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 

New Google groups:

With the imminent closure of the Yahoo groups and the deletion of all past posts a vast library of slave stories is about to be lost. It's hard to say what impact this will have on aspiring writers; my guess is that some will give up and disappear.Those of us who have been writing for some time - in my case since 2009 - now face the difficult task of keeping our works in the public domain. 

My own group, Jean-Christophe Stories was set  up in 2011 by a friend, Donny Delk who currently serves as the administrator of the soon to be defunct Yahoo group, SlaveNow. Once more, Donny has come to the rescue and set up two new groups on Google; one for Randall Austin's stories and the second for my own. These will become the repository for our past stories and the sites for our new ones as they are written.

I thank Donny so much for his efforts on our behalf. He truly is a friend to all those who enjoy our genre.

The interesting thing about the new Google groups is that readers will be able to comment on the posts should they choose to do so. These will be moderated to maintain the integrity of the groups. You need to apply for membership of the groups and this can be done through the following links.

Randall Austin Stories

https://groups.google.com/g/randall-austin-stories  

Jean-Christophe Stories

https://groups.google.com/u/O/g/jean-christophe-stories

Chris

The Bounty-hunter and the runaway

Hope springs eternal and every slave dreams of freedom. However for a slave this is mostly a futile dream. Certainly slaves do attempt to escape but in the majority of cases, they are recaptured, returned to their owners and usually face dire consequences.

Why is this the situation?

The routes leading north to the slave-free states are heavily patrolled by bands of bounty-hunters - know to slaves as 'paddyrollers' - who make a living from capturing 'runaways' and returning them to their owners for a reward.

Here we see one such slave, who'd foolishly thought he could escape, being returned to his elderly Master.

Paddyroller: "Sir, I believe this is your property, is it not?"

Slave-owner: "Indeed, he is. He absconded a few days ago and I assumed he'd made good on is escape and I was out-of-pocket."

Paddyroller: "Sir, he very nearly did. We picked him up near the state border. A couple of hundred metres more and he would have been free."

Slave-owner: "Then, I am lucky you recaptured him."

Paddyroller: "I'm sorry Sir. The slave is a little worse for wear. When we picked him up, he wouldn't co-operate and tell us whose property he was and we had to beat it out of him. We did our best don't to damage him too much and eventually he did give us your name as his owner. The bruises will soon fade."

Slave-owner: "That's not a problem! Now that I have him back, a few bruises are the least of his problems. The whip will open up his back!"

Paddyroller: "Good to hear, Sir. That's the only way to deal with a runaway. A hard flogging is the best deterrent I know for preventing future attempts at escape. Sir, I mean no offence, but given your advanced years, are you capable of giving a hard whipping?"

Slave-owner: "No offence taken young man. You're right; my whipping arm isn't what it used to be and I will have to find a someone to punish the wretch."

Paddyroller: "Sir, for a small fee of one dollar a stroke, I can organise for one of our whip-masters to deliver the flogging. Also, I notice the slave is unbranded. In your own interests he should be. That is another service our firm offers and a simple branding is fifty dollars with a clean brand guaranteed."

Slave-owner: "I accept your offer. When can it be done?"

Paddyroller: "If it's convenient, I can organise both the branding and the whipping for tomorrow morning. Meantime, if you show me a secure place, I'll chain the slave securely overnight."

Slave-owner: "Excellent! And what do I owe you for the slave's return?"

Paddyroller: "Sir, our current rate for a 'runaway' is five percent of the slave's value."

Slave-owner: "That's most reasonable and better than a total loss if the slave had succeeded in escaping. I arrange payment for the slave's return plus fifty dollars for fifty strokes of the whip and fifty dollars for the branding. And i trust your man administering the whipping will lay on the whip with a heavy arm"

Paddyroller: "Have no fear there, Sir. The slave will feel every stroke and regret his decision to steal from his lawful owner by running away."

Slave-owner: "The I look forward to your return tomorrow morning."

Picture found at random on the internet. The text is mine.

The Audition:

Lured by the promise of a small part in a porn movie, this unsuspecting, young man was only to be pleased to "audition" in a lonely room in a seedy hotel well away from prying eyes.

Right on cue, he stripped  naked and happily flaunted his body before the cameras believing he was being assessed for a part in the new movie.

However, what he didn't know is that as he played to the camera he was  in fact, being offered for sale at a pandemic, online slave auction and that the men watching his every move weren't movie directors or producers but a group of extremely wealthy Arabs in the Middle-East. 

As he strutted his stuff and stroked his cock to erection, he did so believing he'd be chosen for the part. Even when a disembodied voice asked him to "turn and bend and spread", he didn't hesitate. After all, he was proud of his body and had nothing to hide.

The sight of his tight ,virgin pucker and low hanging balls sent the buyers into a bidding frenzy and eventually he was sold to a wealthy oil sheikh.

His audition had been successful and he'd gotten a part; however, not as a porn star as he'd hoped but rather as a "porn slave".

Already, he is crated and has been shipped out as air freight on his way to his new Master.

Picture found on the internet and origin unknown. However, the text is mine.