleaning. I have been in this room before and I use the term ablution
block loosely; the room itself was utilitarian in appearance and its walls and
floor were covered in dirty, grey-white tiles .The walls appeared to be
perpetually damp and covered with mildew and protruding from the ceiling were a
series of shower heads which dripped continuously. The foul-smelling air in
the room was throat-retching and added to our apprehension and misery.

Working swiftly, each team of ten slaves was divided into pairs, with each pair
given a cake of strong smelling, carbolic soap and then forced under a
shower-head. I found myself standing with a young, blond-haired, new slave -
one of the recently captured soldiers from the north. As I gazed into his face,
I saw reflected in his eyes the disbelief, fear and uncertainty of the newly
enslaved. It occurred to me that he was in mild shock and perhaps not fully
aware of what was happening to him; yet by the end of the day, he'll be an owned
slave about to enter into a lifetime of servitude and drudgery. I didn't feel
sorry for him; I had long ago accepted my own slavery and the inevitable
bleakness of his future made no impact on me. It is in the selfish nature of we
slaves that the plight of the newly enslaved leaves us unmoved; we even take
perverse pleasure in the fact that others are now to share our fate. Yet
something about him appealed to me; perhaps it was his air of vulnerability.

My eyes roamed down over his strong, muscular body and stopped at his flaccid
cock - no doubt drooping from nervous anxiety. His prick was long and thick and
I noticed that he was uncircumcised; oddly, the thought flashed through my mind
that he would soon lose his foreskin. Without a doubt, his new master would attend
to this first. I knew from my experience at the farm that such a slave as this
one is immediately skinned even before he is branded. He of course, was
blissfully unaware of what awaited him.

I estimated his age at about 22 to 23 years; a good age to begin slavery and
offering the prospect of many productive years in the service of his new owner.
His hard body, honed to muscular perfection by his years as a soldier, held the
promise of much hard, physical labour. These are excellent attributes for a new
slave to have and they will add greatly to his value and I have no doubt these
will be appreciated by the buyers when he is placed on display.

Suddenly, there was loud shouting - and swearing from the new ex-soldier slaves -
as the showers were turned on and we were sprayed with cold water; in a
re-action to the sudden shock of the cold water, I added my voice to the noisy
commotion. Instinctively, we moved away from the showers but were soon driven
back under by the whips and canes of our overseers and ordered to begin cleaning
one another. I was holding the soap and as I approached my partner to begin,
he angrily shoved me away with the admonition to "Fuck off, pervert."

Docilely, I stood and watched as an overseer's cane quickly brought him back
into line with the rest of us. I listened as he yelped with pained surprise and
I smiled at the comical sight of him dancing a highland jig in tune to the
swish of the cane as it cut across his thighs and buttocks. Now subdued, he
stood sullenly under the shower and allowed me to wash him.

As we stood almost toe to toe, I enjoyed the sensuous feel of the water flowing
down over our bodies; I thought the way the water threaded its way downwards
through his chest hair was particularly erotic. The close proximity of his
naked body and the pleasant sensation of the water cascading from the end of
my cock and trickling down my ass-crack soon had me rampantly erect. A quick
glance at my partner showed that, despite himself, he was also similarly
aroused. Urged on by the angry shouts of the overseers, I began to soap his
chest.

At the touch of my hands, his body stiffened and there was an imperceptible
movement away from me. However, he stood his ground and submitted to my
ministrations - no doubt encouraged to do so by the loud slaps as the canes were
applied to the wet bodies of other protesting slaves. By this use of their
canes, our overseers made it painfully obvious that they wouldn't' tolerate any
disobedience from us.

I sensed the slave's resentment at what was being done to him and his impotent
rage was evident. The thought flashed through my mind that these traits would
soon earn him a whipping at the hands of his new owner. He would be taught that
any show of defiance from a slave is unacceptable to a master. I supposed it
really is a matter for him to decide as to whether or not his transition into
slavery is easy or difficult. My experience as a farm steward told me he had
several hard lessons to learn before he was tame enough to be regarded as a
good slave.

But for now, he stood quietly as I continued to work on him and he offered only
token resistance; firstly, when I slid back his foreskin to clean the head of
his cock and then again when I cleaned the cleft between his buttocks. Luckily
for him, this resistance wasn't seen by the overseers. But, as I cleaned him, I
felt his deep shame.

All too soon, I had finished washing him and now it was his turn to clean me.
Smiling broadly, I offered him the cake of soap. As he took it from me, his
disgust was obvious.

Hesitatingly, he took the soap from me and placed his hands on my shoulders. His
distaste at touching me was obvious but his fear of the overseer's cane was
greater than his reluctance. As he washed my arms and shoulders before moving
down to my chest and belly, I watched the erotic play of his muscles rippling
under his wet skin and my cock danced with delight. Unsure, he took my genitals
in his hands and began to wash them. I noticed his eyes widen - whether from
shock or pleasure, I don't know - as he felt my cock's throbbing hardness. It
did seem to me that his hands lingered longer than they should.

I gave myself over to the sensual touch of his hands as they glided down my back
to my buttocks. He was surprised at my involuntarily shivering and quickly
withdrew his hands from my body. Strangely, I felt sympathy for him. Obviously,
he was a man who had never before touched another man's body so intimately as he
was now required to do. No doubt, as a soldier, he'd had physical, bodily
contact with other soldiers in their hand to hand combat training - but he would
have vehemently rejected the suggestion of any homo-eroticism in this. But for
him, I surmised, this enforced, very personal touching of another man's naked
body would be unsettling. I could only guess at the confused state of his mind.
I waited to see what he would do next.

Tentatively, he placed both of his trembling hands back on my buttocks and I was
delighted as he gently kneaded and squeezed their rounded firmness. Now,
perhaps emboldened by my quivering response to his touch, he seemed to gain
confidence - I asked myself - "is he enjoying this new  experience?" I hoped
so, for I knew I was. Then falteringly, he slipped a inquisitive finger into my
ass-crack and began a shy, exploratory probing of its depths. He was totally
unprepared for my body's re-action as his finger made contact with my sensitive
anus. Surprised by my involuntary jerks and by my sighs, his finger paused
momentarily, and then, as I optimistically shuffled my feet further apart and
pushed my ass back to give him easier access to me, his shyness gave way to
confidence - or was it a new found source of pleasure - he resumed .

It seemed to me that this new slave was now in a learning process; one of
discovering himself. He was now confronted with aspects of himself he'd
previously not been aware of or probably had never thought about. Certainly, the
eagerness with which his finger now excited me led me to think that his pleasure
was, at the very least, equal to my own. Despite my indifference towards my
fellow slaves, I was nevertheless pleased for him. If he truly accepted his
new sexuality, then his life of drudgery as a slave would be made just a
little more bearable; the tedium of his existence would be relieved by his
willing participation in the nocturnal frolics of his fellow slaves in his new
master's stables.

Abruptly, my thoughts - and my pleasure - were interrupted by the overseers'
shouts to move out from under the showers. Our interesting interlude now at an
end, I sensed the new slave's disappointment. Obediently, we finished and
quickly stepped out of the showers.

Once more, we lined up into our original teams of ten and we stood dripping
water onto the floor. As we waited - for what I didn't know - I used my hands to
palm the excess water from my body. A quick glance along the lines of slaves
showed that many others were doing the same. Then, we were given pieces of
coarse towelling to finish drying ourselves. Once dry, I wondered what would
happen next.

As we waited the overseers prowled up and down making sure we kept our places
in the lines, that we didn't talk and that we kept our hands to ourselves. As
they settled us down, there were yelps and loud thwacks as the canes were
applied to the bodies of all non-compliant slaves. All the while, the steward
seemed to be impatiently waiting and paced up and down as though he wasn't sure
of what to do next. Eventually, he was joined by the master of this place, the
man I now knew as Dave Matheson clutching a wad of papers in his hands. Now
suddenly, chaos returned as the master and his steward walked along our lines
giving orders to the overseers.

Confusion reigned once more, as one by one, the overseers hauled us out of our
lines and hustled us into new ones - I was unsure of why this was happening but
I'm soon to find out. I now found myself standing, unexpectedly, in front of
the two blond slaves - the cousins from my master's farm.

We had shared the same pen since we were brought here by our master to be sold.
There had been another slave with us, but he had disappeared on the first day.
The four of us had been separated on the first morning and taken to our
respective inspections. Later that day, the cousins and I found we were back
in the same pen but the fourth slave was missing. The cousins waited for his
return and grew agitated when he failed to appear. In my temerity, I asked the
steward what had happened to him only to be gruffly told.

"What's happened to him isn't any of your concern and as a slave you should
 know better than to ask."

Rebuked, I didn't dare pursue the matter any further. Then surprisingly,
the steward told us, not unkindly.

"He's been sold to the owner of a male brothel and he'll work there as a pleasure slave."

Horrified at their friend's fate, the two became disconsolate and retreated to a
corner of the pen where they sought comfort in each other's arms.

Now they stand behind me as we await our own fates.

Once we had been sorted out, order returned and Dave Matheson moved down each
line pausing before each slave and consulting the papers in his hands. Following
behind, the steward responded to his instructions by writing on each slave.

When it was my turn, I respectfully lowered my eyes to the floor as Dave
Matheson scrutinized me. Then consulting his clutch of papers, he simply said
"Lot 25" before moving on to the two blond cousins. The steward stepped up to me
and wrote the number 25 in large black numerals on the left side of my chest and
on my right flank. Then, I listened as the steward was told.

"These two are to be offered as a matched pair - Lot 26." Out of the corner of my
eye, I saw him write the number 26 on the bodies of the two cousins. I now knew
that they were to be sold immediately after me and that I would mount the
auction block before them.

Suddenly, the appalling reality of my situation hit me- I was simply a lot
numbered slave about to be paraded before the viewing public and offered for
sale to the highest bidder.

When the last slave had been marked with his lot number - and I noted that my
shower partner now wore the number 16 - we were hurried onto the next stage of
our preparation - the oiling of our bodies and most humiliatingly, the greasing
of our ass-holes. I could understand why our bodies were liberally coated with
oil. After all, I only needed to look at the bodies of my fellow slaves; their
bodies glistened most seductively under the bright lights and their physiques
were displayed to perfection. Altogether they presented an impressive image of
superbly fit, young men now standing on the brink of a new phase of their
slavery.

I should qualify this; there was one slave, Lot 1, who didn't measure up to the
high standards set by the rest of us. This poor, miserable wretch was a criminal
condemned to slavery for some offence and he presented a sorrowful picture. He
was fat, balding and unfit; he really didn't belong here. But the law required
that he be sold at the first auction after his conviction and, unluckily for
him that is today. In the pecking order of slavery, he stood at the very
bottom of the scale. These criminal slaves are viewed with contempt by most
other slaves who usually ostracize them. We real slaves are either bred into
slavery or we are captured and enslaved through no fault of our own. So how
could we have sympathy for a free man who, through his own stupidity or criminal
activity, is enslaved? He has only himself to blame and as he was oiled and
greased he sobbed uncontrollably.

As another slave coated me with oil, I enjoyed the sensual feel of his
oil-slicked hands gliding over my body. I did my best to ensure that I received
the utmost gratification by moving my body around and suggestively thrusting out
my hips and buttocks in an eager invitation to him. By the time I applied the
oil to him, our mutual excitement was evident; but then a quick glance at the other
slaves showed that we weren't alone in sharing this mutual pleasure. They too
sported massive erections.

Still working in pairs, we were each, in turn, made to 'bend and spread' so that
our partner could grease our holes. I'm no stranger to having a finger thrusting
into my body but in the past the only finger to do so was that of my master,
Andy Trevorrow and it was always pleasurable for both of us. This however, was
different; what was being done to me now felt demeaning and dehumanising - but
then I remembered that as a slave I'm not supposed to feel shame and I'm
certainly not regarded as human. This greasing was done purely for the ease and
convenience of any potential purchasers wishing to closely examine us and not
for our comfort. Although, later, when I am subjected to many close quarters
examinations, I will appreciate the fact that my hole had been well prepared.
During the morning, I will be ordered to `turn, bend and spread' on numerous
occasions and subjected to very intimate inspection.

Once we were oiled and greased, we were placed in numerical order and then
subjected to a close scrutiny by the proprietor, Dave Matheson. He paused before
each of us and ran an experienced eye over both the fronts and backs of our
bodies. Occasionally, he would testily instruct the steward and his assistants
to apply "a bit more oil on his chest" or "a touch more on his back". Finally,
he was satisfied and we moved onto the final stage of our preparation -
shackling.

In the interests of public safety, the law requires that all slaves, when either
publicly displayed or sold, should be heavily restrained. This law is mandatory
and any slave dealer found in breach of it is subject to heavy fines and the
possible loss of his dealer's licence. Therefore all dealers adhere strictly to
the letter of the law and shackle their livestock before placing them on
display. The law stipulates the weight and thickness of the shackles that are to
be used and now we are to be fitted with them before moving out into the
display pens.

The chains are heavy and are locked around the ankles and wrists and certainly
once they are fitted the wearer is all too aware of them The short length of
chain connecting the ankles restricts the slave's walking to a shuffle whilst
the length of chain between the wrists allows the slave a limited degree of
movement; he is able to flex his arms or raise them above his head.

I stood docilely while mine were fitted and I was dismayed at their weight
which reduced me to shackled clumsiness. In all my years as a slave, I have
never worn chains - except that is for the compulsory collar around my neck.
Thankfully, my master trusted me and never considered them necessary. Needless
to say I was grateful for his consideration and never betrayed his trust. I now
reflected how lucky I'd been to have such a master.

Usually, owners only use chains on the more brutish of their slaves; most heavy
duty, work slaves work in shackles. However, most masters only use chains under
extreme circumstances. In a domestic situation, the use of shackles on a slave
is viewed as a failure on a master's part to properly train his slaves. My
master didn't use them to any extent; although I as his steward did use them on
newly purchased slaves or as a punishment for a difficult one - but only until
the slave was tamed. To be honest, I had never thought about what effect the
use of shackles had on a slave. Now I am very aware and I'm uncomfortably
weighed down by them.

Once more we were lined up for a final inspection, and when he was satisfied
that we met his stringent requirements, Dave Matheson gave the order to move us
out to the display pens. Before we did so however, he instructed his steward to
remove the two blond cousins from the line and take them to a viewing room for a
private inspection. I wasn't to know that they were to be examined by the
Middleton family's estate manager.

Ordered to "MOVE", we began a slow shuffle out of the preparation area and down
the central passage-way between the holding pens whose occupants roused
themselves from their stupor to watch us. As they stood at the bars of their
pens, I wondered what they were thinking as we moved past. The shuffling sound
of our bare feet and the clanking of our chains, accompanied by the loud cracks
of the whips and swishing of the canes gave them a glimpse of their own imminent
fates. I could see the fear and despair in the eyes of those newly enslaved
soldiers still remaining in the pens as they watched their former comrades being
driven out to an uncertain fate. However, it's doubtful if their fear was
greater than my own.

Moving out of the building, we shuffled across a courtyard into the early
morning sunlight and down a long alleyway towards the doors opening into the
holding cages. There, beyond the bars waiting for us, are the early morning
buyers all eager to get a first glimpse of today's offering.



To be continued........................