"THE AFTERMATH" 
(Or What Follows Next)
Chapter 12: "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)
An archive of my stories can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories 

"The characters and ideas contained 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 rewrites, alterations or add pictures."

Chapter 12: "Preparing the Livestock for Sale"

Part 1: Dave Matheson's Early Morning Start.

Dave Matheson is hard at work. Sale days are always busy and Dave is usually 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 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 for the slaves to be clean-shaven. 

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 is time consuming to strip the bodies of fifty slaves prior to a 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 he 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 his care 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 demands.

Once the slaves are ready, they are removed to the adjacent sale-yards and placed in the holding cages next to the display platforms. There, they have time to rest and 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 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 order of their sale, 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.

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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' 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 that 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.

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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 `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, Andrew 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 and I have always seen my naming as such. And I returned this affection with my complete love and devotion to 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 foolishly I 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 in return 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 - or was - 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 dangerous influences.

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 stern 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.

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Part 3: Preparations:

As I stand on the display platform, I think back over this morning's happenings.

Promptly, 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 and despite our parched throats and our rumbling bellies, this morning, we were given neither food nor water. 

Instead, 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.

And as the steward and his assistants worked on our bodies, we were given sprigs of mint to chew to sweeten out breath.

I was amazed at the speed with which all this was carried out and I 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 cleansing. 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. Inevitably, his new master would attend to this first. I knew from my experience at the farm that such a slave as this one is skinned at the same time as 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 new 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 ass cheeks. 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 as 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 an 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 - and 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. 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, found the cousins and I 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 cousins became disconsolate and retreated to a corner of the pen where they sought comfort in each other's arms. 

Now they stood in line behind me.

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 scrutinised 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 numerals on the left side of my chest and on my right flank. 

Then, I listened as Dave Matheson told the steward.

"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 threshold 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 ostracise 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 interest in one another was plainly 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 fingers to do so have been those 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.

During the morning I will be subjected to many close quarters examinations and I will certainly appreciate the fact that my ass-hole had been well lubricated. I will be ordered to `turn, bend and spread' on numerous occasions and subjected to this most intimate of inspections.

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, are to 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 we were 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 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. These shackles remind me how lucky I'd been to have such a kind Master.

Usually, owners only use chains on the more brutish of their slaves and most heavy duty, work slaves work in shackles. However, the majority of 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 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........................


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