Date: Tue, 12 Jul 2011 16:08:14 -0700 (PDT)
From: Christian Debus <servus4u@ymail.com>
Subject: "The Galley Slave" Chapter 11 Gay Male/Historical

THE GALLEY SLAVE
A Young Man's Odyssey into Slavery
CHAPTER 11

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 11:  New Purchases.

My trip to the market today was made necessary by the deaths of two of my
longer serving slaves. This happened during my most recent voyage and was
most unfortunate for their oar fellows who had to take up the slack
occasioned by their untimely demises.

I never keep slaves in reserve. This goes against the grain. To my mind a
slave has to be fully and gainfully employed at all times. I would never
countenance having a slave sitting idly by and stuffing his belly on the
off chance that he might be needed at the oar. And then there is the cost
of buying such a slave.  Most times a slave is an expensive commodity and
the outlay in purchasing him and feeding him does take away from the
overall profits of my business enterprises.

It is true that our corsairs are having a good raiding season - in fact it
is the best for many years - and the pens at the slave-market are
overflowing with the newly enslaved. This glut has served to lower the
price of a slave and, as today's prices have shown, a slave can be
purchased for the proverbial song. Indeed the two I purchased today were
exceptionally cheap and as a comparison, only yesterday I'd purchased a new
pair of red slippers made of the softest kid goat skin for almost the same
amount as I'd paid for them. And so, on today's values, each of my new
slaves is worth the equivalent cost of just one of my new slippers.

But whether the purchase price for a slave is costly or cheap, the
principle remains the same.  To my way of thinking a slave exists for hard
labour.

Both the dead slaves had toiled at my oar for an inordinately long period
of time - I can't recall the exact number of years as I don't keep records
of my slaves. Really I have enough to do with keeping the accounts of my
trading activities without maintaining records of my galley slaves. It's
true, I have a young, educated Greek slave who serves as my book-keeper and
who sails with me on my trading voyages. His duties are twofold; he keeps
records of all my business affairs on the voyage and acts as my treasurer
at our ports of call. Additionally, he provides me with solace during the
long, solitary nights at sea.

This slave, whom I have allowed to retain his infidel name, Dimitrios, is
truly a delight. Young and handsome, his body is a great comfort to me
during the loneliness of my time spent at sea. The slave's face is framed
by a shock of tight, black curls and his brown eyes sparkle whenever he
smiles and he does that a lot. I suppose this is a sign that he is a happy
slave. I hope so and I try my hardest to keep him happy. Although I have to
admit that his sexual appetite borders on the insatiable and I am
hard-pressed to keep him satisfied. But I am very attracted to him and as
fond of him as it is possible for me to be with a slave.

He has full red lips that part to display the pearly white of his strong,
even teeth, a very generous mouth and a deep throat capable of
accommodating my not inconsiderable member. And a tongue that is capable of
raising me to sublime heights of ecstasy.

Within my home, I allow Dimitrios to wear minimal clothing that displays
the beauty of his form to perfection. The garment consists of just a brief
loincloth that covers very little and suggests much. I don't do this out of
any prudery on my part; rather it is to observe the proprieties of my
household. I have wife and daughters and it would be unseemly to allow a
male slave to appear naked and rampantly erect in their presence.

During my voyages, I keep Dimitrios as naked as my oar slaves. My personal
belief is that nudity is the natural condition of the slave and this is
more so when the slave is an accursed infidel. I despise all Nasrani
unbelievers with such intensity that I see it as a duty on my part to give
them a foretaste of the fiery pit to which their foul heresies condemn them
after their deaths. Truly, those sons of Shaitan, who serve me on my
galley, experience some of the awful torments in this life that will be
their deserved lot in the Hellfire of their erroneous beliefs.

But Dimitrios's nudity isn't of the same order as that of my galley slaves.
For the miserable wretches who tug at my oars, nakedness is a necessary
part of their condition. For practical reasons, once a slave is chained to
his oar at the commencement of a voyage, he remains in place until we
return to Tripoli. The time lost in unshackling ninety slaves from their
oars at the end of the day and feeding and watering them before locking
them below decks for the night would require much effort on the part of my
overseers. And of course, the next morning, they would be faced with doing
all this in reverse.

And there is always the threat that the slaves, once freed of their chains,
could rebel. This is an ever present possibility and as the slaves
outnumber my crew by the ratio of six to one it isn't a risk I am prepared
to take. No it is far better - and safer - to leave the slaves sitting and
sleeping in their chains at the oars.

Practicality dictates that we keep the slaves naked. A slave's nude body is
an open book. My overseers can see by the stress placed on a slave's
muscles whether or not he is applying himself fully to his labours. And
should a slave be judged by an overseer to be shirking in his duties, then
he is driven that much harder and his naked back makes a suitable target
for the whip.

As you would appreciate sanitation on board a galley is very much a hit and
miss affair.  Again it isn't practical to unshackle a slave to allow him
attend to the 'calls of nature'.  However, at the outer edge of every
rowing bench, there is an aperture opening onto the sea where the slaves
can relieve themselves and ensure that all their bodily wastes are
deposited overboard. The theory behind this is sound but putting it into
practice is more problematic.

The slave closest to the outer end of the bench is undoubtedly the luckiest
of his fellow slaves for he has ready access to the latrine. But for his
oar-fellows -those on his inboard side - there is much effort involved in
clambering over one another to reach the latrine. And of course they are
somewhat constrained by their shackles and while their chains are
sufficiently long enough to allow them to move to the outside of their
rowing bench, it is difficult within the narrow confines of their allotted
work space.

It should be realised that the galley slave's world is restricted to just a
few square feet of space where he lives and works cheek by jowl with his
fellow oar slaves. Freedom of movement is something largely denied the
galley slave.

Inevitably, the slaves find the effort of moving to the outer end of their
rowing bench just too much trouble and they simply abandon all attempts to
do so. From their perspectives, it is easier to urinate and defecate where
they sit. Pitifully, they try desperately not to soil the benches they sit
upon but rather to crouch beneath them and to deposit their foulness into
the galley's bilges.

The antics of a newly acquired slave when chained to the oar for the first
time always afford me some amusement. At first, the slave tries to preserve
some measure of his foolish self- respect by clambering over his oar
fellows and along his bench to the latrine. But very quickly, the angry
abuse and pummelling by the other slaves discourage him and, inevitably, he
too abandons all pretence for the social niceties and just pisses and shits
where he sits.

Inevitably, the two young slaves I bought today will be confronted with
this situation. I will watch with interest from the shade of the after deck
to see how long it takes them to a drop their prideful pretensions.

Most of a slave's waking hours are spent in tugging at his oar and once the
galley has reached the speed I require of it, I won't allow any slackening
in the drum beat. It is unfortunate for the slaves, but if they are seized
with a sudden urge to empty their bladders or void their bowels, then they
must either wait for their next rest period or do so without any
interruption to the rhythm of the rowing.

At great expense, I have covered all my rowing benches with the skins of
sheep and goats.  The long years of experience as a galley captain has
taught me that this is necessary.  Why do I do this? Am I acting benignly
towards my galley slaves and showing them some small measure of mercy? The
answer is no!

This is no simple act of kindness on my part as slaves are undeserving of
any acts of compassion. My reasons for covering the benches with animal
skins are far more pragmatic.  These skins provide a useful buffer for the
exposed flesh of the slaves and eliminate the friction between a slave's
naked arse and the wooden bench. I'd discovered this for myself when I had
gone to sea to gain my sea-legs and the experience to command my first
galley and it is a lesson that has stayed with me throughout the years.

The captain of that galley was of the old school who fervently believed it
was incumbent on him to subject his hated Nasrani slaves to as many
torments as they could endure this side of Hades.

This is a view I share to this day but I have a reputation as a wily trader
- learned on my trading expeditions to the far side of the Sahara Desert -
and a galley owner and this constantly reminds me that a galley slave is
simply an investment necessary for the successful operation of my trading
voyages. Quite simply, without my slaves to ply the oars, my galley
wouldn't sail.

It costs me money to purchase a slave in the first instance and so I want
to return my initial capital outlay on him as quickly as possible and then
to maximise my future profits. This is wise business practise and it is in
my own interests to keep my oarsmen in healthy condition. It is one thing
to beat a slave but it is quite different to render him virtually useless
through unnecessary ill-treatment.

I mean, the farmer will whip his ox to make him pull the plough but he
ensures the animal stays fit enough to do so.

I recall the pitiful condition of those slaves of my first trip. They sat
upon uncovered benches and in my mind's eye; I still see the miserable
state of their bodies. Their buttocks were rubbed raw and were blistered
from the constant friction of the rowing benches and both the dry, salt
laden air and the sea-spray added to their suffering.

As they rowed they were made to wear their wooden mouth-gags to drown out
their sorrowful cries of pain and their pleas for mercy.  It seemed to me
that those wretched slaves were too debilitated and their suffering too
great for them to give of their best at the oar and they had to be whip
driven that much harder to keep them labouring. I remember the whips of the
overseers were in continuous use and it was on the lacerated backs of those
slaves where I honed my own skills with as a whip master. Of course, I
seldom whip a slave now. I leave that to my own overseers.

But the lessons learned on my first voyage have stayed with me and my
slaves do have a covering to protect their arses from the rough, splintered
timber of the rowing benches.

But let me return to Dimitrios. As I have said; his nudity isn't of the
same order as that of the galley slaves. Their nakedness is born out of
necessity whilst Dimitri's is purely ascetic. His is a nakedness that
focuses my attention on the physical perfection of his strong, muscular
form and the sensual delights of his body as he serves me in my cabin or as
he moves around the galley.

I never tire of gazing at his heavy pendulous balls swinging freely between
his thighs or at the thick meaty cock which seems to be in a permanent
state of near or full arousal.  And the soft, rounded contours of his arse
always excite me. Both curvaceous cheeks are covered in soft, silky fuzz
and his arse reminds me of a succulent peach inviting me to partake of it
sweet nectar.

And I am not Dimitrios's only admirer. As he struts proudly around my
galley the eyes of my crew members never leave him. Their lascivious eyes
rake over his nakedness and I see in them their envy of my ownership of so
delectable a pleasure-slave.

Sea voyages are by their very nature long, tedious and lonely. Confined to
the cramped, on board conditions of a galley, tempers can become frayed and
frustrations levels reach flashpoint intensity very quickly. Deprived of
their conjugal rights, it is only natural that my crew look to the galley
slaves to satisfy their healthy, sexual appetites.

Therefore I allow the crew unrestricted access to my oar-slaves to
accommodate their manly urges. But in truth, I would never use them to
satisfy my lust. As I gaze at the filthy condition of the slaves, I wonder
how anyone could find pleasure in them. They repulse me.

However, my next voyage will provide a welcome change for my crew; the two
new oar- slaves I purchased today. Young and comely, they are sure to
excite the interests and inflame the passions of my crew. Their, as yet,
unsullied bodies will provide the freshness so lacking in their fellow
slaves. I imagine both these slaves are still virgins and it will be
amusing to watch as the crew draw lots to decide which of them will have
the right to rob the slaves of their virginity.

I have no doubts that both two slaves will be put to hard usage to satisfy
the demands of the crew members and I know from past experiences that their
mouths and arses will be sorely pressed.

But as the galley-master, I am above such things and I have Dimitrios to
comfort me in the privacy of my quarters. But this does present me with a
problem.

Next voyage, my son Daoud will travel with me and whilst I have determined
that he will start at the bottom and work progressively through the ranks
of my crew, he won't sleep or live with them. I won't have him exposed to
the coarseness of the crews' quarters and he is to stay with me in the
galley-master's quarters.

These quarters are of necessity small and are meant for just one person and
it will tax our patience and good-will. There is just a single bunk and for
his first voyage, Daoud must sleep on the floor with Dimitrios. Both are
young and lusty and can they be trusted? It's not that I wouldn't share
Dimitrios's charms with my son. Quite the contrary, what's mine is also my
son's.

Rather it is Dimitrios that I worry about. Sharing him with my son could
confuse him and divide his loyalty. It has always been my preference that
my personal body-slaves give me their undivided loyalty and I don't want
this to change.

During the off-season, I will have the galley-master's quarters modified
and have a second bunk built for my son. This was always my intention and
if Daoud had waited until next rowing season before joining with me then
this problem wouldn't have arisen.

And I worry at how Daoud will perceive my sexual use of Dimitrios. Will he
be repulsed by it? Or will he be envious of me and could his envy become
resentment?

I know that Daoud isn't averse to using a male slave for his own
pleasure. Indeed I have known this for several years and I have watched
indulgently as he took the more comely of my house slaves into his bed. To
this end, whenever I was at home between my voyages, I purchased new slaves
and installed them in my household. This ensured that there was always a
newer attraction for him during my absences.

Daoud's tastes are eclectic. I know that he appreciates the black, African
slave equally with the fair-skinned Christian and so my household is made
up of both.

This problem of Daoud sharing my cabin has vexed me in recent times and to
day I believe I resolved it in a manner that will be to our mutual
satisfaction.

After purchasing the young English and German slaves to toil at my oars, I
also bought a third slave, a young Lowlander of a similar age to Daoud. My
inquiries revealed that this slave was also a passenger on the same vessel
as my new German slave. He too was the son of a wealthy merchant returning
to the Low Countries when they were taken by our corsairs.

The father was purchased by an acquaintance of mine who told me that he is
hopeful of negotiating a rich ransom with the merchant's family. He was
chagrined that I had bought the son - obviously he'd hoped to purchase him
- and negotiate a ransom price for both father and son. He even offered to
negotiate on my behalf - for a percentage of the ransom - with the family's
agents for the freedom of my new slave. Naturally, I declined his offer.

I would never negotiate to grant a Nasrani slave his freedom. To my mind
when an accursed Christian is enslaved then he remains a slave until he
dies.  And besides how could I make a present of this slave to Daoud only
at some future date to take him back and grant him his freedom.

The father might - and most probably he will - regain his freedom. But the
son is to remain a slave for the remainder of his days. And his future is
in the hands of my son, Daoud.

I'd been drawn to the young slave by his air of youthful innocence. His
body lacked the muscularity of the more mature, adult slave but what it
lacked in bulk was more than compensated for by the slave's slim
tautness. His open, boyish face had a look of guilelessness that only added
to his charm. Quite obviously, he was bewildered at being stripped naked
and sold in the slave market and his eyes reflected his fear and
uncertainty.

I was genuinely surprised that the Pasha hadn't exercised his right to
include the slave in his penjic. To my mind the slave is eminently suited
to the roles of either a dancing boy or a pleasure slave.

And it was my good fortune that the Registrar of Slaves overlooked him in
favour of a younger, cabin boy for inclusion into his harem of young, male
slaves.

That both the Pasha and the Registrar had passed over this slave surprised
me for his beauty is such that his rightful place is in the harem and not
labouring in a the furnace like heat of a stone quarry or ceaselessly
tugging at the oar of a galley.

As I examined him, he quivered - most delightfully - at the touch of my
hands and he briefly looked into my face before lowering his frightened
gaze to the ground. Before he did so, I saw that they are coloured the same
startling blue of the deepest part of the Middle Sea.  With his eyes
downcast, I looked upon his tousled, honey-blond hair and marvelled at both
its colour and thickness.

It has been my experience that a young, newly enslaved male is similar to
an unbroken colt.  Both colt and slave are highly strung and when first
approached they are seized by a violent trembling. I have had considerable
experience with both horses and slaves and I moved quickly to ease the
slave's stress.

Reaching out, I softly stroked his tear-stained face and spoke soothing
words to him.  Naturally, he couldn't understand what I was saying to him
but the gentle tone of my voice worked its wonders.

Bit by bit he learned to relax under my gentle touch and his violent
trembling gave way to a nervous quivering and a flaring of his nostrils.

Docilely, he stood as my hands roamed down over his chest and belly to his
genitals.  Instinctively, he moved away as I cupped his balls in one hand
and lovingly stroked his cock with the other. A sharp slap to the face
brought tears back to his eyes and even though he didn't understand my
instruction to stand steady he did comprehend the intent of my words and he
obeyed me.

He was slow to respond to the ministrations of my fist and perhaps his
limpness could be attributed to his fear of me.  I had to work hard to
arouse him.

However, I persisted and I was delightfully surprised as his cock slowly
inched itself into a full and hard erection. Finally, I stepped back to
survey my handiwork and I was surprised by both the proportions and the
rigidity of the slave's member. Both were mightily impressive.

Then, very gently, I placed my hand on the slave's shoulders and turned him
around so that I could better see him from the rear. My hands traced out
the gentle concave of his back before coming to rest on the flaring curves
of his buttocks where they paused to gauge them for their firmness. For
several minutes, I savoured what I saw.

The slave's arse was perfection and the hard rounded cheeks were divided by
a deep cleft that promised much pleasure to his new owner. I was reminded
of a saying from my youth which said one could find a sensual, earthly
paradise with a male slave by entering through the rear, Golden Portal.

Gently, yet firmly, I bent the slave double and moved his legs apart to
give me a better view of his Golden Portal. His dainty pink rosebud moved
most delightfully with his every breath and its pulsating, striated beauty
reminded me of the unfurling of the petals of a delicate flower.

The young slave pleased me and I was sure he'd please my son, Daoud and so
I bought him.  Subsequent to buying him I found out that he is called by
the infidel name of Hendrikus.  Whether or not he is allowed to retain that
name or to lose it will be a decision for his new Master, Daoud. Perhaps
Daoud will prefer to have him as a nameless slave or he might grant him the
privilege of retaining it much as I did with Dimitrios.

Now, Hendrikus awaits my pleasure in a holding pen with the other two
Nasrani slaves I purchased to labour at the oar. Those two slaves are now
nameless and will in future be known simply by the number allocated to them
at the oar.

Soon, I and my right-hand man, Osmani will take delivery of all three of my
purchases and process them into their new roles as slaves.  Osmani serves
me as my boatswain and I have placed him in charge of my galley -slaves. A
former Christian slave, Osmani had 'turned Turk' and converted to the True
Faith and with that happy event his former master had given him
freedom. Now he works for me as the overseer of my slaves and he performs
this task most diligently.

As a former slave, he is only too well aware of the wiles and cunning
schemes employed by a slave to lighten his load and as a renegade he is
naturally anxious to prove himself to me and so he is a savage taskmaster.

My oar-slaves power my galley but it is Osmani and his assistants who
provide the incentive for them to do so.

After ensuring all three slaves were safely secured in a holding-pen,
Osmani had left me at the slave-market and went to arrange for the branding
and collaring of my new purchases.  All three are to bear the imprint of my
personal brand on the right hand pectoral just above the nipple. Then they
will be fitted with the collars that signify to the world their new status
as slaves.  The older two - destined for the oars - will be fitted with the
heavy, rough, iron collars of a common work slave.

Hendrikus is luckier. His special status as my son's personal body slave
warrants a special collar; one more ornate than the others are to wear.

While Osmani attended to more mundane matters concerning the slaves, I had
paid a quick visit to my favourite goldsmith. There, I'd purchased a collar
for Hendrikus that matches perfectly the one worn by Dimitrios.  It is a
light torc and made of woven bands of finely wrought gold which is in
keeping with his new role as a pleasure slave. And to complement the
collar, I'd also bought a matching genital cinch.

And it is perhaps ironic that the torc and its matching cinch are more
valuable than the slave they are to adorn. They out-value him by a ratio of
five to one. Still, good fortune smiles upon us; the supply of slaves
exceeds demand and today's prices are at an historic low.

What I had saved in purchasing Hendrikus allowed me to spend more on his
collar. The collar can be seen as an extravagance for one who is normally
so cautious with his money.  Yet, I can deny my son nothing. Daoud deserves
the best that my money can buy, whether it is either a slave or a collar.


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