An ambitious but naive young man is introduced to slavery in this intriguing new series from new author Enslaver UK.

Sodalitz - Chapter 1: Interview with a charming German
by Enslaver UK
Art piece by ULF
Series: Sodalitz
Visit Enslaver UK's website here
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So you want to know how I got involved in global crime and European politics?

Do you really want the full story or just the dirt and depravity?

Yeah, that's what I thought. In my defence let me tell you some of the background, first.

It all started in 1982. Britain was in the grip of political turmoil. Unemployment in the north was high and still rising. Anyone who thought about global events half-expected World War Three to break out any day. The Russians were convinced the reason for President Reagan's huge arms build up was in preparation for an attack by the Americans. You can hear the paranoia in the pop music of day with songs like Forever Young and Ninety-Nine Red Balloons.

I was twenty-three, recently been fired from my job, had sold my car to pay the next month's rent on my flat share and was so far up shit creek was at my wits end. Then I saw an advertisement in the London Evening Standard. It was vague. It mentioned adventure, challenges, an interview with no preconditions and, most importantly a substantial salary with bonuses and perks. I grabbed the phone.

The guy who answered sounded foreign but his English was clear and precise. Coincidentally, the address for the interview was only a mile away. I made a point of saying I was local and available. The thing about London, then, was you could turn a corner and go from a slum neighbourhood to unimaginable wealth in a few footsteps. I lived in a ditch in Wandsworth; he lived at the top of Wimbledon Hill.

His apartment on the second floor of a Victorian style mansion was palacious. The sitting room - all white and silver and mirrors - looked out through massive windows on to the expanse of Wimbledon Common. Anton Dieter - that was his name - was German. He was tall, well dressed, blond, of course, and, this is the thing that hit me hard, not that much older than me. I doubted he was even thirty.

You're getting bored already, I can tell. OK, so I'll cut to the chase: I was pretty sure I had the job. I could sense his interest in me. Then he floored me. He simply said, “stand up and let me take a look at you”. I stood, a bit self-conscious, and waited. Then he said, matter-of-factly, “strip down to your underwear.” Just like that, as though it was normal interview procedure.

What would you have done at that point? If you hesitate you look like a wimp and risk offending him by implying you don't trust him. If you immediately strip off, you look like a fool. What if he's joking. Maybe this is German humour.

So I tried to sound non-judgmental. “You want me to take my clothes off.”

“I want to see your muscle tone. Just to your underpants, please.” He made the request sound reasonable.

When I was still in my teens there was a boy called Ian at school. He was in the same year though small for his age. He was a playful kid, but he hung out with a couple of guys I would describe as “trouble”. I guess he did so because it made him feel safer. One day, about thirty of us, the boys from two classes, were sitting cross-legged on the floor of the gym. The school had a rule for gym classes: shorts only; no shirt, socks or gym shoes. Bear in mind, this was 1960s parochial Britain. People rarely took their coats off in polite company. In gym class I always felt embarrassed at being on show, almost naked. All the boys did. It was obvious.

While some other distraction was occurring, Ian leaned over and put his hand between my legs. That was a first for me. A sexual spasm jolted upwards from my crotch through my stomach. He probably expected me to push him away. Instead I spread my legs a little, almost involuntarily. It only lasted a few seconds. There were too many other guys around.

It was summer term, so we were excused from playing rugby, which I hated. Next fine “Games” day we were out on the sports field. If you managed to dodge the organised field events you could play tennis. I was rummaging around in the equipment hut when Ian found me. He quickly checked no one was nearby and came straight over to me to feel my balls once more. Of necessity it had to be fast and furtive. We both knew that. My height advantage gave me superiority. We both took the view he was doing me a service. There was no sense I was in anyway the victim, quite the opposite. He had come in to pleasure me. The episode must have lasted all of two minutes. He groped, felt, fingered and stroked - over my thin cotton sports shorts, of course. Then he left as quickly as he had entered, leaving me to linger for several minutes in the hope my erection would fade.

All of this went through my head as I slowly undressed for Anton. Was I about to be stroked? If so should I permit or resist? He didn't come any closer. He just looked and asked me to turn around, which I did. He told me to get dressed and walked over to a credenza in the corner.

“Would you like a drink?”

I said “thank you” and, by the time I had my trousers back on he was handing me a cold beer. I now felt foolish at being so concerned. I sat down on the white leather sofa while he outlined the global opportunities, and the salary, on offer. Except for the money, a sum that certainly got my attention, I didn't understand a word he said and contented myself with nodding sagely every so often. He could have been speaking German, or Klingon, for that matter.

He finished by saying I needed to go home and think about the offer for a couple of days. Even back then, before I had heard the word 'proactive', I knew enough to grasp the moment. Yes, I was naïve but I was also ambitious. I said, “I don't need to think about it. I'm in, if you'll have me.”
Maybe “if you'll have me” was a poor choice of words.

Then he did it again. He completely took me by surprise by asking if I had a passport. As it happened my passport was still just about valid from a cheap Spanish holiday trip some years earlier. He said we were to go somewhere warm for a few days. I was to have my bags packed for Thursday morning.

I was thinking Spain or somewhere in the Med. He wouldn't be drawn on the subject and it was certainly not my place to push the matter. Would I have been so eager if I had known it was to be Morocco? Yes, I probably would.


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