



THE LITTER BEARERS





By Pete Brown   (petebrownuk@yahoo.com).  For Master John.





CHAPTER 1 - TO LONDON



After my mom died when I was 18, I broke up with my family.  I'd
never really got on with my dad, and I thought he had had a lot
to do with mom's unhappiness that hastened her death from
cancer.  I should have gone to university, like all my mates in
school.  I had good exam results and could easily have got in,
but at that critical time in my life I was left "floating", and
simply took my savings and went to London instead.



Life can be hard for a young guy in the big city, without
friends.  But I looked older than my age - I'm 6'4" tall, and
have always been exceedingly well built.  Even then, I was 15
stone, but it was all solid muscle, not a bit of fat, as I was a
real "jock" at school, captain of the rugger team, good swimmer,
and on the basketball team.  I had enough money to get a small
bedsit reasonably central, and paid a month's advance rent from
my small stash of cash, and I needed a job, quickly.



I soon found that all the "good" jobs weren't available to me -
even though I was bright and intelligent and had a lot of
computer skills, no-one was interested in employing me in this
area.  They could pick and choose from the stream of people with
"proper degrees", even though these people probably knew no more
than me, and certainly wouldn't work as hard.  And my size and
shape probably had something to do with it - there can be a lot
of prejudice about big guys - people think you're stupid, even
if you're not!



With my money running out, I was desperate - I needed to eat,
and pay next month's rent.  I guess I could have gone home, but
that would have been "failure".  So I looked for anything I
could get.  There was a lot of stuff like serving in McDonalds
and washing up in restaurants, but with wage rates very low and
expenses in London very high, there was no way I could do these.
 I was saved when I was down almost to my last few pounds when I
spotted a postcard in the local newsagents saying that a local
building firm was taking on labourers - the only qualification
they wanted was "good, reliable men, willing to work hard".



I went around to the site and asked to see the foreman.  He was
suspicious, and asked me if I had ever worked on a building site
before.  I told him no, but that I really could work hard - he
looked me up and down, and my body obviously worked in my
favour, because he said "Well, I guess we can give you a trial. 
But how old are you?"



I was about to tell him that I was 18, but instead said "Twenty
one".

"That's good", said the foreman. "We get a lot of guys from
around here just from school, but our insurance doesn't let us
take on anyone under 21.  When can you start?"



"Today", I said.



"Eager bugger, aren't you"



"Yes.  I've got to eat!"



So there I was.  The foreman told me to go away and buy
protective boots, and "subbed" me the money for them from my
first week's wages.  When I came back, he lent me a hard hat,
and I was in!



Those first few weeks as a labourer were really tough.  I'd
always thought that I had good, well-developed muscles that were
used to working hard. But I soon found out that there's a
difference between muscles you use in the gym, or in sport, and
those you get from sheer hard graft every day.  What people
don't seem to realise is that the sort of jobs that are left for
labourers on large building sites these days are sheer
unremitting hard work - most of the other stuff is done by
machines.  So you don't see labourers standing around, leaning
on their shovels, and longer - you're up against a tight time
schedule, and you really have to go at it all the time.  And the
jobs tend to be those that are relatively inaccessible, else the
machines would do them, so you're often working in tight spaces,
with your muscles straining to fit in.



But it was a job.  And at the end of the week, I had enough
money to pay my rent and eat, even having paid for my work
boots.  Things were looking up! 



Another good thing about being on the site was that I found a
group of real mates - the other guys all went for a pint
together after work, and we sat in any of the local pubs that
would admit labourers still in their working gear and talked
about "life".  Most of them were married, or living with their
girlfriends, and had one or two kids.  I really wondered  how
they managed - I was just "making do" on my wages, and with a
wife and kids, it must have been tough for them.



When I got "home" at night, all I really wanted to do was sleep,
ready for the next day.  But it was the weekends that were the
worst - the married mates at the site were off with their
families, and I was alone.  I really didn't have enough money
left over to join a gym or anything (have you seen the monthly
rates for gyms in London?), and so I mostly lay in bed, watching
TV, reading, and wanking off.  Yes, that was what my sex life as
a virile young stud at the prime of his sexual powers was all
about - just me and my five-fingered friend.  There just wasn't
enough money to go out clubbing or anything where I might meet a
girl.



But the site did do some thing for me - it gave me "cred" so I
knew what working on a site was all about, and after about a
year my body was really hard and tough.  I could labour away for
eight hours at a stretch, almost without a break, and although I
would be tired at the end of it, I wasn't bone-weary, as I had
been at first.



CHAPTER 2 - A NEW JOB



I was used to my solitary life after a year, and I had learned a
lot about being totally self-reliant.  I had a bit of money
saved, and could really old my own in the company of the older
labourers - when I first went to the site I had been a bit shy,
and had been shocked when they talked about their women and
their sex lives in intimate detail.  Although I'd never had a
woman myself, I could now "cover it" from hearing their stories,
and from reading porno stories - they all thought that a single,
virile lad like me must be having it away every night, and I
never denied this.  I could add "authentic" detail from time to
time, about my "latest girl".  And when we went to piss on the
site or in the pub, we'd often joke about our cocks and they
would all say that they didn't envy my women having to take my
monster up them (I should say that my cock and balls were
proportionate to the rest of me - I was, as they say, "hung like
a horse", with big, low-hanging balls swinging in their sac
underneath a thick, uncut prick).



I suppose I liked women - at least, those were the porno stories
I read.  But I'd  never actually made any effort to have one. 
And in the environment in which I had grown up, it simply wasn't
even considered that you might fancy a bloke - at home before
mom died, and at school, gays were "queers", and "perverts". 
And on the site there was a virulent hatred of anyone who wasn't
a "proper woman fucker".  One gay guy was recruited, but he
didn't last the week - the other blokes ridiculed him
perpetually, and refused to work next to him even.



Our site was coming to the end, as the office complex was
nearing completion, and the guys were all talking about where to
go next.  There were several more sites opening up in the
neighbourhood, but one of the older guys told me that with my
strength I was wasting my time going to them.



"Whilst you're young, you ought to make the best of your body
and try for one of the specialist firms that only do the hardest
jobs.  My brother went to one for about five years - that's all
he could take - but he earned three times as much as you can
around here, and he was nicely set-up",  he told me.



That sounded good, and I asked where this company was.  At
lunchtime I phoned them up, and they said they were recruiting ,
and that I should go to their offices the following day.



So for the first time in a long time, I had a day off, and
turned up at the smart-looking offices of "Projects Unlimited". 
I told the receptionist I was looking for a labourer's job, and
she gave me a  form to fill out, saying, rather snootily "If you
have a problem understanding any of the questions, I can read
them out to you".



I wondered about the sort of average labourer they employed, but
sat down to the form.  As well as the usual stuff about age and
nationality and previous experience, it had a lot of questions
about "next of kin".  As well as lying about my age, I said that
both my parents were dead and that I had no other relations. 
And, of course, I wasn't married.



Following that, I had to have a medical - on the site no one had
cared, but here the doctor (who had an office permanently in the
building) explained that they were only looking for the fittest,
toughest men, and that they carefully screened out any who had
any kind of potential problems with their breathing or their
hearts or whatever.  And as well as taking blood and urine
samples for analysis, I was going to have to do various strength
and endurance tests.



"So let's get started", the doctor said, "strip off".



I unlaced my work boots, took off my socks, and slipped my work
jeans off (I had gone in my normal site gear, as I was expecting
they would do some sort of test on an actual site, not in a
plush office).  Then I took off my work shirt, and stood there
in my briefs - I know a lot of young guys like boxers, but I had
always worn briefs;  after mom stopped buying my underwear for
me, I had bought my own and went for the "tanga" sort, which
left the sides of my thighs naked with only just the elastic
waistband there.   I felt embarrassed, because there was a faint
yellow piss stain on the front of my white briefs - the doctor
saw this, and said



"Do you have a problem with pissing?"



"No, it's just that I was in a rush this morning and I didn't
shake it dry properly as I was trying to get out for the train
to come here."



"Well take them off anyway, so I can have a proper look at you".



I slipped my briefs off, and stood there naked in front of him. 
Funny, although I'd been naked hundreds of times before with
guys at school on the teams, this felt different.  I suppose it
was because I hadn't been naked in front of anyone for over a
year, the doctor was fully clothed whereas I wasn't, and I was
standing on thick carpet in a luxurious office, rather than in a
gym changing room.



The doctor then took a blood sample, and asked me to provide the
urine sample.  I was a bit surprised when I was allowed no
privacy for this - he simply gave me a container and watched
whilst I pissed in to it.  Then he cupped my balls in his hand
and fondled them "To test for testicular cancer signs - a common
problem with young guys of your age", he explained.



The strength and endurance tests were strange - I hadn't come
dressed for them, so when the doctor said that these were to be
next, I was expecting that I would be loaned gym shorts or
something.  But still buck naked, I was asked to run a mile on a
treadmill - and this felt very odd! My cock bounced up and down
as I ran on the treadmill, and it occurred to me that this was
the first time in my life that I had ever exercised without
"support" - a jock strap, swimming trunks, and so on.



But he breath tests that were taken after the exercise showed m
to have excellent lung capacity, and my heart rate was fine.



The doctor told me that, subject to the laboratory analysis of
my urine and blood, I was "passed", and that all he needed now
was my photo.



He took a Polaroid camera, and asked me to stand against the
wall so he could photograph me - I went to get dressed, but he
said "No, naked - we need a proper photograph for our files so
that if there's a problem with your body in future on one of our
sites, the surgeons have a reference point".



So I stood there, in a variety of poses - front on, back on,
arms above my head, and sideways on.

I thought it was a bit strange that he wanted to photograph me
so thoroughly for "the files", especially naked, but he seemed
to know what he was doing.  Only later did I realise that indeed
he did - this was all part of the plot to enslave me.





______________________



A week later, when I got back from work, there was a letter
waiting for me.  It offered me a job with the company I had
interviewed with, with wages I couldn't believe!  They were
three times what I was getting on the current site.  I was
required to report for work at their Head Office the following
Monday, for my first assignment.



So I went off to the site feeling very pecker - this was the end
of my dull life, on the edge of poverty.  I was just about
making ends meet now, and with a triple-sized salary, I would be
able to begin to save.



I said goodbye to my old mates on the site, and we went off for
a big piss-up after work.  I waited around all weekend as usual,
not much to do, almost no money, so mostly stayed in bed with
the occasional wank.



Monday morning saw me up bright and early, and I presented
myself at "Head Office", as instructed, shortly before 08:00.



There were several of us lads there, for our induction seminar -
I guessed they were mostly in their early twenties as I was
supposed to be - remember, I was still only 19, but had lied and
said I was 21 in order to get a job).  And they all looked as if
they had previous construction work experience, because they had
the kind of "outdoors" faces and hard-looking bodies you get 
from manual labour on a site.  Like me, they were mostly dressed
in heavy work boots, work jeans, and heavy work shirts.



At the seminar we were told that we would be assigned to
construction sites all over the country, so we were expected to
be flexible and to travel around.  The company specialised in
difficult, high-profile jobs where there were severe time
penalties - consequently, in exchange for our high salaries, we
would be expected to really sweat it out, working late into the
night if necessary.



______________________



After the induction, we were given our first assignments, and I
saw that I was being sent to a site in Manchester.  I couldn't
travel every day, obviously, but the guy in charge said that
they knew I was only renting a room, so I should give it up, and
take one in Manchester - they would help me find it.



So that is exactly what I did - I had almost no possessions, so
it was easy to throw them into a big travel bag and take the
train to Manchester, where I found that the company had in fact
already found me a bedsit:  about the same as the one in London,
except that the rent was a lot cheaper.  So not only did I have
three times the salary, but I was paying out less - I really did
feel well off.



But when I got to the site I found that the work was REALLY
hard.  In London, I had been labouring and using my body hard,
but on this site it was of a wholly different order - the work
was digging an underground tunnel for the new metro system in
the city, and I was working in extremely cramped conditions, in
a hot, sticky area about 100 foot underground.  After only half
an hour my muscles were aching from the strain, and I was soaked
in sweat because of the extreme humidity in the tunnel.  Like
most of the other guys slaving away down there, I soon stripped
off my shirt - and I saw that even hough it was winter, the rest
of the guys were working in shorts because of the conditions.



When six o'clock came I really wanted to go home, but the
foreman said that there was compulsory overtime that night,
because we were behind schedule.  So I did not get to leave
until ten, and then all I wanted to do was to go back to my room
and crash out in bed.



Next morning, ready for the 7 o'clock start, I could hardly drag
myself out of bed - I ached all over.  But remembering how the
other guys had dressed the previous day, I grubbed around and
found some old work shorts, and went out into the freezing air
in those, my work boots, and heavy work shirt.



This pattern of labour lasted all week, and I was really looking
forward to the weekend - I wanted to explore Manchester, go out
to a club or a bar or something now that I had money to spend,
and, most of all, just allow my body to rest.  But it was not to
be - on Friday night, as we were leaving ,the foreman told us
that we were required to be there on the Saturday, and that we
would get double time.  We all protested, but the foreman
reminded us that they were allowed to stipulate periods of
rest-day working, if the project was in trouble.



On the Sunday, I did not get to spend anything either - I was
just too exhausted.  I only got home at midnight on Saturday,
and it was three o'clock on Sunday afternoon before I even woke
up.  And I simply didn't feel like going out Sunday evening - I
just lay in bed resting (although I did feel like a wank - I
wasn't that tired by then.  Every other night I had simply gone
to sleep with exhaustion, so when I did cum on Sunday afternoon,
I shot a huge load and really made my sheets wet and slimy!)



This pattern of work continued all the time I was in Manchester
- six long, gruelling days, with only Sundays off.  I hardly saw
the city, and had no time (or inclination) to make new friends. 
But with earning so much, especially with the overtime, and
spending almost nothing, my bank balance was beginning to rise
very satisfactorily.  I even thought about buying myself a car.



After six months in Manchester, I was sent to a big office block
that the firm was building in Birmingham, and my life was very
much the same - small bedsit, six very full days of work, and
crashing out on Sunday.  And after Birmingham, back to London to
work on a warehouse, then Leeds to a new sports complex, and so
on.







CHAPTER 3 -   THE REAL PURPOSE



My life continued like this for almost five years - moving from
site to site about every four to six months.  I never really had
any permanent address, only a room found for me by the firm. 
And I had no time and no inclination, because of my extreme
exhaustion each weekend, to go out and make new mates.  I hardly
had time to make friends with the guys I was working with
either, because we were all in the same position with the
extremely long hours and very hard work.  The only satisfaction
I had was that I now had a lot of money in the bank - almost
enough that I could consider leaving altogether, and going to
university - I realised now that this is what I should have done
when I was 18.



There had of course been some major changes in me physically:  I
had always been big, muscular, strong and fit, but now I was in
amazing shape.  Constant physical work had given me very strong
arms, thighs and legs;  my pecs and shoulders rippled with the
underlying muscle as I moved, and, of course, I had the classic
"six pack" stomach.  There was not an ounce of fat anywhere on
my, and I looked "lean and mean". Although it only got manual
stimulation, my cock jutted erect rampantly several times a day,
and when I did wank (I had started to do it twice a day after
the initial year with the firm:  however tired I was, I knew my
balls needed relief!) There were always copious amounts of
thick, creamy cum.  I kept my hair very short - a number 1 crop
- because of the dirt I experienced working on the site made it
easier to shower quickly this way and I didn't need to dry it.



Every year, about the anniversary of my employment, the firm had
made me give up a day's work on the site, however busy and far
behind we were, to go down to London for an annual medical.  It
was always the same doctor, and the routine didn't vary much -
measurements, blood and urine sample, heart rate, respiratory
capacity, and the inevitable nude photos.



At my sixth of these medicals, after he had taken the photos,
the doctor said "Well, that's the last of these for you!"



I asked him what he meant - I was going to keep on working for
the firm, and did he mean that they were no longer interested in
the health of their employees?



"Far from it", he said.  "There's just one more thing - I need
to give you a shot.  Bend over the desk.... That's right....".



I did as the doctor told me - after all, he was a doctor -  and
felt a needle prick into my arse.



"Now jut relax", the doctor continued, "You're going to feel
sort of sleepy, and very happy, and making any movement will be
an enormous lot of work, so you'll want to keep reasonably
still."



"You won't be having any more of these medicals, because you're
now just 25 years old.  I think you thought we didn't know that
you were only 19 when you came to us first, rather than the 21
you said you were, but our pre-employment checks soon found out
the truth."



"All the jobs you have done so far have been designed with one
ultimate purpose: to get you to 25, in fantastic physical shape,
and with few or no ties to anyone else in the country.  You've
long since lost contact with your family, you have no friends
outside work, because we have kept you working such long hours,
and there are very few 'public' records of you because we have
always found you rooms, and you have moved every few months
anyway."



"So now we're ready:  you're going to start your real 'job' - as
a slave!  The firm is a front organisation, one of several types
we operate throughout the world, that locates young single men
and then 'processes' them in this way so that they mature into
good specimens of manhood, with few roots.  At the right time,
we can then gather our harvest of man-flesh, and take you off to
be auctioned as a slave."



"I don't know what sort of thing you'll find yourself doing in
future - you're really too big in the body to be a sex slave to
some rich man- they tend to prefer younger, slimmer types not
huge 'hunks' like you - although hung like that, with such a
fantastic cock, it's just possible".



"We used to capture men as young as 16 or 18 and 'bring them on'
ourselves in camps in the jungles of South America, well away
from civilisation.  But it cost a lot of money to staff the
camps, and we had the slaves eating their heads off with no
return to us.  Setting up organisations like the firm was a
brilliant idea of our leader - not only do we see how the men
develop before we finally enslave them, but here's no risk: 
until this moment, you were leading a perfectly ordinary life,
so you had nothing to 'escape' from, and nothing to go to the
police about.  Of course, that's going to change now - but we're
shipping you out to an Arab sheikhdom for the auction and so on
- the law is a bit different there, and, anyway, you don't speak
any Arabic so you won't be able to do anything even if you
should be clever enough to escape."



The door then opened, and two guys in security guard uniforms
came in.  The doctor was right:  even though I was lying naked
across the desk, I really didn't care- I was swarm and happy, in
spite of this talk of slavery, and it was just too much effort
to move my body, even to the extent of not bothering to try to
cover my cock from the stares of the two guards.



"He's ready", said the doctor, "so fetch the cage."



The two guards went out and returned a few minutes later
wheeling a cage made of stainless steel bars, resting on a
wheeled trolley.  The cage was about three feet by three feet,
by three feet high, with the top consisting of a hinged panel,
that was open.  The doctor and the two guards "helped" me into
the crate, basically picking me up and pushing me in. The only
way I could fit was with my back against one wall,  and my knees
pulled up to my chin.  Then one of the guards gripped both sides
of my face, and as my mouth was forced open, a ball gag was
pushed in and the straps fastened tightly behind my head.  Then
they pushed my head down, and closed the lid, which was secured
with a small padlock.



I felt incredibly vulnerable - I couldn't move at all, and my
cock and balls were hanging out from between my bent legs,
exposed for all to see and completely accessible.



"This is a small cage", said the doctor, "and in normal
circumstances you couldn't endure it for much more than a couple
of hours.  But you have the muscle relaxant drug in you, and 
you're used to working in confined spaces, so you'll survive. 
It's an hour to the airport, and a five hour flight.  Do you
want to piss?"



I shook my head.



"Well, if you do, say now", the doctor continued.  Your crate
will be stacked up with a lot of others, and if you do have to
piss, it will go over your fellow slave in the crate underneath!"



But I didn't want to, and with a nod from the doctor, the two
guards wheeled me in my crate on the trolley along the corridors
of the office block, and out into the loading bay.  We only saw
a couple of people whilst this was going on - I sort of tried to
attract their attention, but I really didn't sort of care much,
and I couldn't shout because of the gag.  In any case, one of
the men who saw the spectacle of a naked guy in a cage in the
corridor of a London office block didn't even take a second look
- it was just as if this was an everyday sort of thing!



At the loading bay there was the common sort of 25 cwt white
transit van, of the type you see thousands of on the streets
every day.  My trolley was wheeled in, and the cage pushed off
it onto the floor.  The guards jumped out, the doors slammed,
and a couple of minutes later I could feel the van drive off.



When it did stop and the doors were opened, I looked through my
haze of wooziness, almost in amazement.  The forks of a fork
lift truck came into the van, went under my cage, and I was
pulled out.  The truck backed away from the van, and then went
across the tarmac of what I saw was an airport, then hoisted me
high and I was pushed into the cargo hold of a waiting aircraft.



I was in the third tier of cages, with about ten cages
stretching along the side of the cargo bay.  Another layer went
on top of me, and I estimated that there must be fifty caged,
naked men like me in the hold.  The doors were closed, and the
plane took off.  I don't remember much of the flight, because in
the relative darkness of the hold, with nothing else to do, I
went to sleep most of the time.



CHAPTER 4 - MY NEW LIFE BEGINS





I woke with a start as there was a bit of a bump, and I realised
the plane was landing.  I think the drug the doctor gave me must
have been wearing off, because I was much clearer in my head. I
desperately wanted to move my body instead of being happy to let
it just lie supine, and I could feel definite cramping in some
of my muscles.  And, if I pressed my thighs together a bit, I
could feel that I had a massive erection - travel always does
that to me, as I know I does to a lot of guys.



A fork lift unloaded our crates one at a time, and  a small
fleet of vans took five crates at a time for a journey of about
an hour.  Initially, I thought he van was going along "city"
roads, as you could hear other traffic and people in the
streets, but after a time it was clear that we were going along
a highway, quite fast, then along a minor road, and then what
felt like a track of some sort, for miles and miles.



Eventually the van stopped, and our crates were unloaded one at
a time. 



The light was dazzling.  The sun blazed down from a bright blue
sky, and we were in a courtyard surrounded by buildings and
walls, all of which were painted white.  The van had entered the
courtyard via a pair of massive wooden gates, banded with iron
bars, and a couple of men in uniform were now pushing these
shut, and then they were bolted.



An Arab, in traditional Arab dress with white robes came out
from one of the buildings, came across to our crates, looked
down and said "Welcome to the slave processing centre.  You'll
be here for a couple of days, for initial processing.  There's
an auction on Wednesday, when you will be sold to your new
masters.  It's usual at times like this to ask 'any questions',
but I won't do that:  you have no questions; you are slaves; you
do not question, you obey".



With that, he strode off.  Men in khaki uniforms now came out
and surrounded the crates, and they started to open them, one by
one.  Five of us stood there in the burning sunlight, totally
naked, trying to stretch life into our cramped muscles.  One of
the guards snapped "follow me", and marched off.



We could hardly move, but one of the guys was suddenly writhing
on the floor in agony.  I saw the guard stand over him with a
sort of wand, and say "Here's a lesson for you all.  This is our
slave goad, modelled on a cattle prod.  Any reluctance to obey
orders, and we'll zap you with it - all the guards have one. 
Now, get moving".



Seeing the effect on the poor guy on the floor, we pulled
ourselves together, and shambled off.



Inside the building we were told to piss and crap into a hole in
the floor of a tiled shower room - I'm not really "piss shy",
having worked on open air building sites for so many years, but
I had never crapped in front of anyone.  And there were not only
the four other naked men like me, but eight guards standing
around watching.



"Crouch down, grip your arms around your knees, and let go!", we
were told.



"And be quick about it.  Any slave who has not crapped in three
minutes will be given a touch of the goad!"



Try as I might, I couldn't make myself drop a turd with all
those people watching, but after I saw one of my fellows struck
down with the goad, I pushed and strained and did indeed
"perform".



Next, the ball gags in our mouths were removed.  As they started
to unclip them, the guards cautioned us not to speak - slaves
did not speak unless spoken to, we were told, and we ought to
start learning the lesson now.  The first one to be unclipped
started to protest the moment that his mouth and tongue were
free - "I'm not a slave, you get...".  He never finished the
sentence, as he fell to the floor following a stab from one of
the guard's goads.



Then it was off for a "bath" - there was a deep trough sunk into
the floor of the room, with a ramp down on one side and a ramp
up on the other.  In turn we were motioned to go down the ramp,
and the water in the trough gradually rose up to my neck, then I
was almost floating (And, remember, I'm a tall guy).  One of the
guards leaned over the side of the trough with a sort of plunger
on a stake, and pushed my head totally under the liquid in the
trough, holding it there for a few seconds so that when I could
get my head up again I was spluttering and gasping for breath -
the liquid tasted foul!



I walked up the ramp on the other side, and soon all five of us
were standing there naked, with the fluid dripping off our
bodies.  I realised that this was an adaptation of the sort of
sheep dip or cattle dip used by farmers in the West, to ensure
all their animals get totally immersed in disinfectant - and
that's what had just happened to us!  Were we just like animals,
to be "dipped" without our own consent or participation?  If we
were to be disinfected, why couldn't they have simply asked us
to do it?   I realised later that this was quite contrary to the
whole slave-owning ethic:  we were, as far a they were
concerned, jut like animals.  And the quickest and easiest way
to disinfect animals is to "dip" them, so that is how we were
treated.



We were then led out of the room, waved on by the threat of the
goads, and into another one which contained only a large caged
area - about 20 feet square, with the stainless steel bars of it
reaching from floor to ceiling.  There were already about 15 men
in there, all, like us, naked, and the cage door was unlocked so
that we could join them.



"You new slaves remember that you are not allowed to speak",
said one of the guards, "I've told the others, and they didn't
believe me at first.  But there's a microphone in the ceiling up
there" (he gestured to an object hanging from the roof above the
centre of the cage), "and if it picks up any sounds of the human
voice, it triggers a short but painful shock through the floor
of your cage.  The others have found this out already - don't
put them all through it again, by starting to speak!".



We were left there, and the existing guys in the cage made it
abundantly clear by gestures that what he had said was true, and
they sort of "begged" us to keep quiet.



Over the next half an hour or so we were joined by other batches
of five slaves as their vans arrived from the airport and they
were uncaged and disinfected, until the fifty of us from the
cargo hold were all in the cage, standing around in silence,
wondering what was going to happen next.



I looked at my fellow prisoners (because that was how I thought
of us - I had not yet acclimatise to the concept of "slave") and
saw that we were all reasonably good looking, and mostly in our
mid twenties.  I was probably the most muscular, and amongst the
tallest, but all looked as if they had worked hard, or at least
worked out regularly.  There was every colour of hair, and some
of us were cut and some uncut.  The youngest guys there were, I
judged, about eighteen and although they had firm bodies, you
could tell that they had not yet fully developed those real
masculine muscles that you only get when you're in your twenties.



We all stood there wondering "what next?"  Some of the guys sat
down, and some, I noticed, started to get erections that they at
first tried to hide.  But, as I soon discovered myself, if you
do get an erection when you're in the middle of fifty naked guys
in a totally featureless space, you may as well just let it
happen - if you've go a big cock, you can't cover it with your
hands when you're fully erect!    



________________________



After some time - and it was getting difficult to know how long,
because there were no clocks visible and we had all of course
lost our wrist watches long before - guards came into the room,
opened the cage door, and pulled one of the guys out.  They
locked the cage, and marched the guy out through a door in the
wall of the room.



A few minutes later they came in, and the process was repeated.



After the fourth or fifth guy had been taken, some of the guys
were holding back, moving away from the cage door as soon as the
guards appeared.  But I reasoned that whatever was going to
happen to me was inevitable anyway, so I might as well cut out
the waiting and uncertainty, and positioned myself near the cage
door.



I was then the next one "taken", and in the next room I was made
to lie down on a leather-covered bench.  Straps above my pecs
and across my stomach were tightened to hold me down.  My arms
were pulled back, above my head, and fastened down to  the
bench.  My feet were similarly fastened down at the foot of the
bench, and then a buzz started.



A naked man approached, carrying a pair of electric hair
clippers, and efficiently and without fuss stripped away most of
my underarm hair - not down to a stubble, but just so that it
was reduced in length to about an inch.   Then he moved down and
started to  trim my pubic hair - I started to shout, but one of
the guards gestured at me with his goad, so I shut up!  I
couldn't really see, but if I strained my head upwards I could
look over my pecs and hard flat stomach and see that he very
full bush of hair I had always had around my cock was being 
trimmed away - the pubic patch usually stretched from thigh to
thigh, and now it was just a strip immediately above my cock and
balls, and this too was reduced to about an inch in length.



The naked man with the clippers then stood back, and the guards
undid my ankles.  One at a time, they then pulled my legs back
over my body, fastening each ankle to the side of the bench near
my head.  I tried to resist at first - they really could not
have done that, given the power of my thighs.  But  a gesture
from the guard with the probe soon made me realise that
resistance was futile, and I relaxed and let them do it.



My arse was now of course right up in the air, and I knew that
my arse hole must be totally exposed because my legs were spread
to either side.  But there was nothing I could do, and soon I
could feel the clippers clipping away the hair from around my
arse hole, followed by them running up the area between my hole
and my balls, and then lightly all over my balls.  I couldn't
help flinching as the clippers touched my arse hole - even
though it wasn't painful and the naked guy was obviously being
careful not to nick me or anything, I simply had never had
anything touch me there  before at all - it was so unusual to
feel something touching my arse hole that I simply couldn't help
writhing a bit.... It was actually vaguely pleasurable.



After the buzzing stopped, I thought I would be released, but
the naked man came back carrying a stainless steel bowl.  I
wondered what was going to happen net, then convulsed with the
pleasurable shock as what was obviously a warm, soft, floppy,
soap-laden shaving brush was rubbed up and down my arse and over
my balls.  The man then took a cut-throat razor, and proceeded
to scrape away at the stubble left by the clippers - I gasped as
the steel blade slid around my arse hole, it felt so strange. 
And when he shaved my balls, he did of course have to pull and
stretch the sac in every direction, to make sure that it was
left entirely free of residual hair.  This, too, was a new thing
- other than my own hand and the doctor's, my balls had never
been handled before by anyone.



The shaving over, most of the straps were released and I was
told to sit up on the bench.  The naked shaver then looked at my
head, and told the guards he did not need to clip me as it was
already short enough.  But he did use the cut-throat razor to
re-do the bottom of my hair line at the nape of the neck, to
make it really sharp.  And he shaved my face, being careful to
keep my sideboards.



I was then escorted out of the room, and into the next.  Behind
a desk was an Arab-looking man in Western style casual dress.



"Name?",  he demanded.



I found it difficult to reply, as I had not used my voice for
many hours now, but I told him "Steve Gray".



"When you are allowed to speak, you do so respectfully", the man
snapped.  "It's 'Steve Gray, Master'".



"Now, name?"



I swallowed hard, and was about to tell him to fuck off, when I
realised that the guard was tensing, and his probe was ready. 
Swallowing my pride, I said "Steve Gray, Master".



He got up, went to a filing cabinet, riffled through it, and
came back to the table with what I saw was the folder that the
doctor had been using all those years.  He flipped thorough it,
and said "Good.  I see there's a record of very satisfactory
development here.  The firm's system has certainly worked in
your case - you've gone from a big 18-year old to a really
magnificently muscled, big, strong 25-year old, with lots of
power and stamina in your body.  Excellent slave material!".



Then he took up a big "magic marker", and wrote the number 8
across the front of the file.  Standing up, he then used the
same marker to put a big "8" above my right pec, and on my left
arse cheek, and left biceps. 



"These are only semi-permanent markers.  They'll last until
after the auction, so that prospective purchasers can tie up
your body with your particulars.  Whoever buys you will choose
how you are to be marked permanently, and we don't want to
pre-judge whether they prefer tattooing or branding, or, indeed,
what they might want to have marked in to you".



Then, with a gesture of dismissal, he motioned for the guard to
lead me out and I was taken into another big cage, where all the
previous guys before me were already.  I saw they were marked
with numbers 1 to 7, and we all stood or sat around until,
eventually, the cage held all fifty of us.  All of us had had
our pubic hair shaved to the same small patch, all of us had
cropped hair, and all were numbered.



________________________





I don't know how long we waited, but at some point a door in the
back wall of the room, inside the cage, opened and the guards
shouted at us to go through it, in single file.  We did as we
were told, and were in a narrow, low passage (I had to stoop
slightly) made of concrete.  I t went on for several metres,
then down a flight of steps, then along for at least 30 metres,
before another flight of steps led upwards.  It was poorly lit,
and with the jostling of the guys and the narrowness, I couldn't
help bumping into the guy in front of me, and I felt the hot
body of the guy behind me press into mine, too.



The light go brighter, and as I got to the top of the steps, it
was dazzling.  We emerged through a narrow gate into an arena of
some sort - it was oval, about 20 metres along the long axis,
and the walls were about four metres high and made of shiny
white marble.  I could see that there was no chance of being
able to get up over the walls as there was absolutely no hand
hold or anything, so the only way out was the way we had come
in, through the door.  We were actually inside a set of white
wooden railings, set about two metres in from the arena walls,
and going all the way around.



We stood there for a few minutes, and, looking up, we could see
that what at first sight had been "walls" were in fact the walls
of a pit - the arena was sunk down,  because at he top of the
"walls" we could see a small crowd of people - men and women,
some in Arab dress, some in western, peering down at us.  They
all looked as if they were very rich - there's something about
the cut and style of very expensive designer clothes that make
them stand out immediately, and all these people were so
dressed.  And there was the sparkle of diamonds on the women,
and flashes of gold from wrist watches and so on on both sexes. 
 Most of the crowd was sipping champagne from tall elegant
glasses, and this was being served to them by waiters who were
good looking naked men who had all obviously been chosen for
their handsome faces, warm smiles, and tight, firm bodies. 
Neither the waiters, or those being waited on, seemed to find it
at all odd to have handsome, naked men passing through the crowd
dispensing drinks.



Some of the guys tried to cover their genitals with their hands,
but I thought this was pointless.  Then a loud speaker in the
middle burst into life and said "Slaves!  Run around the track,
so that prospective customers can get a view of your bodies in
motion.  Begin."



I think we were now all so overawed by what was happening to us
that we no longer had it in us to protest,  Like all the others,
I started to jog around the track.



We were made to continue for about 30 minutes, and I could see
the crowd looking down at us as we jogged underneath, noting the
numbers on our bodies, commenting to each other, and sometimes
making notes on pieces of paper.  



It was totally bizarre - fifty naked men running around and
around a course in the arena, sweating in the hot sun, and
marked just with numbers in the most humiliating way, being
watched by a crown of expensively dressed men and women, sipping
champagne and being cosseted in every way possible by groups of
naked serving slaves. 



____________________________





We ran on for about 30 minutes, and I was soon running with
sweat - I'm very powerful, but also very heavy with so much
muscle and bone to carry around.  Most runners are light-ish, no
more than nine or ten stones, whereas I am built more for
sustained powerful work.  Some of the other guys seemed to be
able to carry on the sort of fast jog we were doing
indefinitely, but I was flagging and was really glad when we
were given the order to halt.  But it was only a brief respite -
the speaker ordered us to find a blank space in the arena, not
too close to the walls, to avoid spoiling the view for the
watchers above, lie down, and start to do press-ups.  Now this
was something I could do easily with my powerful shoulders and
arms, and I started to pump happily away.  As I did so, I could
see the crowd peering down at us, enjoying the spectacle of
fifty muscular bodies pistoning up and down;  it was for all the
world just as if they were the crowd in the royal enclosure at
Ascot, leaning over the rails and inspecting the horses, whilst
all the time chattering away brightly about "society" matters.



Some of the guys just had to give up after about 50 press-ups,
and simply lay there on the floor of the arena gasping, but I
went on until the order was given to halt.  I sprang to my feet,
in spite of being very tired, as I wanted to show these people
that they had not got me beaten.  But I was almost the only one
standing, and I excited a lot of attention from the crowd who
were exclaiming about my muscular frame and, sure enough, the
erection that had now come up.



Then the loudspeaker said "That's all for this afternoon, ladies
and gentlemen.  The slaves will be on individual view tomorrow
morning, from 10:00, prior to the auction at 14:00.  We hope we
will see you back then."



Followed shortly by, in a quite different tone, "Slaves!  Leave
the arena in single file through the door that is now opening",
and, tired and weary, we stumbled back down the dark concrete
passages and back up into the storage cage from which we had
first come.



________________________



Back in the cage we were all hot and sweaty, and the guards came
up outside it with hoses, and started to spray us with water. 
Their shouts told us that we were not to touch our own bodies -
we must rub down another slave.   



Now although I've had lots of communal showers with other guys,
I've never actually touched another guy's body in the showers
before, except accidentally.  A young, slim, black-haired guy
standing next to me started to rub his hands excitedly over my
muscular frame, using the sprays of water from the guards' hoses
to rub away the sweat and grime I'd picked up in the arena.  He
obviously expected me to reciprocate, and, half-heartedly, I ran
my hands over his chest, down the sides of his ribs, then down
his legs.  I wouldn't touch his cock or his arse, although his
hands were feeling for mine before I gripped his wrist very
hard, to warn him to lay off - what did he think I was -  some
sort of queer, or his plaything?



After that, when the water was turned off, the guards handed
each of us a foil packet that contained some sort of hard,
semi-savoury biscuit.  I was ravenous, and managed to force all
mine down, but most of the guys left theirs.  After that, all
the lights went out except for a couple of dim "nigt lights",
and we just lay or sat as best we could on the hard concrete
floor, as it seemed to be "sleep time".  I was anyway exhausted,
and felt I'd had a very long day.  In spite of the uncomfortable
surroundings, I soon went to sleep.



_________________________





"Morning" came when the lights in the ceiling came up to full
brightness again, and, like me, a lot of the guys had morning
hard-ons.  One of them went to jerk off, and we were all
suddenly given a violent electric shock through the floor,
causing us to scream.  "Slaves are forbidden to touch their
cocks without their Masters' consent", the loudspeaker said.



So we had to stand there, unable to do anything about our
erections, although most of them had subsided naturally with the
shock.



The guards again handed around the packets of biscuits, and now
everyone wolfed them down because we were all hungry.  We stood
around, wondering what was going to happen, and the guards came
up to the gate and called for number one.  



The guy presented himself, and was taken out, through the door. 
A few minutes later, they called for number two, and soon it was
my turn - number 8.  I was taken back into the room where I had
been shaved the day before, and the naked man came up to me
carrying a spray attachment on the end of a length of hose.  He
proceeded to wash my body thoroughly using the spray and a bar
of soap, and to add to the indignities I had already suffered, I
felt his soapy finger slide into my arse hole.  I started to
protest, but the guard waved his probe, and I stood still and
bore it.



Then the slave lathered my face, and started to shave away my
heavy overnight stubble with his cut throat razor.  Because I
was taller than him, he had to stand very close to me to reach,
and his cock brushed against my thighs and arse as he worked. 
And when he was directly in front of me, it rubbed my cock in
passing.  A little thrill ran through me - as I say, I wasn't
used to having my cock handled at all, and having another man's
cock rubbing against yours is something else!



After he had shaved my face, he reached down and rubbed his
thumb across the surface of my ball sac that he cradled in the
palm of his hand.  "OK, smooth enough still down here.  This
one's finished", he told the guards.



They pointed to a door opposite to the one I had come in by, and
I went into another room where a naked slave (I had started to
think of anyone without clothes as a "slave" now, rather than as
a man or a "guy") touched up the "8" that was still showing
strongly on my biceps, pecs and arse.  Then the guards came over
and measured my neck with a tape measure, just as if I was being
fitted for an expensive shirt.



"Twenty inches", he reported.  His colleague rummaged in a
cupboard, grumbling that there was not much call for the largest
sizes, but soon came over with a stainless steel band about five
inches thick.  This had a hinge half way around, and it was
opened, placed around my neck, and then closed.  The guard then
took what looked like an Allen key, and adjusted something at
the back - presumably to keep the collar closed.



It was exceedingly uncomfortable.  Although it was just big
enough in circumference, the height of it meant that I could not
properly lower my head and I had to look sort of upwards.  Then
the guard took one of my arms and put a stainless steel bracelet
around the wrist; he guided this arm up behind my neck, and
there was a "snap" as the bracelet locked into a fitting on the
back of the collar.  My other wrist was then braceletted and
locked behind my neck, in the same way.  Finally, a ball gag was
offered up to my mouth - I knew better than to do anything other
than meekly "open up" and accept it in, and its straps were
fastened behind my head.



I felt totally helpless.  Not only was I naked in a room with
guards in rather smart uniforms, but now I did not even have my
hands free.  My whole body was totally exposed to whatever
anyone wanted to do to it.



The guards did not even bother to speak now.  One of them came
over and grasped my cock, and started to pull me towards the
door.  I was so amazed, all I could do was stumble after him.



I was led along a corridor that was at first simply plain
cement, as had been most of the floors I had been on up until
now.  We went through a set of swing doors, and we were
obviously now in some sort of "administrative" area, because I
could see people in offices on either side, and the floor
changed to smooth thermoplastic tiles, which were cool to my
feet.  



Up a flight of stairs, along another corridor, and through more
swing doors, and now I was in "executive country".   There was
carpet under my feet, a quiet hush pervaded the air, and there
were nice pictures on the walls.



Up more stairs, and the mood changed again - now it was
seriously expensive, with very deep carpet that my naked feet
sank into, and genuine antiques lining the walls.



Two naked slaves were standing in front of a set of double
doors, and it was clear that their only function was to act as
door openers, because as we approached they pulled the doors
towards them so that we could enter.  



I had never seen such a sumptuous room in my life.  It was done
out in "Arabian" style:  the already deep carpet was covered in
places by beautiful oriental silk rugs,  the walls were hung
with rich swathes of silk, and enormous crystal chandeliers hung
from the ceiling bathing the room in a brilliant light.  At
intervals around the walls were couches and chaise longues,
upholstered in expensive-looking white silk.     



I was led along the whole length of this magnificent room, and
somehow it made me feel even more naked than before when I had
been in the very plain surroundings of the slave quarters.

Numbers one through seven were already standing up towards one
end, and I was taken and placed on a square marked on the
carpet.  The guard knelt down, felt under the carpet and fumbled
to open a little trap door set in the floor, from which came a
stainless steel bracelet on the end of a short length of chain. 
He snapped the bracelet around my left leg, just above the
ankle, then used his Allen key again to lock it shut.  He gave
me a little slap on the left arse cheek, as much as to say
"that's it!", and walked off.



Eight of us were now standing there, naked, collared, hands
manacled behind our necks, gagged, and shackled to one place in
the room.  During the next hour the remainder of the fifty of us
were similarly brought in and positioned around the room.



We all stood there, wondering what was to happen next, when the
double doors started to open again and the same wonderfully
dressed crowd of glittering men and women started to enter and
walk around the room, looking at us.  Naked serving slaves were
circulating, too, with trays of champagne, orange juice and
water, and selections of delicious looking canapés.  It was
clearly some sort of social occasion, because whilst a lot of
the people were clearly interested in looking in detail at us
men, there you could hear a lot of social chit-chat about dinner
parties, trips to New York, and who was sleeping with who!



A lot of the slaves were being examined very closely by some of
the crowd, particularly the men: they would pinch nipples, push
back foreskins, make the slaves bend over so that their arses
were fully exposed, and so on.  But not many people seemed to be
interested in me - most of them took one quick look, and walked
on past.



It was quite hot in the room with the press of people, in spite
of the air conditioning, and I was sweating slightly (probably
as much from the embarrassment and the tension, as from the
actual heat).  I had closed my eyes momentarily to try to clear
my thoughts a bit, and when I opened them I saw two guys
standing near me, who then came over.  They were both about my
age - 25 - and in traditional Arab dress.  Both had quite dark,
handsome faces with fine cut, chiselled features.



"I don't know why they bother bringing these big hunky types to
high class auctions", the first one said. "All anyone is ever
going to buy this type of slave for is to work in the fields or
the quarries, or down the mines.  And they're cheap enough to be
able to buy a bulk lot from one of the lesser dealers. 
Cluttering up an auction like this of nice-looking professional
types with this roughneck sort puts most people off!  Who wants
muscles like that these days around you - the fashion is all for
the Californian surfer, or the cute lad with a 24" waist and a
little tight bum! Look at the muscles in this one's arse - you'd
lose your cock in between the cheeks before you even got it as
far as his hole!  And who wants to shag a rough worker - you do
at least want to be able to have a little conversation with the
slave after you've fucked his brains out!"



"Not so fast, my friend", his companion replied.  "Maybe there's
a little method in their madness".  He flicked his fingers to
one of the naked waiter slaves, and told him to go and fetch my
file.  The waiter sped off, and soon returned with my records
with the large "8" on the cover.



"Look at this", he said "They've been very clever.  This slave
has actually been working for them for six years, on contracts
on which they made a profit.  They paid him wages, which he
mostly saved as he was working so hard, and when they finally
'took' him, they simply closed his bank accounts and all the
money came back to them.  In effect, they had him as a slave in
England without him knowing it".  



"And all that time he was working, his magnificent body was
being made stronger and stronger.  Look at these pictures of him
when he started - he was big, and muscled, but there was no
definition to them and certainly no stamina.  And after six
years, look at his endurance from these medical tests, and look
at what a magnificent specimen he is."



"Sure he's uneducated, as he went straight from school into
labouring and did not go to university.  And I expect that if we
ungagged him, he'd have one of those English 'working class'
accents, drop his aitches, clip the ends of his words, and so
on.  But if you had him properly subdued, he would be a
magnificent ride for anyone in bed."



"Don't deride the pleasure to be got from a big muscle hunk with
a superb muscled arse, in bed.  The last time I went to London I
answered one of those dating adverts on the Net, for an 'East
End muscle stud who wanted to fuck cute young arses'.  When he
saw a photo of me, he responded and we arranged a meet.  He was
everything his advert said he would be, and just as you would
expect - shaved head, rude, arrogant, big body, huge cock,
superbly over confident."



"He told me to strip, which of course I did, but when he said
'lie on yer back and get yer legs in't'air so I can fuck' I only
pretended to acquiesce.  As he came towards me, I used a judo
hold to grab him, and I got his balls firmly in one hand.  I was
then controlling him, and made him lie on his stomach.  I used
my silk tie to tie his hands to the bed head, and then he was
mine!."



"Grasping his balls again, I made him kneel and stick his arse
in the air, and then I fucked him bareback, without lubricant. 
It was perfection, for me, but he squealed and shouted like a
stuck pig.  I think he was a complete 'top' and wasn't used to
taking it up the arse, and, of course,  he had never been
forcibly raped like that.  In fact, I think his arse was
probably virgin.  He bucked and tossed whilst I was in him,
trying to throw me off, and it all added to the excitement."



"So don't underestimate the pleasure to be had from a bit of
rough muscle, provided you properly control him,   You know", he
said looking at me again, "We probably should buy this one and
use him as a threesome - it might put a bit of extra spice in
our love making!"



He reached down and grasped my cock, pushed the foreskin back so
reveal my cock head, then gently massaged it whilst rubbing his
thumb over my exposed head.  Of course, I was almost instantly
erect.



"Even if you don't want to go up his arse", he said to his
friend, "I think I'd like to lie and watch whilst this thick
monster goes up yours!  It would be fun to see you flattened by
this brute's body as he rammed his cock home up you.  You'd
appreciate my tender caresses all the more after you have had
that forced up you!"



"What makes you think I wouldn't enjoy seeing the same thing
done to you?" His friend replied, laughing.  



"Seriously, though, whilst I'll give you that this one has a
handsome face, and probably has a nice smile once that gag isn't
stopping it, I don't really want an uncircumcised slave in our
bed.  I know we could always have it removed, but it seems like
a lot of trouble.  Still, it's a good idea - on the way home
,why don't we have one of the field slaves thrown into the boot
of the car and have him in bed with us tonight?  I expect we can
find one quite like this, and anyway looking through one of the
field gangs with that end in mind might be quite amusing." 



"But in another way, I might be interested in this slave. Let me
see in his file how tall he is... Mmm.... I made a note
somewhere."



He reached into his robe and brought out a little black book,
flipped the pages, found something, and said



"Yes, potentially - I might be on to a winner here.  My uncle,
the Sheikh, is looking for an eighth slave for his litter team. 
He has seven almost perfect clones, but the eighth, whilst he is
the right height, is a black.  So although the litter team
performs well - it's so important to have them evenly matched
for height - my uncle does not find it totally aesthetically
satisfying.  He's had all the slaves sun darkened to the maximum
extent, but they're still no match for the black, who's one of
those very black 'Nubian' types, not one of the paler
afro-caribbeans."



"If this slave is right, and I bought him as a present for my
uncle, I could be in his good books - and you never know when
you'll need a favour from the Sheikh."



"He's the right height, but the other important thing is his leg
measurement.  There are so many different types of slave, some
with long bodies and short legs, some the other way around, all
of whom are the same height, that it's really important to get
it right so he is indeed a good match for the others."



And so saying, he snapped his fingers to another waiter, and
commanded the slave to go and fetch a tape measure.  When he
came back, the naked slave was told to kneel and take my inside
leg measurement, measuring down to the floor from just
in-between my arse hole and my ball sac.  Of course I've had
this done in shops when I have been buying trousers, but having
a naked slave taking your inside leg measurement when you are
totally naked and he's been told to press the end of the measure
against your most sensitive skin, is something else!



It turned out that I did indeed have the right inside leg - I
have medium to long legs for my height, and the two walked off,
obviously pleased.



__________________________



After about another hour, a cultured voice came from concealed
loudspeakers announcing that the auction would begin shortly,
and distinguished patrons were invited to take their seats in
the auction hall.  The luxurious reception room began to empty,
and guards came in and started to unchain us from our floor
positions in groups of ten, and marshal us in a line against the
back wall.



Then, in turn, we were led through a door.  When it was my turn,
I found myself going along a short ramp onto a big dais in the
centre of a sort of auditorium.  The "Arab" theme was repeated
here, too, with the walls again swagged with silk, and fabulous
crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.  The patrons were
all lounging in armchair-like deep, comfortable looking seats,
arranged in rows around all four sides of the dais, and were
nodding and talking to each other as the auction proceeded.



An Arab was waiting for me on the dais, and he had my file.  He
read out my vital particulars - age, height, weight, etc., and
said that I was not highly educated, but was an absolutely
exceptional worker.  He said some things I did not understand,
like "he's not an obvious pony type, as his body shape is too
big and solid so he could not run for many miles.  But he is
potentially a very good galley slave - look at his musculature,
ladies and gentlemen, and imagine him behind the oars of one of
your pleasure barges".     



He made me turn around to face each quarter of the audience in
turn, then he reached down and quickly massaged me to erection,
making me turn around to all four faces again.  I was blushing
almost all over by this humiliating display, and then I heard
him ask the audience if they wanted to see me cum!



But fortunately no one seemed to say yes, so he began the
auction.  There were only a very few bids, and it looked to me
as if I was indeed sold to one of the two men who had been
'viewing' me earlier - I'm sure I recognised him, across the
lights that illuminated me on the dais.



A guard then came on and led me off, grasping my hard cock as a
sort of lever to guide me, and I went out through a door on the
other side as "number nine" was led in to replace me.



On the other side of the door it was a complete contrast - no
more silk, no more fine carpets - just concrete walls and floor
again.   I and the other slaves who had already been sold were
simply left standing there, until a guard called our number and
we were taken out.



When my turn came, I was led out and there indeed were the two
men who had bought me.  One of the guards asked how I should be
prepared for transport - should I be caged and delivered the
following day?  But the men said no, they wanted to take me away
with them, there and then.



The guards advised them that I was still a new slave, and not
properly accustomed to my status.  So it was not sensible to let
me lose yet - I should be kept caged or chained for some time,
until I fully accepted my slave status.  It was, they said, well
known that most slaves who try to 'bolt' do so in the first two
weeks.



My buyers - who I suppose I should then have thought of as my
owners - were then offered my stainless steel collar and cuffs,
so I could remain fastened as I was, but they did not want to
pay the price.  As I was a gift, they said, I only needed
"temporary wrapping" and fancy stainless steel just wasn't worth
it.  



It was their attitude that amazed me - they were calmly talking
about me as a present not as a man, and how I should be
"wrapped" for delivery! 



In the end, I was released form the stainless steel collar and
cuffs, under the watchful eye of a guard with a goad, and my
wrists were re-fastened to the back of my neck using the sort of
simple plastic "cable ties" that are widely used in the west not
only to tie bunches of cables together but in the garden to hold
up plants, and in a thousand places around the office and home. 
Even though they're only thin, once they have been tightened,
and especially when they are around your throat, there's simply
no way of breaking them.  Even my powerful arms could not exert
enough force behind my head to snap the tie without throttling
myself.



Then the guard asked if I was to be clothed for transport.  The
second buyer laughed and said "Good heavens, no!  He's a nude
slave if ever there was one!".



But his friend cautioned him and said that his uncle was rather
old fashioned, and although his field and quarry slaves were of
course always naked, around the palace most of the servants
always wore loin cloths.  And his pony slaves and litter bearers
were usually in shorts, so that their cocks and balls were
supported as they ran.



So a pair of satin shorts was found for me, in the sort of thin,
shiny satin that footballers now wear, but with very short legs.
 And I think they were at least two sizes too small.  I was told
to step into them, and the guard pulled them up, and "settled"
my cock and balls in to them - I think he just wanted an excuse
to touch me there.  Satin shorts like that are designed to be
worn with a jock strap or white briefs underneath them, so
without either you could clearly see the outline of my cock and
balls, and the crinkled line of my much-reduced pubic hair.  The
only think that stopped my cock from slipping out of the
ultra-short legs was the fact that they were so tight around my
tree-trunk like thighs - there was no room for even the head to
poke out!



The two buyers looked pleased, looked at me, and the first one
said "We'll have the ball gag removed now if you remember that
you are not allowed to speak.  It will be more comfortable for
you.  But if you don't think you can do that, just nod, and
we'll leave it in - my uncle's slave masters will take it out
and will soon teach you to remember the 'no speaking rule'."



I nodded my head to indicate that I really did want to be rid of
the ball gag, and men told the guard to cut it free.  After
having the ball jammed in my mouth for several hours, it was
heaven to be able to open and shut my jaws and move my tongue
again.



We went outside, to what seemed to be an ordinary car park.  The
two buyers were in a large white Mercedes, and one of them
opened the boot and told me to get in.



"No, said the other. Hang on - let's have him inside with us. 
It might be a bit of fun to be so close to such raw masculinity
on the drive to the palace".



So I was put in the middle of the two of them on the bench seat
at the front, and we drove off.  The roads were jammed with
traffic of all kinds  - western cars, bicycles, camels, donkeys,
and pedestrians all jostling for road space, and we made only
slow progress.  People looked in through the car windows
constantly, but no one seemed to find tit strange to see a
nearly naked man, with his arms bound behind his head, in
between two Arabs.



The buyer who was not driving ran his hand over my body from
time to time, commenting to his friend about "particular
features of interest".  He soon discovered that I had sensitive
nipples, and playfully tweaked them every now and then to make
me squirm and (almost) cry out.  He rested his hand in my
crotch, and felt through the satin for the outline of my cock, 
He gently massaged it so that I became erect, and loosened the
waist of the tiny shorts so that the head poked out, pointing
toward my navel.  He continued massaging it, so that pre-cum
started to flow, but then changed his mind and tucked my cock
in, so that the pre-cum left a large wet stain on the front of
the shorts.



I was deeply humiliated by all of this, but what could I do? 
Without the use of my arms, even the strongest guy is relatively
powerless against two quite fit men - and even if I did succeed
in getting out of the car, where would I go?  It looked as if
the ordinary citizenry outside were much more in sympathy with
the owners, rather than with me!



We drove on, and after about half an hour, at the end of a
narrow lane, came to a halt in front of two massive gates that
almost filled the street.  The driver blew his horn, and the
gates slowly opened, being pushed by four muscular slaves in
their twenties, who I saw were wearing small loin cloths that
just hid their genitals - although as they heaved and pushed at
the incredibly heavy gates, these kept swinging aside to give
you glimpses of their tackle underneath.



We drove in, and the gates closed behind us.





CHAPTER 5 - THE SHEIKH'S PALACE



We drew up at the foot of a wide, majestic marble staircase, and
an Arab came down.  Two of the "gate" slaves, naked except for
their loincloths, rushed over and opened the doors of the
Mercedes, and my two buyers got out.



The Arab bowed and said "Welcome, young masters.  The Sheikh is
at home, and would be pleased to welcome you in his relaxing
room".



With that, he started to mount the stairs, and all three of us
followed.  The marble almost burned the soles of my feet, and I
felt like hopping around - how, I wondered, did the almost nude
gate slaves walk so calmly over the near-burning surface?



Inside the palace, however, it was several degrees cooler.  We
went along wide marble lined corridors, with fountains playing
and green plants in huge tubs growing everywhere.  As we got
deeper into the palace, it got more and more luxurious, and the
marble was inset with bands of what looked like pure gold. 
There was a subtle perfume in the air, which just smelled
expensive and exclusive.



After several minutes, we came to an impressive set of double
doors, and two slaves, again naked except for very tiny loin
cloths, opened them for us.



Inside was a real "Arabian" room - richly tiled floor overlaid
with silk loose carpets, silk hangings on the wall, concealed
lighting, and an air of calm and quiet.  On a huge pile of silk
cushions that were arranged across one corner sat an enormous,
fat Arab - he must have been at least 20 stone.  He was clad in
traditional Arab dress, all in white, as were my buyers, but you
could tell that his were of a different order - they were so
fine and smooth, they looked almost as if they had been spun
from spiders' webs.  Diagonally across from him in another
corner was the latest, most expensive, biggest television and
sound system I had ever seen, that was showing a Western news
programme with the sound muted.   But it was the other
"furniture" in the room that was really the most impressive
sight.



On either side of the Sheikh were two giant blacks - they must
have been almost seven feet tall, and were very muscular. They
seemed to be almost twins, they were so alike.  There was not a
scrap of hair to be seen anywhere on them, and their skins
glistened (I learned later that they were regularly oiled). 
They wore only tiny micro loin cloths about three inches wide
and eight inches long, suspended just above the start of their
cocks from a thin gold chain dropping down from their almost
non-existent waists  - if the size of their cocks was
proportionate to the rest of their body, the wisps of silk can
only just have covered them!  Their only purpose was to stand
there and wave giant fans, to provide a constant cooling breeze
across the Sheikh.



Just to the front of the Sheikh, to one side, a very pale almost
totally white boy aged about eighteen was kneeling.  He had
cropped blond hair, and a trim "swimmers" body.  Apart from his
head, his body was otherwise hairless, and his cock and balls
were concealed - at least whilst he was kneeling totally
stationary - by another micro loin cloth.  His arms were
stretched out in front of him and slightly above head height,
and in his hands he supported a solid gold tray that bore a
selection of exotic-looking sweetmeats.  Clearly the boy was
positioned so that the tray was convenient for the Sheikh so he
could nibble whenever he wanted to.  I wondered how the boy
could bear to hold this position for long - not only would his
long, muscled legs be in pain from kneeling , but the arms out
and up, holding a heavy tray, would I think cause him a lot of
grief.



Two Arabs were sitting on the other side from the tray bearer,
wearing their traditional robes.  They had clearly been holding
a conversation with the Sheikh, but it was their seats that
amazed me:  the Arabs were  sitting on the backs of two
relatively well muscled men who I judged must also be twins, and
probably Italian or some other Southern European race, because
their bodies were darkly tanned and quite hairy.  Then were
kneeling with their forearms flat on the floor, to make their
backs horizontal.  The head of one was neatly tucked in between
the thighs of the other, so that their backs were almost joined
together to make it quite like a bench.  You could therefore
only see one head closely, and the arse and underside of the
cock and balls of the other was fully exposed at he other end.   



The final piece of "furniture" was a real muscley "Californian
surfer" type.  He was tanned all over to a deep coppery gold,
and his blond hair was just a bit longer than a full crop.  The
rest of his body had been totally shaved of hair, including his
pubic area.  I could tell that, because he was wearing only a
very thin, very tiny silk G-string that barely constrained his
big cock and balls. The silk of this G-string was almost
transparent, and any wisp of hair there would have been visible
through it.  I call him "furniture", because his "purpose" was
to act as a piece of sculpture:  he was on top of a pedestal
made of marble, about 1.5 metres tall and 0.75 metres square,
and he performed constant acrobatics.  He went through a slowly
changing routine of standing on his hands, balancing on the side
of the pedestal, raising himself so that his body was horizontal
and at right angles to his outstretched arms, and so on.  All
the exercises were designed to show off his fabulous musculature
to their best advantage, and I guessed that he might have been
some sort of gymnastics champion in a former life.



"Greetings, Uncle", said one of my buyers, and he knelt down on
the floor in front of the Sheikh and touched his forehead to the
floor.  His friend was doing the same, a couple of paces behind
him.



"Rise", said the Sheikh.  



"It's good to see you, Ahmed."



"You too, uncle".



"And how is your mother, my beloved elder sister?"



They went on like this for some time ,exchanging what I can only
describe as family gossip, whilst surrounded by the almost naked
slaves.  The two other Arabs spoke from time to time, as did my
other buyer, as it was clear that they were all known to each
other.



Finally, Ahmed said to the Sheikh



"Uncle, I was at the slave auction today, looking for a bit of
new flesh to liven up our bed - they had just had a new batch of
slaves in from England, and I went along to see if there was
anything I fancied.  We didn't find anything we liked for the
bedroom, but I did see this slave here."



"I didn't think you went for that type, Ahmed!", the Sheikh
interrupted. "Isn't he a bit big and rough for your refined
tastes?  I thought you liked your have pert little tight arses
that you could impale on your big prick whilst they squealed
with pleasure!"



"That's as may be, Uncle.  But this slave is not for us, it's a
gift for you!  The last time I was here you told me about he
problems you were having with your litter bearers, and how that
one black you have to have to make up the eight upsets the
colour balance of the rest of the team.  I remembered that when
I saw this piece of flesh for sale, and found that he was the
right height.  And when I looked in my diary, I found the leg
measurements you had told me, and he has those, too!   I think
this is the slave you need to make up your perfect team."



The Sheikh, who up to now had paid absolutely no attention to
me, now stared at me, and commanded "Come closer".



I moved to stand in front of him, still with my bound arms
behind my head, and the Sheikh looked me up and down.  



"Release him", he commanded, and from the shadows in the corner
of the room a nearly-naked slave approached with a knife, and
cut he plastic of the cable ties.  I dropped my arms, and shook
them and stretched them to put life back into them. 



"Yes, I see what you mean", said the Sheikh.  And, turning to
me, commanded "Get naked".



I looked around desperately, but there was nothing I could do,
no means of escape.  Blushing, I put my thumbs under the waist
band of the tiny shorts, and shrugged them down over my hips,
let them fall to the floor, then stepped out of them, leaving
them lying there on the carpet.



"Adjust your cock", the Sheikh commanded. 



I knew what he meant - when your cock has been confined inside
tight shorts or briefs, you need to shake it when you take them
off so that it hangs properly.  But this is a very private
action, and doing it in front of the Sheikh, my two buyers, the
other two Arabs, as well as all the other slaves in the room,
was almost too much.  But I did, and stood there, with my hands
by my side.



"Mmm", said the Sheikh looking to Ahmed, "I see what you mean". 
Then, to me,



"Turn around".



I did, and I could almost feel the Sheikh's eyes looking at my
back, my bulging muscular arse, and my thick calves and legs.



"We need to take him and compare him with the other litter
slaves at close quarters", the Sheikh commented, and clapped his
hands.  



Slaves rushed over to help him to his feet, and he left the
room, followed by Ahmed and his friend, and then by me - guards
had come over and pushed me to follow.    



We went along the richly decorated and furnished corridors, and
my nakedness again seemed even more harsher - its one thing to
be nude in a bare, "slave" area, surrounded by other nude
slaves, and quite another to be like that when surrounded by the
height of luxury when everyone else is properly clothed.



We went through a door, and the decor changed:  now it was
simple plaster, painted with gloss paint.  Along that corridor,
around a corner, an in front of us a set of bars from floor to
ceiling across the corridor, with a barred gate set into them.



There was a guard in front of the gate, who saluted smartly as
the Sheikh came into view, then unlocked the gate to allow us
through.



This was clearly the slave quarters - there were no "frills",
but it was clean.  There were rooms opening off the corridor,
and some had ordinary doors, some had doors with large locks
very visible on the outside, and some had barred gates, so that
you could always see in from the corridor.



We went on, and down a flight of steps to another corridor.  It
was somewhat darker and colder down here, and the concrete walls
were unpainted.  I guessed we must be two floors underground,
because there was no sign of natural light, only fluorescent
tubes in simple fittings in the ceiling.  Almost all the doors
opening off this corridor were of the barred gate variety, and
inside the rooms you could see slaves, nearly naked, lying or
sitting.



Finally we stopped in front of one gate, and inside I saw eight
big men - one a black.  It was a big room, and they had plenty
of space.  It looked almost like a barracks room in the army of
a poor country - single bunk beds were stacked two high in a row
of four.  Some of the men were lying on the bunks, but four of
them were sitting on the floor, just talking quietly to each
other.  When they saw the Sheikh stopping outside the gate, they
all jumped up, and formed a row along one wall of their room.



It was true - they were almost identical.  They were all exactly
the same height, and almost exactly the same "build".  All of
their hair was cropped to a "number one", and all their
sideboards were grown to the same length.  They all wore tiny
white shorts, in satin, but there must have been something
underneath as you couldn't see the outlines of their cocks that
clearly, and the legs of the shorts were cut quite wide so their
cocks would have been hanging out if they had not been
constrained in some way.   



The guard unlocked the gate, and the Sheikh went in, motioning
for me to follow.



He commanded the black to drop out of the line, and for me to
take his place.



"Yes!", he cried in pleasure.  A perfect match.



"Ahmed, my nephew, thank you.  I will repay this favour one day.
 Getting eight slaves to match so perfectly has been a long and
difficult task, and your gift has made me very happy".



"You!", he said looking at he black slave "Drop those shorts."



The black man did, and stood there holding them.  Underneath he
wore a tiny white satin G-string, through which his cock and
balls were now visible.  Like me, he was uncut.



"You've even managed to get me an uncut one", the Sheikh told
Ahmed, "So I have four of one and four of the other.  It's just
as well, or I would have had to have had the other three
circumcised, as I would not like the five / three cut / uncut
combination".



Looking at the black man again, he said "Hand over the G-string
to the new slave".



The black pushed the string down so his cock and balls flopped
out, wriggled the thin side strings over his hips a bit, reached
behind to loosen the string from his arse crack, and finally
stepped out of it.  He handed it to me.



I stood there, until it was obvious from a little twitch of his
hand and a sharp intake of breath that the Sheikh was expecting
me to put it on.



Now I have sometimes borrowed a shirt from another guy, or a
pullover.  But I've never worn another guy's underwear.  And if
I had, it would have been clean from the laundry!  Here was a
G-string that was still warm from the black, with the actual
arse sting actually damp from where it had been, a moment
before, nestling in the warm moistness of his crack!



But there was nothing I could do, so I struggled into it,
feeling its cloying, damp warmth grip my cock and balls.  Then
they indicated that I should put on the discarded shorts, and go
back into the line.



"Now that's PERFECT!", said the Sheikh. "Now he's in the same
uniform as the others, you really can't tell the difference."



Looking at the guards, he said "Take the black away, and hold
him for disposal.  Leave the new slave with the rest of the
litter bearers tonight.  We will process him properly tomorrow
morning."



And with that he turned and left the room.  The guards slammed
the barred gate shut, and I was left with my new seven fellow
slaves.





END OF THIS SECTION.



To come :



How Steve is marked as the Sheikh's property.



Life as a litter slave.

	A visit to the Sheikh's holdings

	The Sheikh's recreations

	Estate transport



Ahmed comes to live at the Palace.



How Ahmed treats litter slaves



Naked litter slaves



WATCH THIS  SPACE



 















 



