The Argan Tree

The New Slave (continued): 

I am a prosperous businessman who has been blessed with several sons, the eldest of whom is Abbas my pride and joy. I can’t spare him anything his heart desires and when he viewed my latest purchase of the newly enslaved white, infidel dog, I could see he was enamoured by the slave’s body. As I said, I can’t deny Abbas anything and so I gave him the gift of the new slave to show my love and gratitude to him.

Needless to say, he was delighted with my gift and wasted no time in discovering the slave’s many attractions while I watched as an indulgent father knowing that soon it will be my turn to lustfully sample the slave’s sexual charms.

Naturally, the slave was shocked by his new circumstances and the reversal of his fortunes had yet to register. However, Abbas who as my eldest son has control of the many slaves I own, wasted no time in introducing the slave to the most important aspect of his new duties. The slave was in total disbelief as Abbas minutely appraised the slave's body - no nook nor cranny was spared - and when ordered to "bend and spread" to allow Abbas a closer examination, the slave balked at his new Master's lawful command. 

Abbas didn't hesitate; he uncoiled his whip and beat the slave to his knees before he finally assumed the position for his first ever fucking. As my son inspected the slave's virgin arse, he gave me a description of its tightness and its promise of lustful pleasure. His assessment was that the slave would be a "worthy fuck "and he wasted no time in proving his point. But firstly, because the slave's arse-hole was so tight and not wishing to damage our new property, Abbas liberally greased the slave's anus with goat fat. As the slave felt the grease being worked deep into his anus, he gasped in shocked horror as he finally realised what was happening. He wriggled his arse and tried to evade Abbas' probing finger but to no avail. He cried out in protest but soon understood that no pity would be shown to him.

I watched with a father's pride as my son's rampant erection thrust through the slave's resistant sphincter into the innermost and most private part of the slave's body. Truly, Abbas' deep plunging found a worthy scabbard for his mighty sword of our supremacy over the unworthy infidel.

Obviously, the slave felt pain and distress as he cried out pitifully and begged for mercy. Of course, none was shown to him and he was receiving a valuable lesson of the  grim nature of what the future now held for him.  

Such are the vagaries of a slave's life!

Of special interest to me was the size of the slave's mouth as he vehemently protested. Obviously, he has a deep throat and he has the promise of being a worthy cocksucker; something I am especially partial to and I look forward to discovering this for myself.

Later, I discussed the slave's future role as Abbas' personal slave. He told me of his plans for the infidel's transformation from a free man into an abject slave. Tomorrow, the slave will be taken to the forge for branding after which he will be fitted with the accoutrements of slavery; the neck collar and the wrist and ankle bracelets before his balls are banded and he is infibulated. Naturally, the slave will be kept in a permanent state of near nakedness and will wear only the briefest loincloth that decency allows. All who observe the slave will thus know his true identity as the slave of my beloved son. Abbas.

In time, no doubt Abbas will become jaded with his new slave and look for a newer one to excite his passions and satisfy his healthy lust. When that happens, the slave will be consigned to work on my plantation - a grim fate indeed! But more of that later.

Finally, I asked Abbas if he will name his new slave and he told me the infidel is to be named himar meaning a jackass. A fitting name indeed as himar will be "well-ridden".

 

Artwork by Madahv; the words are mine.

The Argan Tree.

The New Slave.

 I am always interested in purchasing a new slave; especially if he is a white, infidel unbeliever! Such creatures are destined to be the slaves of the True Believer! 

I believe females are for procreation and I have several wives and concubines who are confined to my female harem and are never seen in public. 

However, for my personal sexual pleasure and that of my sons, I also have a harem of young, male slaves who exist to satisfy my creature comforts and my considerable sexual lust. What greater joy can a man enjoy more than a tight, white, infidel arse or a warm, moist, sensual tongue and a deep throat. Therefore, I am always receptive to be shown a newly enslaved infidel by the local slave-traders.

One of the city’s most reputable dealer’s has brought the newest addition to his slave-pens for my inspection, approval and possible purchase.

I asked about the infidel’s capture and enslavement ant it would seem he was a member of a hiking party from a European university who were hiking in the Atlas Mountains and through good fortune became separated from his companions and roamed lost, thirsty and exhaustive until found by a group of wandering Bedouins. The foolish infidel sincerely believed he’d been “rescued” by the tribesman and thanked them profusely for their help. 

It wasn’t until later, after the Bedouin had delivered him into the hands of the slave-dealer - for a considerable price naturally - and he had been stripped naked, collared and appraised that he awoke to the realisation that he is now slave,

I must say, the young infidel shows great potential and has the promise as a pleasure slave with his muscular body and handsome body. Added to this is is general pleasing cock and balls and a tight, virgin arse worthy to serve as the vessel for the lust of my son and myself.

After much haggling, I agree on a price for the slave subject to a “test trial” by my esteemed and much loved son, Abbas.

Artwork by Madahv text by slave himar.

 House of the Faun, Pompeii.

This house is dates from the 2nd century BC and is one of the biggest and grandest homes in Pompeii. Obviously, its owners were extremely wealthy and prominent to afford a home of this size. Co-incidentally, i found this picture on the internet today and it awakened memories of my time visiting it.

i visited it in 2009 and was impressed by its sheer size and magnificence and it was as a result of that visit that i began my efforts at writing stories about slaves and slavery. 

As one who has a slave's persona, i was overwhelmed by visions of the large retinue of household slaves that served the owners and after viewing the secret passages used by the slaves to move around the house unseen by their owners, in my imagination, i identified with them. i felt a great sadness on their behalf as i thought about the humiliation and degradation of being a chattel slave owned body and spirit by another.

Throughout history, there have been countless slaves of all races, colour or creeds; no one was immune to being enslaved if the circumstances were right. We know very little about most slaves; they are nameless and by and large they are silent and without a voice to speak for themselves and to tell us of  the their pain and suffering. Denied of their humanity, they were reduced to objects or as the Romans described them "talking tools" and confronted by the unimaginable horrors of their daily lives.

i was overcome with a great sadness at man's inhumanity to his fellow man and i wanted to speak on their behalf and write what it is like to be a chattel slave; it that was possible.

i stood on this exact spot alongside the pool and looked at the statue of the Faun which gave the house its name. This statue is a replica of the original which, i believe is in a museum in Naples.

For some reason this statue interested me and i recall wondering if the Roman owner valued it more highly than one of his many slaves. I expect he did!

Inexplicably, i had the idea of writing a short story with this as its theme. On returning home, and for the first time in my life, i attempted to write. i wrote "An Object of Desire" under my nom-de-plume, Jean-Christophe and followed it up with "The Aftermath".

Since then, i have written other slave stories and always i try to write from the perspective of the slave though occasionally i have written from a Master's point of view. But, reflecting my slave mentality, my focus is always with my slave characters.

himar

Picture sourced from the internet. The text is mine.

 Re-establishing my links to bdsmlr:

Earlier this year, my blogs at bdsmlr ceased to function and no matter what i tried to rectify the problems nothing worked. Whilst the blogs still appear online, for some reason, i can't open them or post to them.

Following on so soon after the decision by both Yahoo and tumblr to ban our genre, the loss of bdsmlr was a disappointment as the contacts i had made there were no longer available to me.

As one last effort and with Master's permission, i have now opened a new account at bdsmlr and while it is early days it does seem to be working successfully - fingers crossed it continues to do so.  For anyone interested, the new blog, "Slave himar" can be accessed at 

http://slavehimar.bdsmlr.com

i'm not certain as to what format this new blog will take and it is still very experimental. However, i am open to your comments or suggestions. my primary purpose in opening this blog is to access the wealth of material from others who also use bdsmlr.

himar

 

My first chore for the day!

Serving as a slave once more!

 When Master wakes, this is my first chore for the day. Master likes to spend time training me with His magnificent, dark manhood and i try to rise to the challenge and satisfy Him.

himar

Garden Duties

Serving as a slave once more! A return to slave duties:

This weekend, there hasn't been much time for me to write. Like the slave in the picture, i have been working hard at the chores Master assigned me to complete in His garden. 

Unlike the naked slave portrayed, Master required me to work semi-naked. He supervised from a distance paying frequent visits to spur me along with His new leather strap. 

As an aside, Master had my hair cut short identical to this model. i like it as it is more suitable for a slave.

himar

 

The Rejects

"White Pearls"

Part 8

The Rejects

Written by Jean-Christophe

These are the "rough diamonds" who failed my first cull. At first glance, you might wonder why I rejected them; after all, they appear to be healthy with potentially imposing physiques and it could be said that I set my selection criteria too high in passing them over.

However, as previously stated, the standards set by the House of Malik are stringent and rigorously adhered to by both my esteemed, adoptive father and me. As previously mentioned the House of Malik prides itself in marketing only the primest, male slave-flesh to our wealthy and exclusive clientele who expect no less from us. We pride ourselves that our peerless livestock is the best available worldwide and that it is second to none.

I applied these standards to the five rejects shown and I make no apology for doing so. The slaves failed to meet my exacting requirements and were culled for the following reasons.

On reject had broken teeth which automatically excluded him as a pleasure slave. Can you imagine the risk to a Master's engorged penis the slave's jagged teeth could pose during a blowjob? Two had 'slack holes' and would fail miserably to sexually satisfy a master's justifiable lust. After all, who whats to fuck a slave's anus stretched by overuse? There'd be no pleasure in that for the slave's user. 

In making my cull, I always separate the new anal virgins from their companions and these are strictly controlled to maintain their virginity which adds immeasurably to their value. The greatest problem, I have here is with by African slave assistants who want for nothing more than to penetrate a white slave's arse with their monstrous, black cocks. I must be constantly on my guard to ensure this doesn't happen. My African slaves know it is forbidden to fuck a white slave without my permission which, in the case of my anal virgins, is NEVER given. Nevertheless, the Africans are plagued with an insatiable libido which overcomes their commonsense and fear of the dire punishment they face should they give way to their lust. To rape one of my anal virgins is tantamount to stealing from the House of Malik and won't be tolerated. The penalty for such a heinous act is immediate castration and eventual sale as a eunuch fit only for domestic duty. 

The fourth was rejected because of a prominent birthmark. Our clients spend large sums of money to buy the perfect slave; one with a flawless skin and not disfigured by any defects or scars. We pride ourselves on the perfect appearance of our livestock and during their preparation for the auction-block, much effort is put into perfecting their skin appearance and complexions.

Above all, our clients demand symmetry in their slaves. When examining a slave for purchase, much like the ancient Greeks, they look for a "sense of the harmonious and beautiful proportions" together with a "balance and agreement in dimensions and arrangement." In other words, they look for and want perfection. A slave might have all these requirements but could be lacking in one detail. In the case of the fifth reject it was his minuscule cock and balls which were out of balance with his otherwise impressive and muscular physique. While his body was pleasing to the eye and to quote the expression used in the decadent West to describe an infidel's male, naked body he was "eye-candy". 

However, the fifth reject's genitalia was deficient in size - sadly so - and detracted from his overall appearance. Therefore, he now stands with his four, luckless, fellow rejects as the city's lesser slave dealers - hoping for a bargain - haggle over them.

Armed with their vicious whip and chains, these inferior slavers remind me of scavenging hyenas fighting one another over a cadaver for the tastiest morsel. I view them with the utmost contempt and listen in disgust as they argue with one another over the right to buy my rejects. At times, they almost come to blows and I must step in to restore order. Ultimately, I decide which of them buys what slaves and I do so disdainfully and as quickly as possible for I am eager to have them leave. Their very presence is obnoxious and sullies the dignity, prestige and reputation of the proud House of Malik.

I thank my correspondent, servus for supplying the artwork - one of Amalaric's outstanding, earlier works - which served as the inspiration for this post. The text is mine.

The First Cull!

"White Pearls"

Part 7

Making the Selection

Written by Jean-Christophe

Once the new livestock have been deloused, purged and scrubbed clean, it is time for me to take over. This initial inspection of the "rough diamonds" is one that I personally conduct and in fact, it is one that I very much enjoy. Leaving nothing to chance, I personally inspect every slave and I entrust no other to make the first assessments. The responsibility in making a final decision as to the new slaves' futures is mine and mine alone to decide. True, I am supported by my African slave handlers but their only role is to maintain order and discipline among the new arrivals. Occasionally, a slave displays a false sense of bravado that can unsettle his more placid companions but the sight of naked, powerfully built and heavily muscled Africans armed with whips is usually enough to subdue them into a sullen silence. 

Why do I place such importance on this first culling of the new arrivals. Inspecting and evaluating a slave's strengths and potential can be time consuming and a lot of time can be spent examining a slave only to find it is doesn't meet the high standards the "House of Malik". 

I work on the theory that a slave's overall health can quickly be ascertained by an initial inspection of its mouth and anus rather than a more prolonged bodily one which, of course, does follow if the slave survives my first cull.

Firstly, I have the slaves stand in a straight line so that I can look at their oral health. My African assistants forcibly hold open the mouths of the slaves as I run my fingers over their teeth and examine their gums and tongues. What I am looking for are strong, even teeth and moist, pink tongues and gums. This is a good indicator that the slaves will have little trouble adjusting to their new slave diet.

Any slaves with broken, missing or decaying teeth is immediately culled and taken away to a special holding pen. The same goes if the tongue is furry and grey in colour which could be an indication of an underlying health issue.

Next, those slave who pass my oral test are made to bend at the waist as I closely inspect their arses for any defects or weaknesses. Firstly, I look for a healthy, rosy red pucker that is nicely striated and tight to my finger insertion and secondly that it is sound and not damaged in any way. 

I believe a sound mouth and arse are essential in ensuring a slave 's good health.  A slave who hungrily eats his food ration and excretes regularly is a healthy slave. It is an indicator that the slave's dietary tract is in good working order and its future owner is assured of many trouble-free years of service.

I am meticulous in inspecting a slave's arse-hole to ensure the stringent demands of the "House of Malik" are met. My esteemed father expects no less. Any slave whose arse is deformed or has been overworked - and you'd be surprised at how many "rough diamonds" are "slack-arsed" from over-use in their free days - is quickly culled and sent to join its broken-mouthed companions in the rejection bin. 

The "House of Malik" won't waste time or effort in marketing these culls; instead, they will be sold on to the smaller, lesser-known slave-dealers who cater for the cheaper end of the market. Surprisingly, there is a ready market for these broken-mouthed and slack-arsed slaves to serve as heavy duty beasts-of burden in the fields, quarries, mines and on construction sites.

Why am I so fussy in culling these new slaves? The simple explanation is that the "House of Malik" exclusively caters for the top end of the market and our merchandise is second to none. We offer only the primest, most handsome and muscular of livestock to our wealthy and discerning clientele who, not only buy slaves for their labour or service, but also for the pleasure they give as sex-slaves. Hence, the great emphasis, I place on the twin pleasure portals of a slave's body; its mouth and its anus.

As yet, our new slaves are inexperienced but overtime, that will change with training by my African helpers. Eventually, the slaves will become exquisite cock-suckers and they will willingly offer up their arses to their new Masters' ravishing and hungry cocks.

Our exclusive clientele expect nothing less from any slave they purchase from us and we  jealously guard our proud, centuries old reputation for only providing the best slaves money can buy.

Those rough diamonds who survive my cull are now ready to begin the training which will transform them into the superb "House of Malik" slaves the most particular of Masters will be proud to own.

Kareem

Picture found on the internet; source unknown. The text  mine.

Serving once more 

Answers to some questions i was asked overnight:

i was asked if my submitting to a new Master meant the end of my writing. The short answer is "no it doesn't". i will continue to write as the opportunity presents. In fact, i  am working on Chapter 7 of "White Pearls" and this will be published shortly.

Next answer is that my Master is named Jaamil or "Master Jaamil" to me. He has some Arabic connections and these do influence my new slavery. In fact, my Master has named me "himar" which is Arabic for donkey and it is a most appropriate name for a lowly slave. It is a name i used on an earlier post in May, 2019 and so i guess it is one i indirectly chose for myself. Whenever Master calls me "Himar" i become very "excited" in the form of a hard erection and i leak profusely. i love the humiliation i feel at being called "donkey."

The two pictures are indicative of my return to the household duties now expected of me. Once more, i serve as a semi-naked slave and i am happiest when serving my Master who prefers that i wear a loincloth or cincture rather than be totally naked. 

And yes, i have been punished by my new Master. As a slave i expect this to happen.

Final question was will i share my slave experiences through the blog. Frankly, i don't know if this would be of much interest to either my readers or followers. They are entitled to know my present status but i'm not sure if their interest extends beyond that. However, i am happy to answer any questions or reply to comments put to me about my life as a slave.

himar

 

 In service once more:

One thing the pandemic has shown me is that we can't always control events and consequently our lives can be disrupted in ways we never intended.

The long periods of solitary isolation brought this home to me rather forcibly and if I am truthful, I didn't cope well with it. I was born to serve as a slave and the past two years have made me realise that my life without a Master to serve is a barren existence. I need to bow down and subjugate myself to a Master's authority, to serve all his material needs, to accept without question his judgements and if necessary to submit to his rightful punishments.

The long period of isolation has given me the chance to reflect on my life and I have now made the choice to once more serve as a slave. The man who is my Master is not unknown to me; in fact we have known one another for several years and during that time we had a very rewarding and enjoyable sexual relationship. Strange that neither of us had ever thought to advance it beyond that stage and I suppose it was the long periods of solitary confinement that turned our thoughts to becoming Master and slave. 

This wasn't a hasty decision; in fact it was many months in the gestation as we worked through such things as compatibility, our hopes and expectations, setting limits and putting rules in place that would define our future relationship. Finally, after much discussion and deliberation, we realised we needed each other.

I have always likened consensual slavery to the two side of the same coin. The obverse side (heads) reflects the Master while the converse (tails) the slave. Both sides have different meanings; yet each is complementary to the other. That is how I have always viewed my commitment to serving as a slave.

I am happy to announce that I have recently submitted to a strong, powerful Master as his naked slave. Suddenly, I feel 'whole' once more and my life now has meaning and purpose.

This is as it should be - at least for me!

Chris

Processing the new shipment

"White Pearls"

Part 6

Processing the Rough Diamonds

Written by Jean-Christophe

I always become excited whenever we receive a new shipment of slaves from the decadent West. The prospect of turning them from unruly, ill-disciplined 'rough diamonds' into acquiescent, docile and obedient 'white pearls' is one I look forward to with great enthusiasm.

Overall, I have the responsibility of preparing them for a lifetime of slavery and making sure they are made presentable for the auction-block. In this I am ably assisted by my black African helpers - who are also slaves - and it is amusing to watch them interact with the bewildered whites as they undergo their training in all forms of servitude; be it manual labour, domestic service or as sex slaves to adorn the pleasure divans of their new Masters.

For the new slaves,  the training is rigorous and unrelenting. It is also painful as they are subjected to many punishments to break their spirits and to turn them into placid, docile and submissive animals whose only purpose in life is to now serve and please a master. This is the part of their training I enjoy the most. I never hold back from punishing a slave; indeed the opposite is true and I know the slaves fear me greatly and tremble at my approach.

My beloved, adoptive father has trained me well in the ways of the true sadist and the 'rough diamonds' give me plenty of scope to hone my skills in inflicting pain. 

Upon arrival of a new shipment, the slaves are placed in quarantine and won't come into contact with our other slaves who are waiting to be sold. This is a precautionary measure to protect our current livestock from any any illnesses, intestinal parasites tor other vermin that the new arrivals might bring with them.

We need to ensure the new slaves are absolutely healthy before they begin their arduous training regimen and to this end, the first thing that happens to the new arrivals - even before they are released from their cages - is that they are forcibly purged to clear their intestines of any parasites. Judging by the reaction of the slaves, this isn't a pleasant experience as they are left in their cages overnight to empty the contents of their bowels and bladders. It has to be said by the next morning, they are in a sorry state and ready for the next step in processing them. 

As can be seen from the above picture, this involves suspending the naked slave by his wrists as he is cleaned up and made ready for the next step in the process which is my physical examination of his body searching for defects. But more on this latter. 

As you can imagine, the slaves are in a deplorable state. Locked into their cages for the long flight to Maluchistan and the subsequent purging means they are covered in their own bodily filth which is now ingrained into their hides. To remove it requires blasting the slave with a high pressure hose and scrubbing down with a long handled broom. Added to the water used to wash down the slave's body is a special chemical solution we use locally to keep our domestic livestock free of lice and other parasites.

And let's not forget that a slave is nothing more than another form of domestic animal and so there is no need to waste sympathy on him. Remember, these things are done for his own good!

Now hosed down and cleansed, the slave is ready for the next step in the process. This involves my personal, close quarters examination to determine if he meets the stringent requirements of a House of Malik slave.

Picture sourced from the internet; origin unknown. The text is mine.

 

Rough Diamonds 

"White Pearls"

Part 5

Rough Diamonds

My name is Kareem and I am the adopted son and 'protege' of Maluchistan's pre-eminent importer and seller of slaves, Malik Al-Masri.

Malik is my mother's brother who never had a son of his own and early in my life, he decided that I would be his 'de facto" son and heir who would eventually inherit his business, 'The House of Malik'. 

Our family's proud history as slave-traders is a long one stretching back over several centuries and began with our brave corsairs who waged war against the unbelievers. Later, my ancestors bravely ventured into Africa to harvest black slaves for the slave-markets of the lands of Islam.

Like my beloved adoptive father, I am proud of our family history and I am conscious of the great trust he has placed upon me to carry on his long involvement in the slave-trade. I have vowed not to disappoint him and it is a promise I am determined to keep. 

Despite my enthusiasm, I know as a young man and a novice, I have much to learn about the slave-trade and my father has much to teach me. As a mere boy, I well recall his first words of wisdom were spoken thus:

"Kareem, always remember that to be a successful slave-trader and enforcer of right behaviour from a slave, you need to be a sadist. Never shirk from inflicting pain on a slave should he offend you. A slave only learns to bow down and submit through suffering harsh discipline."

Those words have stayed with me down through the years and they have influenced my attitude towards our slaves as they are prepared and trained for their servitude. As a result, I am a strict disciplinarian and I brook no waywardness from any slave. Any infraction of the rules - no matter how slight - is immediately 'rewarded' with harsh punishment.

As part of my duties, I recently worked with two new slaves - siblings from Canada - and I am happy to say they are now very close to being marketed. Although, I believe there is private interest in the older slave who did present me with a challenge. The infidel dog was slow to break but eventually he bowed down and submitted to his fate. I enjoyed working with these two slaves and I will expand on them at a later time. 

But now, I must take delivery of a shipment of new, white slaves.These slaves were 'recruited' from the crowded streets of large cities by gangs of illicit slavers and consigned to us for training and eventual sale. How I look forward to working with these new slaves and in this, I am enthusiastically assisted by a team of black Africans - who are also slaves; albeit trustee ones -  who will train the new slaves in all aspects of their new lives. I will enjoy supervising and watching the training methods used by the Africans on these unsuspecting new recruits.

Even more enjoyable for me to watch will be the utter disbelief of the new, white slaves as they are made to surrender their bodies to black lust.

As you can see these slaves are in a sorry state; they will need to be unpacked, cleaned up and deloused before they are ready for my initial examination of their naked bodies. 

Packed into individual cages and stacked one on top of the other in the cold, dark hold of a lumbering cargo plane which flew a slow, circuitous route lasting several days, they are besmirched by their own filth and foulness and the stench of their bodies is stomach-churning.

I always refer to these new slaves as 'rough diamonds' and it is my task to turn them into the exquisite 'white pearls' for which the House of Malik is justifiably famous.

Picture found on the internet; source unknown. Text is mine.

Kareem

"White Pearls"

Chapter 4

Kareem

 

The House of Malik has a proud history of slave-trading dating back several centuries which has passed down through the generations from father to son. I greatly admire my intrepid ancestors who ventured into the uncharted territories of Africa where they faced impossible - even horrendous - conditions from a hostile Nature and warlike natives to harvest slaves for the markets of Arabia. Truly, they were heroes and added enormously to my family's prestige and honour.

I have been blessed - or some would say 'cursed' with three daughters but no male heir - and this is a source of regret for me. All men crave to have a son but I was never so blessed.

Nevertheless, I have used my daughters to my advantage by arranging marriages of convenience that have greatly benefited both me and the House of Malik. My youngest daughter - admired by all young men as a great beauty - attracted the eye of a minor princeling of the Royal Family and he took her as his wife. Through her husband's intercession, I was granted a Royal Warrant to supply white slaves to members of the Royal household who frequently visit my slave-pens to view my livestock.

Not having a son was a bitter disappointment. However, I am fortunate to have a nephew -  the son of my sister - who is as close to me as a son could be. His name is Kareem and from his earliest years, I took an interest in him after deciding that he'd be the son and heir I lacked.

Though not  my flesh, I truly love Kareem as my son and no father could be prouder of their son than I am of him. Suffice to say we share the same values; pride in our family's illustrious history as slave-traders and in our enviable reputation as honest merchants of prime slave-flesh. Any slave who wears the House of Malik brand seared into his flesh is considered to be a 'thoroughbred' by all discerning slave-owners.

Like me, Kareem hates white infidels with a passion and he has a fearsome reputation among our slaves. He is a stern disciplinarian - feared by all our slaves - and he won't tolerate any lapses from them. Any infraction of the rules - no matter how minor - are immediately and severely dealt with. Kareem's favourite instrument of punishment and coercion is the chicote whip used by white Europeans colonists against their black African subjects when they reigned supreme. Now, the chicote is used - at least by the House of Malik - to subdue and train our white slaves. It could be said our white slaves are paying  for the 'sins of their fathers'.

Kareem's five pronged whip is a thing of beauty and is beautifully crafted from plaited strips of hippopotamus hide designed to inflict much pain without damaging the slave. One only has to listen to a slave's pleas for mercy as Kareem punishes him to know the chicote is effective.

No father could be prouder of their son than I am of my adopted son, Kareem. Tall, good looking and with an impressive physique, he is a fitting heir to eventually fill my shoes and I am training him in all aspects of our business. I must say he is an enthusiastic learner and is a great help as my personal assistant. More and more, I have come to rely on him in all matters pertaining to the training, preparation and marketing of our slaves. To this end, he sometimes acts as the auctioneer on slave days.

At his request, I have given him the task of training and preparing the two Canadian brothers for their forthcoming sale and to this end he has been most successful. The younger of the two is more malleable than his older sibling and as such, he was easier to train. However, the older slave was defiant to the point of disobedience and presented Kareem with quite a challenge to break his spirit and turn him into a docile and obedient slave. I understand that after a few sessions with Kareem and his whip, the slave accepted the inevitability of his future role as a slave 

My last viewing of the slave was yesterday and, at my approach, he unhesitatingly knelt and adopted the full obeisance position of respect. And when given my permission to speak he called me - 'MASTER!' Such a vast improvement from when I carried out my initial inspection of his naked body.

As the grovelling slave crouched at my feet with his nose to the ground and his delightful arse elevated, I noted the stripes of Kareem's whip criss-crossing his flawless back and buttocks. 

How then could I not be impressed by my adopted son's training methods.

Picture found on the internet. The text is mine.

 Jean-Luc

"White Pearls"

Chapter 3

Jean-Luc

My hands-on examination and appraisal of the younger slave proved no less enjoyable or rewarding that that of his older sibling. I believe the slave is named Jean-Luc; not that its of any consequence as, from now on, in common with all slaves, he is nameless and will respond to simply being addressed as 'slave' which is a reflection of his true status.

However, I did note the sibling connection between the two slaves. They are easily recognisable as brothers but the similarity ended there as they are very different in temperament. The older slave possesses an exaggerated manly pride which was evident in my examination of him as he protested against my exploratory hands roaming at will over his nakedness. Obviously, he regarded my quite legitimate appraisal of him as a violation of his overt masculinity.

Many new slaves who pass through the House of Malik do possess what the Hispanics refer to as ‘machismo’ and what they fail to understand is that on becoming slaves, they are no longer men but are now merely objects owned by other men.

For the time being, the older slave can enjoy this ‘illusion’ of himself as a man. However, as he is initiated into his new slavery, he’ll soon lose such foolish notions; nothing destroys a free man’s will as much as being trained to be a mere chattel as he is forced, against his will, to submit his body to a master’s sexual lust. From my long experience, I know the older brother will take longer to ‘break’ before he accepts his new slave status. He will of necessity, need to be forcefully restrained as he is made to open his closed mouth and elevate his unwilling arse to his new master’s hungry, eager cock. But break he will for he fights an uneven battle and one he can’t win.

The younger slave lacks the angry defiance of his older sibling. Instead, there is an air of innocence about him and he will be easier to ‘bend’ to a master’s will. Therefore, his road into slavery will be much easier – and less painful. My prediction is the older slave will suffer many sessions under the training canes and quirts of his new master.

There is a look of wistfulness in the younger slave’s eyes. Perhaps the reason for his sadness is caused by regret for his lost parents and the knowledge that he will never see them again.

When I was advised these two slaves were ‘en route’ to the House of Malik, I sought out media reports of their tragic disappearances. I recall their distraught parents weeping in a TV interview for the “loss of their two babies”. Momentarily, I did feel slight sympathy for their plight; the grief at the loss of one child is a tragedy but the grief at loosing two must be unimaginable. But such sympathy on my part is very rare and misplaced for I learned long ago to become inured to such scenes and I never feel sympathy for any infidel slaves. After all, it is my ‘high calling’ to enslave the hate Franj and my livelihood depends on my detachment to their plight.

This slave is more compliant than his older sibling and rather than have him restrained in a viewing-frame; I have decided to use an examination bench. I order the slave to clamber onto the wooden table and to lie full length and belly up as I prepare my hands-on inspection of him. As I gaze down on his magnificent and naked body, he presents a rare ‘smorgasbord’ of enticing young slave-flesh and my hands itch to start my appraisal.

I begin at his head and move slowly down over his torso where I ruffle the hairs on his manly chest - which he will soon lose permanently - and pinch and twist his delectable nipples. He still has the musculature of an emerging adult – I understand that he is somewhere between the ages of eighteen to nineteen years – but his muscles are clearly defined, hard and firm to the touch. And yet, at the same time, his flawless skin, like that of the older slave, is warm, soft and pliable to my touch. As my fingers playfully draw circles around his nipples, I see the rise and fall of his heaving chest and I feel the wild beating of is heart. Obviously, the slave is nervous but he remains still as I continue with my appraisal of his body. I trace my index finger down over his treasure-trail, pausing to test the soundness of the deep indent of his belly-button before continuing down to his luxuriant pubes.

Nature has been kind to this slave and endowed him with generous sized genitals. The scrotum is silky-soft to the touch and provides a haven for his two plum sized balls which, as with the older slave, hang lopsidedly between his thighs. I test both balls for any imperfections and note they are sound. Next, I turn my attention to his impressive cock which lies angled across his belly and I tease its sensitive underside and his perineum. Obviously, my attentions are appreciated by the slave. He moans appreciatively and involuntarily moves his legs apart giving me greater access to this most sensitive part of his body. I watch delightedly as his penis springs into ‘life’ and I grasp it in my encircling fist and slowly test his hard erection.

The slave continues to moan his appreciation for the attention I am giving him by raising his arse in an unspoken invitation for me to continue. Obviously, the slave is more responsive to the touch of another man – unlike his older sibling who fought as I brought him to an erection – and this augers well for him. I predict his journey into slavery will be an easy one.

My sexual appetite whetted, I now want to see the slave at ‘closer quarters’ and command him to rollover and assume a position on all fours. He does as I instruct and I begin my exploratory examination by sweeping my hands over the broad, muscular shoulders before continuing down the concave of his long, tapering back to the two pleasure mounds of his pert, shapely arse. And what a delight they prove to be as I part his arse-cheeks to expose the rosy pink sphincter winking at me.

As with the older slave, I am entranced by this one; both are truly rarities who will have wide appeal to the true connoisseur of male slave flesh and I can expect a small fortune from the sale of each of them. Over the years, it has been my privilege to market many fine slaves – my enviable reputation as a slave-trader has been built on this – and without a doubt, these two are among the very best I have ever handled. I am mightily pleased to market these two magnificent specimens at the House of Malik.

The slave kneels quivering at my touch as I continue to examine him and his sphincter continues to enchant me. The striations surrounding his golden portal remind me of the unfurling petals of a lotus bud and reaching out, I touch the puckering orifice. It is moist, warm and soft to the touch and as my finger playfully teases the soft, yielding flesh, I resist the temptation to enter him. When marketing this slave, there mustn’t be any doubt about is anal virginity. Nevertheless, I know this slave will make a most wonderful fuck-toy for his new master.

It might seem that I am spending much time in my appraisal of this slave. And that is true for it is possible that he is already spoken for. Recently, I received a request from a most valued client – an African billionaire from West Africa – who requested my help in finding a white slave as a gift for his eighteen-year-old son. He was quite exacting in his requirements and so far, this slave meets those criteria. Shortly, I will be in communication with my much-valued African client advising him that I might possibly have the slave he requires.

But for now, I have finished my appraisal of the slave and it is time to hand him over to my overseers to prepare his body for inspection and eventual sale. To that end, he is now fastened with his arms stretched overhead as his body is stripped of its hair.

As can be noted in the picture, the slave has been coated with a depilatory lotion which can be seen trickling down over his magnificent, young torso permanently removing his hirsuteness and destroying the hair follicles. If one looks closely, you can see the hair actually dissolving in the armpits, the treasure-trail and the once abundant pubes. Soon, like his older sibling, his glabrous body will be as hairless as that of a newborn babe.

Then all that remains is for me to fasten a collar on which is engraved ‘The House of Malik’ around his neck marking him as my property.

 To my knowledge, the model shown in the picture is the artwork of Amalaric although I'm not absolutely sure of this. However, it does have the look and feel of Amalaric. The text is mine.

Francois

"White Pearls"

Chapter 2

Francois

One would think after a lifetime of working with slaves, I would have become blasé in my approach to them. After all, during my lifetime, I have encountered countless thousands of slaves and I could be excused for viewing them as no more than common livestock – which of course, they are! However, I have never lost my intense interest in any slave who passes through the “House of Malik”.

Slaves are unique creatures; each is an individual and worthy of my personal attention to ensure he meets the high expectations of my discerning clients and to that end, I personally appraise a slave’s body to ensure it accords to my standards and to evaluate his monetary worth to me.

I know of no other life without slaves. It is incomprehensible for me to consider a world where slavery doesn’t exist. This interest goes back to the very beginning of my consciousness when, even as a small boy, I trailed behind my late father of esteemed memory as he went about his business of marketing white, infidel slaves. My father had a deep antipathy towards the Franj and delighted in depriving them of their liberty and turning them into docile, subservient and submissive slaves. Naturally, his prejudices against the hated Nasrani profoundly influenced my own attitudes towards slaves and from an early age, I enjoyed taunting and jeering at the hapless, collared and shackled slaves cowering dejectedly in their pens as they fearfully awaited the inevitable trip to the auction-block.

I can recall as a boy, saving scraps of half chewed food from my meals and visiting the slave-pens where, I mirthfully teased the slaves by thrusting some tasty morsel through the bars of their prison only to quickly withdraw it at the last moment. It was comical to see the reaction of the slaves as I offered them food only to withhold it thus frustrating them. Eventually, I would toss a tasty morsel – a scrap of bread, a honeyed fig or a slice of melon - into the centre of the pen and laugh as the desperate slaves scrambled and fought one another amid a tangle of limbs, heaving arses and rattling chains to retrieve it.

Their action reminded me of the chimpanzee enclosure at the royal zoo and all the time, my indulgent father and his overseers encouraged me in my torment of the wretched slaves.

My proudest day was the one when my father presented me with my own whip with which I was able to lash a slave’s body. I quickly learned to use the whip effectively – helped by my father’s overseers – and used it on sale days to help drive the slaves from their holding-pens to the inspection yards and then finally onto the auction-block.

Naturally, this awakened my sadistic tendencies and my attitudes towards all infidel slaves has remained unchanged over the years.

Today, I take delivery of two new slaves who I believe are brothers from Canada. I have had the older sibling fastened to a stout wooden frame within an inspection chamber ready for my “hands-on” inspection and appraisal. There is nothing I enjoy more than examining the body of a newly arrived slave.

Naturally, all my slaves are of the highest standard but occasionally one stands out above all others. And such is the case with this new slave. As I enter the chamber, I am taken aback by his exquisite beauty. In fact, I am enraptured by him.

He stands restrained by his bonds which throws his superb musculature into sharp relief as he struggles to set himself free. There is a “wildness” about this new slave that interests me. His face shows defiance and yet his eyes reveal his fear of the unknown. His hair is dishevelled and a heavy stubble darkens his chin. His body is hirsute – but not unsightly so – and his torso gleams tantalisingly under a glistening sheen of sweat. Is he sweating from fear or from the exertions of his struggling? I smell the beautiful aroma of his sweat and it acts as an aphrodisiac on me. Within the confines of my burnous my cock lengthens, hardens and throbs with lustful desire.

I reach out and touch the slave and his reaction is that of all new slaves who, for the first time, feel the hands of their new masters, exploring their unprotected bodies. The slave “bucks’ like a nervous, unbroken colt at my touch but I quickly calm him by gently stroking his chest and belly. This helps him settle down and he now stands quivering as my eager hands roam freely over his slave nakedness.

Playfully, I tweak his delicious, generous sized nipples before my hands wander down over the flat, hard abdominal muscles to his cock and testicles. I gently gauge the size of his low hanging balls which hang lopsidedly and swing freely between his strong thighs before eagerly checking his responses to my touch by slowly masturbating him within the tight, hungry grasp of my fist. His cock is hot to the touch and once more, he begins to struggle against this insult to his body but his efforts are in vain. Despite himself, he quickly responds with a massive erection. Moment later, a long, silver thread of precum hangs precariously from his piss-slit as a sign of his own mounting lust.

As I said previously, I am enraptured by this slave and I take my time in exploring his body. Soon, he settles down and allows me to test the hardness of his superb musculature. His skin is warm, soft and pliable to the touch and I feel the pounding of his heart and the deep intake of oxygen as he nervously breathes and allows me to continue with my appraisal. However, the slave protests most strongly as I begin my inevitable examination of the most intimate part of his body. As I part his arse-cheeks and open his glorious “golden portal” to my probing finger, he loudly shouts his protests. Again, his protests are in vain. As yet, the slave is unaware that this is one of his most saleable assets and worth a small fortune to the House of Malik.

My examination proves this slave is a virgin and will be a wonderful fuck.

My appraisal of this new slave is now complete and I am well pleased with him. I now look forward to examining his younger sibling and hope that he is of a similar standard.

As I leave, I instruct my overseers to prepare the slave for future inspections.  His body hair will be permanently removed so that his glabrous, naked body can be better appreciated by its many viewers and in my mind’s eye, I see him scantily covered by a diaphanous loincloth that conceals nothing and suggests much.

The model in this picture is one of Amalaric's lesser known artworks entitled "Duke". I have always regarded it as one of his more "evocative" works. The text is mine.

The House of Malik

"White Pearls"

Chapter 1: Malik

Written by Jean-Christophe

My name is Malik Al-Masri. I am a merchant in the royal city of Maluchistan and I have an enviable reputation as an importer of rare "white pearls" but not of the type harvested from the sea. 

No, my "white pearls" are rarer and more exotic than those found in molluscs and are harvested from the lands of the Western infidels. My white pearls are, in fact, exclusively prime, white, male slaves much valued by the connoisseurs of slave-flesh in the Middle-East and more lately of the new emerging nations of a resurgent black Africa. The demand for white males to serve as slaves is now so great that I have great trouble in supplying them and consequently, the prices a discerning buyer must pay for these rare commodities are making me a very wealthy man. 

My family has a long association with slavery dating back over many generations. Originally, they were corsairs who scoured the Mediterranean Sea attacking Christian vessels and enslaving their crews who were then sold in the slave-markets of North Africa and the Middle- East. It stands to reason then, that I am proud of my calling as a dealer in infidel flesh. There is nothing more for me to learn on the subject of slaves, preparing them for sales and ultimately sending them to the auction-block. In fact, I am well-regarded by my fellow slave-traders who frequently ask for my advise.

I am, by nature, a traditionalist in that I prefer the old methods of selling slaves. Unlike so any modern day slave-trading houses, I have eschewed the glitzy, vulgar showrooms of the modern day slavers. The plush carpets, rich chrome and gilt fittings, the staged lighting and the ever annoying music playing in the background aren't for me. I much prefer my medieval slave-market which reflects those of older times. A visit to my slave-market is like taking a step back in time; a trip through history when slaves were treated as animals and sold as such. And it is surprising how many buyers prefer my style of marketing my slaves who are collared, heavily shackled and housed in stout pens which are more akin to animal stables.

Because of my reputation, I don't need to advertise my wares; indeed they sell themselves. I have an exclusive clientele of the most illustrious and wealthiest slave owners who frequent my regular auctions. Indeed, I maintain a discreet presence in a remote part of the city that is off-limits to tourists and infidels. The entrance to my viewing-yard is through an unmarked door and wouldn't be recognised by the casual observer. 

So yes, I am a proud slave-dealer of longstanding who has been made extremely wealthy by my peddling of the rare "white pearls" who stand on my auction-block and are sold to the most discerning and appreciative buyers. 

Today, I received word that two new infidel slaves will be arriving shortly. I believe they are Canadian brothers who were "recruited" on Spain's Costa del Sol.

I look forward to making their acquaintance very shortly.

Note for this series, I am drawing on my longer series "Duped" which along with "The Galley Slave" remains my favourite story. I invested so much of myself into these two yarns and so they are a reflection of who I am as a slave and a masochist.

The artwork for this remains one of my favourites and it too has inspired my writing. I am unclear as to its origins; it does have the look of Amalaric but I'm not sure that it is one of his works. Nevertheless it is a classic example of erotic slave art. The text is mine.

 

 Francois and Jean-Luc

A Prelude to "White Pearls" :

Francois' Story:

 My family’s visit to La Belle France was a longtime coming. Indeed, it had taken so long that I’d long given up any thought that we would make the trip. Over the years of my boyhood, it had been spoken of numerous times and I know my parents had, on several occasions, begun to make arrangements for the trip. However, always, some unforeseen circumstance such as work or commitments to the wider family intervened and plans for the trip had been abandoned. 

As Québécois de souche, the trip was important to my family; we needed to see our ancestral homes for ourselves and discover the roots that give us our proud identity. Of course, as a boy, I’d grown up with the family’s aural history and it had always fired my imagination. But it was a poor substitute for actually seeing La France at first hand and visiting the places that had once been home to my “old world” ancestors. But I’d been disappointed before and I didn’t build up my hopes even when my parents told me we would spend our long, summer vacation in Europe.  

And I wasn’t finally convinced until my parents, my younger brother, Jean-Luc and I were seated in the Airbus A380 as it left Toronto for Paris. 

What can I say about our visit to France? It surpassed all my expectations and after we’d visited the areas where our ancestors had lived before settling in Nouvelle-France, I felt I knew myself better and I had a sense of belonging. 

Our visit reads like something out of a tourist’s brochure. We viewed all the Paris landmarks before driving into the countryside to visit our ancestral homes. This was the raison d’être for our trip and after we did so we became regular tourists doing all those things that most tourists do. 

There were so many places we visited and things we saw and it is hard for me to pick which I enjoyed the most. We visited Chartres Cathedral, drove through the green fields of Normandy and explored the chateaux of the Loire Valley. But I guess Mont Saint Michel, the ancient amphitheatre at Arles, the Roman ruins at Glanum and the old, previously deserted medieval village of Les Baux de Provence and its surreal landscape which is now home to artists, craftsmen and poets are the outstanding ones that stay with me. 

We continued our meandering journey through Provence to Carcassonne before driving over the Pyrenees into the verdant green valleys of the Basque country and spending two days in the vibrant city of Barcelona. Then we continued down the Spanish coast to the Costa del Sol where we planned to rent an apartment and spend a few days relaxing and swimming in the warm, brilliantly aqua-blue waters of the Mediterranean. And it was here that my life changed irrevocably and forever. 

My name is Francois and as a nineteen-year-old, I wanted some independence and time way from my parents and brother. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to spend time with them but after two weeks travelling in the close confines of our hired car I really did need time on my own. My parents understood this and allowed me the freedom to wander the streets of our resort town and to explore the sandy beaches that swarmed with holiday makers from the UK and Northern Europe. 

These beaches, with their wall to wall, unfit, overweight and lobster red sun worshippers, held no appeal for me and so I wandered along the coastline looking for a less crowded beach where I could stretch out and work on my suntan. And as luck would have it, I found a small patch of isolated, white-gold sand tucked away between to rocky promontories and fortuitously I had the beach to myself. 

I scrambled down over the rocks and onto the beach. The day was hot – more of a scorcher really – and I hastily stripped until I was buck-assed naked. Then, I ran into the azure blue sea and cavorted for some twenty to thirty minutes to cool off before returning to the sand to lie in the sun. 

I already had a light tan but it was marred by my ass’s alabaster whiteness which jars on me. Of course, I’d kept my ass covered at home when swimming and sunbathing. But, on that secluded beach, there were no impediments to me sunbathing in the nude and it felt great. There are no words to describe the freedom or the pleasure of nude sunbathing and letting it all hang-out. 

After I’d liberally coated myself with sunscreen - a sunburned ass wasn’t on my agenda – I then stretched out on my back on the sand. The seawater droplets on my skin glistened like tiny diamonds and I watched as they trickled down my chest along the hairline of my treasure trail and then down through my thick pubic bush to dampen the towel beneath me. 

I would describe my body as lithe. I have reached that stage of my development when the puppy-fat of boyhood has given way to the burgeoning muscle of adolescence. I take pride in my youthful, trim figure and I work hard to maintain it. I play Lacrosse at a local level and I swim competitively and both sports keep me fit. 

My musculature is clearly defined though, as yet, it lacks the bulk of an adult male. Still, it holds the promise of better things to come and I am happy with my overall appearance. I have grey-green eyes, full red lips which part to show my white, even teeth and my head is crowned by luxuriant, thick curls of the deepest black. Despite my youth, I have been shaving since sometime between my twelfth and thirteenth birthdays and my body hair is still emerging. There is the promise that I will be hairy-chested and my legs and lower arms are dusted with a light covering of hair as black as that on my head. 

I have been told that I have Gallic charm and good looks and I have no reason to dispute this. Perhaps it’s conceited of me, but I know that I turn female heads and I suspect some male ones too. I am aware that in the communal showers, after a strenuous game of Lacrosse or a vigorous swimming session, some of my team mates are surreptitiously “eyeing” my naked body. And rather than be offended or annoyed by this attention from my male team mates, I am flattered by it. Sometimes, I have wondered what this says about me and my own sexuality. 

The combination of sun, sand and the soft murmur of the waves gently lapping at the shore, relaxed me and put me at my ease. The warmth of the sun on my naked body stirred my blood and I felt an impending erection. As I was alone on the beach, I could give free expression to my actions and I took hold of my cock and began to masturbate. Determined to make it last as long as I could, I stroked my circumcised cock and tickled my balls. Tantalizingly, I teased my piss-slit and fingered my perineum awakening the myriad of nerve endings which sent shock-waves of pleasure surging through me. As my erection became harder, I slipped a finger beneath me and began to excite the sensitive tissue of my anus. 

As my breathing became more labored, I wanted more pleasure and so I slipped my finger into the tight, virgin recesses of my ass and began to fuck myself – something I did regularly at home with a dildo in the nighttime solitude of my bedroom when my parents and brother are asleep. 

But on that beach, I was alone with no one to watch me and I gave in to my lust. I lost track of the time but inevitably, I climaxed. As I grunted out my eruption – with almost geyser-like force - the stream of my ejaculate arched high and landed with a loud “splat” on my chest and face scorching my skin with its heat. Spent, I rested in the delicious afterglow of the most intense masturbation I had ever experienced.  

I turned over onto my belly to color the alabaster whiteness of my ass as I regained my composure. Then, as the sun sank below the hills behind the beach and the shadows lengthened, I took a final swim to wash away the telltale odor of my spunk splattered torso before dressing and returning to our holiday apartment. 

I returned to that beach the next day and the one after which was to be the final day of our stay on the Costa del Sol. Naturally, I masturbated and while this was most enjoyable, it lacked the “volcanic fury” of the first day. 

On the second day, as I sunbathed on the sandy beach, I turned over onto my stomach to add yet more color to my ass. As I did so, I noticed the solitary figure of a man standing on a rocky promontory and looking in my direction. I thought nothing of this - perhaps he was a voyeur who got his kicks from looking at naked guys - and I wasn’t too concerned that he saw me naked. I was sure that I wasn’t alone in sunbathing nude along the Costa del Sol. 

However, had I known his true intent, then I would have been worried.  Very worried indeed! His presence was to change my life irrevocably and in less than twenty-four hours I would be on a no return journey to a living hell on earth. 

That third, fateful, final day I returned to my beach with my brother, Jean-Luc and we stretched out on the warm golden sand. After I’d jacked-off, I was lying on my belly and as the sun beat down on my back, I daydreamed about the remainder of our trip through Spain and Portugal where we were to finish our vacation in Lisbon before flying home. Although, I was excited about visiting Madrid and Seville, it was Granada that I looked forward to seeing the most. I was eager to see the beautiful Moorish architecture, gardens and fountains of the famed Alhambra. For me this was to be one of the highlights of our trip to Europe. 

With such pleasant thoughts and the sun’s warmth on my naked body, I became drowsy. Lulled by the almost musical lapping of the waves gently breaking on the shore I drifted in and out of sleep. I was so contented and I remember thinking that all was well with my world. 

I don’t know how long I dozed; it could have been merely minutes or much longer for I had no way of knowing. It was the murmur of men’s voices that woke me and as I stirred, I saw the shadows of several burly men of Middle-Eastern appearance cast on the sand standing over our prone bodies.  I moved to roll over onto my back but rough hands held me down. Suddenly, I was afraid. What did these men want? Were they about to rob us? The only things I had of any value were about twenty euros and my watch. I recall thinking that I would offer these to them in the hope that they’d take them and leave us alone. 

Then fear took hold of me. Did these men mean to do us harm? Were they to assault us, beat us, or even worse, to rape us? Suddenly, I was seized by blind panic and I began to desperately struggle to break free. The men became agitated and spoke in a language I didn’t recognize. Their words were unintelligent to me but I understood their meaning. I was to stop struggling and submit. And to emphasise this, one of the men placed his foot on the back of my neck and forced my face down into the sand. As I struggled to breath, I felt a sharp pinprick pain as a syringe was viciously jabbed into the fleshy orb of my right buttock. 

Then mercifully, I blacked out! I was now their prisoner and they moved quickly to remove Jean-Luc and me from the beach. And from the world I had known for nineteen years. 

But before they did so, they set the scenario for our unfortunate disappearances and one that would suggest that we had drowned. They left our gear in crumpled heaps on the beach but placed our bathers at the water’s edge to suggest that we’d removed them before taking one final skinny-dip for the day. Of course, I wasn’t aware of this or of the subsequent events. 

When we failed to return home my anxious parents contacted the police who searched the beaches before discovering our belongings. Naturally, they assumed the worst. We were foolish tourists who’d chosen to swim alone and most probably, we’d been caught in an undertow and swept out to sea where we drowned. And of course, the chances that our bodies would ever be found were minimal. 

At first my distraught parents refused to accept this and lived in hope that Jean-Luc and I would return to them. However, as the days passed and with no news, they too had to accept that we had drowned. Heartbroken, they returned home to mourn the loss of their two sons within the comforting circle of family and friends. 

As for me? 

I don’t know the length of time that I was drugged into unconsciousness. I remember nothing after being jabbed with the syringe on the beach. My next recollection was awakening in a slave pen in the House of Malik owned by a slave-trader in a small Middle-Eastern kingdom named Maluchistan. Like Jean-Luc, I was naked, shackled and we were due to be sold within a few days along with thirty other slaves. 

At first, my mind wasn’t able to comprehend what had happened to me or that I was now a slave. Such an idea was preposterous. Everyone knows slavery no longer exists. Don’t they?  

Video clip found on the internet, Text is mine.