"THE AFTERMATH" 
(Or What Follows Next)
Chapter 15: "The Auction-yard"

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 permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures. "


Chapter 15: "The Auction-yard"

Part 1: "Pre-sale Thoughts"   

Inevitably, there is a lull in proceedings on sale-days; a break between the chaotic activities of the morning when the displayed livestock is examined and appraised by the prospective buyers and the frenetic exuberance of the afternoon as the slaves are fought for and bought.

Beginning at about 11.00 AM, the crowds begin to thin out as the buyers adjourn to one of the nearby hostelries for a quick lunch and a beer before taking their seat in the selling enclosure. Also, at this time, most of the spectators leave; although there are a few who linger to watch as the slaves are removed from the display platform and driven into the sale-yard. And the teenage boys and youths who had provided so much colour and noise to the morning's activities have moved on and are now clustering around the fast-food stalls boisterously talking about their interaction with the slaves that had so delighted the watching crowds.

The hapless slaves, for their part, enjoy this brief respite. Their overseers allow their trembling bodies and fraught nerves to settle down before moving them to the sale-yard. They are now suspended in a limbo between relief and fearful uncertainty; relief that the ordeal of the display stands is behind them and the fear of what awaits them on the other side of the grim, high walls of the adjacent sales area.

Some of the slaves are old hands - they have been sold before and they know what to expect and what is expected of them. As they mount the auction block, they know they are to put on a show for the buyers. Unassisted, such a slave will primp and pose his naked body in the hope of attracting a good master - he will inflate and expand his chest, suck in and tighten his belly, raise his arms above his head and place the maximum strain on his body to better display its musculature. And he knows he has to demonstrate the power and strength of his erection. He is aware that this always impresses the buyers and he'll will himself to put on a good showing. These old hands aim to please.

For a new slave however, the situation is very different. Understandably nervous and unsure of what to do, he'll be led to the auction block and assisted, if necessary, to mount it by the canes of the ever-present overseers. Then, he'll be ordered to pose for the buyers and should he fail to give satisfaction, he'll once more receive instruction from the cane.

Once mounted on the block, the slave waits as he is sold. His time on the block is short; his moment of solitary fame brief. He is at the centre of proceedings; he is the reason why people have gathered here. All eyes are on him, watching as the auctioneer draws attention to his many fine features. The buyers are oblivious to his sense of degradation and ignorant of his inner turmoil and if they note his humiliation at all then it is quickly dismissed from their minds; slaves aren't entitled to these very human qualities. 

Their interest is focused on his body; assessing its capacity for hard work, the pleasure it can give them in their beds or for the amount of profit to be made from it. That is their only interest in him and what is hidden behind his physical facade isn't important to them. They have come to buy a beast-of burden - a slave - and not another human being.

There, he'll stand as the auctioneer exhorts the buyers to bid for him, and perhaps, if he's not too detached from reality, he'll hear the auctioneer's staccato voice acknowledging the loud, frenzied bidding flowing down from the buyers' gallery. Then, he'll hear the fateful world - "SOLD!"

He has a new master.

Finally, he'll step down from the block and be led away and locked in a holding cage where he now awaits his new master's pleasure.

At last his ordeal is over. Or is it?

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Part 2: Toby

There are fifty of us - well fifty-one really; I forget that Lot 26 is a matched pair - waiting to be sold.

We have just been removed from the display platform and driven in through the gates of the sales yard into an area immediately behind and below the selling stage. The overseers don't waste time organising us as the sale is due to start twenty minutes from now. They work quickly and efficiently placing us, in numerical lot order, one behind the other in a long, narrow enclosure which is just wide enough for one slave. This enclosure is almost identical to the cattle race we use at my Master's farm - obviously modified for use with slaves - and the irony of this doesn't escape me; we are, after all, livestock and therefore no different from my Master's cattle.

This race is enclosed on both sides and overhead by strong, iron bars to prevent us from escaping and it has bolted gates opening at both ends. The length of this enclosure is barely long enough to hold all of us and we are driven in at one end in single file. We are urged along by the overseers who use the ends of their canes as prods to keep us moving. We have only one way to go and that is forward and a sharp poke in the ass with the end of a cane ensures we do so. Soon all fifty-one of us are in the race and the gate is closed and bolted behind us. Now there is only one exit and that is out through the gate at the head of the race. And, of course, this gate opens onto the steps leading up to the selling platform.

We are jammed into the race so that our bodies touch. We're not to know that this is done deliberately for two reasons. Firstly, packed as tightly as we are, it is difficult for us to protest or to rebel - it makes it easier for the overseers to control us. We're soon to learn that as a slave is removed from the head of our line to take his place on the auction block, the rest of us are forced to shuffle forward to fill that gap; we are to maintain the tightness of our line at all times.  Now we stand like so many frightened cattle waiting for our turn to be led out and placed on the auction block.

The second reason is perhaps less obvious. Because of our physical closeness to one another, we are in a heightened state of arousal. All morning our bodies had been examined by the eager buyers; we had been grabbed, rubbed, stroked, poked, teased and had even had our holes digitally explored. All this has left us aroused but frustrated - our cocks ache for release. But we are denied any release and we are forbidden to cum.

Now, I stand between the bodies of the slave immediately in front of me and the one behind me. I enjoy the feeling of their hard, naked bodies pressed up against my own firm flesh. I feel the cool dampness of our sweat where our bodies touch and the warm breath of the slave behind me - one of the two blond slaves; which one I can't see - on my shoulder. His thick, blond, chest hair tickles the sensitive skin on my back and I feel him pushing himself into the crack between the cheeks of my ass. His warm, hard dick feels so good and I tighten my buttocks to grip it and to hold it fast to me.

This close proximity to the other naked slaves does nothing to calm me. I feel my own cock throbbing with its unfulfilled need and I move my body closer to the slave in front of me - he responds my pushing his ass back to meet me; the rounded contours of his buttocks fit nicely into my groin. Reaching out, I gently stroke his quivering flanks as my prick seeks out the warm recesses of his ass; he moves his legs apart - just a little - to give me access. My dick now nestles between his muscular thighs. Suddenly, I'm aware that my hips are thrusting in time with those of the slave behind me.

The silence is broken by the rattling of our chains, our heavy breathing and our low moans of pleasure. We don't hear the overseers' conversations as they discuss us. We don't hear as an eighteen years old, novice overseer complains.

"Look at the filthy animals trying to fuck each other. They're disgusting."

We don't hear the wise counsel given to him by the more experienced head overseer.

"Lad. You're new to the job so you don't understand what`s happening. They're doing what their supposed to do. When a slave stands on the block he has to show hard for the customers. That's what the buyers expect and it`s what they demand. If a slave's cock wilts when he's on the block then it up to us overseers to get him back up and running again. Sometimes that's hard work. Allowing them to excite each other in the race can save us a lot of work."

"I hadn't thought of it quite like that." the novice replies. "I suppose it does make sense to let them do it themselves. But what happens if a slave droops in front of the buyers?"

"Well first up, the slave is made to stroke himself to an erection and if he can't, then it's up to one us to get him hard. That`s where the hard work can come in. Often, they are too nervous to respond immediately.  But we have to persist until they do. Usually a couple of cuts of the cane will get their attention and make them co-operate. So if you ever find yourself in the situation of having to get a slave's dick up, don't hesitate to use your cane on him.  In fact, don`t ever be afraid to use your cane on a slave at any time - that`s why you have it."

"Thanks for the advice. I guess I've got a lot to learn about handling slaves."

"Don't worry about it young fella. You'll soon get the hang of it. There's nothing difficult about handling slaves. Just remember you're ALWAYS in charge and YOU make them do as you tell them. Slaves don't need to think and they don't really want to - you have to do it for them. And don't ever spare the whip or cane. If a slave does something you disapprove of just give him a couple of sharp cuts of the cane to let him know that he's in the wrong. Really, a slave expects to be punished if he misbehaves or offends. Anyway, remember that the whip and cane are an overseer's best friend and their use always makes for a better slave."

"Good! I'll remember that. It`s only a part-time job for me at the moment, but I still want to make a success of it."

"That's the spirit, lad. But looking at this lot, it appears that some of them are getting a bit too frisky. It's time to quieten them down before they start cumming over each other. They're not allowed to shoot. We need them hard and dripping for the auction block."

Suddenly, our sexual activities are curtailed by the angry shouting of the overseers to "stop that thrusting and stand still'; this command is re-enforced by sharp prodding from the ends of their canes.

Responding to overseers' commands, we now stand quietly, each with his cock resting against the ass of the slave in front of him. We our maintain silence and wait.

Placed as we are behind the selling platform, I can't see into the buyers' area; indeed my view is restricted to the line of slaves immediately in front of me and to the overseers pacing up and down on the outside of the race.

The only sounds to break the silence - apart from the rattling of our shackles and our nervous breathing - is the low hum of indistinct conversations coming from the unseen buyers' gallery. Whilst the words are unintelligible, I sense the excitement contained in them.

I don't see the head overseer looking at his watch, but I do hear his instruction to the other overseers.

Right boys, are you ready? It's only a couple of minutes to go before starting time."

I watch as several overseers take up their positions by the front gate of the race. Each carries a length of chain in his hand. I wonder at their purpose - what use will they be put to. I'm soon to find out.

I'm not familiar with the layout of the sale-yard. As a slave I was never permitted to enter-only free persons and slaves up for sale are allowed in to this tightly, restricted area.

In the past, when I went with my Master to help him buy a slave, I was forced to wait for him in the display area while he was in the sale-yard. Here, there are conveniently placed holding cages where a master can securely stable his slave whilst he attends the auction.

After I had advised my Master on what slave or slaves to buy; he would lock me in one of these cages secure in the knowledge that I would still be there on his return. Over time, I came to enjoy this time spent locked up with other slaves. Very quickly, these occasions became social events for me.  Here, I was able to engage with the other slaves in `slave gossip'. We boasted about our wonderful masters, how kindly they treated us, how much they relied upon us - this was true in my case - and how fulfilling our lives really were. We didn't mention the bad tempers of our owners, the drudgery of our labours or the severity of our punishments; in our eagerness to outdo one another it was as though these things didn't exist.

Paradoxically, whenever slaves, who are strangers to one another, gather together, we tend toward this boastfulness. This could be seen as a denial of the true reality of our lives, as a compensation for the bleakness of our existence and our helplessness in the face of the powerful forces that control us. But nevertheless, I always looked forward to my time spent in the cage and for this reason; I was always keen to accompany my Master to the slave auctions.

I am apprehensive and I nervously await developments. I know from the comments and actions of the overseers that the start of today's auction is imminent. I have now abandoned all hope that my Master will rescue me and take me home with him.

As I contemplate my own sale, I worry about my future master; what type of man will he be. I suppose from my three pre-sale inspections that I'll be a popular lot when I mount the block. I know there are three buyers who are certain to bid for me and I shudder at the thought of what my life will be like should one of them be successful in buying me. The idea of being my new owner's stud appals me. I can't think of a more demeaning fate. But realistically, I know these things are beyond my control. I have no say over my future. Suddenly, these thoughts are interrupted by the loud ringing of a bell and a man's shouted request for.

"Can I have your attention, please, gentlemen?"

In the ensuing silence, I strain to hear this man's voice and I catch only fragments of his speech. I hear words like "terms of settlement", "prime young stock", "field hands' and "suitable as bed bucks". Taken out of context it is all meaningless to me. Then, in a clear voice, I hear him declare the sale open.

"If you're ready gentlemen then let's begin. His invitation to open the sale is greeted with applause and loud cheering.

Now, my attention is drawn to the loud pleading of Lot I as he is removed from the race and hauled to the auction block. His pleas are heartrending but useless. The overseers ignore him as a chain is fastened to his collar and he is lead away. His pleading is unsettling and the rest of us murmur in sympathy as we listen to his sobbing entreaties.

"PLEASE! PLEASE! I'm not really a slave. I don't want to be sold. Please don't do this to me I'm sorry, Please, don't sell me. I'm not a slave. PLEASE DON"T!"

I crane my neck to watch as an overseer tries to yank him up the steps by his collar chain. Vainly, he persists in his struggles until finally, the head overseer intervenes. Eschewing his cane for a whip, he unclips a short leather quirt from his belt and lashes the difficult slave's shoulders and back. Screaming with the sudden, unexpected pain, Lot 1 has only one option open to him to avoid the cruel lash and that is to scramble up the steps and onto the platform.

As he disappears from my sight, I hear a loud cheer from the crowd which gives way to jeers and taunting laughter as the eager buyers watch Lot I step up onto the block.

The auction has begun. The remaining fifty of us now wait for our turn to be lead out and sold.

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Part 3: Andy

Today, I break from my normal habit of visiting one of the nearby hostelries for lunch. In the past, whenever I visited the slave-market and my inspections were over, I would stable my slave, Toby in one of the holding cages and then go to lunch. These cages really are a boon for the buyers. Once our slaves are locked in, we are free to wander off and to attend to our business secure in the knowledge that our slaves are safe. For his own safety, I always ensured that Toby was securely locked away before I left the area.

It wasn't that I didn't trust Toby; quite the contrary. He is the most trustworthy of slaves and I wouldn't have worried about him getting into trouble. But nowadays, the city ordinances decree that all unattended slaves must be locked in one of these holding pens for their own safety.

The introduction of this mandatory ruling is twofold. Before its introduction, there had been a series of unfortunate incidents; brutal fights and brawls between slaves left unattended by their owners. I don't know the reasons for these fights and it's not really relevant. What is true is that some owners, upon returning, would find their properties had been severely damaged in these melees.

At first, the city's response had been to erect two whipping frames adjacent to the display area and all slaves caught fighting - irrespective of guilt or innocence - were strung up and given ten strokes of the lash. This did have the desired effect and within a very short time all brawls ceased.

However, a more sinister danger existed for the slaves - they were subject to abduction by unscrupulous slavers, who prowled the market keeping an eye out for any unwary or unattended slaves. An unsuspecting slave could easily find himself picked up by these "slave-nappers" and spirited away to some distant slave-market where he'd be sold with no questions asked. This was a serious problem and many owners found themselves out of pocket because of this nefarious practice of slave-stealing.

The city authorities had acted decisively. Laws were quickly enacted that decreed anyone guilty of the insidious crime of slave-stealing was automatically sentenced to lifetime enslavement without the right of appeal.

And it also became an offence for a slave-owner to leave his property unattended; it must be secured in the holding pens until his return. Failure to obey this law results in the forfeiture of the unattended slave and/or a heavy fine. Now, city officers constantly patrol the environs of the market looking for any unattended slaves who, if found, are swiftly impounded. Needless to say, all slave-owners comply with this very sensible law.

Today, rather than waste time over a leisurely lunch at a hostelry, I grab a quick bite at one at the fast-food outlets and then make my way to the selling-yard. I'm anxious to get a ringside seat close to the action. I'm amongst the first buyers to arrive and so, I have my choice of the best seats.

I choose a seat directly in front of the podium, one that is sufficiently elevated to give me a good view of the slaves as they stand on the block. I opt to sit by myself as I don't want the distraction of conversation - but not because I'm anti-social. Rather, I want to give my undivided attention to the auction. I'm early and there is still approximately thirty minutes before the first slave is offered for sale. I'm not alone; for there are several other early-birds who, like me, want to have a good vantage point. Some of these buyers are known to me and we acknowledge each other's presence by a friendly wave or a shouted greeting.

Although I can't see them, I hear the slaves shuffling into the holding area which is hidden out of the buyers' sight behind the raised selling platform. I hear the rattling of their chains and the thwack of the overseers' canes striking their naked flesh. I think of Toby and wonder - what are his thoughts at this moment? Momentarily, I feel regret at my decision to sell him. But then, I think of my new purchase and any regrets on my part are soon forgotten.

Gradually, the buyers begin to move into the selling area. Many have imbibed generously over lunch and they now garrulously take their places on the benches. Soon the air is full of much chattering and loud laughter - obviously the buyers are in an alcohol fuelled, good humour.

This augurs well for the afternoon's proceedings. It means that rather than the sober occasion that an auction can so often be; this afternoon's will be a lively affair. From past experience, I expect there will be much verbal interaction between the buyers and the auctioneer and that the slaves will be noisily acclaimed as they mount the block. This all makes for a more relaxed and pleasurable occasion.

I see Obadiah Clements make his entrance and move with great difficulty to the front bench. The front row of seats; those at ground level, are reserved for the buyers who are frail, elderly or, as in Obadiah's case, grossly overweight. It is plainly obvious that he'd be unable to negotiate the steps to a higher tier.  As he takes his seat, he sees me and smilingly gives me a friendly wave. I, of course, return his wave.

The heat of the day is intensifying as the sun climbs towards its zenith and the afternoon promises to be a scorcher. Already, I am perspiring freely, even in the friendly shade of the overhead awnings. As I looked out at the sun-drenched selling platform, I felt a slight twinge of pity for the slaves. Unlike the buyers' gallery and the auctioneer's podium - both of which are shaded - the auction block stands in the harsh glare of the sun. This is necessary of course, as the slaves' oiled bodies are shown to their best advantage under full sunlight. I can only imagine at their discomfort as they stand naked and exposed; still their time on block is brief and their suffering minimal.

The buyers' gallery is now full to capacity and people are now noisily settling down in their seats, rather than, as before, moving around greeting one another. The general atmosphere is one of excited expectancy. I look at my watch and see there are ten minutes to go.

There is loud cheering from the crowd as two men make their way onto the platform and move to the auctioneer's podium. I recognise them as Dave Matheson and his auctioneer. They acknowledge this welcome with a wave of their arms but otherwise they ignore the crowd. Dave carries a sheaf of papers which he hands to the auctioneer. They are lost in earnest conversation as they shuffle through these papers. I'm aware from previous sales that these are the individual reports on each slave which the auctioneer will read out to the buyers as that slave is presented for sale.

I see Dave Matheson glance at his watch then turn to speak to the auctioneer. If I could lip-read then I would see what it was that Dave had said.

"It's time."

The auctioneer catches the crowd's attention by the loud, prolonged ringing of a bell and the request.

"Can I have your attention, please, gentlemen?"

The buyers fall silent and listen intently as the auctioneer spells out the terms and conditions of the sale - that all lots are offered for genuine sale and are to be sold by auction to the highest bidder, that all slaves MUST be paid for at the close of the sale - if not before - and that `transfer of ownership certificates' or `ownership papers for the newly enslaved' WON"T be handed over until full payment is received. He warns the buyers that any defaulting on payment after a slave has been `knocked down' to a buyer in good faith is a serious breach of the law and will be referred to the authorities for the appropriate action.

He asks the buyers if they understand all this or if they have any questions about his warning - in doing so he is complying with the legal responsibilities of the selling agent. The buyers signify that they understand what their responsibilities are and he moves on to outline the day's offering to us.

He goes on to tell us there are fifty lots on offer, comprising forty-nine single lots and one lot of a matched pair - I'm pleased that he points out that this matched pair is a rarity and represents a unique opportunity to buy two such handsome, young slaves in the `one parcel.' I'm gratified to hear the murmurs of interest from my fellow buyers and hope that there will be strong bidding for my two slaves.

We listen intently as he tells us that today's offering, with one exception, consists of `prime young stock' and range over the whole spectrum of slavery from field-hands, heavy duty labourers, body-servants, handsome, young bed-bucks and even one or two suitable for stud duties. And thrown in for good measure - and this is of interest to me - there are some newly captured slaves from the northern wars who are just itching for a master to break and train them to be good slaves.

This last comment draws a loud sustained cheer from the increasingly boisterous buyers. He waits patiently for the noise to lessen, then declares.

"If you're ready gentlemen, then let's begin."

His words prompt another round of applause and cheering.


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

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