Another night on the desert, mused Corporal Durham. How many more would we see? This was the third so far. After the C-130 went down, most of the men inside had died, and the eight survivors were trying desperately to live on the meager rations and water remaining. All knew that if they weren't found soon they'd be dead.     They had been shot down by a lucky missile shot from an Iraqi installation after flying into their airspace. A malfunction had caused their radar and communications to go out, so everybody knew that their commanders had no idea where they were. Even worse, they had no idea where they were. They buried the bodies but even still, the smell was everywhere. Durham had numerous cuts and bruises, none of which looked infected. Most of the other men living were okay; two had broken arms that had been set already and one broken ribs; he lay in the shade.     The moon was full and bright, anyway. Durham imagined himself home, with his dogs, or a book, or a fire, or anything familiar, not this damn sand. He headed back down to the plane.     It had split into two pieces when it crashed. The tail was some half mile away and mangled; nobody back there had lived. Most of it had stayed together, and it was in it that the Marines were sleeping during the day. At night they had a fire going and kept watch, hoping to see something, while four men went out in teams of two to try to find a town or something.     Their commanding officer was Major Keane, a bull of a man. He had taken command immediately after it was clear that he was the highest ranking officer alive. There had been nearly twenty of them then but over half died of injuries sustained during the fall. As it was, Durham expected the rest of them dead within a week as well.     Tonight Durham was on watch with two other men, Jeffries and Odenkirk. Westin was the guy with broken ribs. The others were all out tonight.     Jeffries and Odenkirk were down by the fire talking in low voices. Durham joined them. He sat down, noticing that the other two men had stripped off their shirts, their torsos sweating in the desert heat. Both were in as good a shape as any Marine, and Durham enjoyed the view. He peeled off his own sweat-soaked shirt as well, and relished the feel of his bare chest against the night air. The others didn't bother asking if he had seen anything; they knew full well that if he had he'd have said something already.     Durham stared at the fire. After a few minutes he allowed his mind to come up with things to be seeing while watching it - faces of friends and lovers, trees, anything. After a while they got more sexual - he imagined men dancing for him. Durham popped a boner, but was so entranced he didn't bother to hide it. There was his dream guy, weaving his lithe body in the fire, calling only to him.     There was movement from the two others. Durham glanced over to see Jeffries kissing Odenkirk, and he knew that he was not the only one seeing things in the fire. He watched for a few moments as they leaned back. Odenkirk beckoned Durham over.     The three lay in the sand, kissing and rubbing their bodies together. Odenkirk stuck his hand down Durham's pants and felt for his cock, hard as a rock now, and gripped it, slowly stroking it. Durham undid his belt and pants while Jeffries got Odenkirk's off and started sucking him slowly.     Durham continued to kiss Odenkirk while the other man jacked him. After a few minutes, Odenkirk went down on him, slowly and methodically licking his cock and balls, taking the rocks into his mouth. Durham managed to reach Jeffries' pants and got them down; the man's cock burst out of them, and Durham jacked him off as well.     Jeffries had a good cock, if a little small. He was a young guy, maybe nineteen, but that was all Durham really knew about him or Odenkirk.     Odenkirk came first, with Durham's balls in his mouth. He jerked a little and closed his mouth partially, pulling Durham's balls a little ways from his body. It hurt, but in this ecstasy Durham barely cared. Jeffries came closer to him while Odenkirk contined to suck, and got on all fours, lowering his cock into Durham's waiting mouth. Durham came second, and with the combined ministrations of Durham and Odenkirk, came quickly.     The three lay in the sand for two or three hours, gently stroking each other and talking quietly. They dressed and returned to watch.     About two hours before sunset both scouting groups returned. "We saw lights!" said one. Keane had gone to find out what was going on; his partner had returned. The six men climbed on top of the plane and looked in the direction the scouts had come from. Indeed there were lights there - a caravan, maybe?     Nearly an hour later the dust plume of a vehicle came up, and something was heading toward them. The men had been instructed to surrender to whomever came upon them, but with some relief, they saw that the passengers in the jeep included Major Keane.     Hooting with joy, they greeted him. Keane looked grim. With him were three Arabic men with rifles who looked nervous. Keane got out and the three men with him unshouldered their rifles.     "Well, men, we're not in Iraq. We drifted into Jordan. These men," he motioned towards the Arabs, "are from a caravan two miles that way. We've been made an offer, but it's not an easy one.     "They're a slave caravan. Despicable, I know, but they have offered to take us with them, but only if we sell ourselves to them." There was much muttering amongst us. "This is not a standard trade route, men, and nobody knows where we are. I will not order anybody to go, but if we don't, it's very unlikely we'll live more than another two or three days. They've given us ten minutes to think it over."     We debated it, but hunger and thirst decided the issue for us. If this was the only way, then so be it. The Arab men radioed back to the caravan and two more jeeps came out to meet us. More men in turbans inspected us. We were made to remove our shirts and boots, and they patted us down for weapons. Three men were loaded into one jeep and it drove off. Keane was having some kind of talk with one of the men, and was gesturing toward the plane. I saw the Arab nod toward one of his companions, who walked into the plane. There was a shot, and the Arab walked back out.     I felt a little sick. Keane nearly exploded. We were loaded into the jeep, and knew that we would not be seeing Westin again. Keane's jeep followed us, and I could almost feel his hatred from here.     When we got to the caravan they stripped us completely. We seven stood naked, shackled to one another by our right ankles, while a very fat Arabic man walked around us, inspecting us. He'd pinch our biceps or look at our teeth, and got each of us erect for some reason. Once he was done, they sat us down at a portable table and fed us.     The meal was nothing spectacular; rice and some sort of stew with water and flat bread. We ate ravenously, and drank the provided water like fish. After we finished, the guards had us rise and stand against the side of one of the wagons. Women in veils came out with pails and razors, and proceeded to shave us. Not just faces, though, but chests, legs, arms, pubes, everything. They only used straight razors with a small dab of cream, and when they were done with our bodies they went to our heads. The worst indignity of it all was when they shaved our asses, down to the rectum. I doubt they enjoyed it, either. After being shaved we were wiped down with wet cloths, which felt wonderful. They gave us a chance to piss, then laid us out under a tent to sleep, shackled to an anvil. I passed right out, uncertain as to my future.     I woke to something jerking my leg gently. I opened my eyes to a sun getting ready to set. I was still manacled by the ankle, but the two of the guys to my right were gone. Major Keane was right next to me, still sleeping soundly. I heard some muffled noises from behind one of the large tents. They went on for a few minutes, and then two of the Arabic men came out. One held a gun to Keane's head while the other unshackled his ankle from the chain and reshackled him into a set of anklets chained together. They then put similar ones around his wrists, them behind his back, and finally connected the chains together. Keane was still groggy, or pretended to be. The men led him off behind the tent.     I heard more muffled noises. What were they doing? Either talking or doing something with Keane. We weren't being sold already, were we? Or worse...they were beating, or raping him.     My imagination served to ensure that I was nervous as hell and ready to bolt when the two men came for me. I wanted to make a break for it, but the rifle pointed at my head did a pretty good job of keeping me still.     They led me over behind the tent. There was a woman and two men without guns. I was shackled again to a pair of posts, spread out with my feet on the ground and my arms in the air. The men looked me over carefully, then started to slowly jack me off.     This was wholly unexpected. Maybe it was the source of the muffled moans. Nervous as I was, I got a hard on in a few seconds. The men talked during this but I had no idea what they were saying. They continued to play with my cock until I was right on the verge of cumming, then stopped.     Torture, I thought. The men examined my cock a little closer and talked some more. They waved to somebody behind me, and one of the guards put his knuckles in my cheeks and pressed in, forcing my jaw open, while the other shoved a rag in my mouth. The doctors pulled out a knife.     I started to panic. I'd rather be raped than this! What were they going to do to me? Castrate me? I'd heard they did that to slaves but thought it was an archaic practice. As they held the knife to my groin I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and prepared for the inevitable.     To my shock, I felt the knife cutting into my foreskin. It still hurt like hell, but I looked down to find they were not castrating me but circumcising me! Still sucked, but better. I moaned a few times from the pain; there was a lot of blood running down my cock and his hands, dripping into the warm sand below. After that they stitched the skin to my cock and poured alcohol on it. Through all that I had stayed erect.     I thought they would just let me go now, but such was not my luck. One of the doctor men now took another knife and began cutting into my scrotum. Now I screamed. They were going to castrate me after all...a few hot tears ran down my cheeks from the pain as the man worked the knife around my sac, near my cock. Once he had gone all the way around, he pulled down on it and cut some of the connective tissues, then pulled again, repeating this until the skin slipped off. My balls dangled between my legs, bleeding, me still trying to scream. The woman took the scrotum over to a pail and started rubbing sand in it.     Meanwhile the men were playing with the balls, doing things that five minutes ago would have been pleasurable, but now were a bizarre mixture of pleasure and ultimate pain. My already erect cock came closer to bursting.     Eventually the men tired of this, and the knife sent one of my balls falling to the doctor's waiting hand. My other ball started pumping, and as I came the other one dropped as well. I was about to pass out, both from the orgasm, the pain, and the sudden release from it. When the testicles went, the pain from them quickly faded, and all that was left was the pinpricks of the needle through the skin on the underside of my cock.     The men took me down and pulled the rag out of my mouth. I moaned. The led me over to one of the big land rovers and put me in the back. I could see Keane and the others in here already, moaning softly, surely castrated as I had been. I didn't feel like talking, just feeling sympathy for the others tossed in here after me.     We rode in the land rover for the next two or three days. It might have been more; they didn't let us out and the meals seemed to be at irregular intervals. The only regular thing was that we were allowed to piss and shit every few hours - maybe six?     At the end of the trip I could walk okay without much pain. Really, the worst of us was Keane - the pain of castration was nothing to him compared to his regret at having put us into this. He kept apologizing, over and over again.     When they did let us out to walk, finally, it was thankfully night - I doubted my eyes could have stood sunlight after their time in the dark. As it was, my muscles were sore as all hell and it took a few minutes before I could really walk again. Walking felt very strange...my cock, limp since I'd been castrated, hung straight down and would occaisionally bump against the skin of my crotch and make the stitches hurt. There wasn't much weight at all in my groin without my balls, and it took some getting used to. Pissing had stopped hurting, anyway.     They let us walk around a little, still manacled, of course. I don't think any of us were interested in trying to attack them anymore, and two of my fellows were depressed to the point of being suicidal.     We were shaven again, bodies and heads, and more alcohol poured over our cocks. It hurt me more than most as I had both a circumcision would and the castration itself. They wrapped them up in bandages and made us all eat some pills; I had no clue what they were. Later I found out that two were antibiotics and the third potassium nitrate - they give it to sailors unknowingly to dull their sex drives.     We got to sit outside and eat. We didn't talk much. There were some grudging comments about killing our captors, more apologies from Keane, and Odenkirk told him to shut up as there was little he could do about it now.     After four more days of travel we hit a border, I think. There was a lot of talking outside while the caravan stopped, then the doors were thrown open and some different faces in military uniforms looked in. They glanced at our crotches and laughed hoarsely. We continued after about twenty minutes. I figured they bribed the border guards, or else they saw we were Americans and just let them through.     We finally arrived at our destination nearly eleven days since we were picked up. Most of my stitches had falled out by now and the skin had healed into a light-colored thin scar on the underside of my cock, and a thicker one around my cockhead. It had dried out and wasn't nearly as sensitive as it had been, thankfully, and I had gotten over what I thought was a fever. Later I found it had been hot flashes as my body got used to having no testosterone.     My body hair stopped growing as well. They shaved us again near the end of the trip, but after that none grew back, except some thin stragglers on my face. Most of the men were that way, except for Odenkirk, whom it seemed castration hadn't changed at all.     I had gotten my first erection the day before we stopped. It was weak and small compared to my pre-castration ones, but heartening. There was still hope, I figured.     When we got to our destination they let us out, gagged, cuffed and manacled. This seemed to be a small collection of buildings with many more tents around and a large number of vehicles. I thought I could even see an airstrip some distance away.     Milling about were several hundred people, mostly Arabic. There were slaves around here as well - it was easy to tell them apart. Owners wore robes and turbans, slaves wore loinclothes, if anything. A few had on robes but it was still clear they were slaves. I surmised we were to be sold here.     Talk about humiliating. As if being shot down, given to a slaver, and having our balls cut off wasn't enough. Now we were walking, manacled, with collars this time, butt naked through a throng of people. The group that had caught us had about ten other slaves, seven males and three females. The other men had been castrated as well.     We got a lot of attention being led through the crowd - as far as I could tell, we were the only white people for miles. There were a fair number of black slaves, but most were Arabic, and I saw no other white people.     As we were led through I got grabbed by a lot of people, and spat on by just as many. My hope now was that we didn't get sold to some guy who would just kill us. Even better I hoped for escape, but I didn't see any way out now, what with all the large men holding automatic weapons.     We ended up under a tent apparently reserved for our owners. We were made to stand manacled to small pedestals, and each of us had a number written on his chest, all sequential. I guessed it to be a lot number.     A crowd gathered around us almost immediately. They looked to be inspecting us, looking at our teeth or armpits, feeling muscles, looking between our toes or behind ears, I guess for signs of disease or something. The worst was when they jacked me to see, I guess, if I could still get erect. Thankfully, I could.     This went on for what seemed like hours, until, as the sun was about to drop, the real auction began. We were near the middle of the 'lots' to be sold, and were led in a row. We were made to wait behind a grandstand out of view of the crowd, and led one by one onto the stage to be sold off. I was the third Marine to go, and from the shouts let out at the first two I could tell we were in demand.     Finally, I was led out. The auctioneer, a short little fat man in a huge turban (compensating for something else, I thought to myself) screamed at the crowd. I guessed if this were like a normal auction then he'd be telling them how good I was. He made me open my mouth and there were aahs as they saw my teeth were good. He then made me flex my muscles, which got me more oohs. He lifted my limp cock to show that I was, indeed, a eunuch. I heard the word American through his thick accent several times.     Finally, the bidding began. It was intense, with nearly everybody clamoring to make a bid. They weeded out those not willing to spend much, or waiting for others to be better, quickly, and got down to about ten high rollers. Three of them dropped off quickly, and others until only two were left. When one of them quit, the auctioneer asked for other bids. Nobody said anything. He asked again, and right as he was about to open his mouth again, I heard another voice make a bid from the back.     Everybody's heads turned, and the crowd parted to let an opulently dressed younger man through. He was surrounded by four exceedingly well-built Arabic men, wearing only loinclothes and sandals, with shaven heads and faces and bodies. The man himself wore a white turban with a giant sapphire set in stone as the pin, and a white shirtlike thing that was sleeves and back and a collar, but open in the front to reveal a very nice torso. He was also wearing blue jeans and what looked like Dockers, and wore a short beard and moustache.     Several in the crowd kneeled to him, and there were mutters. It reminded me of the Looney Tunes cartoon where the conductor comes in and everybody shuts up before Bugs go crazy on his ass, but sadly, there was no cartoon rabbit to help me out here.     The auctioneer kneeled himself, and one of the guards onstage kicked me in the back of my knees, then hissed for me to kneel. I did.     The important man repeated his bid, and the auctioneer declared me to be his. Everbody stood up, and I was led off the stage to a holding area. The two Marines sold before me still stood there and asked me what had happened. I told them I had no clue before one of the guards hit me - they didn't want us talking, apparently.     This guy bought the remaining four of us as well. Once that was done, he and his bodyguards came to the holding pen to claim us. The owners of the first two men were already there inspecting their merchandise, when the important man peeled a huge number of bills from a purse and handed them to them. The men's eyes grew huge and they bowed and thanked the man, the left quickly.     "United States Marines." It was a statement, not a question. "You are the finest of their armed forces, now Mamluks? What luck for me."     He paid the auction workers for the rest of us, and we were loaded up onto a pair of jeeps and ferried to the airfield. The man rode in a different jeep than we. I wished they would give us something to wear, even a towel.     On the plane they had a section of lots of hard plastic seats crammed together near the back. There were some other people in here, apparently slaves also, but wearing something, at least - usually loinclothes. One of the supermassive men stood guard.     The plane took off. Once we were in flight, a guard came back and took Odenkirk up front. He came back a little while later, and the guard got another person.     "What did he do?" we asked Odenkirk.     He squirmed a little. "He played with my dick some, then made me suck his a little. At the end, he fucked me, but never all the way."     "Ah, shit," said some of the others. There were mutters, at which point the guard made us stop talking.     The guard came back and took another, and another. I ended up being second to last. The guard led me into an area at the front of the plane. This was all open. There was a bar here, a hot tub, all sorts of things. Most importantly, there was a depressed area covered in pillows, in which lay my new owner.     He was good looking, although Arabic men never really interested me. He was slender but had muscle on him, which I liked, and shaved his head, which I also sorta liked. The moustache he could have done without, however. His cock was hard, long and thin, and curved like an eyebrow.     The guard led me to the pillowed area and then returned to the door to the back. The other two guards were around here as well.     When I got down, my owner (I kept trying to get used to the idea) greeted me, in English. "Come here," he told me. I slid over to him.     He kissed me lightly, and put his hand around my cock. I could feel his fingers brush against the scar where my scrotum used to hang. I kissed back, unsure what to do here, and he slipped his tongue in. We started making out, and he played with my cock. I could still get hard, I discovered, something I didn't really expect, but it wasn't as hard or large as it used to be. I played with him a little also, which he seemed to enjoy. He touched the castration scar again, and for some reason that really got me going. My cock surged to full erection, and for the first time since they had cut off my balls, I wanted to have sex.     My owner seemed to really enjoy this. He grew tired of kissing, however, and ordered my to suck him off. I did so, to the best of my ability. He moaned lots, throwing his head back. I tried to pay attention to his balls as well, an action made more poignant by the fact that mine were gone. He was very near orgasm, and just as it seemed he was about to start spasming, he pulled out and flipped me over.     Using my own spit as lube, he entered me slowly. I relaxed to take him in, and he slid in easily. He thrust in and out, hitting the pleasure spot.     I was in heaven - I didn't have the pressure on my balls to cum, and felt like I could have done this all day. Finally, I did feel him jerk as he came in my ass.     He slipped it out and called to one of the guards, who brought me a towel. The guard cleaned me off.     "You are very good at this," said my owner. "You are my favorite, so far." He said something to his guards again, and they took me back, still fully erect and ready to burst. I tried desparately to get it to shrink again, but it didn't. When the other guys saw me they gave me disapproving looks but didn't say anything.     Keane was the last to go up to the front, and soon after he returned, looking very nervous, we landed.