Inspired by the latest artwork by RoyaltyAlterEgo

Becoming a slave: Part two

The concept of time means nothing to a slave; after all, time belongs to his master to be used as he determines. A slave has no need to know the date, which day it is or even the time of the day. There are no rest days for a slave and monotonously, each day is the same broken into two parts; a long period of painful and unrelenting hard labour used to enrich and enhance the master's life and a shorter rest period where he is fed, watered and allow to recoup his strength for the next labour period.

And so it was that, with the absence of a calendar, i neither knew the day of the week nor its date. Becoming a slave meant the cessation of time for me and from now on it was no longer relevant. How long i spent with my captors as they prepared me for sale became an indeterminate period of harsh training and hard, physical exercise to make my body more appealing to any prospective buyers. Personal grooming was important; as slaves, we learned to keep our bodies smooth and free of all manly hair - after all, hirsuteness was a sign of proud masculinity and we were no longer men but mere animals -and even our pubes were removed to better display our genitals. Each day we worked in pairs to groom one another and we were made to ensure that no stray hairs were left in our arse-cracks or to mar the appearance of our puckering anuses. We were told by our handlers our arses will be major selling points when we go to auction and the buyers will pay special attention to the appearance and tightness of or sphincters.

The significance of this wasn't lost on me. In my previous life as a free man i had been heterosexual. Now, as a slave, i am whatever my master demands and and it would appear i am  be introduced to male on male slave sex; a prospect i faced with apprehension and one completely out of my control.

Overtime, i adjusted to being a slave in training and i felt pride whenever my trainers told me i was a 'good boy' and would make a fine slave for some lucky master. i felt proud of my new glabrous, smooth appearance which better displayed my developing musculature. i have to admit that with the proper slave diet and regular exercise i looked good. As slaves, we were trained to take pride in our appearances and told that we were merely the caretakers of our bodies which will the properties of our soon to be masters. We understood that our bodies would be property owned by another man and, as slaves, we were duty bound to care for them as we would with all his other possessions.

Inevitably,the time arrived when the slavers decided we were marketable and a date was set for our sale by public auction and as the reality of this sunk in, i was filled with a new apprehension.

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

Artwork by RoyaltyAlterEgo. Text is mine

My tribute to a friend.

Enak, my dear friend and brother slave, this is my tribute to you. I know from our conversations that we have much in common and we have at times, talked about serving together as "brother slaves".

In my imagination, I see these two as us snatched off the streets by illicit slavers and being made ready for shipment to a slave-market in the Middle-East.

There, we will be bought by a wealthy Arab Master and sent to his stables to be conditioned and trained as a pair of his personal pony-slaves.

Ahh, if only imagination could become reality!

Chris

 Note: After a long absence, one of my favourite artists, royaltyalterego has just published this latest work. And he has graciously given me his permission to interpret it in my own words.

Becoming a slave: Part 1

I haven't always been a slave. In the recent past, I had been a successful lawyer working in London and i gave no thought to slavery or its unfortunate victims. True, I knew slaves existed in other parts of the world well away from my comfort zone of the UK and the EU and they played no part in my rarefied and privileged world. It was simply a case of "out of sight and out of mind" and I never gave slavery a second thought as I lived my self-indulgent lifestyle of owning an exclusive riverside apartment, driving an expensive imported car, wearing the most expensive clothes and I frequently enjoyed holidays on sun-drenched Mediterranean beaches or glistening Swiss ski-fields.

I was in my mid-twenties and had a bright future ahead of me. Already, i was recognised as one of the smartest minds in the legal practice I work with and I was well remunerated for my work as I industriously built up my client base.

Yes, life was indeed good to me and I lived it to the fullest!

Then, I was assigned a client from Eastern Europe who did concern me. On handling his affairs I suspected all wasn't as it seemed and some of his activities were "questionable' to say the least. Professionally, I was duty-bound to raise my doubts with him and he became visibly annoyed at my perceived interference in his affairs. The fact that he couldn't persuade me to turn a "blind eye" to his nefarious activities further angered him and thus my fate was sealed. The client simply used his underworld connections to simply make me "disappear" from London and i ended up in a clandestine slave-processing plant somewhere in the Balkans.

here, i was stripped naked and placed in chains and trained rigorously to prepare me for my future life as a slave. At first, I was an unwilling pupil and i was subjected to the cane and the leather strap to no avail. Finally, with their patience exhausted my trainers strung me up by the wrists and I was flogged with a heavy whip. I can truthfully say it took just five strokes of the whip to break my spirit and turn me into a submissive slave. After the third stroke i was begging for mercy and promised to co-operate with my slave-handlers. Once released, I quickly knelt at their feet in submission. I found it took very little pain to turn me from a proud free man into a craven slave.

After my whipping, I became a willing student and participant as I underwent further training to turn me from a proud professional into a broken-spirited slave Whose only purpose in future was to work hard and serve the interests of a Master after I was sold at auction.

Dedicated to royaltyalterego and his magnificent work of slave art. As a Master, he understands the true nature of slavery which accords with my own.

 Never doubt the effectiveness of the whip

As a follow up to my previous post regarding conditions on a slave galley; if you ever doubted the efficacy of the whip then this picture should convince you otherwise. As can be seen from the exposed back of the oar-slave, the overseers' whips bite deep into yielding, naked flesh drawing blood and inflicting a terrible wound that most likely will never fully heal. 

Imagine, if you can, the terrible pain as unexpectedly, the whip cuts across your back and your scream of agonised pain. Each time you stretch at the oar, the wound will open and remind you that the overseers are forever prowling the catwalk with their whips at the ready eager to spur you to greater effort.

Picture sourced from the internet.I suspect it is from the movie, "300" but i could be wrong. The text ismine.

 The Hortator 

The beating heart of a slave galley is the drum or tambour used to set the beat of the oar strokes required to keep the galley moving forward at the speed demanded by the galley captain. And the task for this falls to the hortator or drum-master who is usually an expert overseer of great strength and endurance as he times his drumbeats. His role is to set the number of strokes per minute which the wretched slaves, bent to their oars, must maintain under the constant flailing of their naked and exposed backs to the slave-drivers' cruel whips.

Keeping perfect time with the beat of the drum tests the slaves to the limit of their physical endurance as, bent to their oars, they work in perfect unison with one another. They brace their naked, shackled feet against the footrests below the rowing benches and use very ounce of their strength to move the oars forward. In effect, although individuals, they become a single unit of energy to power the galley which holds them captive.

One can only imagine the horrors of being a galley slave. As shown in this most graphic picture, they are kept naked and shackled to their oars and unable to leave their posts even for the basic calls of nature. In the fetid, vermin-infested confines of the rowing pit, the miserable wretches sweat and strain in impossible heat surrounded by the foul stench of their own unwashed bodies and body wastes. They are assailed by the constant, monotonous, soul-destroying beating of the drum and the never-ending whining and hiss of the overseers' whips biting deep into aching and vulnerable flesh. They hear the laboured breathing of their tortured lungs, the loud groaning of their fellows caused by aching, overstretched muscles and sinews and the constant screams as a whip finds a new target or its ferocity. 

Once they were free men but no more. Now they are simply beasts-of-burden condemned to labour perpetually under the cruel whips of their merciless overseers.

To my mind, the above picture captures the true horror of the galleys with its sombre tones and the muted play of light and shade on the naked, sweating bodies of the oar-slaves as they strain at their oars until merciful death releases them from their living "hell on earth".

Picture found on the internet. The text is mine.

Awaiting his new Master's Pleasure.

Purchased just yesterday, the very new slave lies apprehensively on his Master's pleasure couch awaiting his second ever fucking.

Last night, the Master had introduced his new, former "straight, virgin property" to the intricacies of gay male slave sex and he'd been sorely used.

As he lies waiting, the young slave anxiously wonders if the second time will be easier than the first and if he'll ever become used to to his ass and mouth being used to pleasure his Master's cock whenever he demands.

Picture sourced from the internet. The text is mine.

Ctesiphon, Parthia, 53 BC 

Background:The Roman Consul, Marcus Licinius Crassus' unprovoked war against the Parthians had resulted in a humiliating defeat of his seven legions at the Batle of Carrhae with more than 24,000 Romans -including Crassus - being killed. It is estimated that some 10,000 Roman prisoners of war were sold into Persian slavery. That is the background to this vignette.

My name is Ariamnes and I am member of one of Persia's oldest and noblest families. I am blessed with many riches which include an unknown number of slaves owned by me. I'm unsure of the number of slaves I own - I leave the exact numbers to the stewards of my numerous estates - but it must number in the hundreds who labour ceaselessly to enrich me and provide for my indulgent lifestyle.

The very recent defeat of the Romans at Carrhae, has seen a glut of new slaves offered for sale in the slave-markets of Persia and I have taken advantage of their low prices to stock my many farms with new workers. The Romans will make excellent slaves - eventually.

Strong and robust, they come with the promise of many years hard labour once they have been "broken in" to their new status as beasts-of-burden. They are a proud, haughty race and it is inconceivable to them that they, the masters of the Mediterranean, can be reduced to slavery. Therefore, their spirits must be broken, their wills destroyed, as they are rained to accept their future roles as naked, work animals. I have found the branding-iron to be the most effective means of "helping" them accept their slavery. As the iron sears itself into the tender flesh of a new slave's arse, he understands that he is now a branded animal and an owned property.

Already, my brawny, new Roman slaves show great promise: bent double under the heavy wooden yokes placed on their broad shoulders and with their naked backs exposed to the cut and pain of Persian whips, they plow my fields and harvest my crops. 

Today, as is my custom, I visited a slave-market and was taken by a semi-naked Roman offered for sale. The slave-trader told me he is a Roman of noble birth and certainly his despondency and demeanour indicated he is a patrician and after a close inspection I bought him to serve as one of my personal litter-bearers and as a whore slave in my household.

I enjoyed lifting his skirt and was pleasantly surprised by the generous size of his cock and balls and the rigidity of his spontaneous erection. However, it was his arse that held my attention, well-rounded and shapely, I found myself spending more time in its examination than I normally do when buying a slave.

I have never fucked a tight, Roman arse and before I do so with this one it must be prepared for me. I am an admirer of male genitalia and I have a small collection of dildos made from the sun-dried pizzles of sheep, goats, horses, camels and including one or two of my once favoured slaves which I use as training aids. Before I fuck my new Roman slave I will have him strapped down, arse up, and have his hole loosened by a goat's pizzle.

Ultimately, the slave's future will be as one of my litter-bearers and I look forward to having him struggling to carry me through the crowded streets of the city. Naturally, his condition will be that of a true slave. Except for my ornate collar around his neck and my family's crest on his arse, he will be as naked as the day his mother gave birth to him.

Then, at other times, he will serve in my household as I entertain friends and visiting dignitaries. I am a generous host and my slave will be made available to them as a goodwill gesture on my part. With the help of my training aids, his arse and mouth will no doubt prove most popular.

The artwork for this post has always been one of my favourites. It is the work of that excellent artist, Janus who is well known to all of us. I suspect Janus meant the background for this work to be Egyptian; however, I have adapted it to reflect my interpretation of his beautiful artwork.

Hi,

Re my blogs at bdsmlr.

For some inexplicable reason not explained by the administrators, I am unable to access or to post to my associate sites at bdsmlr. 

Frustratingly, no amount of effort on my part allows me to access my "Slaves Through the Ages' or "The White Slaves in Africa' groups and I suspect that like Yahoo and Google, we are about to loose yet another outlet for our genre. If this is so, then it is to be deeply regretted.

From the many comments I have read at the bdsmlr site, others are experiencing a range of issues which indicates all is not well.

For now, I have given up trying to re-establish contact with bdsmlr or to make any further posts to their site. I regret this very much but time doesn't permit me to continue with what is proving a futile exercise.

I hope this is only a temporary problem and that the administrators of bdsmlr are working on a solution but with the lack of any explanation from them as to what is really happening behind the scenes, I fear the worst.

Chris