Copyright
2010, Lance Colton, all rights reserved
The Slave Market
Chapter 1
The sounds of a scuffle caught my attention as I was walking
by the alley. I was alone, in a strange
country, at night, in a dangerous part of town and I should have kept walking
but something made me stop. I took two
steps into the darkness to see. A good
looking young man in a crisp white linen suit was being pounded by two big guys
in turbans. I had no business
interfering and if I’d thought for a second I probably wouldn’t have. But I didn’t think and so I did. I stepped further into the alley, picked up a
short piece of iron pipe that fortuitously was laying there and applied it to
one of the turbans. He dropped like a
stone and, as the other one turned to find out what happened to his friend, the
pipe connected with his jaw and he too was out for the count.
I dropped the pipe, grabbed the arm of the dazed young man and
dragged him from the alley. Hailing a
passing cab I shoved him inside, tumbled in behind him and collapsed in the
seat. I used the only phrase of Arabic I
knew to get the driver started toward my hotel.
The adrenaline rush that had gotten me this far was gone and my body was
shaking so I put my head down and waited for my breathing to return to normal.
The young man said something in Arabic to the driver and we
abruptly swerved. I looked up to see
that we had changed direction away from my hotel and shot a questioning glance
to the young man beside me.
“Don’t worry, my friend,” he said in slightly accented
English. “We are going to my home. You will be safe, inshallah.”
I could have asked to be let out but the aftermath had
completely drained me. I put my head
back on the seat and closed my eyes.
***
I woke up when the cab stopped. I opened my eyes and we were at the gate of a
huge estate where the guard clearly knew the young man beside me as he opened
the gate, bowed deeply and waved us in.
We entered a lush oasis.
In my three weeks of poking around Marrakesh and its environs I had
never encountered anything like this compound.
I had walked past homes of wealthy Moroccans but they paled in
comparison. This was a palace.
When we stopped at the front entrance the cab door was opened
by another servant who also bowed deeply to the young man. He stepped out of the cab and turned to me.
“Please, come in, sir, and let me thank you properly,” he
said.
I climbed out of the car and followed him inside. Another servant opened the door into a huge
cavern of an entrance foyer with a hallway running to the rear. The young man strode purposefully toward the back
with me following in his wake. At the end
of the hall was a library and seated at a desk on the side of the room was a
distinguished man dressed in a jalaba with an embroidered ghutra on his head. He stood up as we entered. The young man crossed to him, embraced him and
then launched into a long soliloquy in Arabic with gestures towards me. I waited patiently until the young man ran
out of steam. The older man stepped
around the desk to me.
“Your name, sir?” he asked.
“It’s Greg,” I said.
“Greg Paulson.”
“I am in your debt, Mr. Paulson,” he said grabbing my hand and
pumping it.
“Please, call me Greg,” I said, “and I’m sorry but I don’t
understand.
“I am Wazir Achmed Bakam Saadin and this is my son Prince Hakeem,”
he said. “You saved his life tonight and
for that I am forever in your debt.”
“It was really nothing…wazir sir,” I protested. “I just happened to be there.”
“First, Greg, you must call me Achmed,” he said. “And secondly it was not ‘nothing’ as you
say. He is my only son and my heir. They would have taken his life tonight if you
had not saved him. For this I will
always be in your debt.”
That embarrassed me. I
didn’t want to be in anyone’s debt. I
had acted without thinking and felt uncomfortable with the thought that if I
had taken the time to evaluate the situation I probably would have run for my
life and Prince Hakeem would be dead.
“I’ll settle for a cup of tea,” I quipped.
“No,” Achmed said fiercely, “I will not settle my debt to you
with a cup of tea but we shall have one together.”
He clapped his hands and a servant appeared as if by magic
bearing a tray with cups and a pot. The
perverse thought of what might have happened if I had asked for coffee flitted
through my head but I figured he would have been able to make that happen
somehow. There was probably a different
clap for coffee.
We sat on cushions at a low table and drank tea. Over the course of the next two hours we
talked and I learned that he was the Wazir of the city and province of
Marrakesh, answerable only to the king.
He had four wives. The first
three had given him girls which, while he professed to love them, were not the
necessary male heir that he needed to insure that his enemies didn’t take over
his sultanate. His fourth wife had given
him Hakeem, the young man I had saved tonight.
Subtly, but with perseverance during those two hours, he also drew
me out and learned quite a lot of things about me that I usually kept
private. I was single because I had
never found exactly what or who I was looking for. I was very well off as a result of selling a
software company that I had started and sold for thirty million dollars and I
was restless, looking all over the world for something. What that something might be wasn’t clear to
me but I hoped I’d recognize it when I saw it.
About the time that I thought the evening might be over and I
would be escorted back to my hotel and my endless quest to find that elusive ‘something’,
he reached out, grabbed my arm and waited until he was sure he had my
attention.
“Greg, are you a man who is shocked easily?” he asked.
I had no idea what he might be referring to but something about
his manner made me realize that I would be very sorry to miss whatever he was
leading up to.
“No,” I said.
“Are you a man who might be open to pleasures of…a different
kind?” he asked.
That covered a lot of ground and I thought for a moment before
answering. I assumed that he was talking
about women but… It wasn’t my culture
and he might have something in mind that would disgust me. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained as my
grandfather had said many times. I
nodded.
“I think we are going to be very good friends,” he said
clapping his hands.
I don’t know what I had expected but three beautiful naked female
slaves in manacles wouldn’t have ever made my list. Their hands were cuffed behind them and metal
collars circled their necks with chains leading to the three guards who led
them in. Moments later I found myself
holding the end of a chain with a delectable beauty at the end of it.
If someone had asked me prior to this moment how I would react
I would have vehemently insisted that I would be disgusted. Disgust wasn’t even in the equation unless
you only use the last four letters of that word and change the g to an l. Lust overwhelmed me. A lump of desire had started in my crotch and
was threatening to overpower me. I
looked at Achmed and found he was staring at me and smiling.
“I thought so, Greg,” he laughed.
It seems he was a better judge of me than I was myself but at
this point I didn’t care. I was ready
for the next step. Now!
“What now, Achmed?” I asked serenely, as if I wasn’t about to
burst inside.
“Greg,” Achmed laughed, “we have all night. Bring your girl and follow me.”
He stood up and walked toward a wall full of books which
magically opened before he reached it, revealing a staircase going down.
The basement was right out of the Marquis de Sade of Arabia. It had everything I’d ever seen or read about
or heard about and a whole host of things I had no idea what they were for. I was dying to get started but I didn’t have
the faintest idea of where to start. I
looked to my host for guidance.
“Fasten your girl over one of the frames and then watch what
my son and I do,” Achmed said.
I led my exquisite young thing to the frame and fastened her
legs and wrists. That’s when I forgot
the next part of Achmed’s last order, the part about watching what they were
doing. She was so lovely and
so…available. I couldn’t resist touching
her back, letting my finger tips drift around to find her erect nipples. I then let them slide softly down her ribcage
to her waist and then to her plump, inviting bottom. On its own volition my right hand crept into
her cleft. She was heart thumpingly excited
and her arousal had me going crazy. Her
ass just looked so inviting. I grabbed a
paddle from the wall and tapped her ass lightly. She moaned and stuck her ass out for
more. It was all I needed. I hit her harder and used my other hand to
reach under her to capture her clit and rub it lightly. She started screaming in pleasure and I was
lost in the hedonism of the whole scene.
“You were supposed to wait for us,” Achmed’s voice intruded.
That startled me out of the perfectly fabulous fabricated fantasy
that I had been moments away from. I
came back to reality and looked at him sheepishly.
“Sorry.”
“I’m kidding, my friend,” he laughed. “I knew you were a natural when I met
you. Enjoy yourself.”
I turned back to the nubile body and forgot the world. Over the course of the next few hours I
fucked her in every orifice at least twice.
I used many of the whips, quirts, scourges, canes and…well things I
didn’t know what their names were and I was shocked at how much I liked it…and
how much she did. It was a symbiosis of
two contrasting psyches that created an experience that was way more than the
whole. I felt like I was suspended in a
cloud by the time we stopped. Achmed and
Hakeem had finished long before me and were seated nearby sipping tea when I
dropped the mini-flogger I had been using on her tits with in order to stretch
out her last orgasm and came out of my fog.
“Wow!”
“Wow indeed, my friend,” Achmed laughed. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
Achmed, I have never enjoyed myself more,” I said truthfully.
“Didn’t you think you were going to?” he smiled.
“Honestly, no.”
“And why is that, my friend?”
“We don’t believe in slavery in my country and whipping
someone is…”
“Twisted?” he asked wryly.
“Yes.”
“Even when it’s what they want?” he asked.
“What?”
“Greg, all of these girls are slaves because they want to be,”
he explained. “They sell themselves into
slavery because they want to be tied up and whipped and used and abused for a
man’s pleasure.”
“They do?”
“Did your girl enjoy herself?” he asked.
I thought about that.
She certainly had. In fact she
probably had more orgasms that I did.
“Yes.”
“In fact I wager that, if you think about it, you’ll realize
that some of your actions were directly related to insuring that it was good
for her,” Achmed said.
Of course they were. It
had given me great pleasure to know that I was driving her crazy with some of
the things I did. My final act had been
to lash her breasts lightly with the mini-flogger solely to drag out her final
orgasm. I nodded.
“So perhaps you learned something about yourself tonight, no?”
I had indeed but now sleep threatened to overwhelm me. I needed to get back to my hotel and my bed.
“Perhaps,” I agreed, “but now I find that my body is telling
me that it wants to lie down so with your permission sir I’ll take my leave.”
“You will be staying with us now, Greg,” Achmed said
pleasantly but in a tone that clearly indicated that I didn’t have much choice.
“But my things. I’ll
need…”
“I arranged for all of your things to be brought over from
your hotel, Greg. You are my guest for
the rest of your time here,” Achmed said.
“But how did you know…”
“Where you were staying?”
“Yes.”
“I’m the Wazir, Greg,” he said as if that explained everything
which I guess in his world it did.
“Oh,” I managed to mumble.
“I’ve also arranged for your girl to be…installed in your room
here in case you have a few more dark desires to slake,” Achmed chuckled.
Until he said that I was sure I was finished for the night but
the thought of that lovely body stretched out on a frame waiting for me
breathed fire into my body. I nodded
dumbly. Hakeem grabbed my arm.
“Come with me,” Hakeem said.
“Your room is right next to mine.
I’ll show you the way.”
We were halfway up the stairs when the Wazir spoke.
“Tomorrow evening I plan to take you to a slave auction,
Greg,” Achmed said offhandedly.
It stopped me cold.
“Why?” I thought.
“Why?” I asked.
“In case.”
“In case of what, Acmed?” I asked pointedly.
“In case you see a slave you want for your own,” he said.
There was no way but I thought it might insult him if I
protested too vehemently.
“Achmed,” I said politely, “it’s a long way from… having an
experience with a girl for one night to… wanting one permanently.”
“Perhaps one you just can’t resist,” he said softly.
“In your dreams,” I
thought as I turned and continued up the staircase.
to be continued....
