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.

 

 

Lederhosen:

I love seeing slaves who wear loincloths as opposed to them being total naked. It not that I have anything against a naked slave - I don't - but for me a covering worn by a slave just adds an element of mystery. Do I have a favourite style of loincloth? My all time favourites are those from the magnificent artworks of Amalaric and garyRo. Somehow, they capture the full beauty and erotic charm of the loincloth and they have inspired my writing over the years.

Having said that, and no doubt partly due to my remote German ancestry, I am partial to lederhosen and would love to see myself clothed as the model in this picture and serving as a slave.

Chris

 

 Eros and Chrysos (continued):

As a well known connoisseur of prime, male slave-flesh, Rome's slave-dealers - always eager for my patronage - frequently make me offers that are hard to resist.

One enterprising slaver, knowing that I had recently purchased a six slave team to serve as bearers for my new, smaller litter and in the hope of gaining my future patronage, has offered to sell me at a considerable saving an alternative team of litter-slaves. Normally, I would dismiss such an offer; after all, I am well satisfied with my current team and I have trained them to serve me in the manner which I demand.

However, this new team does intrigue if for no other reason than their obvious diversity. These six slaves were chosen from among Rome's subject peoples and reflect their racial origins beginning on the left with a rare, black Abyssinian slave, a tousled haired Greek, a Briton, a long haired Gaul, one from Hispania and finally another black slave from sub-Saharan Africa. 

The symbolism of this isn't lost on me. As I look upon these slaves, I see the full weight of cruel Roman oppression rests heavily upon the shoulders of the rest of the world.

In my mind's eye, I can see my litter being carried aloft on the broad shoulders of the four, white slaves while the two blacks act as my personal body-slaves and body-guards. There is no doubting they would attract the envious stares of many and would serve as a reminder of my exalted position as a Senator of Rome and as a reflection of my refined, good taste.

I am sorely tempted by the slave-dealer's generous offer and it is hard to resist accepting. However, it does go against the Roman need for uniformity and the use of both black and whites slaves under these circumstances could be seen as either eccentric or even as bizarre. And really, do I need a second team of litter-slaves for my new litter? It is something I need to think about overnight.

Thanks to Pete Brown's Slaves blog for the picture and inspiration. The text is mine.

NOTE: Overnight, I understand Karel tried several times to comment on my latest Eros and Chrysos post that and all his attempts failed. I don't know the reason why this happened. On checking the blog all appears to be in order and so I am sorry Karel that I can't explain why this happened to you. I suspect - but don't know for certain - there might be a size limit on the maximum number of characters that can be used in comments. I will investigate this further.

However, I know how important it is to you personally to be able to comment and to add your unique perspective to my posts and I thank you for the attached which I am posting to the blog for the benefit of our readers.

FIRST PART OF KAREL’s COMMENT

 

GREAT  Chris, more than ever I am enraptured and excited by the exceptional beauty of this post, also because more than ever, I feel in it the “heavenly taste” of the most outstanding past masterpieces by the incomparable Jean-Christophe ! …….. the “heavenly taste” of almost a “chapter” of those extraordinary “long stories by Jean-Christophe” that have delighted and aroused thousands and thousands of readers and admirers all over the world, and that have even really marked and changed the recent history of the best gay erotic Literature. Those wonderful long stories by Jean Christophe that thousands and thousands of faithful fans and admirers not only in this blog, but all over the world, yearn and hope that soon you will start again to write.

Really this magnificent post reminds me a possible “chapter” of one of those long stories …… or possibly more than one ! …….. not only for its unusual length, but also for the uncommon abundance of many and many ingenious situations, ideas and hints that could really inspire and be developed in much longer descriptions and in whole chapters of an elating possible long story.

Let me give just few examples: e.g. it might be the character of a much longer story, that might inspire and fill with her “deeds” more than one whole chapters, the libidinous, aged and ugly Roman Matron who requests  …… for “good fortune” (!) (but what you say about this is perfectly historically correct ) …… to grasp and hold in her hand the big phallus of the poor disgusted and appalled Eros, while “she prays Priapus” (fabulous ingenious idea !) …. the same lustful and dissolute old horrible crone that cruelly and lewdly “DIPS HER SCARF INTO THE BLOOD OF A WOUNDED (OR KILLED) GLADIATOR”  (what a sadistic but fully historically realistic detail !) …… or that, more importantly, “KEEPS HANDSOME, VIRILE MALE SLAVES TO BE MILKED FOR THEIR SEMEN WHICH IS THEN MIXED WITH HER SKIN LOTIONS AND POTIONS IN THE VAIN ATTEMPT TO WARD OFF THE RAVAGES OF OLD AGE.” another extremely sadistic but fully historically correct and plausible detail !

Just these few very concise details are worthy to inspire and to be developed in MUCH longer stories or chapters of a longer story !

 

Karel

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SECOND PART (CONTINUES FROM ABOVE)

Another just briefly mentioned scene, that is worthy of a much longer and detailed description is e.g. when the old ugly and loathsome witch, before choosing the massive genitals of the poor appalled and nauseated Eros for her obscene “prayer”,  “CAREFULLY CHOSES WHICH SLAVE TO USE” among the six slaves and litter-bearers of the Senator. I imagine how excitingly your Art, Chris, could effectively describe in full details the aged crone thoroughly and at length feeling and checking, many and many times, with her loathsome hands and “talon-like fingers”, the massive hard bulges in the skimp loincloths that hardly contain and cover the big genitals of the hapless six slave-youths, obliged to stay motionless and totally passive, hiding their humiliation and disgust, while the horrible hag carefully inspects and checks the size, weight and “toughness” of the huge cocks and balls of the miserable young slaves !

What a magnificent and extremely arousing scene, worthy of a much longer description in a much longer story in which the horrendous lustful crone might even be one of the characters !

Allow me to add that I personally like and find exciting scenes like these ones, even involving female characters, especially when the female characters (even best if old, ugly and loathsome as well as also lustful and cruel like this appalling aged Roman Matron) dominate and torment helpless young, robust and cute enslaved males. So in this case I do like and I totally agree with the choice of Chris of introducing this hideous and repugnant female character.

However I think that, for those readers who on the contrary fully dislike the presence of female characters, this same series of scene will still keep the same marvelous literary and sadistic beauty and excitement, if e.g. the old Matron would be substituted with an equally old, lewd and loathsome aristocratic Lord (e.g. according to Latin satiric poets even various “debauched” rich Roman old noblemen used to have their healthiest, sturdiest and most masculine young slaves regularly “milked” for using their sperm as a “rejuvenating potion” and drink and as an ingredient in “beauty creams” for massages in “the vain attempt to ward off the ravages of old age”).

A last comment about the scene of the old matron: what you say Chris, about the amazingly frequent use in ancient Rome (even in necklaces of prepubescent boys !) of the erected PHALLUS, represented in countless different materials and forms, as an extremely effective “good omen” and amulet, is perfectly historically correct. It was the “divine attribute” of the great god Priapus and its images were also the object of a real and intense religious cult.

But let me recall that a similar “good omen” function was played (and it’s somehow even today played, at least in Italy !) by the feeling and light squeezing also of TESTICLES, especially if these male gonads are unusually big, firm and weighty like the massive balls of the young “stallion-slave” Eros !

So I have no doubts, that in her “fervent prayer” the old, ugly Matron would have at length felt and tormented not only the massive male shaft of the poor boy, but that she would have at length felt, hefted and squeezed in her loathsome hands also the huge firm and massive testicles of the hapless and helpless  Eros !

 

Karel

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THIRD PART (CONTINUES FROM ABOVE)

But the outstanding beauty of this post expands even beyond the very exciting episode of the aged and lustful horrendous Roman Matron !

Also the other (unfortunately just mentioned and too briefly described) episode of the “VASTLY OVERWEIGHT” mature Senator, who is “  PERSPIRING PROFUSELY AND IS DISTRESSED ALMOST TO THE POINT OF EXHAUSTION” for the “UNBEARABLY HOT DAY” and of course (I suppose) also for the “UNENDURABLE FATIGUE OF BEING BROUGHT ON THAT HORRIBLY WARM DAY IN HIS CERTAINLY VERY COMFORTABLE LITTER” by his eight or twelve herculean litter-bearers ! …….. that vastly overweight mature Senator (and for sure also very LUSTFUL) who requests the permission “TO USE THE SWEAT OF ONE OF MY SLAVES TO COOL HIS FEVERED BROW AND FACE ” …. after having certainly already dried and fully drained the equally copious sweat of his own young litter bearers ! ……. is a strikingly beautiful and arousing scene whose situation and character would be worthy of being developed and described in much, much longer details in a longer story on in one or more chapters of a long story.

E.g. the amazingly inspiring and exciting situation in which the loathsome, ugly, old fatso “WIPES THE COPIOUS SWEAT FROM THE SMOOTH BRAWNY CHEST AND BELLY” of the poor disgusted Chrysos “ BEFORE WIPING HIS CHUBBY ARMS.” …… and even more when the filthy and repugnant obese aged Senator shows all his uncontrollable lasciviousness for young males by “REACHING BETWEEN THE THICK THIGHS OF THE POOR CHRYSOS” and “SOAKS UP THE SEX SWEAT FROM CRYSOS' GROIN  FOR WIPING HIS BROW AND FACE ”   ……. while (rightly) the lucky Master of Chrysos and Eros jeeringly “SMILES INWARDLY KNOWING THAT THE OLD LECHER WAS SAVOURING THE SLAVE'S AROUSING SEX SCENT” …… are admirable examples of the greatest and most arousing gay BDSM Literature, outstanding scenes that would deserve to be developed and described in much longer details (together with the character of the loathsome lecherous VASTLY OVERWEIGHT” mature Senator) in a much longer story !

 

Karel

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FOURTH and LAST PART (CONTINUES FROM ABOVE)

Last but not least, among the many other very beautiful and exciting just mentioned details of this post, that might be “hints” for much longer descriptions, let me mention just the following three points:

-         One is the detail of the two additional robust slaves, that follow in his litter-trips the Senator, besides his four litter-bearers. Of course (as it really happened in ancient Rome) these additional muscular escorting slaves (often in the number of much more than just two), who walked alongside or behind the litter, were primarily used first of all as brawny “burden-beasts” for carrying e.g. (as Chrys says) “WINE AND TASTY MORSELS OF FOOD” for the Master on short trips, and for carrying, on longer trips, the much heavier and more numerous pieces of luggage of their Owner. Moreover (as correctly described) some of them were working as body-guards while other ones were “HELPING THE MASTER TO ENTER AND EXIT HIS LITTER ”. An important and  VERY SADISTIC detail of this latest slave-duty, worthy to be mentioned and more deeply described. was that often –when the Master was entering or exiting his litter- one ROBUST SLAVE WAS OBLIGED TO KNEEL AND BOW ON HIS FOUR ON THE GROUND, SO THAT THE MASTER COULD CLIMB WITH HIS FEET ON THE SLAVE’S MUSCULAR BACK for more comfortably enter or exit the litter! In a similar way, in ancient Rome it was very common that also when a Master was e.g. mounting a horse for riding, one of his brawniest slaves was forced to kneel on his four or to deeply bow so that his Master could mount with his feet first on his sturdy back and then on the horse !

I’m sure that this certainly happens also when our Senator enters and exits his litter; and maybe this is a very sadistic detail worthy to be emphasized and described.

-         The fact that our Senator prefers that his slaves  “have fully glabrous torsos”, limbs and sculpted musculature, is linked not only to his “refined aesthetical taste” about the gorgeous look of his “transport animals” …. but also to a much eviler and sadistic reason: body hair –especially when it’s so abundant and thick like on the chest of the macho Chrysos- can significantly impair and mitigate the “duly prodding” and rightly painful effect of a spurring whiplash or quirt-blow on the chest of a slave. Rightly the Senator keeps fully glabrous the vast chests and bodies of his litter-bearers, so that the blows of his whip and his quirt can exert all their full and most painful violence in devastating and tormenting, for spurring, the big bulging pectorals of Eros and Chrysos and of their other slave-fellows !

-         The episode of the two street-robbers that assault the Senator and that later he makes sentenced to be nailed on a cross, is a true “story inside a story” . Even by itself alone this episode would deserve to be developed in a fully dedicated story, or in one or two Chapters of a long story.

           

Great, great Chris, let me finish this unusually long comment that however says all my extraordinary liking and excitement for this exceptionally beautiful and thrilling post.

Thank you with all my boundless admiration for your incomparable Art

 

Karel

 Eros and Chrysos (continued)

Life as a litter-slave:

The picture above shows the four slaves I have chosen to be my actual litter-bearers being prepared for their new roles. In the background, a slave is spreadeagled prior to his body being denuded of all body hair - I prefer my slaves to have glabrous torsos -  while at the front right Eros and Chrysos resignedly await their turn. As can be seen, much work will need to be done on the slave Chrysos to remove his impressive hair covering but nothing must detract from the smoothness of his torso and limbs or his sculpted musculature.

I am very fastidious about the appearance of my slaves and I take great pride in the envious stares of onlookers and the many compliments I receive on their appearances.

Actually, my four man litter requires six slaves who work together as a team. It requires four brutes to carry it on their brawny shoulders while another two walk alongside - one on either side - and their duties involve helping me to enter and exit my litter; to carry wine and tasty morsels of food should I feel thirst or hunger and more importantly, to act as my bodyguards against the criminals who infest the streets of the city.

Some years ago, I foolishly walked the streets alone and was set upon by two ex-slaves from one of our Eastern provinces with the intent of robbing me. Naturally, I fought back but I was no match for these burly thugs and when one drew a knife on me, I thought my mortal days were numbered. However, the goddess, Fortuna smiled on me that day as a group of vigiles charged with keeping order in the city intervened and the criminals were arrested. At my insistence, they took the two thieves before a magistrate who was a close associate of mine. Appalled by this attack on a person of my standing, he quickly passed judgement and sentenced them to death by crucifixion. He ignored their blubbering pleas for mercy by ordering that they be flogged before being fastened to the crucis. I followed them to the execution grounds outside the city walls and watched as they were nailed to the wooden tree and I was somewhat mollified by their suffering. I understand the first expired the next day - far too short a time to suffer for his crime against me - and that his companion lasted three days before he "gave up the ghost."

My litter-slaves act as a deterrent to such a thing happening again. The sight of six muscular, near naked slaves is enough to frighten away any robber. Anyway, the six slaves are well aware should any harm befall me - their master - then they will be held collectively guilty and crucified. Consequently, my litter-slaves are most solicitous in ensuring my safety.

We Romans regard the phallus as a good omen and we have our jewellers fashion it into jewellery to wear as necklaces, amulets, bracelets and rings as personal good luck charms. Additionally,  the phallus features in the frescoes and mosaics of our homes. I once had a slave with the most enormous genitalia - truly he would almost put a stallion to shame - and I had a plaster cast made of it which I then used as a model for a large and elaborate candelabra to light up my dining-room. This is always a talking point among my dinner guests.

Recently, while being carried in my litter through the Forum, a Roman matron of my acquaintance requested a favour of me. She asked that she be allowed to hold the phallus of one of my bearers as she prayed to Priapus or some other god for good fortune. Naturally, I agreed and watched with interest as she carefully chose which slave to use and for some reason, she chose the slave named Eros. I further watched as she lifted the flimsy covering on his rampant erection and holding it tightly in her encircling grasp, she prayed. To his credit the slave didn't move; to do so would have been a punishable insult to the matron and as with all my litter-slaves, guilt is collective in a much as they would all share in his punishment. This is a great way of keeping my slaves working as a single unit of labour. 

It couldn't have been easy for the slave to stand motionless as his manhood was surreptitiously tormented by the red-painted, talon like finger nails of the old crone as they cruelly racked the sensitive underside of his massive staff and mercilessly teased his piss-slit. Despite not moving, I did however detect the nervous, involuntary quivering of his outraged young body. Of course, facing away from me, I couldn't see the look of revulsion or disgust in his eyes.

No doubt, the matron is one who also dips her scarf into the blood of a wounded gladiator as a good luck talisman and keeps handsome, virile slaves to be milked for their semen which is then mixed with her skin lotions and potions in the vain attempt to ward off the ravages of old age. A futile hope from my observation!

On another occasion, I had reason to pause my litter as I talked with one of my fellow senators. The senator was vastly overweight, out of condition and the day was unbearably hot. He was perspiring profusely and was distressed almost to the point of exhaustion. He requested my permission to use the sweat of one of my slaves to cool his fevered brow and of course, I happily agreed. Anything to held a friend in need!

This time, Chrysos was chosen and the senator used his kerchief to wipe the copious sweat from the slave's smooth chest and belly before wiping his chubby arms. Then, reaching between my slave's thighs, he soaked up the sex sweat from the slave's groin  and wiped his brow and face. I smiled inwardly knowing that the old lecher was savouring the slave's arousing sex scent. Again, the slave had no other option but to stand motionless as he too suffered the indignity of having his body misused as was the case with Eros. 

This time I did see the look in my slave's eyes. It was one of outrage, disgust and humiliation but also of impotent anger. He had no other recourse but to stand motionless and accept this as his lot.

However, that is the lot of a slave! His body belongs to his Master and can be used or abused at his whim. No doubt, my six litter-slaves will become accustomed to such close attention being paid to them.

Artwork is of course that of Amalaric although the text is mine.

 Eros and Chrysos (continued):

The Learning Chamber

A wise Master moves quickly to establish the correct working relationship between him and his new slaves. It goes without saying that the Master should begin as he intends to continue.

I am not a patient Master; in fact the opposite is true and I have a reputation for being a hard task-master. And I don't apologise for that. I expect and demand much from my slaves whose only purpose for living is to serve me obediently, diligently and to enhance my life.

To that end, I have set up a "learning chamber" in the bowels of my villa where I introduce myself to my new slaves. Naturally, they have much to learn and their lessons are painful. However, I am a patient tutor and I am prepared to spend whatever time it takes to train my new slaves to serve me. These lessons are onerous and to this end, my learning chamber is well equipped with all the necessary tools and accoutrements to properly train a slave.

How long does it take to train a slave? Well, it depends very much on the individual slave. Some 'break" immediately as they feel the first cuts of my whip searing into their naked flesh and they are soon begging for my mercy; a mercy not freely given. I firmly believe a slave only learns through pain and the fear of it.

However, there are those slaves, more strong-willed than others, who hold out for longer than their weaker-willed companions. They struggle in their bonds in a futile effort to break free and loudly curse me to Hades. Such behaviour doesn't unduly worry me; it just makes me more determined to crush their spirits and bend them to my will. I simply apply my "instruments of persuasion" with more vigour and if I am honest, I enjoy this exchange of wills between the slave and myself; it truly does bring out the sadist in me. 

It is a contest the slave must lose; there can only be one winner and ALWAYS that is me!

Once the slave is physically "broken", he must face one final humiliation that degrades him to the level of an animal.  I speak of my Master's right to sexually use the new slave as one does a female. Always, this is the final straw in bending a slave to my will. As my noble member penetrates the virgin anus of the slave, he lose all notions of himself as a man and becomes the slave he is meant to be.

The picture shows the slave - I believe his name is Eros - after I have broken his spirit and deflowered him. He was a most delightful fuck and his squirming and cries of protest only served to inflame my passions. Now, he stands dejected with his face to the wall and his head bowed in shame. No longer the proud warrior, he is now just another of my many slaves.

But enough of Eros. It is time I turned my attention to my other new slave, Chrysos. It will be interesting to see how much pain he can bear before he too is forced to surrender his arse to me.

For Eros and Chrysos, today was an introduction to the "learning chamber". However, it won't be their last visit. They will visit again and be subjected to frequent refresher sessions as it is for all my slaves.

Artwork by Amalaric. The text is mine.

 Eros and Chrysos:

I am well pleased with the purchase of these two sturdy slaves; they will serve my needs most admirably. I chose them for their brutish appearances, their strong bodies and their animal strength. And believe me; they will require every bit of strength their bodies can muster. You see, I purchased them to serve as litter-bearers for my newest, smaller litter especially designed to navigate Rome's narrow and impossibly over-crowded streets. 

As befits a highborn patrician of my rank, I do have a larger, elaborate and very ornate litter - it requires sixteen strong and lusty beasts to carry it but as it is used for special events like attending festivals or travelling to my country estates, I find it is most unsuitable for everyday use. Really, I hate sharing the streets with common plebeians, cutthroats, thieves, pickpockets and slaves who clutter the streets and impede my progress. And to that end, I had a special smaller litter made which requires just six slaves to carry it and these two slaves will join the other four I have chosen.

I am firmly of the belief that slaves should be perpetually naked; after all, why should I waste my money on covering a slave's body. Slaves are subhuman more akin to animals and one would never consider putting clothing on a horse or a stallion or he'd become the laughing-stock of Rome.

 Whimsically, the gods have made slaves in the image of humans so that they can better serve us. However, the resemblance ends there and slaves should be seen as animals and treated as such.

Nevertheless, public mores declares that the male genitalia - even of that of slaves mustn't be exposed in public places - and I, as a law-abiding citizen, will comply with this foolish ruling. These slaves will wear the briefest covering that decency allows and it will be made of the flimsiest, most translucent material that will expose their rampant erections to the gaze of all.

However, I draw the line at covering their delectable arses. Who in their right mind would want to hide those from view. Like luscious, sun ripened peaches hanging from a branch, they are ready for "plucking", devouring and savouring; something I look forward to with great anticipation.

There is no more pleasing sight than a litter-slave's naked arse in action. I love to watch as the buttocks flex with each step the slave takes and the flinching of the arse-cheeks as my leather quirt cuts across those beautiful, muscular mounds of flesh. I enjoy hearing the slave's grunt of pain from my whip as yet more stripes are added those already there. A slave's body should never be left unmarked by the master's whip.

I truly look forward to using these two prime, young slaves as my personal beasts-of- burden.

Indeed, I have purchased well with the six slaves Inhave chosen and I am well satisfied.

Artwork by Amalaric; the text is mine.