ANDREWS FATE
CHAPTER 13
Abdul orders the overseer to remove our hoods and then the chain attached to the collar of the boy at the front of the line is released. I watch as, with only slight encouragement from the overseers standing at the bottom, he mounts the steps. The actual sales platform is only a few feet above us and I can just make out that they lead up through the centre of the crowd as they reach the stage. Once at the top the boy drops immediately to his knees and there are cheers and clapping from the crowd.
Then I watch as he crawls to Farook I hear the unmistakable click of Farook's fingers, followed a short while later by an outburst of applause as slave number one kneels at the edge of the stage, his head bowed low and his caged cock and balls prominently displayed between his widely spread thighs. He is now a short distance from the top of the steps, a position obviously chosen so that we below can see everything. Abdul waits for the applause to die down before announcing to the crowd the details of the slave before them.
'Slave number one is from Germany. Captured two weeks ago, it is just nineteen years old'.
Then follow details of the slave's statistics. The boy's height, weight, measurements of chest size, neck size, waist, hips and buttocks, cock length and ball sizes are all read out. Then Abdul orders him to stand at display. Another murmur spreads amongst the crowd as the boy jumps to his feet and assumes the perfect posture of display. The slave's oiled skin reflects the light of the many spotlights placed around the platform emphasising the contours of his muscles, his whole body trembling as he strains to hold the impossibly wide stance required. The slave's tremble and the fear in his eyes are very evident. Abdul orders him to turn and present his side to the buyers. Lot one quickly obeys but Abdul signals to one of the overseers who applies his cane to the inside of the boy's thighs. He quickly spreads his feet further. Abdul then orders him to turn again to present his back and this time the boy makes sure he keeps his legs spread wide. Finally another turn and he is facing the crowd again.
Farook waits. I guess it is so that the buyers can take in every detail of the slave presented to them; a collared naked boy but in this situation just an item of merchandise. I imagine that his muscles must be hurting from the extreme nature of the posture he is straining to hold and can see that he is still trembling. Next comes the order to turn, bend and display his ass. He is ordered to place his hands on his buttocks and spread them wide. The speed at which the boy obeys astonishes me and certainly electrifies the crowd. As they quieten down Farook addresses them.
'Now then gentlemen, how many strokes for this delectable slave? I guess you would like to see a nicely striped ass.
The crowd cheer, the replies ranging from ten to fifty. Farook pauses and then announces that the number will be twenty five.
'Turn and grab your ankles slave' instructs Abdul. I see in the trainer's hands a long whippy cane and I know this really hurts having experienced it earlier when I attempted to escape. The boy's buttocks are now totally exposed and the cane lands with a resounding crack. He cries out and his knees give way as he falls to the floor.
'Silence slave, how dare you? Resume position; shouts Abdul, glancing at Farook..
As the boy recovers Farook speaks so we can all hear him.
'When a master wishes to cane a slave it is a requirement that the slave remain absolutely silent and must not move in any way. You have disobeyed on two counts so at the end of the twenty five you will get another ten. Understand slaveboy'?
'yes mmmm...aster' The boy replies.
Abdul swishes the cane in the air several times and then lands it hard on the boy's naked flesh. He flinches but does not make a sound. The caning continues with Abdul taking a short break after every ten. I cannot imagine the anguish in the boy's mind but I know only too well how his poor tortured buttocks must be feeling. At the end of the twenty five Farook addresses the boy.
'After the next ten you will drop to your knees, crawl to me, bow, kiss my boots and then thank me for my punishment for your disobedience. You will speak up so that the whole room can hear. Do you understand me slave boy'?
'Yes Master' the boy replied stifling his sobs.
I was expecting our presentation to the buyers to be an extremely humiliating experience but am surprised at what has just happened. Farook has not warned us that we might be caned in front of the buyers and I can only think that it was a result of this boy's failure to obey him. Farook has told us that when we are paraded in front of the buyers we must demonstrate absolute and instant obedience to every one of his commands and show total subservience and submission to his will. "I am master here and you are slaves, I command, you obey no matter what" is the phrase constantly repeated.
Farook then signals to Abdul who then applies another ten strokes without a pause. We then watch as the boy crawls to the centre of the stage, bows and kisses the boots of the man who has caused him so much pain. He then thanks him for the punishment for his disobedience and much cheering erupts from the crowd. Lot number one's buttocks are bright red and covered in darker red stripes. I am left wondering if this ritual caning is a part of the normal slave sale process just to excite the buyers which it certainly has. Farook makes the boy hold the position at his feet for several minutes before ordering him to crawl back to the front of the stage and face the crowd. Then he opens the bidding.
'What am I bid gentleman for this superb slave' he announces.
'ten thousand came a voice. 'fifteen' shouts another.
Bids follow in quick succession until the boy's price has reached thirty five thousand.
The price still rises but more slowly now, the last bid being thirty nine thousand dollars. At last comes the word 'SOLD'
Farook orders the boy to turn and face the crowd then to drop to his knees and bow to his new owner and I watch in disbelief as he comes right to the front of the stage, kneels with his knees impossibly wide, tears dripping from his face and places his forehead to the floor. Can this be real I ask myself The crowd erupts in rapturous applause. Yes this is real. The boy is now sold just as if he is an animal. Then he is led away down steps from our view. Below the platform the overseer orders us to move forward until lot number two reaches the bottom of the steps. Then from above comes the command,
'Send up slave number two'.
Now I am fourth in line and again I watch as the boy ascends the steps and kneels. As before full details of the boy are read out including his abduction from a deserted beach in Greece, The mention of this brings everything that has happened to me in the last few weeks flooding back. It brings tears to my eyes just to think about it.
The sale progresses much as before though the overseers have to use their canes rather more frequently to correct the boy's posture on a number of occasions. The boy looks terrified at what is happening to him, a look of bewilderment on his face, but he shows no resistance. Instruction follows instruction as he is ordered to display himself to the crowd. The overseer's whips ensuring that every detail of his naked body is openly on view and the buyers are loving it. My earlier concern is confirmed. Then follows the ritual caning as with the first lot but this time it its only thirty strikes. Nonetheless when he turns round to face the buyers, there are tears dripping from his face. The slave's price rises steadily to reach forty two thousand dollars before the hammer comes down.
After this display I begin to wonder what my reactions will be when I am on the stage. Will I go meekly obeying each and every instruction or will I have to be whipped to comply. Either way I now know that we will all be whipped for any mistake in posture. Slave display postures are clearly designed to provide the buyers with an opportunity to examine in detail every feature of our bodies. We are just merchandise. But is seems that insistence on perfection in the postures demanded is to demonstrate our instant and absolute obedience as slaves who have no choices other than to submit to whatever is demanded, as well as for the enjoyment of the buyers. It also seems that, however compliant we are with Farook's instructions, we are all destined to feel that vicious cane. Confusion begins to fill my mind but then it is lot three's turn to mount the steps. The boy kneels and hesitates at the top but the swift application of Abdul's whip across his rear gets him crawling to the centre of the stage. Now he is kneeling, head bowed, knees widely spread facing the buyers. Farook announces the boy.
'Lot three gentlemen is a slave procured by my agents in England. It is just eighteen and, I think you will agree it is a very fine specimen of young slave flesh. Lifted only three weeks ago from the streets of London it is still not fully accepting of its status but I think you will see that it offers great potential for a master willing to complete its training'.
Now his display begins. Not surprisingly, the slave being only recently captured, the assistance of the overseers is required frequently as the boy is reluctant to adopt the poses demanded to display the most private parts of his body. But it is to no avail. The whip is frequently applied to ensure his legs are always spread very wide in every posture adopted, his belly sucked in, chest forward, head up in the inspection position. And when ordered to turn, bend and spread he is whipped three times before his hands reach behind to spread his ass cheeks wide. There are the usual ribald comments and cheers as the slave is persuaded to reveal the most intimate details of his body to the buyers and much interest as he poses, albeit unwillingly, for their enjoyment.
The boy is only eighteen and looks even younger. His pert buttocks particularly draw many an appreciative comment particularly when Farook orders him to turn, grab his ankles and wiggle his ass. Then the caning follows and, much as with lot numbers one and two, he screams, breaks position and receives extra. He goes for forty thousand dollars, the whip being applied once more before he crawls to the front of the stage and bows to the master who now owns him. Now I am just second in line. The time is fast approaching when I must decide by attitude to being sold.
Lot four is a very different. As the waiting line is ordered to shuffle forwards it is clear that this boy will not cooperate. When his neck chain is removed he makes an attempt to run but is quickly brought back by the two overseers from the platform who, sensing a problem, race down the steps. With one on each side they frog march him up the steps and throw him to the floor at the top.
'KNEEL SLAVE' shouts Abdul.
The two overseers unclipped their whips and set about the boy, whipping him to the floor where he curls up trying to avoid the worst of the stinging lashes. After a while they stop and Abdul again orders the boy to kneel. Now reluctantly he gets to his knees, spreads them wide and places his forehead and hands to the floor.
I have not spoken to this boy; his cell was at the other end of the block to me and when taken out for training chained in a line he has always be near the other end. His resistance to being sold is even worse that Peter's had been yesterday but I fear that it will be futile. These men have the means and will to make us obey them no matter what. Resistance in this situation is only natural; but futile. I know only too well that he will have to submit in the end; it is merely a question of how much persuasion will be required. The crowd is loving it; cheering and clapping as the overseers apply their whips. The sale will progress whatever.
When the market owner signals to the overseers to stop he orders the boy to crawl as instructed to kiss his boots. Now he obeys albeit slowly and kneels at Farook's feet. A murmur of approval ripples through the crowd. It is obvious that the buyers enjoy seeing a recalcitrant slave boy whipped into submission. Farook explains to the boy that he had better obey or he will be whipped mercilessly until he does. He then orders him to crawl forward and bow properly to the buyers as instructed and clicks his fingers. With an overseer on either side the boy crawls to the spot right at the front of the platform, kneels up, bows his forehead to the floor and then kneels with his head bowed. The smack of the overseer's whip as the strands slash across the kneeling boy's back echo round the room.
'Knees wider slave, present yourself properly to the buyers' hisses Abdul.
Quickly the boy spreads his knees another six inches but the overseer kicks them even further apart. The crowd cheer, delighted by the spectacle of the rebellious slave learning to obey. Farook announces the slave's details; an American captured in Italy, twenty years old. Then follows a long list of personal details concluding with the statement that the slave clearly does not yet understand its status. A comment from one of the buyers that it soon will draws much laughter from the rest of the crowd. Abdul keeps the boy kneeling for some time before ordering him to stand and display and is pleased to see him get immediately to his feet. From behind one of the overseers kicks the boy's feet wide and then wider still whilst the other takes hold of his elbows and forces them back. Seconds later the overseers whip striking hard across the boy's buttocks brings an anguished yelp from his lips and another cheer from the crowd.
'CHEST OUT, HIPS FORWARD SLAVE, PRESENT YOURSELF PROPERLY TO THE BUYERS' shouts the Abdul.
Now the boy obeys instantly but the whip strikes again; this time harder, resulting in another anguished yelp.
'YOU WILL REMAIN SILENT SLAVE' hissed the overseer.
The whip strikes again, the sound as it bites into the boy's buttocks, resonating around the room. It also resonates with the crowd as they cheer and laugh at the slave's suffering. And it resonates in the boys mind as, this time, he makes not a sound. The buyers watched with delight a new slave learns a painful lesson, the tears running down his cheeks now clearly visible.
Farook decides he would test the slave's new found obedience ordering him to turn slowly around, to grab his ankles and wiggle his ass, to drop to his knees and crawl around the platform with his nose to the floor and finally to stand facing the buyers in the position of display and bow low to the crowd. The transformation could not have been greater as, conscious of the presence of the overseers, the boy obeys instantly every command. Now he stands legs wide, hips thrusting forward, a perfect posture of slave display, tears flooding down his face and we watch as he bows his head down to the level of his knees.
'The whip is a good teacher isn't it slave' said Farook
'Yes master' the boy stutters between his sobs.
'So' says Farook 'When I order you to turn and bend for the cane you will not hesitate will you'?
'No master' says the boy.
Farook announces to the crowd that this slave will now get thirty strikes as a result of its earlier disobedience and we see the instant look of terror on the boy's face. Foolishly he turns around, drops to his knees and begs for mercy. The crowd are loving it. 'Only thirty' comes a voice from the front. But Farook is furious.
'HOW DARE YOU SPEAK AND BREAK POSITION' he shouts. YOU ARE A SLAVE AND SLAVES OBEY THEIR MASTERS. STAND, BEND AND GRAB YOUR ANKLES. YOU WILL NOW GET AN EXTRA TEN FOR THAT OUTBURST'.
Abdul and another overseer lift the boy from the floor, bend him double and secure his wrist cuffs to his ankles. Now he cannot stand but the overseer grabs the boy's collar to make sure he cannot move and straps a large gag in the boy's mouth. Then, without further delay the cane lands with a resounding crack. I cannot believe that they will cane him forty times. I have never received that many even when I tried to escape. But I have never seen Farook so angry. Abdul administers the first ten strikes without pausing and the boy's buttocks quickly turn red. A few second later he delivers the next ten. Then the next, then the next. The boy's wrists are released and he is ordered to turn and face the crowd. His chest is heaving as he adopts the posture but not before the cane lands again to encourage him to spread his legs wider.
Abdul then opens the bidding.
The treatment of the slave on the platform has been followed in detail by me, now standing right at the bottom of the steps. It is perfectly clear to all of us what they have done to the boy to make him obey. Clearly any rebellion on the part of a slave will not be tolerated and I know now that I must obey instantly every instruction I am given.
The bidding for the slave is frenzied; many owners relishing the thought of owning this slave, and teaching him his slavery and Farook is clearly delighted when the sale is announced at a price of forty three thousand dollars. The newly sold slave is led away sobbing as I shudder, my stomach churning; the awful moment can be delayed no longer. I too am well aware that in front of the buyers the slave has been whipped into submission. Now he is the property of a man who would undoubtedly relish beating him into unconditional submission.
'Send up slave five' I hear the order from above.
The sound I have been dreading resonates in my ears. The overseer releases me from the bar above my head and I climb quickly up the steps resigned to my fate and stand on the platform. I drop instantly to my knees, placing my nose to the floor. Then I crawl to the market owner, kneel up, bow and kiss his boots. I kneel at Farook's feet, nose to the floor, thighs spread as wide as I can and my buttocks thrusting upwards. I hope my obedience is acceptable and that I will not feel the whip. Farook clicks his fingers and everyone is watching as I crawl, with some difficulty, to the spot at the front of the platform, there to kneel up, bow and assume exactly the posture required. As I crawl I made acutely aware that the atmosphere in the auditorium is different; there is total silence in the auditorium. I crawl with my knees remaining wide apart and my back arched and I am now kneeling at the front of the stage within feet of the buyers.
A voice from the back is heard.
'Well at least this slave knows how to behave'.
There are murmurs of approval from the crowd but I am trembling.
I feel the strands of the whip curling across my back,
'Bow to the buyers as instructed slave boy' came the command.
Foolishly in my desire to impress with my display I have forgotten this detail. And I quickly comply but the whip strikes again.
'Do not forget the details boy or you will feel it again'.
From my position I could see the men in the first few rows whispering to each other and smiling, their eyes focussed of me, a naked slave boy presented for their pleasure. I am well aware that my caged cock and balls, propelled forwards by the extra wide ring clamped around the root behind my balls are prominently displayed. I recall that my thighs must be at 90 degrees to each other or even wider and that anything less would not be tolerated. I glance quickly at my knees and force them wider even though the muscles of my groin are already complaining greatly. It is gesture clearly appreciated by the crowd and the whispers continued.
I hear Farook announce my details.
'The slave is 21, from Sweden and captured by my agents in Italy'.
As well as information about my origin and nature of my capture I hear, read out a whole list of my measurement; not just height and weight but my chest size, my neck size, the measurement around my buttocks, the circumference of my thighs, the length of my cock and size of my balls, the distance from my cock to my navel, distance from my balls to my ass hole ass and the distance between my nipples. Farook also makes reference to my 'deliciously firm buttocks' just waiting for the marks of my future master's cane.
To be forced to display myself in this way is bad enough but to hear all of these intimate and personal details read out is humiliating and degrading. I blush as these details are announced to what I can see for the first time is well over a hundred men, each one with his eyes focussed on my naked body.
'Stand slave, display' I hear Farook shout from behind.
The sudden sound startles me which amuses the buyers but I instantly jump to my feet and assume the position of display. I remember exactly the posture demonstrated by Farook's personal slave. legs spread so wide that it hurts, stomach sucked in tight, hips thrust forward, eyes staring straight ahead. My instant obedience to the market owner's instruction brings murmurs of approval from the crowd and some even clap. My instant obedience brings a request from someone in the front row of the crowd.
'Can we have the overseers apply twenty strokes to its rear with their whips please whilst it stands at display facing us'.
'Certainly Sir' Farook replies, ordering me to remain facing the crowd. He signals to the two overseers who take up positions, one on either side of me.
I know I must not move or cry out as the first blow lands. The overseers take it in turn to apply their whips, first from one side and then the other. I try not to make a sound though there is many a sharp intake of breath as the torment continues. Stroke after stroke land without a break and the tears stream from my eyes. The vision of my suffering at one man's behest seems to electrify the crowd.
Abdul signals for the overseers to withdraw and I am ordered to, kneel and bow to the man who made the request. The audience cheer as I drop to my knees directly in front of this man who has just caused me so much pain and bow to him as I know I must. The man just sits there, a broad grin on his face. Another of the buyers requests that I be made to march around the platform so after kneeling for a few minutes, bowing to the man, I am ordered to stand, turn sideways, lock my hands behind my back and march. Abdul clicks his fingers and I set off. I know what it required and, at every step, I lift my knees high in front of me. After a couple of circuits Abdul cracks his whip in the air once more.
'Faster slave' He orders.
I quicken my pace. My cock and balls bouncing violently up and down as each foot lands on the floor and the crowd go wild at the sight of me high stepping around the platform.
Any embarrassment I felt at being displayed in this way has now completely disappeared; it is just one more humiliation heaped upon the rest. After four circuits of the platform Abdul cracks his whip again and instructs me to halt.
'Resume your position at the front of the platform' He orders.
I make as if to walk to the front of the platform but am immediately halted.
'No slave, you crawl' says Abdul, 'on your knees now'.
I drop to my knees and place my nose to the floor and seconds later feel one of the overseer's whips lash me hard twice on my buttocks.
'Now crawl properly slave' orders the Farook..
I crawl quickly back to the spot at the front of the stage where I kneel with my nose pressed firmly to the floor' my thighs wide and my ass in the air.
'It will make an excellent pony' comes a comment from the crowd.
'Now gentlemen are there any more requests before I open the bidding'.
'Show us its ass again shouts a man from the back. 'I want to see those whip marks on its buttocks
I am ordered to stand, turn and grab my ankles.
But it is still not over.
'Can we have thirty more but this time only with the cane' comes another voice from the crowd.
'Of course' replies Farook. 'I have not forgotten and we have just reached that stage.
Now I know there is much more agony to come. I cannot believe men can be so cruel but I remember the private inspection with the Lord Hassan and seeing the buttocks of his personal slave; bright red and purple and crisscrossed with angry red wheals. I steel myself for the first blow the ferocity of which nearly knocks me off balance. Farook orders two overseers to grab my shoulders as the onslaught continues without a break. I have never felt such agonising pain and would have collapsed to the floor was I not been held by the overseers. My buttocks feel as if they are on fire as I am instructed finally to stand, turn to face the buyers and assume inspection position. My chest is heaving and through my tears I can barely see the buyers but I force myself to comply with the instruction.
'Now gentlemen, what am I bid for this delightfully compliant slave boy' announces Farook.
The opening bid is thirty thousand dollars but it quickly rises to forty thousand. There are many Arabs in the crowd and I am sure I can see the Lord Assan in the second row. But to my surprise I see a great many black faces as well as Western European whites. Bids are now coming from all parts of the auditorium as I stand, my naked body dripping with tears and sweat. My buttocks throb and ache from the brutal whipping and caning I have received just for the pleasure of these men who are now bidding to own me. Gradually the bidding slows so that eventually just three buyers remain by which time my price has risen to forty six thousand. One bidder drops out at forty eight thousand. Now I can identify the two men who are bidding to own me, the prospect of belonging to either as his slave being equally terrifying. One is an obese black man, the other is the Lord Hassan. Farook indicates that he will now only take bids of two thousand rather than the usual one ; it is clear that both of these buyers want me as their slave and there is a pause. Silence pervades the auditorium as the black man bids fifty thousand. I look at the Lord Hassan. I don't want to be sold to either of these men but I know that is not an option. Then suddenly I hear fifty five thousand dollars. The bid echoes round the room. This brings gasps from the crowd and then silence. Farook waits for another bid but the silence continues. Then......
'Sold to Prince Abd al-Aziz for fifty five thousand dollars announces Farook.
The crowd applauds as Abdul orders me to kneel and acknowledge my new owner. I drop to my knees, making sure I spread them at the compulsory ninety degree angle and bow to a man the front row who had, thus far, not even made a bid. The man is thin faced, in traditional Arab dress with a short triangular black beard.
As the applause dies down an overseer attaches a chain to my collar, pulls me to my feet and leads me down the steps on the other side of the platform. As I descend the stairs I hear Farook's voice once more.
'Send up lot six'.
I am roughly handled by two more of Farook;s overseers and taken to another room where I am chained to a ring in the floor by a chain attached to my collar. It forces me to kneel on the hard wooden floor. I can still hear the auction taking place above; the sound of a whip and the raucous laughter of the crowd. Now I can do nothing but wait.
The auction continues. For how long I cannot tell but it seems endless. From time to time more boys are brought down and chained close by. There is an overseer standing at the bottom of the steps and another behind me on the other side of the room. None of us dares to speak and most of us are still in tears.
Finally it is over and the last of our number is brought down chained to the floor. The room above seems to be emptying but, in a final announcement, I hear Farook inviting the successful buyers to partake of refreshments.
We wait, perhaps for an hour with nothing but our own private thoughts. Then from another door, men, presumably our new owners, begin to arrive. Soon a man is standing directly in front of me. Instinctively I kneel up, bow and crawl the short distance to kiss his feet.
'Kneel up slave boy' he says quietly in a distinctly Middle Eastern accent.
I comply, making sure my knees are extremely widely spread but keep my head bowed. I have learnt that this is how a slave must kneel before his master. The man is dressed in a typical Arab robe buttoned down the front. This man is now my master. He owns me and I am his slave. Slowly he unbuttons his robe and lets his undergarment slip to the floor. Then he orders me to look up. His cock is hard, the circumcised tip just inches from my face.
'You know what to do slave boy' he says, his voice quiet but firm.
Without the slightest hesitation I shuffle forward, lick the pre-cum leaking from his cock head and take the whole length in my mouth.
'Mmmmmm yes' he sighs. 'How delightful. You may proceed'.
Without thinking I move my mouth slowly to and fro along the length his rock hard cock, licking and sucking and squeezing with my lips. His moans quickly grow louder until suddenly I feel his cum squirting in spasms to the back of my throat.. Remembering my training, I make sure that not a drop escapes from my lips and swallow. As the jerking of his cock subsides I lick and suck making sure no trace of his cum remains. Then he pushes me away but says nothing as he re-buttons his robe and I kneel with my head bowed as before.
I cannot believe I have just done this but I know it was expected. He is my master and I am now his slave.
Then he speaks again.
'You will soon improve boy when you learn of my requirements. This will be your first duty of the day, every day. And you will also serve my two sons who are now of an age to appreciate the pleasures a slave such as you will provide. Do you understand me slave boy. Do not speak. You simply bow your head to the floor to acknowledge your submission to your Master',
I comply immediately and the man speaks to one of the overseers who fastens a leash to my collar, cuffs my wrists behind my back and places a hood over my head. I am lifted to my feet and led out into the yard. There I am lifted again and pushed forwards, I can feel cold metal as I am squeezed into some sort of box. It is a cage. Then I hear what sounds like the doors of a van or similar being slammed shut. I try to sit up but the cage is too small to allow me even to stretch out. My knees are bent up and my face pressing on the floor of the cage which, at least seems to have some padding on the base. Then two men get into the van. I know there are two as they are talking in what is clearly an Arabic tongue and one I now know in my master. The engine starts and the van moves, slowly at first and I hear Farook's voice shouting 'may God be with you'.
This I guess must be the start of my new life but then I realise that my new life started the moment I was kidnapped from that beach in the Cinque Terra.