Date: Mon, 9 Apr 2012 19:44:01 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject:" The Aftermath 2 - Legacy and Consequence"  Chapter 3

THE AFTERMATH 2
'Legacy and Consequence'
Chapter 3: 'Waiting in the Race'

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

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Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): April, 2012
Read my stories at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

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

Chapter 3: 'Waiting in the Race'

The race and ramp leading up onto the auction platform reminds me of the
animal crush we'd used on the farm I'd once owned but had so recently and
foolishly lost. My former slaves had used it for immobilising a large beast
for such routine tasks as branding, dehorning or seasonally administering
an oral drench to rid it of any intestinal parasites.

The operation of the crush was simple. It was just wide enough to hold the
animal and once driven in, the gates immediately in front of and at the
rear of the beast were closed thus immobilising it.

And it is exactly the same principal with the slave race. All fifty of us,
scheduled to be sold this afternoon, are indecently packed one behind the
other with the gates ahead and behind us shut tightly. We have no freedom
of movement and there is only one way out of the race; that is to shuffle
forward and up the ramp and onto to the auction block.

Of course, I am unfamiliar with the ramp. This area is 'behind the scenes'
and out of sight of the buyers who wait impatiently on the buyers' benches
for the sale to begin.

Over the years, I have attended many slave auctions. Indeed, my father
first took me to an auction soon after my twelfth birthday -the age he
considered was appropriate for me to be introduced to the intricacies of
the slave trade.

I still recall my boyish excitement - how grown-up and proud I'd felt as I
watched him inspect the slaves on the viewing platforms before the
auction. As he assessed the slaves he took pains to explain to me in minute
detail what it was that he was doing. He pointed out a slave's good points
as well as his deficiencies. And later I watched spellbound as the naked
slaves appeared on the elevated platform- seemingly from nowhere - and were
lead over, shackled, collared and leashed and made to step up onto the
actual auction block.

As a boy, I had no idea of the existence of the ramp which was out of my
line of sight and I remember thinking that the hapless slaves appeared from
nowhere as if by magic.

Later of course, I did learn about the ramp but I'd never given it more
than a passing thought - until today. Now I am intricately enmeshed in its
use and I learn that its operation is very mundane.

There are fifty of us jammed tightly into crush and we are so closely
packed in that our nude bodies touch despite our efforts to maintain a
degree of self-respect and decency.

The early afternoon sun beats down upon us - the race is open to the
elements - and so there's no shade. Unlike us, the buyers, who wait
impatiently for the auction to begin, sit beneath the huge canvas awnings
that protect them from summer' blazing heat and winter's chill winds and
driving rain.

Today is uncommonly hot and so our sweat- slicked, oil-coated bodies
slip-slither against one another. I am between two of my fellow slaves and
we are so close that I can feel the fear induced beating of their hearts
and their nerve-wrought breathing. And no doubt, they feel my own terror.

And to be truthful, I am terrified of what still awaits me. The traumas of
the morning's inspections are behind me but the horror of the actual
process of being sold as a mere chattel still lies ahead.

I think back several months to when I'd sold Toby. What were his thoughts
as he waited in this same race before his sale? Did his heart race within
his breast and his lungs feel they'd reached bursting point as mine do? Did
his knees sag and his body tremble as uncontrollably as I am trembling? Did
he feel the fear induced need to piss and had is bowels turned to water
like mine? Did he struggle to maintain some personal dignity by controlling
these two most basic of his bodily functions?

I am not alone in this. I suspect my fellow slaves struggle with the same
problems and for some it's a losing battle. The race is splattered with
their urine and excrement and the air is most malodorous. Our handlers,
inured to the reeking mess by their long experience, are unaffected and
simply turn their hoses onto us to cleanse us and to wash away our
foulness.

I decide the answers to my silent questions would be in the affirmative and
despite my own suffering, my heart breaks for what I'd done to Toby.

I am placed eighth from the front which means that I am Lot 8. I'm not
aware of why I have been allocated to this position and from my past
experience as a vendor, I know it would have been the slave-dealer, Dave
Matheson who'd decided the order of my sale. But I don't know the rationale
behind his decision.

I see being eighth in line as a mixed blessing. It means my time in the
race will be shorter than those who wait behind me. But then I ask myself
if I am that anxious to be sold.  Obviously the answer is that I'm not.

I reflect bitterly that it was my own stupidity that sees me in my present
predicament. I can blame no one else but myself. But the realisation of
this doesn't help and I am full of self- pity. In a very short time I will
be owned property subject to the whims of a new master. I worry about the
type of master I will have by this day's end. And I worry about my future
as his slave. What will my life as a slave be like?

Yet I do have some inkling of that. This morning, as I stood on the viewing
podium, I attracted a lot of attention. Some of this attention was genuine
in that I was appraised dispassionately by those who saw me simply as a
slave they wished to buy.

Other inspections were less welcome! The circumstances of my downfall and
enslavement were of 'novelty value' to many of my former arty friends. Many
came to just look, to gloat or worse to finger me.

As I listened to their taunts and gibes, I felt ashamed. How could I have
seen these people as being more important in my life than my devoted slave,
Toby? Had I but the wisdom of hindsight to see it, I should have realised
Toby was my one, true friend. His steadfast loyalty and love stood in stark
contrast to their fickleness. When compared to their friendships, Toby's is
worth a thousandfold.

This morning was an endurance test. The utter humiliation of standing naked
waiting for someone to inspect me weighed heavily upon me - both body and
soul. Then, as I was assessed, I was forced to submit to the most degrading
of inspections and to pose my body in lewd positions that best displayed my
musculature for the buyer's interest. And should I fail to please him there
were the ever-present slave-handlers eager apply their canes and straps to
my unprotected body.

I underwent many such inspections but two stood out from all the others for
the utter humiliation which I felt. There was a lull in proceedings; the
crowd seemed to have gathered at the far end of the viewing platform where
they were watching the boisterous antics of a group of noisy, teenaged
youths who were having some good-natured sport at the expense of an
unfortunate slave. Consequently, I stood alone and this gave me the chance
to calm down and regain my composure.

These youths are a looked for feature at slave auctions and their
light-hearted antics are the cause of much mirth among the amused
onlookers? On many occasions, I myself have watched their taunting of some
miserable wretch and my laughter then was as loud as that of today's
patrons.

How glad I was that I wasn't the butt of their callous treatment and ribald
humour!

Of course, I knew my reprieve was only temporary and that all too soon I
would be subjected to further inspections.

Not wishing to be boastful, my past experience as a slave-owner tells me
that I am a highly desirable slave property.

I am tall and robustly built with a physique of which I've always been very
proud. I have been told by others - principally by Toby - that I have
handsome features and I have never been ashamed of my sexual endowments. In
fact, I know I have been favoured with an above average sized cock and
biggish, low hanging balls.

Suddenly, my self-assessment was interrupted. I was confronted by the
slave-dealer, Dave Matheson and Mr Theodore Russell of Redgrove Plantation
who was accompanied by his two sons, twenty year old Ben, a slave
veterinary science student and sixteen year old Joel.  Also with them was
Redgrove's estate manager, Silas Hacker.

Dave Matheson walked behind me and viciously swiped his cane across my ass
and added another to those I'd already received. As I 'danced a jig' on my
podium, he imperiously ordered me to.

"Stand at full display, boy! Mr Russell wants to inspect you."

Trembling, I hastened to obey.

Dave Matheson was well known to me and I'd had business dealings with him
in the past; the most recent being when I'd sold Toby and my other three
slaves. I only knew Theodore Russell, owner of Redgrove Plantation by sight
and reputation.

I knew Theodore Russell had shown great interest in Toby when he was
sold. At the time, I'd been told by Dave Matheson that Theodore had seen
Toby's potential as both a heavy duty field slave and as a potential
breeding buck for his stud and that he'd had Silas Hacker inspect Toby
prior to his sale. Of course, he'd been unsuccessful in buying Toby and had
been outbid by the flamboyant Obadiah Clements. I recalled when Toby was
led from the auction-block, Theodore was greatly piqued and his florid
complexion bordered on apoplexy.

I was unaware that Dave Matheson had advised Theodore Russell of my own
enslavement and he'd suggested I was a possible substitute for Toby. And
acting on the slave-dealer's recommendation, he was here to assess my
potential as a suitable slave for Redgrove Plantation.

"Dave, you mentioned that this slave is a bankrupt and that he was the
owner of the slave I missed buying some months ago. What's his story? Do
you know?"

"As a matter of fact I do, Theo. It's a sad tale really. His late father
was a very successful, canny farmer who'd left him a profitable farm and a
large slave-herd to work it as well as a small fortune in cash. Apparently
it all went to his head and he had social pretensions above his station. He
got in with the wrong crowd here in the city and he became very spendthrift
in order to impress his new friends. Needless to say, they were only too
eager to help him fritter away his inheritance. And foolishly, he sold his
farm steward - the slave you were interested in. The slave, Toby was the
one stabilising factor who might possibly have saved him from his current
predicament. After he'd sold Toby, it was all downhill after that. He
continued to borrow heavily to finance his high living and well you can see
the result of that for yourself. He's now a court mandated slave offered
for sale in today's auctions."

"As you say, Dave, it's a sad tale. His story reminds me of the 'prodigal
son' syndrome!

"I think it's more the case of the 'profligate son', Theo."

"That's very true, Dave! It was criminal of him to squander his father's
inheritance. He deserves his fate. And he'll have a lifetime to regret that
foolishness. If I buy him, his hard labour in my fields and the overseer's
lash will be a constant reminder to him of all that he's lost."

"And it will be a well-deserved punishment too! Theo, I'm sorry but I have
to leave you."  Dave Matheson apologised.  "As you can appreciate I have a
lot to attend to before the auction. Do you mind if I leave you?"

"Dave, I understand perfectly! Don't give it second thought. We can
manage."

"Well, take all the time you need in inspecting the slave. He's at your
disposal for as long as you like. And if the slave is troublesome don't
hesitate to call on my overseers. They'll very quickly pull him back into
line. "

"Thank you Dave! I'm sure we can manage. Ben will do the actual inspection
and he knows how to handle a troublesome slave. Isn't that right, Ben?"

"Yes Pa! I haven't met the slave I can't handle. You simply let the slave
know from the outset that you are in charge and take it from there. Looking
at this boy, I don't anticipate any trouble. He looks very docile."

"Then in that case I'll leave Ben to get on with his inspection." Dave
commented as he walked away. "We'll meet up later for drinks and lunch in
my office if you're free."

"We're glad to accept your kind invitation, Dave" Theodore replied. "Thank
you for it and I'm looking forward to lunching with you."

"Well Ben, the slave's all yours to inspect." Theodore continues. "Check
him out and give me your honest opinion of him, son."

"Face the front!" the tone in Ben's voice told me he'd tolerate no show of
resentment of defiance. "Stand up straight! Lower your eyes to the ground."

I obey and with my eyes downcast, I sensed rather than saw who it was
standing in front of me. Submissively, I waited for him to take the
initiative. Silently, Ben mounted the platform and I felt his firm hands
placed upon my chest. The thought flashed through my mind that examining my
oil-coated body would be messy, but I knew there were areas set aside where
the buyers can wash-up after they have finished their inspections.

As Ben's hands confidently moved over me, I knew that I was being evaluated
professionally and not sexually, unlike some of my earlier
inspections. Those potential masters had left no doubt in my mind as what
their true interest in me entailed; one had even whispered in my ear that
we would enjoy fucking me.

Instinctively, I sensed this wasn't what Ben's inspection was about. Still,
as his hands continued down over my stomach, I wondered - was there a
difference? On the one hand, those earlier buyers' inspections had reduced
me to an object of their lust, whereas Ben's inspection was evaluating me
much as one would judge a work animal or a plough ox. His hands sought out
my strengths and weaknesses, my capacity for hard work and what
contribution I'd make to the Russell family`s fortunes. Both types of
inspections reduced me to the status of a beast.

A hand was placed under my chin and as my head was lifted, I looked into
the face of the young man who was examining me. I saw a youthful,
handsomely arrogant face, staring intently into my own. Momentarily, our
eyes met and then, submissively, I lowered mine.  Slowly, he turned my face
to the left as he studied my profile before turning it to the right and
doing likewise. Satisfied, he then ordered me to.

"FLEX".

I obeyed as best I could, but my movements were restricted by the heavy
chains I wore around my wrists. Nevertheless, I managed to raise my arms
level with my shoulders and I bent my forearms upwards so that the tight
balls of my biceps were prominently displayed.  Breathing deeply, the rise
and fall of my chest brought into play my powerful pectorals and clearly
highlighted the definition of my abdominal muscles.

Embarrassingly, I felt the first stirrings of an impending erection.

I stood motionless as Ben's hands slid down over my chest and belly,
pausing briefly to check my breathing before continuing down to my legs. I
was surprised that he bypassed my genitals - completely ignoring my rampant
erection - and concentrated instead on the front of my thighs and
calves. Then, he commanded me to.

"TURN AROUND!"

Despite my deep sense of shame, I was over-awed by the imperious tone of
his voice; his easy air of authority was that of a confident, free, young
man who is in complete control of the situation. Should his father buy me,
I knew instinctively that I would have to submit to his will. It was
plainly obvious this young man wouldn't tolerate disobedience or slackness
in a slave and I hastened to obey his command.

I stood passively as he gauged the power of my shoulders and the strength
of my back. He didn't hurry in his examination of me. After all, I was at
his disposal for as long as he needed.  I felt the knuckle of a finger
travel up and down my back testing the soundness of my spinal column - any
experienced owner knows a slave's back needs to be flexible as it bends to
its labours. Then, there was my involuntary shiver as his hands moved over
the flaring curves of my buttocks. I tensed as he took both cheeks of my
ass into his hands - kneading and squeezing them as a test of their
firmness. Continuing down over my legs, he examined the hard, corded
muscles of my thighs and calves.

Responding to his touch, my cock grew even harder. Next, he commanded me
to.

"Bend and spread your legs".

Immediately, I shuffled into position and moved my feet as far apart as my
shackles permitted. However, my wrist restraints didn't allow me to reach
behind and open myself up to his scrutiny. Futilely, he tried to kick my
feet further apart - they were already spread as wide as my chains allowed
- but I recognised this more as a gesture on his part of his complete
mastery over me.

"How's it going, Ben?" I heard Theo Russell's question to his son.

"Well so far, so good, Pa. He's a pretty impressive property. Perhaps a bit
older than I thought but that isn't really a problem. He possesses a good,
strong body and he appears to be sound in wind and limb as the saying
goes. In time, he'll make a good field hand. That should make you happy,
Silas. Another slave for the fields, eh? No doubt with the crops ready for
sowing, you can use another worker, Silas? What do you say?"

"Indeed, Ben. That is, if your father decides to use him in that capacity?
My view is that he should be used as a work slave and not as some fancy
house servant." Silas replied sourly.

"Is there any doubt as to where you'll use him, Pa?"

"Well I'm not sure, Ben. He's a handsome slave and it's possible that your
mother and sister will want him to serve as a house slave." Theo replies.

Bent double, I waited patiently as the three men discussed my future - a
future in which I hadn't any say.

"Silas is right, Pa! This slave belongs in the fields. He has a strong body
with the promise of many years' service.  It's true that his years living
as a free man have left him a little 'soft'.  Obviously, he doesn't have
the muscle tone of the true slave. But that not a problem. He has an
impressive musculature so the building blocks are there to improve
upon. Wouldn't you agree Silas?"

"Indeed I would Ben. Let me have him in the fields for six months and he'll
be as fit as the rest of Redgrove's slaves."

"I don't doubt that for one moment, Silas." Ben chuckled. "You and your
whip would see to that."

I felt Ben's finger brushing lightly up and down the cleft between my
buttocks. It paused long enough to excite the sensitive area surrounding my
anus. As I relaxed, the finger was thrust through my sphincter and sought
out my prostate. My cock throbbed in response and I felt the precursors to
an ejaculation as my pre-cum dribbled out of my piss-slit. As Ben's finger
probed the depths of my body, my balls were cupped in his other hand and
'jiggled' up and down before each was rolled between his finger and
thumb. Finally, he was satisfied and, with a dismissive slap on my naked
ass, he ordered me to.

"Stand and face the front."

Once more, I stood at display and bowed my head. I watched as my cock,
jutting out at right angles to my belly, bobbed up and down with each of
its contractions and continued to dribble out the essence of my manhood.

"I`m nearly finished here, Pa." Ben told his father as his fist encircled
my cock and tickled its sensitive tip. I re-acted involuntarily by
clenching my buttocks and thrusting my hips back and forth as though I was
fucking his fist.

"Well at least we know his dick works." He added laughingly.

Withdrawing his hand from my cock, Ben ordered me to.

"DROP TO YOUR KNEES!"

I obeyed and Ben ran his hands over my newly cropped head before he
examined my ears, eyes and nose. Then, tapping the side of my face, he
commanded me to.

"OPEN YOUR MOUTH! WIDE!"

I hastened to obey and felt his finger checking the soundness of my teeth
and the health of my tongue. Finally, his inspection of me completed, Ben
told me to.

"Stand, face the front and display."

"There Pa, all done. He gets my tick of approval." Ben advised his father.

"Well Ben! You see him as a good buy?"

"I certainly do, Pa! The slave has great potential. Once he's been broken
in to hard labour, you'll get many years' profit out of him."

"Then I'll bid for him!"

As the Redgrove Plantation four walked away, I was left wondering about my
future working as a slave on a plantation. I was a moderately small farmer
and the number of slaves I'd owned reflected that fact. But Redgrove
Plantation is large - some six thousand hectares, I believe - and it has a
slave herd commensurate to its size. It, like most plantations, requires
hundreds of slaves to till its fields, to sow and harvest its crops and to
farm its animal herds.

For its unhappy victims I suppose all slavery is impersonal and even with
my small number, apart from Toby, I'd never bothered to learn if my slaves
had names. I'd simply followed the common practice of all slave-owners and
recorded them as codified numbers and letters rather than names in my slave
register.

Plantation slavery is very different to farm slavery. Whereas farm slavery
could be seen as relatively 'benign', the plantations have a fearsome
reputation in how they work and treat their nameless slaves. If the rumours
are true, then I knew I faced a bleak future should Theodore Russell
succeed in buying me. Quite simply, I'd be swallowed by slavery's gaping
maw and disappear into his vast slave herd to spend the remainder of my
days in anonymity toiling under the whips of his overseers.

The prospect of his terrified me. But even more frightening was the
knowledge that there wasn't anything I could do to prevent it
happening. Once I stood on the auction block, my fate would truly be in the
hands of the gods. Who bought me would be conditional on the amount of
money the buyers were prepared to bid for the right to own me.

My mood was sombre as I contemplated a future life as a Redgrove Plantation
slave. I was so pre-occupied thinking about this possibility that I'd not
paid attention to the happenings around me. Therefore I was taken by
surprise as a cane cut across my exposed ass and one of the slave-handlers
ordered me to.

"Snap out of your daydreaming, boy. Pay attention! Can't you see there is a
buyer who's interested in examining you? Stand at display!"

I immediately complied with the overseer's command and assumed the display
position. As I did so I looked to see who wished to inspect me.  My heart
sank and my eyes widened in horror.

Standing before me was the wheezing, hulking figure of Toby's new Master,
Obadiah Clements who was accompanied by a young body-slave. The unhappy
slave held a large parasol over his Master's vast bulk to protect his
suet-hued pallor from the sun's burning rays.

There was something vaguely familiar about the slave which at first eluded
me. However, I couldn't help but see the suffering reflected in the slave's
face. So fearful was he of earning his Master's displeasure that his
powerful frame trembled as he held the parasol aloft over Obadiah's
perspiring head. And if I could see the slave's back I would understand his
fear.  From shoulder to ass, he wore the criss-cross pattern of the cane
and the whip. Still, I wouldn't have been surprised by this; I'd heard
rumours that Obadiah subjected his slaves to regular punishments and it
didn't matter if they were warranted or not.

Inexplicably, my attention was drawn to the young slave. There was a sense
of the familiar about him. It was as though I should know him and yet I
didn't recognise him.

He was a most attractive slave and he had an appealing quality about him
which could best be described as 'boyishly cute'. His sandy coloured hair
framed his clean featured, open face which was without guile and his
grey-green eyes reflected the gentleness of his nature. Obadiah had allowed
his hair to grow to shoulder length and it was tied back with a dark green,
velvet ribbon. In keeping with his Master's flair for the unusual, he wore
a heavily embossed, gold torc around his neck in lieu of the more common
stainless steel, slave collar.

His young body possessed the bulk of a fully matured slave and was most
appealing. His broad shoulders tapered down to a slim waist.  His chest
swelled with his well-rounded pectoral muscles - each was dominated by a
sharply pointed, copper coloured nipple -and the deep indent of his navel
lay at the centre of his clearly defined abdominal muscles. And in keeping
with the rest of his build, the slave was well endowed with large balls
tightly constrained within his cinched scrotum which hung low and swung
freely between his strong thighs. His generous, cut cock was most
erotically aroused and poked out from his belly at a cheekily elevated
angle.

My past association with Obadiah was limited to the occasional social event
but I did know enough about him to know he had a penchant for always having
a handsome, male slave attend him wherever he went. I'd always seen his
need to do so as a precaution against his great bulk and indifferent
health.  But others among the art fraternity weren't as charitable. Often,
I'd heard snide comments that Obadiah hoped people would focus their
attention on the attendant slave's obvious good looks and not on his own
ugliness. As I looked at Obadiah and his young slave, I could see the logic
of such comments.

Then it came to me as to where I'd seen this slave. I remembered he'd been
sold the same day as Toby and that Obadiah had bought him.  I remembered
him as Lot 2, a na‹ve, eighteen year old, farm bred slave who'd
engendered a lot of interest among the more elderly and lecherous buyers.

I recalled his shyness and uncertainty as he'd mounted the auction-block
and how he'd looked to the auctioneer and his assistants for guidance. I
recalled that I too had been smitten with the young slave's innocence and
vulnerability and I remembered my sense of disquiet when eventually he'd
been sold to Obadiah.

And as I looked into his eyes and saw his unhappiness and the bleakness of
his existence, I realised my fears were well-founded.

"Tsk, tsk, Andrew!  I hear you've been very foolish and squandered your
inheritance. You've been a very naughty boy and deserving of a hard
spanking."

Obadiah's high pitched giggling at the innuendo of his words caused his
immense frame to tremble.

Obadiah had addressed me as 'Andrew'. I knew from past experience that he
frowned on the use of diminutives for free men and reserved abbreviated
names for his slaves and so this puzzled me. I wondered why he called me
'Andrew' when I am so obviously a slave.  He should have called me 'Andy'
or, more appropriately, referred to me as 'slave' or 'boy'. Perhaps he is
playing with my raw emotions.

"But I have to say, Andrew your stupidity in losing your freedom will work
in some fortunate Master's interests. Your loss is their gain! You really
are a fine looking slave and one I'd be proud to have in my household. When
I heard about your 'fall from grace' I just had to come along as see you
for myself. And I must say you don't disappoint me."

Obadiah's interest in me was most unwelcome. Horrified, I saw the
precariousness of my situation.  There were two appalling alternatives
confronting me and neither appealed to me. There was the very real prospect
of me being bought either by Theodore Russell or Obadiah Clements and I was
powerless in both instances.

Faced with the prospect of a lifetime of unremitting hard labour toiling
under the lash at Redgrove Plantation or serving Obadiah Clements -
possibly as his pleasure slave - which life would I prefer?

Neither! However, in the face of their determined bidding, I would be
powerless to prevent either man from buying me. At that moment, like
Obadiah's young slave, I glimpsed the future bleakness of my own life
serving as a slave to either man.

But such are the vagaries of a slave's life!

Fortuitously, Obadiah's obesity worked in my favour. His size and limited
mobility prevented him from inspecting me personally and he had his young
slave act as his proxy.

Acting under his Master's instructions, the slave subjected me to as close
and as personal an inspection as the one I'd suffered under Ben Russell's
hands. He ran his hands over my nude body appraising the different muscle
groups and giving a running commentary on them to his Master as he did
so. Several times we looked into each other's face and I saw his sorrow and
shame reflected in his eyes. With his back to Obadiah, his lips formed his
silent words of apology - 'I am sorry.' We each recognised the helplessness
of our situations; both of us were slaves bereft of all dignity.

I took comfort from the young slave's silent words and I had to admit that
I enjoyed the feel of his hands roaming at will over my nakedness to the
extent that my cock stiffened itself into as hard an erection as I could
remember. This delighted Obadiah who laughingly lisped.

"Tut, tut, Andrew! What a naughty slave you are. And a very eager slave
too!"

Several times during his inspection of me, I caught a glimpse of the
slave's back and saw there the red stripes of his most recent caning
superimposed over the blue -black ones and the yellow bruising of his
earlier chastisements.

What had the slave done to deserve such harsh treatment?  He seemed so
innocent and it was hard to imagine that he'd ever do anything to warrant
such severe punishment. Then I remembered the two recent occasions when I'd
seen Toby with Obadiah - first at my ill-fated soiree and again in the
court-room - and that his back and ass showed similar stripes to those
which the young slave wore.  Suddenly, I realised, if Obadiah bought me, I
would soon share in his anger with them. Such a prospect caused me to
tremble with fear.

I no longer saw Obadiah as a caricature or a Dickensian -like
character. Suddenly he took on a more sinister aspect and I saw him as the
monster he really was.  I knew he'd be a hard, sadistic Master and like all
of his slaves I too would suffer under his authority.

Obadiah heaped further humiliation onto me. He had me turn with my back to
him and ordered me to bend at the waist. Then he commanded his slave to
part my buttocks and to expose the most intimate and private part of my
body to his lascivious gaze. He ordered the slave to insert a finger into
my body and to describe my 'tightness' to him. As the slave's finger
explored my innermost regions, my body burned with the red flush of my
shame.

As one final test, Obadiah had his slave masturbate me almost to the point
of ejaculation before calling a stop which left me frustrated and dribbling
pre-cum onto the platform.

Then, Obadiah ordered the slave down from the platform and without comment
to me, he turned and walked away.

That was several hours ago - and further inspections followed. Several
potential buyers declared their interest in bidding for me and I suspect
that I will be a popular lot when I take my place on the auction-block.

Now I wait with my fellow slaves in the race for that to happen. We are
growing restless. None of us want to be sold and yet our anxiety is so
great that we want our ordeal to be over.

The slave immediately behind me re-acts to the sudden surge of bodies
further down the race and pushes his body closer to mine. I feel his hard
erection pressing against my ass. Then, I am aware that my own cock nestles
into the ass-crack of the slave in front of me.

This is as it should be! Our handlers use their canes and the handles of
their whips to continually prod us making sure that our naked bodies touch
so intimately and that we excite one another. This keeps us in an aroused
state and ensures we show 'proud' on the auction-block. After all, the
buyers appreciate a slave showing hard when he is presented for sale. I
know this to be true from those days when once I had been an appreciative
buyer.

As we wait, we hear the loud murmuring of the buyers' voices as they wait
impatiently for the auction to begin. Suddenly, a bell rings, the voices
fall silent and we hear the auctioneer speak.

"Gentlemen, if you are ready then let's commence!"

A round of applause greets the auctioneer's words and at the head of the
race Lot 1 has a leash attached to his collar, the gate is opened and he is
dragged up the ramp over the platform and protesting loudly, he is made to
step up onto the auction block.

There he waits while the auctioneer spells out the terms and conditions of
today's sale.

In the race we all shuffle forward one place to fill the gap left by Lot
1. All of us are that nearer to being sold.


To be continued......