Sold, to the Highest Bidder!

By then, all the white men were all but starving and Donald spoke up and meekly asked about food. The woman calmly responded by saying that they would get food later. It was several hours later and they were fed, but it could hardly be called food. They were served on metal prison plates a meal of oatmeal and fat back, a greasy piece of pork product that might have had a trace of meat if one were to look very closely or if one were to have a very vivid imagination. Without any utensils, Donald scooped up the bland, nutrition-less, goop with his fingers and fed himself. Having no taste or flavor it still tasted like a gourmet meal with him having gone far more than 24 hours without any food. To drink, they weren't given water, they were given cheap whiskey. It burned going down and tasted like the dregs of the bottom of the barrel. Within an hour, all twelve men were completely intoxicated.

At the dawn of their second evening there, Donald could hear the makings of a party downstairs. There were the sounds of music and people being festive, and the aromas of wonderful food being served wafted about, making Donald's hunger even more apparent. Intoxicated, Donald tried to figure out a strategy to get purchased. He was trying to figure out how to stand out, how to make himself more appealing. His planning was interrupted as several Black men, all ones he had never seen before, entered their room with buckets of water and bars of lye soap that smelled liked disinfectant. The water was freezing cold and they had no washcloths or towels and the Black men seemed to be amused by their predicament as the white men tried to clean themselves and make themselves presentable.

With each passing moment, the dawn of realization that what actual slaves had to endure was far worse than his circumstances became more and more apparent. He hadn't been raised to believe himself inferior his entire life. He had never done a hard day's work in his life, he had never been sold away from his loved ones, he had never been forced to do anything sexually that he didn't want. It was almost as if the spirits of slaves were whispering to him within those walls, telling him that he would never know what it truly means to be hated for no other reason than the color of his skin.

The witching hour was nigh. The woman with the clipboard came in, this time dressed wearing an elegant gold evening gown, and she gave details of what was going to happen. There was going to be an inspection period where the invited guests would be able to examine, question, and scrutinize them in any way they wanted. The men were stripped naked and given a hit of poppers, the effects of which combined with the alcohol immediately. The final insult was that they were all chained together with heavy leg irons that left little room for movement. Quickly, they had to get in rhythm so as not to fall down and it wasn't so easy for some of them that didn't have the natural cadence of Africans.

In the grand opera hall, opulent and elegant, the white men stood on the stage like they were about to face a firing squad. Donald tried not to look at any faces in the crowd, rather, he hung his head in shame. The examination period was akin to gang rape. The Black men who were present all pulled their dicks out and demanded oral sex from the submissives they were interested in. For Donald, seeing all the sexual activity going on around him flipped the switch in his brain that signaled his love of depravity. Some slaves were fucked like dogs from behind, without even seeing the face of their penetrators. Donald was neither required to give oral sex or offer his asshole for use by any of the potential buyers. He stood there, feeling insecure, and again wishing that this type of event had existed in his younger years, as a few people slapped his nuts and looked in his mouth like they were buying a horse.

The bidding began. Even though the room was filled with hundreds, the participants were only allowed to bid on the white men who matched their specific offerings: Dommes with dungeons were only allowed to bid on those white men who requested that specifically and so on, so the number diminished quickly of potential buyers who had actual property that could be used as a plantation. The order of the auction didn't seem to be based on the same order that they had been previously called. The youngest two were up for auction first. They both were to be matched with dominants who wanted household domestics, servants, sexual playthings for Black Dommes wanting a boy toy and there was a bidding frenzy for them. In the age of technology, bids were made by phone and the amounts were posted on large screens around the room. The opening bid was $100 and quickly rose to $800 for the first and got as high as $1200 for the second young man. They seemed proud of themselves.

The next group to bid were the dominants with dungeons. Six of the remaining white men were matched with those buyers and bidding didn't get to more than $200 for any of them. One didn't get any bids and one got a bid of $50 as a sort of last minute reprieve. Of the four remaining whites, Donald was feeling pessimistic about his chances of being purchased for the evening. He would have to go home, dejected and inconsolable.

Just as his "item number" was being called, and he was being described by the woman in gold, Donald felt the pangs of rejection. This was his one shot. In the privacy of his own home, Donald routinely behaved in shameful and disgusting ways in his relentless pursuits of the ultimate in degenerate acts. This was no time to hold back. Having no shame and taking a deep breath, emboldened by the amyl nitrate, Donald, desperate to show his depravity to the audience, fell to his knees and turned to his closest neighbor's hard cock and began sucking it and trying to show just how depraved and perverted he could be. The bidding began. Wanting to show their respective perversion, the other white maggots began to perform as well, one fist fucking himself with no lube or spit, another torturing his balls in ways that indicated that they hadn't produced sperm in a very long time. By the time Donald had made his fellow submissive shoot a feeble stream of cum in his mouth, the final bid was $400. Sold! Now, he could truly be called a slave.

Donald was given a burlap sack, literally, a bag made from jute with two holes cut for his arms to wear, and he was ushered into a van out a back door of the building. Seated on a bench, Donald waited. One by one, the remaining three plantation slaves were loaded in the van and they were again chained together with heavy leg irons and chains that seemed to weigh even more now that the effects of the alcohol and poppers had worn off a bit. It seems, in his delusional lust, Donald hadn't noticed that the bidding was for a package deal: all four subs were sold for $400, $100 a piece, to a consortium of Blacks who took dominating whites very seriously and had purchased a hundred acre plantation in Mississippi for the sole purpose of stripping white men of their dignity and humanity. For a brief moment Donald wondered what sort of pride and/or shame real slaves felt knowing their value on the auction block. It was only a fleeting thought; he was more concerned with what sexual thrills might lie ahead of him.

The ride took hours, exactly how long he couldn't know, but he was uncomfortable and sleepy and hungry again. At some point in the middle of the night, the vehicle arrived at its destination and they were herded out of the van and into the night air. All the slaves were immediately divested of their sacks and they were to remain naked for the duration of their stay. If at any time a Dominant wanted to use or abuse them sexually, their genitals were to be easily accessible at all times. Half expecting to be led to their sleeping quarters, the slaves were introduced to their new owners. There were three men and three women. Masters Evan, Jason, and Kavai were all professional looking and well dressed, no hoodies or red or blue colored bandanas, there wasn't a gold teeth or chain among them. They were not the thugs he had fantasized would be raping him. They had on expensive designer suits and were groomed to perfection. They certainly would do, however, as they all sported enormous erections that looked dangerous and lethal.

Mistresses Alana, Anntia, and Raquel were dressed well but it was not their clothing that captivated Donald. With their heels, they all stood a foot taller than him and they were all muscular, like body builder/steroid junky/gym rat sort of muscular. There hadn't been much miscegenation in their ancestry because all of them were very dark skinned. Donald couldn't take his eyes off them. Mistress Alana wore her hair in braids while Mistresses Anntia and Raquel had their hair styled in a way that Donald didn't have words for; it was best described as . . . complex and ethnic. They were dressed exactly how you would expect a professional Domme to look, tight black leather skirts and boots and skimpy tops that barely held their ample breasts and hard, bulging muscles accessorized their ensembles. They looked like they could crush him like a bug if they wanted to. And indeed they looked like they wanted to.

Before they could be led to the place where they were to sleep, all four men had to perform oral sex on their new Masters. Donald got his face brutally fucked in the wee morning hours as he was slapped, called names, and laughed at by his new owners. The lovely ladies all donned massive strapons that they forced down the throats of their captives as well. He choked, vomited, gagged, and swallowed piss and cum before he was thrown in a barn. The haystacks he made into a makeshift bed felt like a they had been programmed with his perfect sleep number after his ordeal in New Orleans and he passed out from exhaustion.

His first day of captivity was memorable only in that his surroundings were new and strange. The very first thing he was subjected to was being placed on a horse with a rope around his neck that was tied to a tree. He was there for what he imagined to be an hour, his body shaded from the burning morning sun by the shade of the majestic 200 year old maple. Donald didn't have to wonder why he was being subjected to this particular punishment and he was made to explain to his owners exactly why he was. During slavery, Blacks were routinely hanged from trees, it was the strange fruit that Billie Holiday sang about. Donald felt the fear of his life when Master Jason slapped the horse and it ran off and he was left hanging from a tree by his neck with a rope, his feet were feet from the ground, his air was being cut off while his owners laughed at his predicament.

He wasn't sure exactly how he got down from the tree as he had passed out and when he awoke, his legs were spread by a huge bar and his body shackled in a stockade device and he was being whipped by one of his Masters, which one he couldn't be sure, and a large object, exactly what he couldn't be sure of either, had been inserted deeply in his rectum. After that, the days were to run together in his mind because 18 to 20 hours a day, he had no contact with the outside world, and he was being tortured in ways that he'd never contemplated before. It was clear that while on the plantation his only job would be to suffer the sadistic tortures of his owners.

The flesh from his back, cock, and balls was beaten raw with various devices until his flesh was a constant shade of red and purple, black and blue. He was enclosed in metal boxes that had been dug into the ground and left in the unbearable heat with no water with only his head above ground. Once, his head was covered with honey and he was left there for hours as every sort of insect made a feast of his head, neck, and face. He wasn't allowed to bathe, he had no toothbrush, not deodorant, no toilet paper. Additionally, he was fed food that actual slaves had to eat. Pig's feet, chitterlings, and scraps of rotted food that was unfit for humans was served in a trough and they had to eat like real pigs. Every bite was excruciating.

It was the Dommes, however, who were the most sadistic. They took evil delight in seeing their slaves scream in agony. It was nothing for them to use torches to burn the soles of a disobedient slave's feet and unleash vicious dogs on them to chase them through the woods, across jagged rocks and rough terrain like a runaway slave. Donald did not have to endure that particular inhumanity because he willingly submitted to whatever deviant torture he was subjected to but he was ever cognizant of the fact that it could happen to him at any moment. True to their nature as women, they wanted a more intimate, personal torture of their slaves. They would sit their full, round, black asses on their slave's faces until they would pass out, until they were seconds from death, revive them, and then do it again. Anything that they could put their hands on was used to penetrate their slaves, to fuck them fiercely, and they seemed to be particularly amused by trying to fist each of the slaves as hard and as deeply as possible.

Perhaps the greatest torture was that Donald was not allowed the pleasure of even seeing his Mistress's pussies. Often times, he could smell their arousal and he hear the clear sounds of fucking coming from their quarters so he knew that his owners were engaged in extended sexual pairings, seemingly aroused by their ability to torture and humiliate white men at their whim. He wanted to lick their cum-filled cunts, he longed to drink their hot piss straight from the source but it was not to be. During his stay Donald was not to experience anything that was remotely close to pleasure, pain was his only sustenance.

The evening's entertainment, after everyone had eaten, the Masters having a catered meal, the slaves eating scraps, would usually be one of the Dommes picking a victim to wrestle. They would all head to the barn and in a boxing ring, one of the slaves would be made to spar with a Domme while the others watched. It was the third night before Donald was forced to fight with Mistress Anntia and she thoroughly kicked his ass. She treated him like a rag doll. He was flipped and tossed about, punched, and kicked until he was covered in bruises and truly beaten.

The few hours that they had to sleep, the time before the sun came up when he had a few moments to reflect on his predicament, Donald would think about what real slaves had to endure. Those were the most painful moments of his day. He had never been denied education; he didn't know what it felt like to know that there was no end to his pain. Everything that he was going through, he knew that actual slaves had it much worse. That thought tortured him in ways he had never anticipated. Whatever he had to endure, whatever predicament he faced, Donald knew it was temporary, that he had a home and a life to return to at the end of his "vacation". His brain was conflicted. On some deep level, he wanted this to be his existence for life. His role in life, his true identity was an inferior pain pig. He wanted his owners to be proud of him, to be proud of how much pain he could take for them; he wanted them to enjoy inflicting pain on him.

As the end of the first week drew near, Brain had formed a stronger bond with his captors than his fellow slaves. He loved the way their minds worked, how they had little or no concern about the well-being of their slaves, he loved the creative and repugnant tortures they came up with. He loved them. He loved belonging to them. And his opportunity to show his utter devotion would be at the slave games which were actually Olympic style competitions for the sole purpose of abusing the slaves for the entertainment of their Masters. As fate would have it, the competition involved feeding the slaves Viagra and X and then each and every Dominant using stinging nettles from head to toe on each of the slaves until they begged for mercy. He learned that the use of stinging nettles was actually a punishment inflicted on real slaves in the US historically and he cringed with conflicted guilt and aroused anticipation.

Set out to pick their own weapons of ass destruction, two of his comrades dissolved into a heaping mass of tears before they suffered the first blow. They begged for mercy, leaving Donald and Chris, the other remaining slave, to offer any part of their bodies for abuse. Chris lasted about a minute before he succumbed to the pain and cried out for them to stop. He was defeated.

Donald stood proud. From the moment he entered the opera house he'd felt insignificant, unremarkable. For the first time since his adventures began, Donald felt noteworthy. Clad in rubber from head to toe, Master Kavai set about to beat Donald about the cock and balls so severely that he would be forced to surrender. Donald moaned and groaned, but they were sounds of definite pleasure, there was no mistaking that. He felt each stinging blow as excruciating pain but also pleasure. Well, it registered as pain, his cock and balls were red and swollen, but the force with which he was being beaten, the level of intense pain, all the eyes watching him, his total surrender, everything worked him into a sexual frenzy. He wanted to suck cock, to get fucked, he wanted to be put in a head lock with the strong thighs of Mistress Raquel and smell her musky pussy and asshole while his oxygen supply was being cut off. He wanted, craved, and needed more. He writhed around on the dusty ground and screamed out, but he never said the word stop.

Master Even seemed angered and he tied Donald to a tree and donned arm-length rubber gloves and started beating Donald himself. "You like this? You want this? My ancestors didn't want this. Who's really inferior you fucking sick fuck? Answer me! Who's really inferior? Fucking pig!" He exhausted himself beating Donald. One by one, everyone took turns beating Donald with the stinging nettles. Finally, all three Mistresses decided that they would assault him simultaneously.

Donald's wrists were tied together and he was strung up in a tree, his feet barely touching the ground. His cock was hard from the Viagra; his mind was clouded with lust by the Ecstasy. Front and back, top to bottom, there was not a square inch on his body that did not receive lashes with the stinging nettles. Donald was in a sub space mentally like he'd never experienced before. His body was covered with red welts. He made sounds like a wounded animal. He was rendered unconscious from the pain momentarily and was revived with ice-cold water only to have the beating start again. Exasperated and angry, Master Evan cut him down from the tree. Donald's body crumpled to the ground and he lay there with his six Masters surrounding him.

Feral and disoriented, Donald grabbed his cock for the first time since being on the plantation and started furiously jerking off. His Masters spit on him, kicked him, pissed on him, cursed him and he loved it more and more. He loved their anger, he loved their disgust, and he loved their cruelty. His red and abused cock erupted in an orgasm with more force than it had done in 30 years.

He awoke the next morning in the barn. He glanced around his surrounding to see that he was alone. He couldn't move, his body was literally paralyzed with pain. Mistress Alana came to give him his breakfast, grits with sugar and butter and more fat back, and he inquired about the whereabouts of the other slaves.

"Oh, you don't know? Well, they only signed up for one week, you signed up for two. We have you all to ourselves for another seven days."

Copyright 2016 AfroerotiK