"<strong>Slave number 7</strong>is a nineteen year old male. His family sold him off to slavery at the young age of 16. He's got a bit of will left in him, and although he doesn't always fight back, sometimes this young male will struggle to keep his virginity. So far, this struggle has been a loss for him, but for you all who wish for a virgin male, he's never been fucked in the ass. He's got an athletic build and stands at 5'8."<br/><br/>Andrew was standing in his spot on the stage barely moving. He had no desire to look at the people who might buy him next. He wasn't sure if he wished someone would buy him and keep him around, or if he'd rather keep bouncing around as he had been. He really wished he could find a way out of the damn slave trade. The cuffs above his head were cutting into his wrists, but he didn't feel the need to hold them up himself, that would only end in them draining of blood quicker and thus hurting a lot more. Andrew tried to avoid pain as much as possible. Anyone could tell by looking at this poor boy that part of his spirit had been broken. But somewhere inside he still had a spark of passion and fight left in him, and he wouldn't let himself forget that. Even though he was up for what felt like his hundredth sale in his lifetime. It was only then he decided to glance around at the people looking to buy him and his peers, bright blue eyes scanning every face. He wouldn't look at his 'peers' though, it was upsetting to see the fear and pain in the eyes of new slaves. The masters and mistresses in the audience were ravenous as always. Some of them poking prodding the displayed slaves, others just sitting and watching how we writhe and fight for ourselves. Andrew wouldn't give them the satisfaction.