Stamboul Slavers Part 3: Virgin Bulls

After many years as the leading slave marketers of the Ottoman 
capital, my father's business decides to introduce a deluxe range of 
eunuchs for the Empire's leading private harems. 

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Stamboul Slavers  Part 3: Virgin Bulls

After many years as the leading slave marketers of the Ottoman 
capital, my father's business decides to introduce a deluxe range of 
eunuchs for the Empire's leading private harems. 

The Choosing

The yardmaster and I went down to the holding pens, where our 
consignment of work slaves for tomorrow's sales were bedded down on 
straw for the night. There were 32 in the pens tonight. Bought 
sight-unseen at the Cairo slave markets by our agents, they had 
arrived earlier in the week, by galley from Alexandria. All 
Africans, mainly Nubians, they ranged in age from late teens to 
early adults. Brought down the Nile to Cairo from Nubia where they 
had been either caught in slave raids or, increasingly, were 
captured in wars between African kingdoms and sold as profit to the 
victorious ruler. Too late to geld when captured, they were spared 
the usual massacre of captured men in Africa and due to their 
muscles sold as work slaves. Now far from their homes, without any 
chance of return and bewildered by a city the size of Stamboul, they 
were surprisingly docile despite their obvious strength. 

It was the long time practice of the family to keep no more than six 
slaves in a single pen. For security, given that there were eight 
adults in total running the business. The yardmaster called two of  
the workers to help him and to stand guard. "I want to inspect the 
balls of each of the Nubians. Open one pen at a time, bring them out 
one at a time and have each of them stand at this hitching rail, one 
next to each other."  At that our search began. The workers went 
into the nearest slave pen and brought out the first of the slaves. 
Once he was brought to the waist-high rail, he was made to stand 
against it while the workers went back to collect the next specimen. 
Each, as usual, had his wrists roped together behind his back. There 
were five in the first cell, and when all were standing facing the 
rail, the yardmaster went along the front of the rail, bending each 
of the slaves over it. Next, he walked around the back of the rail 
and with some ends of rope tied the now spread out legs of each of 
the slaves to the next slave at the ankle.

"Stand in front of them with your whips and use them if any start to 
bend upward while I inspect them." With that the yardmaster then 
walked behind the rail and started to inspect the first slave by 
reaching beneath his spread out legs and taking his balls in his 
right hand. "I think that you had better join in this choice; it'll 
be good for your education." So saying he held the first slave's 
balls out towards me. The sac had become loosened with the handling, 
the balls within easy to weigh up through the skin. The Nubian by 
now was beginning to get an erection, probably thinking that it 
would be his last, given that all the ball play could only mean 
looming castration.

The yardmaster and I repeated the procedure of inspection as we 
moved down the line. "A hard choice really" said the yardmaster 
"they're all quite large; that's how it usually is with these 
Africans. I think this one second from the end wins the prize for 
this lot; not much of a face though". Eager for the experiment to 
procede as quickly as possible and barely able to keep my erection 
down, I nodded agreement. Anyhow, what really interested me was the 
Slav boy that father had agreed to cut tonight. These Nubians were 
well built and pleasingly proportioned but rarely beautiful in the 
sense that I lusted after. And there was no way that they were 
virgins; many in fact had been soldiers.

The slave that it had been decided had the biggest balls of the five 
from the first pen, was taken by the guards to an empty holding pen. 
The remaining four were then returned to their original pen. This 
procedure was then repeated on all the remaining pens. Eventually we 
had ourselves a slave pen of six big-balled Nubians. "I think now 
that we have reached this stage" said the yardmaster to me "we 
should have a look at the faces and the overall body strength before 
we get to weighing up balls again." I replied that given the fact 
that the slaves so far chosen all had large ball sets, it would be 
better to concentrate on the looks; unless that is, one of the 
slaves had an outstandingly large set. "Let's see how they measure 
up" he replied.

The guards then brought the six chosen slaves out from their holding 
pen, and leading them back to the hitching rail, had them stand with 
their backs to the rail. The yardmaster then walked behind the 
slaves tying each of their bound hands to the rail. "Now we can 
begin the final selection" he said, walking back to where I was 
standing. "Looking at them from here, I'd have to say that the 
darker one at the far end has the best overall look, face and 
strength-wise". He was referring to the young bull of a slave tied 
at the end of the rail. Aged in his early 20's, stronger and better 
proportioned than the Nubians who stood next to him, he was probably 
a former warrior captured in one of the wars between Africa's native 
kingdoms. The Kingdom of Bornu had made the capture and export of 
slaves its major export industry. "Looks like an Ibo or maybe even a 
Mandingo" said the yardmaster, who after so many years in our 
business had become expert in judging from which tribes the many 
Africans who passed through our pens came from.

Walking along the line of displayed slaves, the yardmaster felt 
again the balls of each slave. "It's really quite difficult to 
tell�our Mandingo here is as large as any of the others. I think we 
should go with him on the basis of the other factors". Looking 
towards the yardmaster, who was standing next to 'the Mandingo', as 
he spoke I suddenly noticed the look of re-ignited fire in the 
slave's eyes. Instinctively, perhaps even blushingly, I smiled at 
the slave. This seemed to confuse and quiet him down. I'm sure that 
the yardmaster thought that I was smiling at him, for he said "then 
that's settled. Take these other ones back to their original pens, 
then take this one here to the bathhouse and wash him well. Keep him 
there till I join you again. We have a young Slav to choose for 
tonight's exercise".

"That went well, now let's look at those Slav boys" said the 
yardmaster to me as he started to walk off towards the steps that 
led to the upstairs cells where the boys were being kept. We had 
five of them to look over tonight. Captured as a result of the 
Sultan's on-going Balkan wars, they had been sent back to the 
capital as part of the general booty of conquest. Bought by my 
father at the special slave fairs for war captives held outside the 
city gates, the boys slaves were destined either for the personal 
service of rich ladies or, if the looks and attitude were in 
alignment, the capital's many 'houses with boys'. Because of the 
added value of their sale, the business took more care with them; 
restoring their health, cleaning up their appearance, teaching them 
the basic arts of service and if they had the looks, the basic arts 
of the bed. This was my current contribution to the success of the 
business; my father and brothers not sharing my taste for virgin 
slave boys.

The five young slaves were sleeping on straw pallets in the upstairs 
cell that the yardmaster and I entered. They had been bought at the 
slave fair two days previous and as such had not been out of the 
cell since they arrived. As the yardmaster lit the wall torched with 
his lantern, I could see as they were aroused from their sleep that 
of the five, two were noticeably younger than the others. Around 
seven or eight and thus too many years away from manhood to worry 
about. Of the other three boys, two were dark and the other blond. 
All were around the eleven to thirteen age group, though as the 
light grew brighter, I could see that one of the dark haired boys 
had already started to sprout his sex hairs. "Since father wants me 
to choose, I think it can only be between these two" I said, 
pointing to the two captives in question.           

"The blond seems better suited to our needs" said the yardmaster, 
"his face is rougher than the dark one, but the muscles are starting 
to form". "Yes I agree" I added, though to me the dark one was more 
to my taste in slave boys. "Bring him into the light" I said. "I 
want to see if he has any blond sex hairs that we can't see in the 
light". The yardmaster went over to where the boy was sitting and 
taking him by the arm, brought him back into the light. Boys that 
age aren't bound and when he was stood before me, he began to 
struggle to be free of the yardmaster's hold on his arm. "Better 
rope this one, there's some fight in him" said the yardmaster. This 
I did with one of the cords he always carried on his belt. Once 
secure but still showing resentment the boy was checked for any sex 
hairs and none being found, we walked him down to the bathhouse 
where 'the Mandingo' slave and the two workers were awaiting us.

To be continued�