DUPED Chapter 17 "On the Auction-Block" Conclusion
This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adults over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe: December, 2013 Stories archived at http://groups,yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas written about in this story belong to the writer's imagination and bear no resemblance to actual persons or events. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add other artists' pictures."
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Comment: I'd always intended "Duped" would finish with Matthew's sale to a new master. After all, the thrust of the story is Anwar's betrayal of Matthew and his subsequent enslavement. Matthew's new life as a slave is another story and there is also an opportunity for a "spin-off" series featuring Matthew's nemesis, Anwar al-Khaldun as he embarks on a new career as a slave- trader. Perhaps these are stories for the future but, for now, I want a change of pace in my writing............ Chris
Chapter 17:
The bidding for me is frenetic and hard to follow. Right from the beginning, there's been a flurry of bids and counter bids; it seems that all the buyers are enthusiastically vying with one another for the right to own me. I try to follow the bidding - after all, my fate does hinge on who succeeds in buying me - but the frenzied shouting and the auctioneer's staccato responses are incomprehensible to my untrained ears. Consequently, I've not been able to distinguish one bid from another.
However, by a process of elimination, the bidding comes down to two serious contenders; the African businessman and the Arab prince and both had inspected me privately before sale day. As they make their bids and counterbids, I manage to follow their hard fought battle with some trepidation.
I wish with all my being that I was in some other place rather than standing on the auction-block helplessly waiting as these two determined men fight with their euros for the right to buy me. Despite my past fantasises, I now wish not to be a slave. However, as this is no longer an option, I would prefer the African as my Master rather than the repulsive Prince Omar.
Every time Ahmedu Hadi enters a bid my heart leaps and with each counter bid from Prince Omar's agent, my hopes sink in despair. Is his to be the final bid or will the African raise the stakes yet again? With each bid from Ahmedu Hadi my hopes soar only to be dashed by yet another counterbid from Prince Omar. For several minutes, my emotions see-saw back and forth as the two men play a game of brinkmanship which leaves me in a limbo of fearful uncertainty.
It is a cut and thrust battle with neither man yielding any ground. With each counterbid my price rises and is greeted with gasps of incredulity from the other buyers who watch fascinated by this tussle of wills between two, very determined men.
My Master, Anwar al-Khaldun watches intently from his seat on the front bench as the African and the prince continue to bid against one another driving my price ever higher. He sits next to Malik and both men wear broad smiles on their faces. Obviously, I am selling for more than either man has anticipated. Anwar stands to make a small fortune from my sale. The only costs he's incurred in enslaving me are the air fare from London and the hotel accommodation. Beyond those small outlays, everything else is profit. And of course, Malik has reason to be pleased; his fifteen per cent sales commission plus incidental expenses grows larger with each bid.
Both Arabs have every reason to be pleased as the bidding war intensifies!
As the price for me crashes through the 200,000 euros barrier, there is a burst of spontaneous applause from the other buyers. When I'd been waiting in the race before being led out to the auction-block, I'd heard similar handclapping for my predecessor, the slave Miguel as he was sold. At the time, I wondered what it meant and now I know. Like me, the bidding for him had exceeded 200,000 euros. although I don't know by how much.
Initially, the bidding was in increments of 10,000 euros but once the 200,000 euros level has been breached the prince's agent halves his bids to 5,000 euros. Does this indicate that he has reached the limit of what the prince is prepared to spend on me? I sincerely hope so!
Nevertheless, the prince's agent continues to bid until the last bid of 225,000 euros is with him. The African hesitates; my spirits sink to new depths of despair as it appears I could to be sold to Prince Omar.
The hushed spectators wait expectantly on Ahmedu's next move. Will he increase his bid? Or has he capitulated to Prince Omar and withdrawn from the race?
"The bid of 225,000 euros is against you, Mr Hadi!" The auctioneer announces. "Are you to increase your bid for the privilege of owning such a fine slave? Or have you withdrawn?"
The auctioneer's challenge to Ahmedu is greeted with silence from the other buyers as they wait expectantly to see if the bidding war has finally ceased. Or will it continue and drive my price even higher? No one is keener than me to see it continue until the African emerges victorious.
Fearfully, I look down to where Prince Omar sits in regal isolation attended by his two body slaves. His toadlike face is wreathed in an exultant smile - obviously he is convinced he's won the battle to possess me - and perhaps it is just my imagination but he seems to be leering menacingly up at me.
The African ignores the auctioneer's question and talks earnestly with his son. Their animated conversation and body language suggest to me they are debating whether or not to counterbid or to withdraw. With my heart in my mouth I look down from the auction-block to where they sit and my eyes silently implore them to make another bid. If I could speak, I would fall to my knees and beg them to do so. But the proximity of the overseers - and their straps - warns me against the folly of such an action. Nevertheless, I hope with every fibre of my being they won't give in at this stage of the bidding.
And my hopes are rewarded. Suddenly, and with one last throw of the dice, Ahmedu Hadi raises the stakes and makes one, final bid.
"Yes auctioneer, I'm still very much in the race. I bid another 20,000 euros for the slave!"
The auctioneer is plainly taken by surprise and queries the bid.
"Did I hear you correctly, Mr Hadi? Did you just bid 20,000 euros?"
"Yes I did auctioneer. I have offered 245,000 euros for the slave."
"Then I accept your bid. Mr Hadi." The auctioneer is plainly delighted by this latest offer. "Gentlemen, are there any further bids for lot 15?"
The African has raised the stakes in one final challenge to Prince Omar to better him. The prince's triumphant smile has disappeared and his face is suffused by the purplish-red flush of his anger. He sits slack-jawed and open-mouthed - reminiscent of a freshly caught fish floundering on a river bank - and quite obviously he hadn't expected to be outmanoeuvred by the African. As he squirms uncomfortably in his seat, his anger turns to rage and then into white hot fury. Nervously, his agent approaches him asking for further instruction but he is quickly dismissed with an imperious wave of the hand. The prince, never one to accept defeat gracefully, then vents his spleen on his two body slaves. Clipped to the golden belt that encircles his ample girth is a leather quirt with an ivory, jewel- encrusted handle which he wears both as a sign of his regal status and as a possessor of slaves.
Moving with a speed which is at odds with his overweight, unfit body, the prince uncoils the whip and viciously lays into both slaves. As the whip mercilessly flails their unprotected backs and shoulders, both slaves simply cover their heads for protection and submit to their Master's fury by falling to their knees and yelping loudly liked whipped dogs.
The prince appears out of control and his whip continues to scourge the two, wretched slaves as he works through his frustration and rage. His outrageous display of being a "poor loser" doesn't endear him to the other buyers who mutter disapprovingly among themselves or to the auctioneer who has to wait until the prince regains his composure before continuing with my sale.
Mercifully for his two slaves, the prince's lack of physical fitness soon gets the better of him and their torment ceases. Fatigued by his over-exertion, Prince Omar collapses, gasping for air, on to his seat as his huge bulk heaves from its unaccustomed exercise. The auctioneer wastes no time in calling for more bids.
"Gentlemen, are there any further bids for lot 15? If so, now is the time to speak up!"
My eyes scan the buyers willing them not to bid against Ahmedu Hadi and thankfully no one does. Still the auctioneer isn't quite ready to call a halt to the bidding. Although the bid is with the African businessman, the auctioneer considers, even at this late stage, someone might just be tempted to raise my price. He tries one, last, hard sell of my body.
"Gentlemen, you have before you one of the picks of today's sale. I'm sure you'd all agree that lot 15 is a most desirable property. Even among today's rarities this is a slave of exceptional appeal. Look upon the slave's magnificence and nakedness and picture him serving in your home as a living work of art. Consider, if you will, the generous genitalia that a bountiful Nature has bestowed upon the slave. Gaze upon his impressive phallus and the heavy, pendulous testicles that swing freely between his sturdy legs. Salivate at the shapely curves of his ass and imagine, if you will, its hidden delights and pleasures. Gentlemen, this truly is a slave for your bed chambers! Or for the more practical among you, consider the labour and profit that your whips can extract from so muscular a slave. In summary, gentleman, this is a slave for all situations. Do I have any further bids for lot 15?"
I wait with baited breath hoping all the time the auctioneer's entreaties have fallen on deaf ears. And my wish is granted. The silence from the other buyers signals my sale is over and that, within a few moments, Ahmedu Hadi will be my new owner and Master. Expectantly, I wait to hear the clap of the auctioneer's gavel announcing this fact to the gathering.
The auctioneer raises his hammer above his shoulders and invites one last bid.
"Gentlemen, are you all finished? This is your last chance to bid for this exceptional property. Going once .... Gentlemen, I am selling lot 15 for 245,000 euros ..... Are you sure you are all done? Going twice... I am selling lot 15......."
The auctioneer's words hang heavily in the air as he waits for a response. His pause is only momentary but for me it seems an eternity. I 'm in fear that Prince Omar will re-enter the bidding and every second the auctioneer waits feeds that fear. Then, with an almost theatrical flourish, he swings his hammer downwards and the clap of wood striking wood announces that I've been sold. And his triumphant words confirm it.
"SOLD, lot 15 is sold to Mr Ahmedu Hadi for the princely sum of 245,000 euros. Congratulations Mr Hadi. You have bought well, sir! Your new slave does you credit in your ownership of him."
And with those words I become the slave of Ahmedu Hadi and my former owner, Anwar al-Khaldun is richer by the sum of 245,000 euros and all of it clear profit. His cruel deception of my friendship and ultimate betrayal of my trust has rewarded him most handsomely.
The auctioneer's announcement is greeted with a round of sustained applause interspersed with some verbal comments complimenting my new Master on his purchase of me. As I look down from the auction-block, I see there are buyers grouped around not only my former owner who is beaming from ear to ear - no doubt pleased with the price I'd fetched for him - but also around by new Master and his son who are also smiling broadly and acknowledging their good wishes.
With the good-natured bantering that is taking place, I doubt anyone notices Prince Omar leave. I watch as his two body slaves haul his enormous bulk out of the throne like seat he's been using and, assisted by them - with one supporting him on either side - he unceremoniously leaves the auction yard. As he waddles away, I notice the heavily striped upper bodies of the two slaves. The angry welts of Prince Omar's whip show livid and bloody against their naked flesh and are grim testimony to his anger at losing out to my new Master. I feel sorry for the two slaves and in their suffering I once again understand the true and utter powerlessness of the slave. And I feel a sense of guilt that they'd been indirectly whipped because of me.
Inexplicably, as I wait to be taken down from the auction-block, my mind turns to my monetary value.
Until today, I had no idea of a slave's material worth; it was something I've never given any thought to. In my wild, erotic fantasies, I'd often stood on an auction block but my thoughts seldom extended to the imaginary prices I'd fetched when I was sold. I suppose, on those few, isolated occasions when the thought had crossed my mind, I measured my slave's value in the hundreds rather than the thousands of whatever currency was used.
The fact that I'd sold for slightly less than one quarter of a million euros is a revelation. By anyone's reckoning that is a small fortune and I am amazed that one man would spend such a large sum for the privilege of owning and subjugating another man. At this moment, it seems to me that international slavery is indeed a very lucrative business.
Naturally, I wonder how the price paid for me compares to those paid for the slaves who'd been sold before I mounted the auction block. Of course, there is no way of knowing and after all it isn't any of my business. However, my curiosity is aroused and as I progress further into my slavery, I'll learn that the price paid for a slave can determine his status within his owner's household.
Still, as I said, 245,000 euros isn't an insignificant sum and I guess one part of me is immensely flattered that I'd sold for that amount. Then, I realize I am just one slave among today's exceptional offering and that all thirty-one of us are the ultimate in prime man-flesh. And the men who'd gathered here today to bid for us are all wealthy connoisseurs of the male physique who are prepared to spend large sums of money to buy the best slaves available to them.
From my former professional life, I know the wealthy like to indulge their every whim and they spare no expense in doing so. Some become avid art collectors filling their mansions with rare paintings and other valuable objets d'art while the more active-minded among them maintain stables of thoroughbred race horses or polo ponies. And the last consideration on their minds is the cost of purchasing and maintaining those animals; they are prepared to outlay millions of dollars or euros for the right race horse or polo pony.
And I suppose it is the same with the buyers who've come to the House of Malik this day to buy slaves. They've come to indulge their particular interest in acquiring some of the best slave livestock their money can buy. Do they regard their slaves in the same way as those others do their art treasures and blood livestock? Somehow I suspect they do and hadn't the auctioneer referred to me just a few minutes ago as a "living work of art" in his sales spiel?
Nevertheless, it is ego deflating to know the amount spent in buying me is merely a portion of the millions some men will spend on acquiring the right animal of the four-legged variety. It helps to put things into perspective for me and I understand I am merely a commodity and a rich man's plaything.
These thoughts are fleeting and take no more than a few moments of my time before I am approached by an overseer who uses a black marker to scrawl "Sold to Mr Hadi" in large, black letters on my naked chest. Then, he clips a chain to my collar and tugs at it indicating I should step down off the auction-block. To emphasize the point the second overseer applies his strap to my ass as I dutifully clamber down to be taken away to a holding-pen.
As I am led away, I can see my new Master still receiving the congratulations of the other buyers who cluster around him and his son. And looking past them, I see my original Master Anwar sitting with Malik. The two men are beaming broadly; both are apparently delighted with my sale. I glance back over my shoulder and see another slave being taken to the block. The auctioneer calls for order and introduces him as lot 16.
"Gentlemen, you have before you lot 16 another fine specimen of a slave. I am ready to begin when you resume your seats, gentlemen!"
The slave's cock is rigid, slightly elevated and points out towards the buyers much as my own had done just a few minutes ago. And I recall the iron-bar rigidity and blood-heat of this slave's pulsing erection as it nestled in my ass-crack while I waited in the race to be lead out and sold.
I am led away from the selling arena through a door into a courtyard the walls of which are lined with stout, iron-barred cages. Obviously it is used as the holding area for us after we have been sold. There are slaves locked in several cages awaiting collection by their new owners and I am placed in a pen where Miguel and a young teenager are already incarcerated. I see from the black lettering on their chests that they too have been bought by Ahmedu Hadi. It would seem I am the third of my new Master's purchases. I hope he hasn't exceeded his budget and still has sufficient funds left to bid for Finbar.
Epilogue:
Six months on, the traumas of my betrayal and enslavement by Anwar al-Khaldun and my subsequent sale at the House of Malik have faded and I am now reconciled to my fate. I say reconciled but in reality, I now happily serve as a slave to my Master Ahmedu Hadi and his son, Abdel.
My slavery to them has given me a sense of my true self and worth and it allows me to be what nature obviously intended me to be - a slave in every sense of the word. I have found great happiness in giving unstinting service to my two Masters and untold pleasure in their unbridled use of my body. My days are spent happily serving their needs and my nights in surrendering my body to satisfy their sexual urges.
Naturally, things were difficult at first. After my sale, I'd been placed in a holding pen with Miguel and the young, Canadian slave I now know as Jeremie and I waited anxiously to see if Finbar would join us. I hoped with all my heart that my new Master would follow through on his intention to buy my new Irish friend. But the presence of Miguel and Jeremie in the pen did worry me. In buying those two had the African decided to buy Miguel instead of Finbar? Even though I supposed my new Master to be a rich man, I was concerned that he'd already bought three, expensive slaves and perhaps he'd overspent his budget. And I waited anxiously to see if Fin would join me. In the meantime I watched through the bars of my prison as other slaves were brought from the auction- block and placed in pens to await their new owners' pleasure.
I suppose they, like me, felt a sense of relief that the ordeal of the auction was behind them although this was replaced with trepidation about our uncertain futures. For my part, as I watched the activities around me, I worried about my future. What was in store for me?
I'd overheard Ahmedu Hadi mention that I would serve in his household as a slave and that there'd be occasions when I would be used as a whore slave to entertain his business associates. That was the limit of my knowledge about my future life but it was enough to make me fearful.
I watched as some owners came to collect their new purchases from the holding pens and I saw what was in store for me. The head overseer, who was in charge of the holding area and had the oversight of delivering the slaves into the ownership of their new Masters, would greet the purchaser, confirm that the slave had been paid for and the transaction had been concluded to Malik's satisfaction. The slave would be given an oblong loincloth of coarsely woven material to pass between his legs which he tied on either side of his body at the hips before his wrists were tied behind his back. Finally, a leather leash would be attached to the ornate "House of Malik" collar fastened around the slave's neck and the leash handed to the new Master. I watched as several slaves were delivered into the hands of their new owners and led away and so I knew what was to happen to me.
Miguel and I acknowledged one another but the young slave was too traumatized and sat scrunched up in a corner at the back of the pen. As the door opened and I was roughly thrust inside, he did raise his head to see what was happening and I could see the fear on his tear-stained face. I felt pity for him for unlike me he'd probably not wished for slavery.
I stood at the front of the pen holding onto the stout iron bars and peered out through them into a world of lost freedom. The bars were grim testimony to the fact that I was no longer a part of that world and my future was to be spent in bitter bondage. Anxiously, I waited for Finbar to be brought down from the auction-block.
As I waited and watched, Anwar and Malik paid a surprise visit to my pen. I'd not expected to see either man again and I wondered about their presence. Had they come to gloat over me?
Initially they ignored me and spoke about me as though I was an uncomprehending, domesticated animal. Despite their disdain of me I listened with interest to their conversation.
"Ah Anwar, your slave sold for an exceptional amount. You must be very pleased with the price he fetched. In truth it exceeded my expectations by some thirty or forty thousand euros."
"Indeed the slave sold well, Malik! As you can imagine I am delighted with the price Matthew fetched for me. And like you, I'd not expected it to be as high. Fortunately for us, old friend, the rivalry between the African and Prince Omar drove the price far above what I'd hoped for. Altogether, it was a most pleasing outcome for both of us and of course for the slave too."
"How is that, Anwar? How did the slave benefit?"
"It is most fortuitous for the slave that the African now owns him. Should Prince Omar had succeeded in buying him, the slave's fate would have been very grim. Did you not see how the old degenerate lost his temper and viciously lashed his body slaves marking them so horrendously? I would think they are irredeemably damaged by his whip and as we know Prince Omar isn't one to tolerate damaged goods. Those two slaves' fates are sealed by their whip-scarred bodies. My guess is that within the next day or so they will be toiling on one of the royal farms or, even worse, in one of the royal quarries. Had Matthew been sold to Prince Omar a similar fate could have awaited him."
Anwar's words told me how fortunate I was not to have been sold to Prince Omar. And for that I was most grateful. I had a new appreciation that Ahmedu Hadi was now my new Master - rather than the vicious prince - and I resolved to serve both him and his son loyally and devotedly.
"Somehow your words do ring true, Anwar!" Malik replied. "It would indeed be a crime for the slave to be permanently damaged merely out of spite. To punish a slave for any breach of behaviour or wrongdoing is, of course, acceptable. But to do so out of capriciousness is another matter. To permanently mar the flawless symmetry of your former slave's body under such circumstances would indeed be a crime. The slave's beauty is intoxicating and as such it should be admired and enjoyed. It should be sipped much like the sweetest nectar."
"Indeed, you are right, Malik! And as I looked up at him standing on the auction-block, I did have a passing regret at seeing him sold. Momentarily, I envisaged him serving in my bed at home in London. He'd have been a worthy addition to my household. But such thoughts were fleeting. And I have to say the price I received for him tempered any disappointment I felt at our parting."
"I understand your feelings, Anwar but the world is full of young men like Matthew just waiting to be enslaved. As you will no doubt discover if you engage in your new business venture."
"It's not 'if' Malik but rather a case of 'when'. I have definitely decided to go into the slavery business for myself. The price I received for Matthew will be used as start-up capital to recruit my first twelve slaves to work on the restoration of my family's historic slave factory to its former glory."
"It's a most noble enterprise, Anwar! I wish you well in your endeavours and I stand ready to assist you in marketing your new slaves - whenever they are ready for sale. When do you envisage that might be?"
"It's hard to say with certainty, Malik. Firstly, I have to harvest my slaves to labour on the restoration. I expect it will be some months before they have the slave castle ready to receive its initial shipment of trainee slaves. I plan an extensive training programme of six months before the new slave recruits are ready for sale. Then there is the advertising and marketing of them; I estimate it will be eighteen months before the first 'House of al-Khaldun' slaves are worthy to stand on your esteemed auction block."
"I look forward to that moment with great anticipation, old friend!"
"Indeed as do I, Malik. But now I must bid farewell to Matthew."
Anwar turns to face me and speaks.
"It's a most momentous day, Matthew. You have achieved your long cherished dream to be an owned slave and in the process you have made me a much richer man. Our meeting was most fortuitous for both of us. We each gained from it."
His words cut deep into me; my foolish, youthful notions of romantic, erotic slavery had given way to the true horrors of real slavery. I was now an owned property; a slave facing an uncertain future. In my naivety, I made one final, yet ultimately useless plea to be set free.
"Master, I don't want to be a slave. Please help me?"
"It's too late Matthew. The die is cast and there can be no turning back for you. My advice to you is to accept your new slave status and serve your new master well otherwise your life will be a hard one."
"Please Anwar... help me?" Once more I begged for my freedom. "I don't want to be a slave."
"It's natural for you to feel that way Matthew. All new slaves take time to adjust to their changed circumstances. It was the same for Sven when he first became my slave. I found it necessary to judiciously train him with a whip obviously taking care not to spoil the matchless perfection of his body. But used wisely, the whip can be a powerful training aid for a Master in coercing a new slave to accept his new station in life. No doubt you too will soon discover that the lash has a most persuasive tongue."
Those were the last words Anwar spoke to me as he callously turned and walked away with Malik. Tearfully, I watched as they disappeared through the doorway back into the selling area and I was left alone with the knowledge that nothing could save me from my slavery.
As I struggled to regain my composure, I clung to the bars of my prison and peered out into the world of free men. Slowly, my mind adjusted itself back to the reality of my situation and it accepted the inevitability of my fate as I concentrated on watching for Finbar's arrival.
Eventually, I saw Fin being lead into the yard and with my heart in my mouth I waited to see to which pen he was being taken. I fully expected that he'd been sold to someone other than Ahmedu Hadi and that he would be locked in another pen. But my fears were groundless and when he was placed in my pen I was overjoyed at his arrival. As soon as the door clanged shut behind him, we smiled broadly at one another and locked our bodies in a firm embrace. The feel of his hard, naked body against my own nude one served as a balm against my uncertainties and fears for the future.
Later our new Master and his son came to collect us. We were given loincloths to wear and then coffle-chained at the neck, one behind the other and given into the custody of an African overseer. Armed with a whip, he who delivered us to the airport where we were loaded on to the Hadi Enterprises private jet and flown to our new owners' home compound in West Africa where all four of us now happily serve our two Masters.
As I said that was six months ago and much has happened since then. But that is another story perhaps to be related at another time.
Conclusion