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.