EXTRACT FOR
Slave to a Chinese Billionaire
(Author Unknown)

Chapter 1

    

    My name is Bruce Scott and I am indeed the slave of a Chinese billionaire.  It happened like this: I had graduated from RMITU, the Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology University as a chef and desiring to further my education with a practical knowledge of Chinese cuisine made plans to go there on a student visa for a six-month practical tour of the country, soaking up the different types of dishes common to particular areas.

    Alas, I didn't even last the first week in Beijing.

    I was staying in a student hostel and had been getting on pretty well with the other residents there despite my pretty rudimentary Mandarin Chinese and after dinner had decided to go down to their equivalent of a pub for a couple of beers and there got talking to a very suave and likeable man some ten years older than myself (22) who complimented me on my physique and good looks ??" and here I have to admit that my parents had blessed me with fine silver-blond hair, very blue eyes and a handsome face.  They had also endowed me with a good basic physique upon which I had built from my early teens onwards through a love of gymnastics and athletics and so I suppose I did present as a desirable young man.  Certainly I had no shortage of girlfriends throughout my secondary and tertiary education and have to admit to succumbing to temptation whenever they desired it.

    This man, who introduced himself to me simply as Chong, flattered me about my looks and seemed really interested in my project.  During this conversation, I had to visit the men's room and when I returned, we continued the most interesting chat with him plying me with more of their very delightful beer.

    But then I started to feel woozy and assuming it was the alcohol, pleaded the necessity to return to my hostel and made as if to stand up from the barstool at which I can remember collapsing into his arms.

    When I woke up, I was in what looked like one of those jails we used to see in the old Western films, that is iron bars separating the cells looking out on a room in which sat a most fearsome, huge Chinese thug, naked to the waist and displaying a truly enormous but very, very muscular body and whose face was scowling at me.

    I got to my feet, shivered and realised I was now naked.  All of my clothes including my underwear had been removed and was nowhere to be seen.  In fact, my cell and all those adjacent to it, as well as the room out in front of it was totally bare except for the seat in which sat this huge guard, who, upon noticing my recovery from whatever had drugged me, stood up and very ostentatiously removed his trousers to reveal genital organs like I could never have imagined on any human being.

    I didn't even wonder why he had removed his clothing ??" all my attention was focused upon that incredible body.  It was certainly not gross.  I am tall at 1.7 metres but I'm sure he towered over me.  His body looked as if it had been crafted to absolute perfection in the human male.  For example, his shoulder muscles were like boulders cleanly separated from his neck and upper arm.  His chest consisted of very well-developed and clean-cut pectoral muscles and his abdominal muscles were four pairs of sharply defined little pebbles that stood out clearly from his belly.  And the rest of him matched that kind of description.

    But his cock and balls were absolutely gigantic.  His penis was well over twenty-two centimetres long and as thick as a young woman's wrist while his testicles looked as big as large hens eggs.  His body was absolutely nude of all hair below his eyes and this showed off his incredible musculature and genitalia to perfection.

    His penis poked out from his smooth lower groin and then bent over to dangle heavily in front of his powerful thighs and now, as he moved closer to my cell, it began to engorge, rising and firming up until it poked straight up and out from his so muscular belly, now a massive twenty-five centimetres long and even thicker than described above.  I stared down at it in a mixture of awe and fear, instinctively reasoning I think that that monster was going to figure in my near future.

    Here I should say that although I have a number of friends who are gay, I have never once been even tempted to try out male-to-male sex with them or any other man.  I believe myself to be totally heterosexual although I am not at all prejudiced against gay men and women, aware that they are what they are and short of repressing it (which I am led to believe is very bad for their mental and emotional state of mind) cannot change things.

    But now, as I contemplated this quite enormous naked being standing only a few centimetres away from me on the other side of the iron bars, I felt sure he was going to come into my cell and fuck me.  I backed away and for some idiotic reason covered my genitals with my hands.

    To be honest, I have no idea why I did such an inane thing since I was well aware that if he wanted to poke me, while I would resist to the utmost of my strength and endurance, I was well aware that he would probably overpower me within seconds.

    But he didn't make any move to enter the cell, continuing to stand outside it but now flexing his so beautiful muscles and performing what I now know is termed the fuck-fuck dance.  In this, the performer raises his hands up behind his head and pulls his elbows right back and then stabs his erect penis up into the air in front of him in time with and whilst shouting the words, "Fuck, fuck.  Fuck-fuck-fuck!"  That is, the first two thrusts are performed violently but rather deliberately, whilst the next three are performed in rapid succession.

    I stood there with my back to the stone rear wall of the cell, watching this extremely lewd performance with a mixture of admiration for his athleticism and the way this action displayed his perfectly incredible body, combined with a growing fear that it was merely a prelude to him deflowering my thus far virginal anus.

    For all of his incredible height, the cut and definition of his muscles as he continued to flex them, combined with a skin as clean and smooth as I have ever seen on a female model performing in this way had me really staring at the spectacle he was presenting to me.  No, it didn't excite me in a sexual way.  I didn't feel even the slightest glimmering of a desire to touch him let alone make love to him, if that is the right expression.

    But I had to admit to an admiration that was purely aesthetic for his body.

    But then, another incredible thing happened.  Remember I had been increasingly worried that all this was a prelude to him entering my cell and thrusting that monster up between my buttocks and into my anus ??" and that I, despite my own pretty good athleticism, would have little hope of resisting him.  Well he didn't even come into the cell but now, without him even touching his penis with his hands, it simply erupted, jetting huge gobs of his grey-white spunk out from its tip, arcing up in a parabola to land on the stone floor a couple of metres in front of him.

    And those jets kept on coming.  I know from my own masturbatory exercises that at climax, I emit a couple or three fairly powerful jets and then just a couple more dribbles and that is that.  But his just seemed to go on and on.  I didn't count them but when it was all over I wondered at his motivation in performing this act in front of me.

    Of course, you know the answer, and so, eventually, did I.  He was using my body, my Caucasian and rather athletic body and my blond hair as his motivator.

    He didn't say anything and I later discovered he had no English at all.  During my final year at university, I had made every attempt to learn Mandarin Chinese but it is a very difficult language for Westerners to master as the nuances of sound are very small and require a lot of practice.

    Nevertheless, I asked him where I was and why.

    By this time his masturbation (if that's what you could call it since he hadn't once touched his penis with his hands) was over and he looked at me with a new interest as he perceived I had at least the rudiments of his language.

    He grinned then but it was hardly an expression of pleasure; rather more that of triumph over a defeated enemy.  What I translated him as saying was that I was now Xing's slave and that I was going to make a half decent white fuck-boy for him...

    I shuddered in more fear but now realised why he had made no attempt to come and do so himself.  I suspected that if he had, he would now be facing the removal of that whole genital package for I had now formed the opinion that this person named Xing was both very powerful and rather ruthless and anyone who crossed him would do so at their peril.

    But having satisfied himself by using my body to perve on while he mentally masturbated himself (I wondered how the hell he managed that particular feat), he now unlocked my cell and beckoned me out.

    By this time, I had a great deal of respect, at least for the physical aspects of my jailer.  I sensed that if I had refused, those great hands would have wrought untold agony to various parts of my body.  And so I moved forward towards the now open door whereupon he led me out of that dungeon and up some stairs to what I now perceived was a huge ancient castle such as Chinese warlords and members of the nobility once controlled.

    I did wonder that this giant, whose name was still a mystery to me, had not identified himself but I also noted that as we emerged on what I presumed was the ground floor, those who from their demeanour I presumed to be servants, stopped and bowed their heads to him as he passed.  He didn't even acknowledge them, striding forward and heading towards what I now presumed would be his boss' study or reception room, or the like.

    I have to say that walking beside him, stark naked as he was, was a bit of a comfort to me.  If he had been clothed and I still naked, it would have been considerably more shameful, bad and all as it already was.

    As we walked along, I wondered at his total hairlessness, that is at least below his eyes.  From that point down, his whole body was quite nude whereas mine sported a light fuzz on my chest and legs and a thick forest around my genital area.  I decided that his nudity looked one hell of a lot better than my hairiness.

    But these fleeting thoughts were always supervened by his announcement that I was now a male sex-slave to this man named Xing and that presumably he would be using my body for his sexual pleasure.

    I wondered that I as a white, blond, blue-eyed Australian could be attractive to him but then realised that perhaps he was into the exotic and desired young men like me as an alternative to oriental slaves.

    I then pondered that point.  While I knew that it had survived in various parts of the world, in most parts it had been abolished and made illegal by about the middle of the nineteenth century.  But then, by about the middle of the 21st-century, it had been restored by authority of the United Nations but only for the purposes of punishing crime.  The now universally acknowledged uselessness of the prisons around the world that cost their governments a fortune whilst doing nothing but keeping offenders off the streets, had been replaced by criminal slavery for periods of anything from five years to the term of the slave's natural life.  But at least in Australia, there weren't that many slaves around as most criminals had seen the harshness of the institution and mended their nefarious ways.

    Of course, I also realised that for people of enormous wealth, and Xing was obviously one of them, a whole different set of rules applies and perhaps he had many such slaves to afford him sexual pleasure and that he so delighted in them that he had Chong out and about, seeking out young men such as me for kidnapping and conversion to slavery.

    I also realised, ruefully, that while I had been quite open about my plans to visit China and starting in Beijing, then tour the country, or as much of it as I could in the six months I had allowed myself, and that my family knew the name of the hostel I would be staying in, the only lead they would have was that I had indicated I was going down to the pub for a beer.  In that vast city of twenty-two million souls, tracing which pub and who I had spoken with, all these weeks after the event ??" I later found out it needed that time to get the consular wheels turning ??" would be nigh-on impossible given the natural Chinese reticence when talking to foreigners.

    Furthermore, Chong was also well known as an employee of Xing and no-one would dare to say a word about either of them.  Not that I knew that then and was still under the illusion that the Australian diplomatic and consular authorities once alerted of my disappearance would use all their resources to try and trace me and I would soon be on my way home to Australia ??" never to depart again.

    Alas, such thoughts were pure fantasy.  The Chinese authorities would be all politeness and state that all their enquiries had come up with nothing.  I had simply disappeared and they had no idea where, why or how.  Which of course was so far from the truth is to be laughable.  I am now certain that very senior officials were well aware of Xing's collection of exotic male slaves and had no intention whatsoever of acknowledging it publicly.

    But at that time, as I was striding alongside the equally naked giant, all I could think of was my 'owner' and what he would require of me.  Eventually we reached the portal of what was obviously a very grand room.

    In various TV documentaries involving people visiting Buckingham Palace, I have noted the splendour and grandeur of the public rooms in that magnificent edifice and marvelled at their size and beauty.  Australia being a very new country, has no such architectural splendour, at least that I'm aware of, and so as we approached the lobby to this grand room with its enormous double doors outside of which stood a pair of armed guards in mediaeval Chinese uniforms representative of the last days of the Chinese Empire, they opened ponderously and the giant, whose name was still a mystery to me, led me into 'the presence'.

    Such a description is very valid for if I'm not much mistaken, the man sitting on a throne-like chair at the other end of the room dressed like an ancient Chinese Mandarin and surrounded by 'courtiers' in similar attire was as near as it is possible to be a modern-day emperor holding court.

    That this was possible in a modern Communist run China speaks reams of his power and influence.  And then, to underline the point even further, Zhong, as I now discovered was the giant's name kowtowed to the seated man on the 'throne' by dropping to the floor with his arms and legs spread wide then rose and gave his master a court bow then gestured for me to do the same.

    Although all of my instincts were screaming at me to resist such abject submission to another person, the thinking part of my brain told me that discretion was indeed the better part of valour, and that standing on my dig would do nothing but satisfy my pride.  In short, I had already decided that although I was still only twenty-two years old, if I was to survive what lay ahead, I would need to be very careful in the choices I made and while it might sound as if I was submitting to tyranny, I couldn't see any other choice allowing me to survive this ordeal whatever it might be.

    Accordingly, copying the huge naked man beside me in every detail, I allowed my body to fall forward, catching its upper regions on my hands and then rising as gracefully as I could and performing the same court bow as had Zhong.  In case you are not familiar with a court bow, it is exactly the same as a male person offers to her Majesty the Queen when first meeting her.  The person offering it stands to attention and then quickly bows his head only and then returns to its normal position.

    The man seated on the throne, whom I now realised was Xing, seemed surprised at my docility but also pleased and I thought to myself that was indeed the right thing to do and as it happened, persuaded him to mitigate the mandatory 'welcome' given to every new slave upon his presentation to his owner.  Apparently in normal circumstances, this is twelve strokes of the cane delivered by Zhong while Xing and his 'court' watch in various expressions of satisfaction or indifference.

    But because I had been so diligent in following Zhong's example, he merely ordered his slave-master (which I now discovered was Zhong's role in the castle) to give me six strokes.

    One of Xing's attendants now stepped forward and handed the still naked Zhong the cane.  This is an instrument that has been used for hundreds of years for the purposes of disciplining family members, schoolchildren and slaves and is so much better than its cousin, a length of bamboo that tends to shred after only a few strokes whereas the rattan cane that grows in the jungles of Malaya, is a far more sturdy instrument and while flexible enough delivers an horrific pain to the buttocks of its victim.

    I eyed these proceedings with an outward calmness but inside my stomach was churning and my heart beating nineteen to the dozen.  All right, six strokes of the cane to the buttocks was a standard punishment for schoolchildren up to the middle of the twentieth century but it must be remembered that in all the cases I have ever heard of, they were not required to drop their pants and underwear and the punishment was administered over two layers of clothing which muted it significantly.

    Zhong was holding the cane in his right hand and now grasped my left upper arm with his left hand and as I looked at him, he was silently bidding me to show fortitude.  At that moment, my heart warmed to this huge man.

    He now turned me side on to his master so that he would have the best view of the punishment he had decreed for me.  I wondered at the time why it was necessary to punish me when I had done no wrong but later discovered this so-called 'welcome' was used in many places even including 19th-century England for new inmates of workhouses and similar institutions as an introduction so as to demonstrate what awaited them if they erred.

    He raised the cane and while he did so, my eyes were on my new owner and I watched with my eyes narrowing as he licked his lips as Zhong's muscles flexed and rippled and I wondered when I would be summoned to his presence for my first duty as his sex-slave.a