16th Century Slave Market Pt. 01

Her face completely red, tears dripping down over her breasts, she moved her hands and lifted herself toward the two men. One nodded at Philippe, and the ordeal was over.

"Please listen. The reason they whip your feet is that it is extremely painful but doesn't mark the body. Again, this is about your value. I have felt this pain myself. Please don't give your Masters a reason to do this. Let me finish. You will be sold off in the market in a few days." He held his finger to his lips.

"There is no way to alter your fate. No ransom is coming, and no one even knows you are here. You are only a few of the hundreds of women who come here each month. I would add that you are lucky that you are virgins, as you will receive far better treatment than the others. You will likely be in a harem where you will find female companionship as you serve your Master.

"Many of your fellow women will be kitchen slaves or maids, or serve in the tents of soldiers. Your men, if they survive the next few weeks, will serve in the mines and quarries. Slaves built most of the beautiful towers in our city." Most of the women, numb, showed little reaction other than more tears.

"You will find mats at the back of this room. Claim one for yourself, and then see me or any of the others to tend to your needs. Please don't bother asking about escape, or try to curry favor. Your sash defines your high status here. Wear it with pride. Thank you."

An hour later, Philippe walked Carina with a group to relieve herself. The "facilities" consisted of two rough holes in the floor. "This is a large group today, and we don't have enough of these. You will fare much better in the future." He untied her sash and turned away as she squatted.

He re-tied the belt very tightly, making her squirm. "Shh. It is meant to be tight. The pressure is supposed to remind you of your precious treasure." He pressed his hand underneath the sash. "Carina, this is a gift you are saving for the time when your new Master decides to claim it."

The sounds of quiet, forlorn sobbing made sleep difficult that night. At some point in the darkness, nearly every woman turned to the wall and secretly slipped her fingers down to explore that part of her that had suddenly become so central to their lives. Most only wanted to feel their strange, newly bared skin. A few rubbed a little more and had to stifle their little whimpers for fear of discovery.

Philippe, standing watch in the dark, heard the familiar muffled sighs and smiled.

In the morning, he brought five captives to the latrine and removed the first red sash. "You all are very lucky. After the Masters inspected you last evening, they went straight to the other quarters and had their way with your compatriots. I could hear them into the night."

He winked. "I also heard a few of you!" One of the women blushed and covered her breasts. "That is forbidden, and it is not worth further punishment to your feet. Do I make myself clear?"

The maidens nodded in fear. His words only increased the dismaying frustration that their entire existence suddenly centered on the forbidden spot between their legs. Philippe knew from experience that, in response to this terrible stress, some would take the risk and learn to stimulate themselves in complete silence.

Meals on the second day seemed almost luxurious compared to the meager fare on the ship. Beside Philippe, three female slaves attended the "reds." Sweet-smelling bread and a kind of vegetable and lamb stew along with strong tea raised the group's spirits somewhat.

Five at a time, the slaves took them back to the bath rack, which soon drew a crowd of leering onlookers. Philippe took the second group, including his obvious favorite, Carina. He whispered, "Senorita, pay no attention to these men. They are the ones too sick or old to go to sea. Our ships are leaving for another raid soon and may be gone for weeks. The crew said that only a handful of their men died taking your island, so they are going back to the Mediterranean for easy pickings."

The last group to the bath rack found the onlookers growing restless. They called out what were obviously lewd comments to the foreign captives. One of the men motioned Yasmeen, the slave woman, to the platform edge and started gesturing toward the five and making demands. Having no choice, she nodded.

Unlike the previous groups, she removed all the red sashes at once. Then she took each girl by the neck and pushed her down on all fours, feet widely apart, and began washing them in this wanton posture. As instructed, she spent extra time scrubbing roughly between their legs, causing squirms and cries from the scandalized virgins and much laughter from the bemused gallery. Their bodies received a hard lathering as well, so that, as they returned to quarters, their skin looked almost uniformly red, either from the hard scrub or the deep blush that painted faces and chests.

With tightened sashes and retouched forehead marks, each bevy of five beauties rotated through a room, receiving a wire wristband with a clay tag. The tags contained the same information as their foreheads: virginity status, responsiveness rating, and a mark that denoted their place of origin.

Philippe forbid any touching of the tokens, reminding the women that they would confer high status and value at the next day's auction. Confirmation of their pending sale visibly increased the level of distress among the wide-eyed innocents. He directed them to rest on their pallets for a few hours.

"Your preparation is complete. You are the most beautiful group I have seen in many months, and your black hair and fair skin will be prized. I will see you after the last meal for a brief training session."

Quiet weeping replaced sleeping for the afternoon, as the conquered, inconsolable women lay face-down or in fetal positions to preserve the wisp of modesty left to them.

That evening, he again arranged the 20 maidens in a line facing him. "We will be rising early for final preparations. You will be combed and made beautiful. Your Masters expect complete obedience tomorrow. Each of you witnessed the exquisite punishment that they employ here.

"Only three times in recent years has a girl balked. In each case, she received blows on both feet right on the platform and still had to complete the command. The trainers of those three, once including myself, received punishment as well.

"You will be sold one at a time in the nearby market. The buyers are from many places, and some will not understand the language. On the block, the seller will display your beauty with hand gestures and facial expressions that are understood by men everywhere.

"He has a whip, but it is mainly for communication. He will use it to direct you to various positions and angles, which you will assume instantly. Many of you will cry. That is permitted and, in fact, your innocent embarrassment increases your value for some buyers.

"One more thing. As you are sold, you will be directed down steps at the side of the platform to meet your new Master. You must kneel and offer yourself. Yasmeen will show you."

The slave fell to a kneeling position, opening her legs. As Philippe walked toward her, she bent forward and pulled her hair aside. "He will place a collar on your neck. It is customary to kiss his hand and wait for his direction. Prepare yourselves to follow behind him in complete submission. Please sit in your group now. I will come to speak to you of other matters." He came to Carina's little flock first and spoke in a low voice.

"Most of you will have a better life than you can imagine right now. The other women in the harem will teach you and sustain you. Of course, you will also know the petty jealousies and backbiting that are part of any group of females. The sale tomorrow will be difficult, but each of you will shine with your beauty and your obedience. In a few weeks, you will be settled in your new home, and your Master will send for you. By custom, he will expect you to dance for him while removing and offering your sash in complete surrender."

Carina began to tremble. "How can this be? How can you send us to this fate?"

Philippe took her hand. "Carina, I am your compatriota. If I could change our unfair world, I would. But we must accept our destiny. It is the way of these men.

"Look at me. I have arranged a small favor for you. This morning, I spoke of a certain forbidden behavior." Several eyes dropped downward as recognition dawned. "I have spoken to the other slaves, and we agree that many of you might need to relieve your stress and apprehension for tomorrow. It will also help you sleep. Tonight when the Masters leave, I will say, 'Goodnight, senoritas.' You may proceed as quietly as is possible.

"Some of you may have never touched yourselves, and I advise you to do so. It will help your understanding and even enjoyment of your future life." Abruptly, Philippe looked at the floor, appearing close to tears himself. He stammered, "Remember, the men of your village will never again have that enjoyment."

He rose and walked away, leaving his appalling meaning to sink in among the women.

Darkness fell across the room, and the quiet sobbing seemed to cease with the setting sun. They waited. Fifteen minutes passed, then half an hour. Had he forgotten?

"Bona nit, dolça Senyoretes."

A few of the women dismissed this idea as sinful and depraved, but for most, these lascivious thoughts ran in one direction. In the midst of this oppressive, terrifying prison, age-old instincts prevailed. A few fingers slowly descended under the hated red sash. Tentative motions gradually increased to a near frenzy as the neophytes realized that this was an elusive goal.

Philippe slowly walked across the room and smiled at the other slaves as faint sighs became muffled grunts. The sounds faded, but the delicate smells of nearly 20 females in heat lasted for an hour.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On the morning of the auction, no food appeared. At the latrine, the women heard the odd command to relieve themselves completely, to avoid accidents at the sale. In place of a bath, the slaves used wet cloths to wipe down each body and erase the forehead marks. They sat cross-legged on the floor so the slaves could work on their hair.

As Philippe's brush tugged and snagged its way through her long hair, Carina, as most women do, entered a state of light euphoria. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother, primping and braiding her tresses. For ten long minutes, she kept her dire situation at a distance. As the beauty session finished, a lighter mood took over the group. The women whispered and touched one another's hair in what must have seemed like a brief period of freedom between horrible nightmares.

"We are ready to leave. Please re-tighten your sash. You would not want to lose it." The captives cinched the knots, feeling the subtle, not unpleasant pressure on their most private parts. "We often march to market chained together. I don't think that is needed today, but you must hold tightly to another hand as we walk." The slaves walked among them handing out long garments. "This culture requires public modesty for women." As the hooded cloak covered her nudity, Carina thought of it as an ironic and cruel charade. She glared at Philippe, who quickly looked away.

The sights, sounds, and smells of the ancient city distracted the group until the large market building loomed. Cattle and sheep occupied much of the space while other parts sold dry goods. Vendors and customers bartered and gestured over wares of infinite variety. At length, they entered a doorway that led to the human flesh merchants.

Philippe and the other slaves first washed dirty feet then directed the girls to line up along the walls in a room behind the block. "A few of the most favored buyers will be allowed to see you before the sale. They will want to see your body, but as you are virgins, they may not touch you. Again, you are fortunate, as the other women sold today will have no such restrictions. Just stand there and look straight ahead. Hold up your tag if they point to it."

A tall man in flowing robes stepped into the room. At once, the three female slaves fell to their knees. Philippe bowed at the waist and gestured toward the women. The man, obviously in charge, spoke briefly to Philippe and motioned four bearded men toward the line of merchandise.

Carina, fourth in line, garnered interest from all the guests. Her garment soon dropped to the floor as she raised her arms and turned in a circle at their bidding. They didn't touch her, but she could feel their breath on her breasts and face. She gasped, mortified, when one man bent down to sniff her crotch like a dog.

The patrons departed while Carina and the others quickly covered themselves. They heard voices to their left and through wide doorways, they could clearly see four men on an adjacent platform being sold. Their heads were shaved and they were naked, save for a small loincloth.

Buyers would kneel down, lift up the cloth and closely inspect the sweating men. Guards directed them to bend over for further examination. In a few minutes, the men shuffled off the block and into a shortened life of grueling hard labor under the whips of cruel men, appropriately called "slave drivers."

Philippe knew Carina would go early, as the practice dictated that the most alluring maidens went first. Otherwise, the men would hold back their bids. A lackey came back and grabbed the first girl by the hand, rushing her to the stage. Carina tried to listen to the proceeding but only heard crowd noise.

In ten minutes time, Carina found herself hustled to the block, hood lowered. The auctioneer checked her clay tag and began his pitch. He seized her long hair in one hand and pulled her mouth open with the other. He apparently pronounced her teeth healthy and circled to the back. Keeping up a constant chatter, he slowly drew the garment off her shoulders and down to the floor, leaving nothing but her definitive red belt before a sea of black eyes. He slipped his hand around inside the front of the sash and made a gesture indicating the smoothness of her innermost secrets.

Carina's eyes fluttered as her mind abandoned this repulsive place. She noticed a dreamy white cloud drifting high above the arena. Birds wheeling around the city.

He called for bids at this point, building interest in his livestock. Placing her hands on top of her head, he began running fingernails down her arms and across the sides of her breasts. Carina started squirming as he finished by grazing just inside the top of her sash. The expert stimulation produced bucking hips and gasps. Only the sash protected her from a much more intimate demonstration of her responsiveness. Other women sold later in the day were not so lucky, sometimes having an orgasm forced on them to make the sale.

Carina's gyrations started a bidding frenzy, finally ending with a closed fist. As her new owner came forward, she tried to discern if he had a kind face, but her foggy mind could only fix on his black beard. She froze for a moment until the auctioneer turned her shoulder to the side. The steps felt odd on her bare toes. In a haze, she saw the dry ground at the bottom and had a fleeting concern that her feet were going to get dirty again.

On the eighteenth of July 1558, Senorita Carina Orellana, formerly of Menorca, remembered Philippe's instructions. Covered in sweat, she sank to her knees in the dust. As he approached, she moved her knees apart in submission and lifted her hair to the left.

End, Part 1

Author's note: Thanks for reading. Please vote! These tales are pure fantasy. In the real world, slavery is not confined to the dustbin of history. Today's victims are often women who are duped with false promises.

For new readers:

For many years, I have experienced a recurring dream in which I am taken from my bed and marched off to a captive slave auction. The two auctions reprinted below are from my series, 48 Hours on Blue Bayou and embody the varied aspects of my dreams. I would like to read comments and emails, particularly from women, on your own dreams and fantasies. It will be obvious that the second auction below inspired the research and writing of the Algiers story.

— Carole99

From 48 Hours on Blue Bayou, Part 1:

{The story to this point: Albert and his men have commandeered a luxury yacht, Blue Bayou, at gunpoint. They have captured six women who are who undergo a day of slave training before ten men bid on their bodies and services. The auction takes place on the forward deck.}

"Ladies, as I call your number, please walk gracefully to the rail and return to your place. Number one." A small sound escaped her lips as Autumn made her way to the rail. The tight dress forced small steps and, as all the men noticed, her heels made the small muscles in her calves move in an enticing way.

..."Heads up, please. Number one, rise. Number two, unzip her dress and help her out of it. Very slowly."

From 48 Hours on Blue Bayou, Autumn Part 6:

{The story to this point: After the auction, Autumn soon finds herself on an even larger yacht under the domination of the Master's trainer, Miriam. She is explaining the Master's latest whim to the four captives.}

"Master is a history buff, and we are going to reenact a slave auction as it might have happened in ancient Syria."...

...The Captain led the captured women onto the platform. They were joined in a coffle by collars and a light chain, hands bound in front of their bodies.

"Gentlemen, welcome to our humble market...He drew a small knife and cut the button from the back of the caftan, slowly baring her shoulders. He began a leisurely roll of the dress down over her breasts and abdomen,..He began to caress her stomach, moving up to the left breast and nipple.

One by one, he stripped the women in the same casual manner. He stepped in front of them, snapped the whip and pointed to the floor. Using the touch of the whip to place their limbs, he soon had each captive kneeling spread-eagled and stretched.

"Please step forward and inspect your prospective purchase."

Author's note: For the full story, see "48 Hours on Blue Bayou."

— Carole99