Colonel Beddington

Colonel Beddington [Continued]

Part II

by Bill Smith

[Please let me if it is worth the time and effort to post this story as well as let me know what you think of this story by contacting me at anonymous4371@juno.com. Thanks, Bill Smith]

CHAPTER 18

The months had passed quickly, each day blending into the next. Clint's life seldom varied. Each morning began with the steward supervising his cleansing inside and out, the complete body shave, the lubing of his asshole, the insertion of the huge "horse tail" butt plug until it was firmly in place, the fitting of his harness and fastening of the reins to his nose ring, and finally his placement next to his fellow black pony to pull his master's rig.

The first few days, both of the harnessed slaves' performances were characterized by their screaming in agony from the whip biting around their shoulders and rumps, the lungs wheezing for air at every opportunity, their assholes burning from the huge 9x5" plug churning within them, and near collapse the minute the run was over. Now, several months later, both ponies had hardened. They could now trot for miles at a moderate pace before wheezing and gasping for air; their chutes had now stretched and calloused to the point where their asses no longer bled from the chronic churning of the butt plug within them; their hides had thickened to the point where the whip frequently dancing around their bodies, although still extremely painful, did not lead to screams of wretchedness but only a playful yelp acknowledging their master's authority over their bodies. The corners of their mouth had toughened to the point where they no longer bled from the pressure of the mouth bits and their reins constant tugs on their nose rings had partially desensitized. Their muscular development under the demanding exercise yielded magnificent beautifully defined bodies beyond comparison only highlighted by the shiny smooth even tan on the white slave and the glossy blue black sheen on the black slave. Both slaves' soles had developed thick skin pads allowing them to run over the most rocky terrain without their feet bleeding - a common occurrence during the first six weeks or so. In many respects, the slaves' bodies had begun to resemble that of prize thoroughbreds. All they lacked was a true horse's whiny but their enforced silence and equine-like breathing was a good substitute. Both ponies did show hard most of the time - a trait their master desired. This was due to four factors primarily: (1) the continual stimulation of their prostate by the dildo-plug/pony tails deeply imbedded within them whenever they were harnessed to the rig; (2) the fact they were seldom allowed to have any sexual discharge; (3) the frequent manual stimulation of their organs by not only their master but most of his guests and numerous onlookers who gathered wherever they went; and (4) the fact they were both in the peak years of their sexual drive and were surrounded, especially at night, by sights and sounds of sex everywhere.

Both slaves had acclimated to their master talking about them in an apostrophized manner. When taking a guest for a ride in the rig, the Colonel always discussed the slaves pulling them as if they were incapable of processing human speech, although he hadn't given them 'slave' names to date. Although the Colonel was well aware giving persons a new name when they became slaves was often helpful in their eventual adjustment - the 'slave' name indicating their whole new identity and status - in this case, he had preferred to carry their old names over to their slavehood. He liked the names the slaves already had and if retaining their names made it harder to adjust to their new circumstances, so much the better. He richly enjoyed difficult 'adjustments' to slavery - it only added to the allure of complete ownership of fellow human beings. Besides, he always thought of Clint as a business associate and planned to use his acumen in this area soon so a name change would only get in the way. As for Sebastian - who would want to change such a rich-sounding name anyway - especially when Sebastian had been a whore before just like he was now, so adjustment should be easy for him anyway.

For Clint, the new life was totally different. A draft animal on full display during the day; a full-service pleasure slave at night for the Colonel and his many guests and business associates. For Sebastian, a harnessed black pony each and every day, fondled and stroked wherever he was driven; a 'bedbuck' at night assigned to cater to the whims of the Colonel's guests, his overseers and handlers, and even often given to the Colonel's other slaves as a 'reward' in the steward's elaborate system of incentives employed in efficiently managing the huge staff of slaves under him.

Clint was only called to the Colonel's bed occasionally. But when he was, it was a real workout: he was generally fucked three or four times before the Colonel drifted off to sleep, followed by sucking the Colonel off the minute he awoke. The Colonel loved to play with Clint's ringed tits and banded prick and balls: all would be chafed, swollen and sore before Clint was sent back to his cage. The Colonel left no doubt with any slave he called to his bed that he was in complete ownership of their body and that their sole reason for existing on this earth was to fulfill his wishes and give him maximum pleasure.

Clint's other night time duties were hardly less strenuous. Usually he was assigned to some friend of the Colonel's who had seen him in harness during the day. Most often, when examining Clint in his pony outfitting, these people had teased his tits to full erection, had 'weighed' his balls in the cup of their hand, had stroked him to a full dripping erection, had tugged the tail/dildo sticking out of his ass to simulate a good fucking until he was moaning with his ass churning from the blatant stimulation, and had run their hands over every square inch of his oiled skin, feeling every muscle grouping in the process. Clint had learned to stand perfectly still during these frequent 'examinations,' but still dreaded the huge arousal he always experienced from the 'handlings' - an arousal he would not be allowed to satisfy in any way. When he was 'given' to a friend for the evening's enjoyment, Clint had no input as to who it might be or what use he might be put to. Often the Colonel's friends were grossly unattractive and a few were openly sadistic where beating and torturing the slave, rather than just fucking him, was the agenda of the evening. When Clint was 'given' to a young, reasonably attractive man or women who just wanted to fuck him or have the slave suck them off, he quickly learned to consider himself lucky and did the best he could to satisfy them in every way so they might ask for his usage again.

It became perfectly clear to Clint why his owner had broken with tradition and let him keep the name he had before being enslaved. Most of the Colonel's friends and business associates were very well aware of the famous Clint Morgan, the entrepreneurial genius wildly hailed by the international media. When dealing with the airconditioning magnet in his previous life, they had been struck not only by the aura surrounding his business dealings but by his striking good looks, the hint of a great body under all those beautiful tailor-made clothes, and the nimbus of universal sexual appeal (to both women and men) which seems to ooze out of everything he did. When he was an important business leader, they all wanted to bed him down but knew it was impossible. Now, fully aware of the 'unfortunate death' of the famed Mr. Morgan, and his remarkable 'rebirth' as a Beddington property to those in the know, the slave named Clint had a body even more appealing, was now totally visible at all times so no guess work was required, and, most importantly, was totally available to them with no restrictions whatsoever, as long as the Colonel gave the nod. When the Colonel offered his guests use of the slave Clint, it was an offer they couldn't refuse and the guests had every intention of not letting this magnificent opportunity be wasted.

When Clint was offered up to the guests, the smiles on their faces radiated not only the lust for his sexy body but even more the enjoyment they would get from completing dominating this former very enviable business tycoon. Literally being able to screw your former competition was the ultimate power trip. Their host, Colonel Beddington, fully understand exactly what he was offering them and knew each guest would feel a deep sense of obligation to the Colonel after this ultimate experience. How often did one get to completely subjugate another body to their pleasure, let alone a once-powerful internationally acclaimed business associate who had probably looked down on them in the past? Yes, it was an offer NO ONE refused and Clint was kept busy each and every evening fulfilling the fantasies of the very men and women he had once had swarming around him in adoration and respect. To those who once sought him out for advice; to those he used to give orders to himself; to those who tried to flatter him for favors - he was now simply another, albeit an extremely attractive, slave who had no choice but to offer his body for their enjoyment if so ordered. The only communication with his users, most of whom he knew on a first name basis just months ago, was reduced to a simple "Thank you for using me, Master," or "Would the Mistress like to use my body again?" or "May I suck you now, Master?" or "Would the Master like to fuck this slave now?" Yes, his new status had certainly changed everything.

Sebastian had little trouble adjusting to his night time duties since it was little different than when he worked for Mr. Singh and the 'modeling' agency. He was surprised (and inwardly proud) that he was a much sought after 'gift,' a side effect of the severe exercise he got as a pony filling his body out to perfection, he surmised. Most nights he was ordered to several of the guest's bedroom for their enjoyment of his body - it was a rare night he had only a single guest to please. But his previous life as a 'model for hire' had prepared him for this: both then and now he had no difficulty serving numerous customers each and every night. He was pleasantly surprised, though, at how many times he was given by the Colonel as a gift to women executives and CEOs who generally had the black slave fuck them (without being allowed to orgasm himself) to one full orgasm after another until eventually they were satiated. He had no idea there were so many sexually liberated business women in high places before now - women who knew what they wanted and had no reservations in demanding it - both in and out of bed. Sebastian enjoyed the variety, despite the considerable trials and tribulations of holding back an unscheduled orgasm. Back at Paradise Modeling, it was a rare occasion when a women hired his services - 99% of his clients were men quite willing to pay for the services they were seeking - mainly fucking or being sucked by an handsome, muscular, and well hung stud they found attractive.

Sebastian's biggest challenge since coming into Colonel Beddington's ownership was surviving his stint as a pony with its phenomenal physical demands and rigid discipline. But, as his body hardened and his lungs expanded, his muscles developing into layer after layer on his splendid physique, even that became tolerable and he even looked forward to the exercise every day - a good way to work out all the kinks from the strange positions he had to assume when pleasing the Colonel's guests at night. Unlike his pony partner, the former American CEO, his customers were all strangers to him and, as far as he was concerned, one was no better or worse than another. But most of the guests he was assigned to were whites and many were Americans. Those types of guests seemed to particularly relish having a black slave at their disposal and he had grown used to them ordering him about as "nigger slave," "nigger boy," "black bitch," or "black whore." Well, whatever turns them on, Sabastian reflected. Obviously, some of the Americans still longed for the Antebellum days when black slaves like him could be bought on nearly every corner, were a dime a dozen, and were ordered to do just about everything imaginable, especially when it came to pleasing their owners in bed . He had learned to avoid preferences and prejudices when working for Mr. Singh as a 'model' and, as a slave, he knew he could be called anything that pleased the Colonel's guests. As Mr. Singh had so delicately put it, "Whores can't afford preferences." Well, Mr. Singh was right, Sebastian thought to himself, reflecting on the wide variety of guests he was ordered to serve each and every night here at his new owner's estate. So far, his life was little different than before he was enslaved except now he didn't have to worry about food and housing and constantly worrying about getting enough customers to pay his bills.

Both Clint and Sebastian naively thought that adjusting to their role as ponies and pleasure slaves would be all that would be required of them. But they both underestimated their ambitious owner.

Clint had just finished servicing the Colonel one evening, his ass hole dripping from the recent infusion of the Colonel's semen, his jaws aching from being stretched completely to accommodate sucking the Colonel completely down his throat as his owner preferred. As he slid out of the bed onto the floor where slaves generally knelt until called to their master's bed again, the Colonel reached down and lifted his slave's chin, still sticky with remnants of his cum that had leaked out of the slave's mouth before being swallowed..

"Look at me, boy," the Colonel ordered. as he reached for the bell that called the steward to his room.

Clint's eyes lifted to look directly at his master, a rare privilege for any slave, almost always conditioned to keep their eyes cast downward at all times.

"Clint, I've always admired your ambition and cleverness - so evident in the early days of running Morgan Airconditioners. You have a knack of getting things organized and running efficiently. It was the unions that did you in back when you were free and drove your company into my arms." He motioned for Clint to stand up and proceeded to start playing with his slave's swollen penis and balls, always in easy reach thanks to the genital banding commonly fitted to almost all of the Colonel's properties.

The steward arrived to see his master once again stroking the white slave's organs and promptly fell to the floor face down in the abject position of total obeisance all of the Colonel's slaves were expected to assume in the presence of their master.

"May I serve you, Master," the steward said softly.

"Yes, steward. I have new plans for the black and white ponies. They are to assume additional duties which you will need to implement."

"Yes, master," the steward said, remaining flat on the floor in obeisance.

Squeezing Clint's erect organ forcefully, he said directly to his new slave, "I intend to utilize your talents in the managerial area again. There's no reason why your service to me should be limited to being my pony and pleasure slave. I intend to make full use of you, despite slave's tendencies to try to get buy with the least they can do - in your case, just a little good exercise during the day pulling the rig and a little more exercise at night mainly involving a little use of your body's pretty little holes. Surely you didn't think I would let such an expensive slave as yourself get by with that?"

Clint quickly answered, "No, master," although, as far as he knew, he had cost the Colonel nothing up to this point other than the cost of his fittings and training. Perhaps, his master was referring to how much he would bring at auction?

"Well, I would think not, Clint," the Colonel said sternly, as he began to seriously stroke the slave's dripping organ. "No, I'm going to make you the operational manager over at the Morgan Airconditioner manufacturing complex. There, you're going to be responsible for worker assignment, discipline including all appropriate punishments and rewards, worker scheduling, and, most importantly, worker efficiency. What do you think of this new opportunity to serve me, Clint?"

"Master, I'm.....," Clint got no more out before the Colonel interrupted, his mind quickly recapitulating the phantasmagoria of human usage when he had visited the manufacturing complex with the Colonel back when he was still CEO of Morgan Airconditioners: the naked muscular male slaves harnessed to the parts delivery wagons struggling to pull the heavy color-coded loads while a whip laced across their heavily scarred back from the ever-present overseers; other catherized males chained down to small 'dildo' stools which forced a massive metal penis up their ass at all times as a constant reminder of their slavehood - a penis which could be electrified at the whim of an overseer the minute the worker slowed production or even paused for a second, the catheter insuring they didn't waste time with restroom breaks; the women slaves 'managed' in the same fashion - almost all of them in varying stages of pregnancy, producing the next crop of slaves for the Colonel to market, a growing sideline to the manufacturing enterprise, a crop genetically predetermined to some extent by a complex system of highly selected stud slaves being force mated with the female slaves that possessed the best combination of genes for a handsome, highly marketable offspring 15 to 18 years down the road. He marveled at how the slaves worked at their tasks full pace 15 to 16 hours a day, seven days a week so labor costs were negligible compared to any non-slave operation, especially since the slaves were much cheaper to buy to start with than he ever imagined and there was the added bonus of the slaves multiplying themselves many times over with hardly a hitch in their work output.

"Your schedule will be tightened up, of course, to accommodate your new duties. I'll do all my inspections in the morning from now on so you and that black slave hitched beside you will have plenty of time in the afternoons for your new duties - you at Morgan Airconditioners; the black, Sebastian, in his new training assignment. At night both of you will continue your duties as pleasure slaves. As soon as I have no further need of you as a pony and you are out of harness, bit and the tail is yanked out of your ass, you are to take a quick douche and shower and then trot over to the new manufacturing complex producing the Morgan Airconditioners where you will be under the supervision of the general manager who I believe you've already met, albeit under quite different circumstances. Back then, you indicated you liked him quite a bit, if my memory serves me right, Clint. Around 8 o'clock, you should trot back to the estate, clean yourself thoroughly, shave and oil your body, and then lube yourself for a busy night. The steward will be on hand to guide you to your first assignment of the evening."

"Yes, Master," Clint responded, shocked at this sudden turn of events and sweating profusely from the arousal caused by the Colonel's continual rapid stroking of his penis.

"Steward, before I forget it," the Colonel continued, "change the dildo fitting on the two ponies starting tomorrow. I imagine you're jamming a 9x5" up them for the tail attachment now - change that to a 10x3". This boy, despite all the exercise he enjoys, is getting stretched too much and doesn't have the grip he did a few weeks ago. A 3" diameter dildo will solve that problem while still reminding him he's property of his master, while the the additional inch length will make sure their prostate is properly stimulated to get them hard and dripping all the time. With the tail attached, no one will know what's stuck up them except you and me," the Colonel laughed. "No use stretching these boy's holes until they're all loose and flabby. They'll get that way anyway over time at the rate they're getting used around here, but there's no use rushing it. As it is, both the black and the white slave have nice tight chutes on them and I intend to keep it that way."

"Yes, master. The new sized dildos will be used starting tomorrow, master. Are you sure they can take the full 10" length, master, when they're upright and running?"

"No, but I'm sure they get used to it soon enough. Lord knows they're been fucked with longer than that many a time, but I grant you, steward, it's a little different taking a big one bent over for a good fucking and standing upright and running. If they start bleeding profusely, refit them with a 9x3", but I don't think it will be necessary. A little bleeding just means they're adjusting to the new size, as you well know."

"Yes, Master," the steward said. "I too am sure the ponies can adjust to the increase in length - especially with the relief in thickness. They should be most grateful to you for your thoughtfulness," the steward added, turning his head to look pointedly at Clint.

"Thank you, master," Clint responded to the prompt, judging himself, as the Steward had suggested, that he could tolerate a little more length in return for a sizable reduction in the fatness of the insertion he had to deal with each and every day. To a slave, Clint realized with a jolt, personal welfare was totally relative to what you had to endure up to that point.

"Steward, is my black pony with one of my guests now?"

"He should have finished with his current user by now, master? Would you like him for your own use now, master?"

"No, the slave Clint here had drained me dry, I'm afraid. I want to tell the black his new duties directly with you present, steward."

"I'll get the black slave here immediately, master," the steward said as he quickly lifted himself up, bowed to his master, and left the room.

Within a minute, the steward and the slave Sebastian entered, prostrated themselves before their master, and remained immobile on the floor. The black slave had obviously just left one of the Colonel's guests in that his body glistened with sweat, some cum was oozing out of his ass crack, and his neck and shoulders revealed some still red bite marks.

"You called for me, master?" Sebastian LaMasters asked in a whispered tone.

"Yes, slave," the Colonel answered, still pumping away on Clint's rampant shaft, who had broken out himself into a full sex sweat as, with clenched lips, he struggled to keep his pending orgasm under control. "Up until now, you've have an easy time of it serving as one of my harness ponies during the day and offering up your body for the pleasure of my guests during the evening hours. But we have not utilized the real reason I bought you from Mr. Singh at considerable expense. As a trained whore, your talent is obviously being wasted. Starting tomorrow, we will get all of your pony duties completed during the morning. After supper, your busy entertainment schedule will remain as it is. What will change is your afternoons. After cleaning up from your morning duties, you will be made responsible for the complete training of a whole new troupe of pleasure slaves who I intend to give as gifts to seal old friendships and business contracts favorable to my financial interests. Under the steward's oversight, I intend for you to select slaves at market who would be worthy of this training, would be appealing to whoever I may offer them do, and, most importantly, are completely schooled and totally accepting of what their new owners would expect of a well- trained pleasure slave. I want you to select all types of slaves in that my guests will, no doubt, have varied interests, and I expect you to offer them an array of choices for my gift-giving. And those gifts will be exquisitely trained to provide any and all pleasures any of my guests might want from a totally compliance slave: every possible sexual service; superb waiter skills, smooth valet service, and bodily perfection that will mark their owners as men tolerating only the best life has to offer. The money needed to acquire them at market is not a major consideration, although I'm sure the steward will not let me be cheated in the slightest, but the end product, which I will give you 90 days to accomplish, will be a slave who is totally accepting of his new destiny as a pleasure slave, determined to bring pride to whomever I choose to give him to, eager to use his body in all ways possible to bring unparalleled pleasure to whoever chooses to use him, and versatile in the many duties he will be called upon to perform as a gift to an owner he has never met before. You, Sebastian, with your unique background, can train such properties better than any other slave I possess. I expect perfection in your products and will hold you totally responsible for their performance in the new homes I gift them to. Fail, and your life will become a living hell in the depths of my mines where you will never see light again before you are carted out as fertilizer for my gardens. Do you understand this new assignment, Sebastian?"

"Yes, master," the black slave gulped at the enormity of this responsibility. It was one thing to bring his own actions in line with the Colonel's expectations. It was a vastly different proposition to mold raw new properties to becoming the perfect 'gift.' His glossy black skin took on a new sheen as the sweat of anxiety replaced the dampness of sexual arousal.

"Any questions, Sebastian?" the Colonel asked.

"Yes, master, if it so pleases you, master," Sebastian blurted out, still prone on the floor.

"Yes?" the Colonel prompted.

"Master, how many slaves will be trained at a time?

"Only five or six to start with, slave. If you prove satisfactory as a trainer with the first batch, we'll up that with each succeeding set of gifts."

"What age did you want your gifts, master?" Sebastian asked.

"Well into manhood, but still with the flower of youth about them," the Colonel added. "I would think around 18 should prove to be a good average, but with variation of course. And, Sebastian, make sure you have a variety of body builds and hide color so I can match the gifts with the needs of those I intend to give them to. What they will all have in common to start with, of course, will be handsome muscular bodies, well-shaped large sexual organs that are easy to arouse, strong sexual drives, and a frank open sexiness in their looks and body actions. By the time your training is complete, they should view their ultimate purpose in life as pleasing in every way whoever I give them to. But I hardly need to tell you all this, Sebastian. You've been a trained whore for years and, by all reports, very good at it too. That talent must now be shared with others."

"Thank you, master," Sebastian broke into tears, overtaken by his master's confidence in him and the oblique compliment to his pleasuring skills. "I shall do everything to make you proud of your black slave, master," Sebastian continued, the tears flowing down his cheeks freely now. "And make you very proud of the gifts you will be giving your business associates in the near future," he added between muffled sobs of emotion.

"I expect nothing less, Sebastian," the Colonel responded. "And, if not, you'll have a short life under the lash in the mines."

Sebastian's sobs became more fervid when he realized he had no choice but to succeed in the plans laid out for his life by the Colonel. Succeed he would, and God help the new purchases if they didn't help him reach that success.

The Colonel continued his commands along with his fondling of Clint's straining sexual organs. "Steward, the first batch of five slaves, to make it easy for Sebastian, should include at least three bred slaves. Those three should expect to be fucked regularly and should already be somewhat skilled in sucking skills if the slave farms selling them taught them anything at all about being a slave. They will be a good influence for the others in the purchase group who would not have had the benefit of a breeding farm's background but would, of course, have at least the training received in preparation for their sale which in most cases would undoubtedly include some good fucking and sucking sessions with the overseers and handlers. But for subsequent batches, you can buy up whatever gives us best value for the money. By then, Sebastian should have his training techniques down so well that it won't matter whether the new stock has any prior training or expectations - 90 days should be plenty to completely train them in their new duties as pleasure slaves to be gifted. And you, Sebastian, remember to train the new slaves to bring full pleasure to both men and women - I indeed to gift them to both, and, of course, they in turn will probably loan these slaves out to their own guests, both male and female. But you should understand that well, Sebastian. A lady I loaned you to last night found you delightful in bringing her to orgasm after orgasm, hour after hour - she marveled at your endurance," he complimented the black slave lying prone before him.

"Thank you, master," Sebastian said, in response to the compliment.

"Do you both understand fully my instructions?" the Colonel demanded.

"Yes, master," the Steward responded. "I shall supervise the blacks slave in picking out the slave trainees, master, and will make sure you get the best value for your money."

"Yes, master," Sebastian said again, "I shall train the new slaves so well they will not disappoint or embarrass you in any way when you deem to give them away as presents."

"Make sure you do, Sebastian. The mines leave slaves so exhausted they never have the energy to have sex but it doesn't matter much - slaves rarely last down in the mines more than a few months or so. Will you be fucking the new slaves yourself, Sebastian?" the Colonel asked.

"If the master wants me to," Sebastian carefully answered, not sure whether he was supposed to as part of his training regimen or not.

"You will only fuck the new slaves as absolutely necessary for their own training, Sebastian," the Colonel warned. "I want you fresh for the evening duties - not all worn out like a trainer breaking in new slaves. When the slaves need to be fucked or put to sucking, have them use each other for the tasks or use dildos. I want you fresh for whoever you're assigned to in the evening. Do you understand me, Sebastian? Any fucking of the slaves should be simply to establish your authority over them - never for fun or pleasure and never when another means of accomplishing the same thing can be employed. Do you understand, slave?"

"Yes, master," Sebastian answered promptly. "The only time I am to use the slaves myself is when it is necessary to establish my authority in their training."

"That's right, slave," the Colonel answered. "That will leave you as fresh and dripping for use as your pony partner here," the Colonel laughed as he stroked and squeezed Clint's swollen prick until Clint gasped in desparation.

"Master, I can't hold it," Clint pleaded as sweat poured off his body.

"Shoot, slave," the Colonel ordered as his fingers closed around the slave's shaft in a continuous milking motion. With a sigh of relief, the slave shot out gobs of fresh hot cum onto the floor beneath them as the Colonel's fist expertly milked the last drop out of him.

"Crawl over here, Sebastian, and lick up your white partner's afternoon offerings. It's been a while since I've let you suck him off so you may have forgotten how tasty the white slave is."

"Yes, master," Sebastian answered as he quickly slithered over and licked up the thick gobs of white cum off the marble floor, smacking his lips in appreciation.

"Delicious?" the Colonel prompted the black slave.

"Yes, master," the slave answered.

"As good as you remember?"

"Yes, master," the black slave responded, adding, "Thank you, master," to make sure his master understood the black was grateful to his master and completely at his command. And, to be honest, the afternoon treat was quite tasty - certainly better than most of the loads he had to swallow during his evening duties. True to form, the white slave he worked with each and every day pulling the rig amid tons of sweat and the constant gasping for air, produced some of the best tasting jism he had ever had, including all those years serving as a whore for Paradise Modeling where, God knows, he had to swallow plenty of it over the years. It was a wonder the Colonel hadn't turned the white slave into a milk stud - he would have if he owned him and the black slave briefly fantasized about having the handsome white slave at his beck and call, including milking him several times a day for his delicious creamy output.

"You two get on with your duties," the Colonel dismissed the Steward and the black slave who promptly stood up, bowed low, and backed out of the room, their heads lowered in deference to their owner.

"And you, Clint, bend over the bed with your legs spread wide. I've still time to fuck you once again."

"Yes, master," Clint said respectfully as he quickly assumed the commanded position. As the Colonel entered him forcefully once again, Clint softly moaned as the familiar feelings of total subservience flooded over him once again and he began contracting his ass muscles around the invading shaft as he had been trained to heighten his user's pleasure.

"Good boy," the Colonel complimented his slave as he felt himself being literally milked by the slave's ass muscles. "All this and an expert manager as well - starting tomorrow," as he settled into a steady rhythm of fucking that yielded the most pleasure from the handsome property beneath him. "Be thinking about how you can improve efficiency at Morgan Airconditioners as I fuck you, Clint, in addition to concentrating on how to bring your owner the most pleasure possible in fucking you. You're smart enough to do both things at once."

"Yes, master," Clint responded as he remembered to tighten, then relax, his ass muscles in coordination with the Colonel's steady pumping of his ass. And, indeed, he was already thinking of ways to improve productivity at Morgan Airconditioners. All sorts of ideas were floating through his head, especially since he realized that he no longer had any restrictions on use of the labor - slaves had no restrictions as long as you didn't lower their life expectancy more than the mines. That gave a manager a wide margin to work within and Clint's brain was already tackling the new challenge his master had given him. While it was true that many of the methods already in place were highly effective and that the slaves were already extremely productive by almost anyone's standards, Clint was not fooled into thinking that Colonel Beddington thought asymptote had been reached. Indeed, Clint was intensely aware the Colonel expected substantial gains over the high level already obtained with the human fodder at the plant. Somehow, he had to figure out how to wring even more out of the human chattel at the manufacturing facility. It was the sort of challenge that he liked and had made him, in his previous life, an award-winning world-acclaimed manager.

CHAPTER 19

Clint walked into the front lobby at Morgan Airconditioners the very next afternoon, somewhat dusty and sweaty from his trot over from the Colonel's mansion despite the complete cleansing he had undergone before starting out. As he had approached the building, he couldn't help but notice the huge sign "MORGAN AIRCONDITIONERS" displayed on the roof of the vast manufacturing complex. Looking at the sign, his eyes welled up and sobs choked him as he walked up to the main entrance, intensely aware that on this visit he was no longer CEO Clint Morgan of Morgan Airconditioners. Now, he was nothing but a naked branded slave with a collar around his neck, with his tits and nose ringed, and with his sex forced into full display through the tight band welded around his genitals. . As he walked into the main lobby of the manufacturing complex, he admired the display of all the gleaning models of Morgan Airconditioners on display, their quality and careful design evident even when unplugged. A fresh volley of tears sprang out of his eyes as he looked at the familiar models of Morgan Airconditioners on display. Once he got to the General Manager's office, he promptly dropped to his knees before the General Manager, Jess, who he had met only a few months ago when he was visiting the plant as a free guest of the Colonel's.

"Ah, the slave Clint," the General Manager said warmly in greeting the new arrival. "Colonel Beddington's steward called with all the instructions for your supervision," he said as he attached a leash to Clint's nose ring. When Clint looked surprised at the leashing, the General Manager added pleasantly, "Just a precaution, Clint, until we get you familiar with your new afternoon work station." He pulled a little on the leash to make sure it was tautly attached and then stood back to inspect the new arrival's body. "Stand up in display position, Clint, so I can inspect you properly." Clint instantly complied, remembering to place his legs wide apart with his pelvis thrust out all slaves were quickly taught in learning the frequently utilized 'display' position.

"My God, I thought you would look good stripped and properly fitted when you visited here before in that expensive business suit, but I really had no idea you were hiding one of the most appealing bodies I've seen on a slave in a long time. Great muscular definition, beautiful complexion, fitted just right with all those shiny rings highlighting your tits and face and that big band lifting your equipment up nice and proper, and hung like a damn horse - you'd bring top dollar at any auction house in the country. I suspected as much when I looked you over before, but it's hard to judge when a body fully clothed."

"Thank you, Master Jess," Clint responded, knowing he was expected to respond positively to any compliments on the Colonel's property. The cool of the General Manager's office, compared to the stifling heat outside, made him break out in goosebumps and he shivered slightly as he adjusted to the difference in temperature, so noticeable when the body was totally exposed.

"Ah, you remember my name, slave," the Plant Manager said enthusiastically and I see you've learned how to address free people who aren't your owner. Either Master Jess or Sir will do, slave."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint answered, still in the rigid display position, his goose bumps even more noticeable as the cool air wafted over his displayed body..

"I understand the Colonel has you on pony duty in the morning paired with a big black stud he found somewhere and you're one of his pleasure slaves at night being offered to his guests when he isn't using you. I'm not surprised. The last time you were here, it was obvious Colonel Beddington had plans for you along those lines. I just didn't realize he could pull it off so quickly, did you?" he laughed.

"No, Master Jess," Clint smiled, reflecting on the ludicrousness of his situation - visiting as an esteemed guest one month astonished at slaves being utilized to meet every human need and desire; serving as a naked, well-trained slave the next month fulfilling all those needs and desires. The change in status was dynamic, if not dramatic.

"Well, I understand you're here to improve slave efficiency," Jess said, "and that's fine with me. Everything is working fairly well now, but there's always room for improvement and your reputation supercedes you in that area. We can talk while I'm fucking you. The last time you were here I had a little fantasy about plowing your ass. Now that you're a slave, that fantasy can come to fruition. "

"Yes, Sir," Clint said, his eyes properly lowered as he sunk to his knees directly in front of the General Manager. "Did you want me on all fours or on my back with my legs up, Master Jess?" Clint asked with soft humility.

"On all fours, slave, with your legs spread wide apart for easy entry. It will be easier to give you the rough fuck I envisioned that way," the General Manager replied as he quickly slipped out of his clothes and stroked himself to a full erection almost instantly while the slave Clint quickly assumed the commanded position in front of him. Jess reached into his desk drawer and extracted a tube of K-Y jelly and squeezed a large gob onto his finger tip before jamming it well into the slave's asshole, spreading the lubricant completely around the insides of the slave's proffered chute. "There, now, Clint, all the goo up your ass will let me fuck you long and hard before shooting a big load well up inside you," the General Manager said as he positioned himself at Clint's open hole and pushed forward vigorously. "I hope you fuck as good as you look," the General Manager commented, almost to himself. "I've seen some slaves that were handsome as all get out, but couldn't fuck worth a damn. And I've seen slaves that were so ugly you wanted to put a sack over their heads, but could give you the best fuck you'd ever had. It will be interesting to see where you line up, Clint."

"Uh, Uh..Yes, Sir, Master Jess....Ugh!" Clint moaned as he felt Jess' large shaft work its way up his ass until, finally, he felt Jess' wiry pubic hair rubbing on his ass cheeks. The manager quickly assumed a steady pumping action - all the way in and almost all the way out with each stroke - as he commenced fulfilling his fantasy of fucking the previously unattainable CEO of Morgan Airconditioners.

"What do you say, slave?" Jess prompted.

"Thank you, Master Jess," Clint gasped out.

"For what, slave?" Jess prompted further.

"For fucking me, Master Jess," Clint moaned as his asshole was completely opened by the plummeting.

"I should think you would thank me, slave. It's not every piece of slave fodder I honor with a good fucking you know," the General Manager said derisively. "But it's fun to fuck the former Clint Morgan of Morgan Airconditioners even if you weren't so damn good looking."

Clint hope the General Manager didn't notice the tears of humiliation streaming out of his eyes as he realized he was being fucked as much for who he had been as much as for the appeal of his available slave body. "This slave is honored with being fucked by the General Manager," Clint said cautiously, unsure of what response the General Manager was fishing for. "I hope he finds the fuck satisfactory in all ways," he added, just to make sure the Manager would be pleased with his performance, although he was aware the quality of the fuck wasn't as important right now as the fact that the former Clint Morgan, now just a piece of property, was available to be fucked by any and all users.

"I hope so too, for your sake, slave. The mines are only a few miles from here, you know, and they would love to have a body like yours available to them," Jess threatened as he continued to energetically plow into the former CEO's ass. Slowing down the pace just a little to insure a long ride, he began the slave's briefing on the plant's operations.

"We're currently turning out 4000 Morgan Airconditioners a day here with a reject rate below 0.25%. The small room units are selling as low as $125 with the big three and four ton units selling for less than a thousand - prices that no competitor can begin to match without losing money. Of course," he chuckled as he continued pumping into Clint's asshole steadily, "they're still try to compete with non-slave labor - impossible no matter what they do! It takes 900 slaves to keep up that rate of production and keep the quality so high - each slave works, as you will remember, 14 to 16 hours a day, seven days a week with the only time off for sleeping, feeding, birthing a new slave pup where we give them a full week's rest, severe sickness that's treatable, or, occasionally, an hour or so for stud duty, and a bath now and then. The rest of the time they're under a overseer's whip, usually with a plug well up their ass, working as hard as they can for their owner's profit. If none of that's true, we ship them over to the mines where they really know how to get the work out of a slave, although the attrition rate is rather appalling if you ask me. Here they work under an incentive system for the main part: real food scraps in addition to the slave chow, occasional fucking privileges, and relief from a plug up their ass all the time are the main positive incentives. And, over a long period of great performance, they might get promoted to an overseer's job where they're doing the beating instead of getting beaten themselves and they get the right to fuck some the slaves under them down in the pens at night. Burning their insides with electric butt plugs, shocking them with the prods, withdrawing food and water for two or three days, and slave overseers beating them raw with the whips are the main negative incentives - over and above the constant fear of being transferring to the mines where they know they won't last long under the whips there. I don't know where you count getting fucked by the overseers or any free man around or having to suck them off whenever they want. Some of the slaves seem to develop a real liking for getting fucked - at least they tend to shoot off when they're fucked after a while - so I guess they have learned to get their jollies that way - so I guess you would have to call that a positive incentive, but at least a few howl their heads off and cry and carry on when they're being fucked - for them, I guess it's a negative. And almost all of them wouldn't be sucking anyone off if they had a choice in the matter - which, of course, they don't."

The General Manager continued to pump slowly and steadily into Clint's ass. "You're a darn good fuck, Clint," he commented as he increased the pace a bit. "I like the way you're still nice and tight with those ass muscles working away massaging my prick. I suppose all that exercise as a pony helps you keep in top shape?"

"Yes, Master Jess. The exercise plus the special training the Colonel arranged for me so I would know how to best please his guests, sir," Clint replied, still moaning softly from being fucked so thoroughly.

"Yes, slave, it's obvious you've been trained in taking a good fucking," Jess commented as he reached around the body beneath him and began playing with the slave's ringed tits which quickly enlarged from the fondling. "Now, as to the specifics of the operation here. All slaves are either purchased for a specific job here as well as specially trained. Of course, we sometimes move them around, but not too often. We buy up big, muscled brutes for parts supply: they need real strength to pull those delivery carts all day long under the whip. Generally, we get them dirt cheap because, although they're young and healthy, they're usually ugly as sin and pretty dinky between the legs. They're happy as hell when we buy them, because they just assumed, not being marketable as household, pleasure, or display slaves, they would be bought up by the mines. That grateful attitude gets them off to a good start - threatening to sell them off to the mines is probably the best incentive we use because they really believe it and will do anything - even work themselves to death - to prevent that from happening. That's a third of the slave stock here. All male, ugly as sin, and sterilized so they can't reproduce no matter what hole they stick up it. That way we can offer them sex privileges as a powerful work incentive - after a couple weeks of not allowing them any sex at all, they'll work their asses off to get the privilege of fucking another ugly old slave just like themselves - anything that will get their rocks off whether it's up that slave's ass or down his throat. We keep all sex activities under strict control at all times - sex is always a privilege allowed by their owner or his representatives - never, of course, a decision allowed them as slaves. But you would certainly understand the wisdom of that, wouldn't you, Clint? Does your master ever let you shoot off without his permission?"

"No, Master Jess," Clint admitted as his ass was getting sore from the long, continual fucking he was receiving.

"How often does your master grant his permission to shoot off?" Jess inquired.

"Not very often, Master Jess. Only when a guest is sucking me and wants some of my cum for his pleasure," Clint said sheepishly, astonishing even himself that he could now talk so openly about literally 'being milked' occasionally for a user's pleasure.

"I suppose you like being milked when it's allowed?" Jess asked.

"Yes, Master Jess. The relief of shooting a good load when one is kept stimulated a good deal of the time is greatly appreciated, sir," Clint said in the same objective tone he used to use when discussing shipments of airconditioners.

"Well, back to the operations here, slave," Jess said as he increased the pace of his pumping the slave's ass slightly. "The assemblers make up about 50% of the slave stock in that the heart of the operation here. They're both male and female: females do the fine assembly work, resistors, thermostats, wiring and that sort of thing, with their smaller fingers and greater eye for detail; the males do the heavier assembly work - fitting cases and compressors and that sort of thing. A good 60% of the assemblers are females and those that are still fertile are kept pregnant all the time with production of a most profitable sideline for the Colonel - slavebreeding. We get about 15 pregnancies out of each young slave we buy up before they're generally worn out in that area and being pregnant doesn't affect their work one iota. We just lose a week of work for each pup they produce and the part that's almost laughable - they have to earn the right to have a selected stud get them pregnant. They don't get to pick the stud so we can control a least a little of the genetics involved in the pup, they don't get to say when or with whom or how, but they still bust a gut working to earn the privilege of getting a series of good solid fucks every 10 months or so. Once they're knocked up with a fresh pup, they have to start working on earning the next round of privileges a few weeks after delivering. If you listen to them yakking away in the pens, that's all they talk about with their big swollen bellies - the stud that fucked them last and the stud they hope to have fuck them the next time around. Those gals don't miss a detail: the color of the stud's hide, their facial features, the length and girth of their prick, how big their balls were, the texture of their hair, the smell of their sweat, the shape of their tits - those gals don't miss a damn thing about the stud's bedding them down. By the time they're been knocked up 15 or 20 times, I suppose they do have a lot to talk about - comparison and all! Besides the sex, the women love to get scrap food privileges - I guess they find slave chow rather monotonous - and they'll work their heart out to earn the right to not have the plug up their ass all day long sitting on those bicycle seats. If you hold out getting relief from the big plugs fitted up their ass each and every day, you'll find they will work up to 25% faster and hold the new pace - in fact, you have to watch out they don't work too hard to get off the plugs and work themselves into utter exhaustion. If they slack off, a few electric jolts up that metal plug up their ass is all it takes - doesn't hurt the pup within them a bit as long as you keep the shock of short duration. We always use that first when a women slacking off - food and water deprivation is effective, of course, but it has the possibility of damaging the new slave within them so the frying their insides with the jolt from the plug is the best bet to get their minds back onto the task they were bought to do. The men assemblers aren't carrying a new crop of slaves as they work, of course, but they're usually just as motivated to get the plug out of their butts and just as motivated, if not more so, to earn some sex, since they're not allowed any relief without earning it within the system. If we don't want their genes carried over to the new crop of slaves, we have their tubes tied the minute we buy them, but if we do, we use them as studs for the selective breeding program with the females. Either way, the male slaves can earn the right to fuck, get sucked, jerk off, get fucked, or whatever suits their fancy by a 25% increase in their production rate over their initial base rate of production. All the young slaves can reach that goal usually with a lot of sweat and effort on their part - the old ones start having trouble after a while but it probably isn't quite the goal it once was anyway. For the older ones, we generally use negative incentives, like some good jolts up their behind with the electrified butt plugs - that generally gets at least a 15% increase in production out of them as long as you keep the jolts coming on a regular basis whenever they're needed. A good beating works too, but you risk body damage in doing it - but there's nothing like a good solid beating that really tears a slave's back up to remind them they're nothing but a slave and they're here to pay back their purchase price even if they get killed in the process. Nothing like the whip to effect a good attitude change if that's the problem! Food and water deprivation also works well and is frequently used, but earning table scraps doesn't mean squat to them - the male slaves don't begin to respond to that privilege like the females - it's like they don't give a damn about what they eat as long as get something - slave chow for them seems to be just fine once they get used to its complete lack of taste. Naw, it's sex and pain that works best with the males - no doubt about it."

"Most of the remaining workers - about 15 to 20 percent - are assigned to equipment, building, and grounds maintenance, cleaning, and special assignments such as subbing for sick or dead slaves before they can be replaced, substituting for female slaves off on pup delivery leave, or overtime assignments on the assembly and parts bin service when we're doing an overrun. They're mainly older slaves who can't keep up the pace anymore on the parts delivery and assembly work but still have a lot of work left in them. A few slaves live up into their 70s and are still going strong on roof repair, painting, and grounds maintenance. Of course we have to use the whip more often to make sure they keep the pace up, so it requires a few more overseers, but, on the other hand, you can feed them less, you don't have to fiddle with satisfying their sex drives, and you can still get something for them when you turn them over to the body parts and rendering contractors. The really old, worn out slaves often make good caretakers for the pups in the nurseries where we're raising all those pups to market age. They know just what to teach those little scallywags: instant obedience to whoever owns them, no aspirations beyond bringing a good price at auction and making their masters proud of them, and no thoughts ever about self-determination or their body belonging to them. It's the best attitude a slave can have for a happy and successful career of being owned property, I'm sure you would agree, Clint."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint agreed, his arms and legs fatiguing from holding his hands and knee position for so long, his asshole smarting from such prolonged use.

The General Manager suddenly speeded up his pistoning, thrust up the slave's ass beneath him as far as he could, held that position as if frozen, and then shuddered as load after load of his seed was delivered well up into the slave's bowels. The slave being filled with hot cum remembered to tighten his ass muscles as tight as he could around the invading shaft so that his user would get maximum pleasure from his orgasm.

"God Almighty! God, what a fuck!" the General Manager exclaimed when he was able to get his breath. "That was a damn good fuck, slave," he gasped. "I feel like you drained me dry, you big whore," he proclaimed as he slowly extracted his large shaft, rapidly detumesing, from the slave's stretched ass chute.

As soon as Clint felt the General Manager's prick leave his body, he quickly turned around, without prompting, and vigorously cleaned the spent shaft of all of the lubricant, sticky white cum, and his own ass juices with his mouth and lips, swallowing anything he could lick and suck off down into his stomach. "Thank you, Master Jess," the remembered to say as soon as his mouth was emptied, while he knelt to one side, his eyes to the ground. "Would you like to fuck me again, Master Jess, or perhaps use my body in some other way that would bring you pleasure?"

"Not right now, slave," the General Manager mumbled. "You've pretty well drained me for now."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint answered, licking his lips to make sure the last of the residue from his cleansing of his user's prick was off his face.

Standing up, the General Manger quickly redressed, and then again grabbed the slave's nose leash and jerked the slave to an upright position. "I'll give you a little tour to refresh your memory of the operations here, Clint, before we get to your recommendations for improving efficiency. I'm sure you have some after seeing the actual operations rather than just hearing about them."

"Yes, Master Jess, although I was very impressed with your management the last time I was here."

"Yes, I know you were, Clint. It was obvious. I also got the feeling you liked and respected me."

"Yes, Master Jess. That's very true. I remember telling Colonel Beddington that I thought you were doing a great job here."

"That's what I heard," the General Manager chuckled. "I appreciated it. I think that's why I enjoyed fucking you so much

With that, he led Clint out into the stifling hot and steamy manufacturing complex, starting with the rapidly moving parts delivery carts being hauled by huge sweaty naked male slaves struggling to pull the heavy loads in their harnesses, their heavy panting punctuated by the crack of whips hitting bare flesh periodically followed by the inevitable scream of pain from one slave or another. As the tour progressed, Clint saw the harnessed slaves eyeing his totally exposed body being led around by his nose leash by the General Manager, including their interest in the thick white cum running down his thighs from his leaking asshole. Each draft slave looking him over quickly showed a huge erection matched by a look of pure wanton lust, knowing he had just been fucked and clearly imagining themselves be allowed to fuck this beautiful slave displayed before them.

"The slaves like you," the General Manager chuckled as he reached over and grabbed one of the nearby slave's erect penis. "As if I'd turn the likes of you over to them," he scoffed. "Hell, you'd be dead by morning if I threw you in their pen tonight. Don't let anyone tell you, Clint, that a slave can't be fucked to death. Seen it happen often enough under careless management."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint said, obviously relieved the plan wasn't to throw him "into the pens" as was just described. "Master, may I ask a question?"

"Keep it short and to the point, slave," Jess said not unkindly.

"What's the overseer to slave ratio here, Master Jess?" Clint asked.

"One overseer for every seven slaves. That accounts for all that sweat running off their bodies and those scars on their backs," the General Manager said proudly. "No way they can cheat the Colonel out of getting his money's worth out of their miserable bodies with that many overseers to make sure they're putting their all into it."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Master Jess," Clint said humbly.

After touring all of the parts delivery operation, the General Manager led Clint into the assembly area where the Morgan Airconditioners were being fitted together piece by piece. The slaves worked at a feverish pace, most of of them chained to a perch on the tiny bicycle seats where the huge fastened dildo squirming up their ass kept them perky and alert at all times. Occasionally, one of the seated workers would let out a horrifying scream and freeze in temporary paralysis as an huge electric shock was delivered well up his or her ass chute. Almost all of the female slaves were in varying stages of pregnancy, their swollen bellies showing stretch marks that belied a long series of pregnancies before their current one. The men doing the heavy assembly work weren't fastened to the seats, which would impede their work, but sported huge butt plugs with an antenna sticking out of their holes, awaiting the radio signal to shock the hell out of them if they ever faltered in their work. They were, like those slaves chained to their seats, fitted with the catheters that allowed them to work 12 hours straight without a restroom break. Clint saw the huge plastic jugs that the catheter tubes ran to were already almost full and knew, from his previous visit, the urine would be used as a cleaning agent locally and sold as a tanning agent internationally. It was strange seeing all the workers fastened by their sex to the work stations by the clear plastic tubes. Trying to leave the workstation would lead to terrible pain in the body's most sensitive areas. The system was ingenious and meant other restraints, other than the ankle band positioning device fitted to all of the Colonel's slaves no matter where assigned, weren't really necessary. Hence, most of these slaves were free of the common nipple, nose, ear, and genital rings most slaves elsewhere sported as common fittings. That was good in that there was little to catch in the machinery or impede them in their body movements. The assembly workers he saw, whether male or female, worked at a furious pace, never halted even for a moment, and had a crazed, fearful look in their eyes that had come, obviously, from their experience with the electrified dildos within them. Their whole being, it seemed to Clint, seemed to be to avoid getting shocked again, and it was obvious these slaves would do anything - anything - to prevent being shocked if they could help it. He wondered how many worked themselves to an early death trying to avoid yet another wretching shock up their ass.

"Seen enough, slave?" the General Manager asked as he jerked on Clint's nose ring.

"Yes, Master Jeff," the slave said humbly as he followed the General Manager into the maintenance and repair area staffed by the older slaves. Here the slaves moved slightly slower due to their age but just as steadily and Clint quickly saw why. Each slave had the tell- tale antenna sticking out of his asshole, just waiting to receive the signal to send the slave to the ground in unbelievable pain once the huge dildo up them was activated. Clint marveled at how wireless electronics had contributed to such effective control of human livestock. When one of the slaves bent over to pick up a box of supplies, Clint noticed his exposed asshole stretched around the huge plug within him. It was not only calloused from years of being fitted with the huge dildo each and every day; it was also scarred from burn marks - a result of literally frying the slave's ass chute when particularly powerful shocks had been delivered by the electrified mechanism buried within each slave.

"Master Jeff, may I ask another question?"

"Yes, Clint, but don't be bothersome."

"Master Jeff, does the dildo shocker ever loose its effectiveness?"

"What do you mean, slave? Speak clearly."

"Master Jeff, do the slaves fitted with the electric dildo ever acclimate to the device so it no longer is extremely painful to them when it is activated?"

"Oh, now I see what you mean, slave, and the answer is NO. That's the glory of electric shock, slave. It's just as corrective the 100oth time around as it was the first time. Some of these slaves have burnt holes they've been shocked so much over the years and they still yelp like crazy when we shock them and get their asses in gear real fast to avoid it happening again. As they age, they tend to work themselves so hard to avoid the dildo shocker they are prone to heart attacks, but it doesn't matter too much. By that time, we've got our money's worth out of them and then some," he laughed. "And most of their body parts are still marketable if you harvest them within 30 minutes or so of their demise."

"Thank you, Master Jeff. I'm ready to give you some recommendations for improving the efficiency here whenever it pleases you."

"Good. I'm going to fuck you again - a quick one this time - and then I'll get the recorder out to tape your recommendations. I'm sure the Colonel will want to go over each and every suggestion you make. He holds your managerial skills in as high a regard as I do," the General Manager said.

"Do you want me on my back or on all fours again?" Clint asked.

"On your back this time, slave," the General Manager said. "Variety is the spice of life and I can study your face when I'm ramming it in."

"Yes, master," was all Clint could think of to say as they reached the General Manager's office and Clint positioned himself flat on his back on the conference table for Jess' convenience in use of his body. His ass ached from the prolonged fucking the General Manager had given him prior to the tour, but Clint knew he had no choice in the matter if that's what the General Manager wanted. This time, no lubrication was used, but it really didn't matter. Clint was still full of Jess' cum from the last fucking. As the Manager rammed into him full bore once again, the tears spilled out of Clint once again despite his efforts to control himself.

"What's the matter? Happy you're getting fucked again?" Jess said as he pushed himself all the way inside the slave.

"No, Master Jess." Clint knew he had to be truthful at all times no matter what. "I was thinking about being thrown in the pens where the delivery cart slaves are caged."

"Yeah. Well, I going to fuck you just as hard as they would. The difference is there is only one of me and a good 50 of them. You'd have something to cry about if you were thrown in the lot of them, believe me. As it is, I think you're crying because it's hard for you to come back here as a piece of naked slave meat with a ring through your nose and your equipment thrust out for display by a genital banding instead of some highfaluting big shot all covered up in expensive clothes. It's humiliating to you, but, Clint, that's good for a slave. Makes them more malleable to their owner's wishes."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint replied as once again he felt his sore insides stretched to the point where he thought he was going to be split in half.

To get his mind off the pain and humiliation, he began to formulate his recommendations for increased efficiency.

"You suck well too," the General Manager praised the slave now kneeling between his legs to give him a thorough cleansing after the recent fuck. "I suppose you get a lot of practice in using your mouth as well as your ass as one of the Colonel's pleasure slaves."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint responded as soon as his mouth was free and he was slurping down the residue of the General Manager's latest use of his ass.

"Despite your well-trained servility and fine cooperation in all that's asked of you, I get a feeling you still wish you weren't a slave, Clint," the General Manager said, stroking the slave's hair. "It's hard to be high and mighty one day, and just a piece of meat the next I imagine. But, in your case, there just may be a better future for you - just maybe." With one hand, his fingers continued to run through the slave's hair, while with the other hand he pinched and squeezed one of the slave's ringed nipples until it was red and swollen.

Clint was amazed at the General Manager's interest in a slave's welfare and a fresh round of tears sprang into his eyes. "Yes, Master Jess?" he prompted, daring to raise his eyes up to look at the General Manager's face, an act audacious and certainly risky for any slave, especially one in tears.

"Clint, the Colonel generally gets bored with the slaves he keeps around for his pleasure. He only kept his last pair of black ponies for a few months before he sold them off for the likes of you. And that harem of pleasure slaves he stocks turns over so fast they're always fresh and young. My guess the novelty of owning a former business associate, even one as good looking as you, will fade with time and, given a decent period of time for him and his friends to use you until the novelty wears off, he's quite likely to be amenable to disposing of you. But he'd probably just sell you off at a fantastic price to one of his friends looking for a handsome bed buck. I think you'll be a lot happier if you were free. We ship a lot of Morgan Airconditioners to the Outback in Australia which is like the ends of the earth. It just might be possible to persuade the Colonel to ship you out there under a new name and identity and set you up as the main Morgan Airconditioner distributor. That way, he'd make a lot more money than he ever would selling your body to one of his friends, and you'd be a free agent back doing what you have always done - selling and promoting Morgan Airconditioners. What do you think of that idea, slave? Mind, you, we're talking a year or so down the line from now."

Clint broke into a huge smile for the first time in months. "Master Jess," he broke into a fresh round of eyes, this time from happiness, "it sounds wonderful. But is it possible to ever be free again?"

"Just maybe, Clint. In the interim, you make yourself invaluable around here so the Colonel is well pleased with your performance. That means lots of good suggestions to save the Colonel money and using that body to please each and everyone wanting to use it. Me, I'm going to start making some little suggestions along those lines to the Colonel when the opportunities arise over the next year or so. Now, let's get that recorder out and start hearing all those good ideas of yours to get more work out of the slave stock."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint replied, his body feeling suddenly totally energized.

Meanwhile, miles away, his fellow pony, the magnificent black slave Sebastian and the Colonel's steward were arriving in Keetman-shoop for the weekly auction of slave stock where the first batch of "gifts" he was charged with training had to be purchased. Sebastian knew, better than anyone, that selecting the right stock was critical for his success in this undertaking.

CHAPTER 20

"Master, may I humbly suggest that you consider decreasing the number of slave overseers for the parts delivery slaves by half," Clint started out once the tape recorder had been supplied him by the General Manager. "Each overseer, master, feels he should prove his worth to you, their owner, by performing zealously in their role as an overseer. The end result is they are beating the slaves under their tutelage incessantly - often for no apparent reason other than to prove they are doing something as an overseer. This not only marks up your property badly with all those permanent scars and whip weals on their backs and rumps, but is also decreasing the speed with which the delivery slaves work. May I suggest they would be able to work much faster and harder if the whips weren't constantly tearing up their hides and restricting their full output for your benefit, master. The excess overseers could be put back into the working ranks, thus decreasing your need to buy new slaves as old ones wear out.

"Also, master, may I humbly suggest that the assembly workers be given the right to earn relief from the electrified ass implants they are forced to sit upon while working. While the shock dildos are an excellent corrective for poor performance as well as a wonderful training device for slaves new to the assignment, excessive and continual usage lessens their effectiveness in extracting maximum work performance. May I suggest letting your very best workers be relieved of the dildo if they increase their production by 10 percent and maintain that new pace. Any backsliding from the 10 percent increase and you would, of course, reinsert the dildo immediately. I predict, master, that many of your properties will be able to meet the new 10 percent increase with such an incentive and, eventually, you can produce just as many Morgan Airconditioners as you are currently are with considerably less slaves. All new slaves and slaves not able to reach the new work quota would continue to have the shock dildos implanted deep in their holes but with a more severe setting than you currently use - I suggest, master, a setting that burns their insides each and every time. The smoke emanating from their assholes after such a shock will serve as an example to the others who might be entertaining slowing their pace.

"Thirdly, master, may I suggest that slaves be placed on a point system of incentives. The slave with the most 'points' accumulated when a supervisory position becomes available is automatically the first candidate for that job. Points could be earned for performance beyond their work quota; periods of time with no production defects; begging to work more hours than scheduled; begging to be used sexually in their off hours by whoever you designate; and even, master, by making suggestions for increased efficiency just as you have asked me to do. They say, master, that those doing the work know better than anyone how to do it better - even a mere piece of human livestock."

Putting the microphone down, Clint lowered his head as the General Manager continued to play with his tits, kneading and stroking them once they were fully erect. "That's all I can think of today, Master Jess," Clint said.

"That's plenty for one day, Clint," Jess responded, releasing Clint's tits. "Let's see you at full display," he ordered and Clint quickly assumed the commanded position, his pelvis thrust out as his hands fastened the back of his neck. As the General Manager hefted Clint's large balls in his hands and began churning them, he added, "It's time to get you started back to the Colonel's place, anyway. You probably have a busy night ahead of you if I know the Colonel. How many times you get fucked each night, generally?"

"Usually five or six times, Master Jess," Clint answered humbly, his organs swelling as the General Manager continued playing with his balls.

"Good God! The Colonel's that horny?"

"I don't know about that, Master Jess," Clint smiled. "The steward arranges my evening entertainment schedule. Usually two or three of the Colonel's guests want to use me and when they're fully satisfied, I'm given as a reward to some of the Colonel's slaves who have worked hard to earn bedding down a slave themselves. And, Master Jess, the Colonel usually uses me at least three or four times a week and his steward likewise."

"Your ass must be sore all the time, Clint," the General Manager said without concern. "That's good for slaves in my opinion - reminds them of just who and what they are."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint replied, his prick now so hard from the ball churning he thought he was going to shoot.

"I better stop playing with you or I'm going to have cum all over me," Jess laughed as he released the slave's genitals. "Now get your ass back to the Colonel's domicile. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon after your pony duties. By then, I will have figured out how you can start implementing some of those ideas of yours - if the Colonel approves, of course. Even if he doesn't, I plan to put you to work as an assistant plant manager. No use me doing all of the work when I have you around to help out. No matter what, we'll start the afternoon with you offering your ass up for a good fucking - that you can count on, boy," the General Manager laughed as he dismissed the slave with a sound slap on Clint's rump. "Now skedaddle back to the Colonel's house pronto."

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint said humbly as he turned and trotted out of the office door, his large penis, still fully erect, waving from side to side in his gait. After a long trot back, he entered the slave's entrance of the Colonel's mansion, his body dripping with sweat as he reported promptly to the steward, and then started cleaning and preparing his body for whatever sexual usage had been lined up for him. Tomorrow morning, he would start the whole routine over again: harnessed as a pony; then instructed and fucked at Morgan Airconditioning in the afternoon, and again serving as one of the Colonel's bed bucks in the evenings. It was a life he never dreamed existed only a month or so ago, but it wouldn't change at least for a year or so - it would take that long, he figured, for the Colonel to tire of his novelty. After that, he could be sold to another owner back at the Keetman-shoop Auction House, given as a gift to one of the Colonel's friends, contracted out to a slave brothel fairly common in this part of the world, placed up for bids by one of the organ banks, or maybe - just maybe - end up in the Outback of Australia selling Morgan Airconditioners for the Colonel.

"The suggestions hold some merit," the Colonel announced after listening to the General Manager's tape. "Over the next few weeks, try some of them out as you see fit with my slave Clint overseeing their initial implementation. I'm a little leery of taking the constant whip off the backs of the delivery slaves and even leerier of letting some of the production slaves work without a wired plug up their ass, but my new slave isn't stupid, Jess. He was doing a fine job running Morgan Airconditioners if he hadn't stubbornly insisted on keeping production in the U.S. with their outrageous wage rates. If he'd moved production even down to Mexico, he'd still be a world leader in airconditioners, although we would have eventually driven him out of business anyway as long as he stuck with non-slave labor. You just can't compete with that as you know so well. But we'll give it a try and see if he makes economic sense or is just a softie." The Colonel looked at his long time plant manager straight in the eye and added, "By the way, did you like fucking him?"

"He was great. Once just isn't enough," the plant manager chuckled. "And he sucks as well as he takes a fuck. He's obviously been well trained, Colonel Beddington."

"Yes, he has learned his new role in life rapidly, it seems, Jess. I believe I've had him in my bed more frequently than any slave I can recall - at least to date. Although his pony mate, the big black Sebastian, has warmed my bed often enough lately."

"Well, keep me posted on progress around this place. And I expect new suggestions for improved efficiency out of the slave Clint at least every week or so, Jess."

"I'll make sure he keeps at it, Colonel."

"What? Making suggestions for improved efficiency or taking a good hard fuck?" the Colonel laughed.

"Both," Jess smiled. "Colonel, how are our sales of Morgan Airconditioners doing in Australia? I haven't noticed too many being shipped down there."

"You're right, Jess. Sales there are disappointing and there's no reason for it. Morgan Airconditioners are perfectly designed for the Aussie climate. We need someone down there to get things organized. Why did you ask?" the Colonel frowned.

"Oh, I just thought how big and hot Australia is and how few airconditioners were being produced for that market. It just struck me as odd, considering our sales to places like Malaysia and Thailand and the huge market in China."

"Well, you're right, Jess. Sales suck in Australia and I've got to either kick ass or overhaul our operations down there. Your comments just clinched it, Jess. Any ideas?"

"Let me think on it, Colonel," the General Manager replied. "I might be able to come up with something that might help."

"That's what I like about you, Jess. Your concerns extend beyond this dinky little operation here. You're thinking of the big picture."

"Thanks, Colonel," Jess said, smiling brightly at the compliment.

Sebastian, along with the Colonel's steward, were getting out of one of the Colonel's cars at the doorstep of the Keetman-shoop Slave Auction Center, the very place his pony mate Clint had been "initially processed" a month or so ago.

The steward reminded Sebastian that the Colonel wanted two of the five to be purchased today to be "bred" slaves and the remaining three to be "newly processed" slaves. The steward added the reminder they were to buy up a range of human flesh that would be appealing as potential gifts, once thoroughly trained, to the Colonel's best business associates.

"Yes, master steward sir," Sebastian answered humbly. "And I need to buy properties that can be well-trained in the short time-frame given me by my master, steward sir," the hugely muscular, handsome and well hung black slave reminded the Colonel's steward.

As they entered the large auction hall, Sebastian, who had never been at a slave auction himself (having been bought directly from Mr. Singh), was overwhelmed although the steward, (who had been to hundreds of such events, including his own sale to the Colonel years and years ago) felt right at home. Sebastian first responded to the smell: the warm pleasant odor of fresh sweat on newly bathed bodies mixed with the unmistakable scent of humans sexually aroused and in heat. Next he took in the sights: hundreds of totally naked bodies placed in full display, each body placed on a small circular podium designed just for that purpose, each body fully aroused with every body part totally accessible to interested shoppers. Lastly, there were the sounds: customers talking softly to each other as to the merits of this or that slave; the dealer's agents hawking the unique features of a particular slave under inspection, and the low moans of the totally submissive slaves as their bodies were stroked, fondled, prodded, and probed in every hole mixed with the startled gasps and groans of the merchandise unaccustomed to being handled in such a fashion but knowing there was nothing they could do to stop it. Added to that was the occasional snap of a ready whip as some slave or another wasn't displaying themselves properly or weren't responding to some customer's request fast enough, a sound usually followed by a slave's shriek of pain as the whip torn into their totally exposed bodies. Some slaves were beseeching customers to buy them; others were weeping silently, the tears spilling down their cheeks as the realization they were being sold as property sunk deep into their consciousness. Some were humming softly to themselves as if they were in another world as the customer's finger fucked or stroked their organs to full orgasm, presumably to test their sexual abilities. Still other slaves were obviously enjoying every minute of the experience, the event fulfilling some long-held sexual fantasy of theirs, revealed by their ever dripping pricks, flushed skin, and almost panting responses to the stroking and fondling of their body. Beside each pedestal there was a small folder with five photos of the naked slave (front and back, and face, genitals and ass only), a one-page history of the slave including his country of origin, all body specifications, and his previous occupation (if any, or if he had been a slave previously, what his or her main assignment had been); and a one-page report of his training to date (or lack of).

Sebastian quickly became aroused himself, an event that did not go unnoticed by the steward staring at Sebastian's naked body.

"Calm yourself, slave," the steward counseled. "You're here to buy up stock, not take your pleasure, although I admit they are displaying some tempting meat today," as he reached to a nearby chained slave on display and, hefting the slave's balls, began kneading them in his palm. "Take this slave here, Sebastian," the steward said as he opened the slave's folder with his other hand and began leafing through the contents. "He's 18 - a perfect age for our gifting purposes. He's been a slave since birth, a product of selective breeding for a handsome mulatto with large equipment. That experiment was successful from the looks of him. He's been trained from birth on to his slave status, and he's been completely trained in all household as well as sexual duties. He was raised at a slave nursery, then sold at age 12 to his first owner who died recently and that's why he's at market today. According to this report, his first owner, an old man, was well pleased with the slave both in and out of bed and frequently loaned him out to his many sons and nephews for their use. If we're interested, they may be bidding against us in order to get him back in their beds. Sebastian, stroke the boy to a full discharge so we can see the quantity and quality of his seed as well as how long it takes him to shoot off."

"Here, Master Seward sir?" Sebastian asked, unaware that slaves up for auction were displayed for that very purpose.

"Of course, slave," the steward snapped.

Sebastian wrapped his fist around the mulatto's prick and begin pumping the exceptionally long and thick organ. Within a minute, the mulatto arched his back, reared his head back, and groaned softly as he discharged volley after volley of thick, white cream into a small cup held in Sebastian's other hand, furnished in a small dispenser by the auction house near each display stand for that very purpose.

The steward dipped his finger into the almost-filled cup and scooped up a dose with two of his fingers, lifting the steaming cum to his mouth and indicated that Sebastian should do likewise.

"Fresh and tasty," the steward announced.

"Nice and thick," Sebastian added, after swirling the cum around in his mouth.

"Drink it all down, Sebastian," the steward commanded. "No use wasting such a sweet cream."

Sebastian took the cup, lifted it to his lips, and drained the contents down his throat, licking the paper cup out thoroughly before putting it in the waste container.

"Good?" the steward inquired.

"Yes, master steward," the big black responded, licking his lips to catch the last residue.

The mulatto slave, so recently milked, looked at the black slave beseechingly. "Buy me, sirs," he pleaded softly, aware that both of them were slaves themselves, obviously agents of a rich master. "I'll please you in every way," he promised with a pleading look, keeping his voice very low since slaves were generally forbidden to talk when being displayed for sale.

"Why are you so eager to be sold to us that you risk speaking when on the display stand?" the steward asked, reaching forward and tweaking the slave's tits until they too were fully erect.

"It would be better than being sold to my dead master's nephews who plan to buy me in a consortium so they can pass me one to the other once I am their property," the mulatto slave whispered cautiously.

"So, why is that worse than us buying you?" the steward countered.

"It is better to have one master than many," the slave whispered back.

"Ah, you're wise beyond your years, slave," the steward smiled. "Even though you don't have any idea of what use we would put you to once we purchased you, you think it would be a better life than having many masters all at once. Well, slave, if we buy you, we intend to train you to offer your body to anyone we designate with all the talent you can muster so that they get full enjoyment. And, when you are fully trained in providing pleasure to others, we intend to give you as a gift to a friend of our master - whoever he might designate. You would be a gift slave. Do you still think it is better to have a single master, slaveboy, with that in mind?" he chuckled.

Without hesitation, the slave whispered, "Yes. Please buy me. I know my old master's nephews. You won't be disappointed with me. I will make a wonderful gift to your master's friends."

Pinching the slave's tits one last time, the steward turned to Sebastian and said, "We'll bid on this one unless the nephews jack the price up too high.. Four more to go."

"Yes, master steward," Sebastian said, still tasting the slave's cum in his throat.

Sebastian spotted the next potential purchase: a smallish, but extremely good looking blond slave with golden skin, a well defined body, and magnificent sexual equipment. As the steward inspected his holes for usage and accessibility, Sebastian milked him and drank down the full output.

"He had a good output, but how did he taste?" the steward asked Sebastian.

"Very tasty, steward sir," Sebastian answered. "A great afternoon snack," he smiled.

"Well, he's good and tight in his ass. Not virginal by any means, but not fucked to death either. He won't need too much additional training to be totally satisfying to anyone receiving him as a gift. He's been a slave for three years already with satisfactory reports, and was initially trained to his slavery right at this very spot before he was first sold at the age of 22. Says in his folder he was a Swedish sailor in a previous life. We'll bid on this one too, Sebastian. He'll be easy for you to train to his future destiny."

"Yes, master steward," Sebastian replied brightly, happy that the selection of new stock was going so well.

"We need another bred slave and whatever else we can find," the steward directed as he lead the way into another section of the huge display arena.

Soon, Sebastian had found a full black right next to a Latino slave, both handsome and well-hung. Both accepted being milked eagerly, both produced big loads of white, thick creamy cum, and both seemed resigned to being sold as commodities. The steward, studying their folders, found both were once free, both had been enslaved for only four months - a period spend entirely in basic slave training right there at the auction house and both were reported to have responded very well to the basic training regime which included full sexual usage as well as the total and unquestioning obedience demanded of all slaves sold at that venue. The black was from the Cameroons originally, a prisoner of war there before being sold off to the ever-present slave traders that are close behind the scenes of most civil wars - the money they offer being spent on new armament and uniforms by those doing the selling. The Latino had been bought off a corrupt Dominican Republic warden, who often sold off prisoners without family to underground slave traders. After being sold to the slave traders, it was just hours before they found themselves in the hold of a cargo aircraft, naked, chained, and caged, being flown, with 10 or 15 others, to the Keetman-sloop airstrip reserved for use by thousands of such slave traders around the world. After that, they had never worn clothes, had been fucked no less than twice a day and often more, had been whip trained to absolute obedience to any command given them instantly, and had learned to suck down anything presented to their mouth without hesitation. By the time they were put up for sale, the display and its bodily inspections were nothing compared to what they had been through in their training. Any thought of going back to a previous life before slavery had long been eradicated.

"Wouldn't these be good, master steward," Sebastian ventured as he finger fucked the Latino and played with the tits of the black slave. "I think they could be trained for gifting, master steward, in relatively short order."

"I agree, Sebastian," the steward replied. "That gives us one more to locate and he must be a bred slave, that is, if we get what we bid for, but the Colonel usually wants me to bid to buy - he has the money to impose his will wherever he goes - even when he's not even here!" the steward chuckled.

The two proceeded into a far corner of the display room where they found another blond boy displaying a huge dripping shaft, two enormous balls hanging between his legs, the face of an angel with almost delicate features, and a very muscular, well-defined muscular body which defied his otherwise almost feminine good looks.

"How long have you been a slave?" the steward asked the slave on the display stand.

"All my life, sir. Born on a breeding farm and brought up to bring top dollar at market, sir," the slave said pleasantly.

"You think you'll get top dollar, as you put it, slave?" the steward teased the slave.

"Yes, sir. I've been well trained to meet any owner's desires, no matter what she or he may want."

"My owner is looking for a slave to give away to his business colleagues as a means of sealing a big commercial venture. Would you be good at that with your training, slave?"

"Yes, sir. No matter who I was given to, I think they would be pleased and very glad they made that good business with your master."

"Sebastian, you suck the boy off while I work a big dildo up his ass. If he's got a good receptive hole in back and his juice is good and thick, we've probably found our last purchase today."

The blond slave passed both tests easily: he accepted a 12x4 dildo with little more than a few groans and gasps, and, even before Sebastian's lips hit the head of his prick, he quickly reached full arousal and within minutes produced a huge, nice-tasting load.

After Sebastian had swallowed the full amount and after the huge dildo had been extracted from his stretched hole, both the steward and Sebastian were surprised the slave maintained a full erection.

"Are you always hard?" Sebastian asked.

"I stay hard as long as my masters want me to be that way," the slave answered. "That's the way my trainers taught me."

"We've found our fifth slave," the steward announced with finality. "I don't see any sense in staying around for all the bidding if we can avoid it. I'll see the dealer and ask him if he is willing to sell at 'full market' price if we take all five off his hands. He might get more at auction, but he's likely to get less. Our master usually doesn't dicker around - he offers a price the dealer can't turn down to get what he wants."

Sebastian was disappointed he might not get to see the actual auction. Seeing a naked slave up on a podium, subject to highest bid, without any input into who he might be sold to or for what purpose, was strangely erotic to him. He imagined himself in similar circumstances (which he very likely would be someday) and found it sexually exciting. But, following the steward to the dealer's office, he quickly found out it was not to be. The dealer knew the Colonel's steward from many a previous dealing and promptly accepted his offer of buying the five slaves at 'full market' price before the actual bidding started. The dealer promised to have the newly purchased slaves cleaned up completely and shipped within cages by van that very afternoon to Colonel's Beddington's estate.

"And who is this likely looking black slave?" the dealer asked the steward, hefting Sebastian's huge shaft in his hand and stroking it lightly until the totally naked slave was fully erect and dripping.

"A recent acquisition of Colonel Beddington, slave dealer. Brought in from America where he had been a free whore in some sort of sex agency. His pimp sold him to the Colonel for a good price, I understand."

"And how has this well hung and most handsome slave worked out for the good Colonel?" the dealer inquired as he continued to stroke the black slave.

"Very well, dealer. He is one of the Colonel's ponies, now, as well as a favorite bed buck. The Colonel has now charged him with training five new slaves to be gifts he can give to favored business clients who have done the Colonel various profitable favors."

"What a splendid idea," the dealer said admiringly. "Is this slave capable of being a good trainer for such slaves?" he asked as Sebastian broke out in a sex sweat and began bucking in the dealer's hand signaling a pending discharge.

"He better be," the steward smirked. "If not, the Colonel has promised to have me bring him back to you for sale to the mines - the type of mine where slaves don't last but a few months was what the Colonel had in mind. But if you don't stop stroking the slave, you're going to have a real mess on your hands. The slave is noted for his copious discharges."

"I've been warned," the dealer laughed as he removed his squeezing hands from the huge dripping shaft. "I've got to look pretty for the upcoming auction - it turns customers off, I'm afraid, when I appear with cum dripping all down the front of me."

Both the steward and the dealer chuckled at that remark. Sebastian (still sweating profusely and still rampantly hard) and the steward left the auction center for a quick trip back to the Colonel's estate post haste. They both needed to be there when the newly purchased properties arrived in the dealer's van. And Sebastian, of course, needed to clean up and get ready for his evening assignments. Tonight, the steward informed him on the trip back to the estate, three of the Colonel's friends had requested him as their bed buck and he had been promised to two household slaves as a reward.

"So, all in all, boy, you're going to be fucked at least five times tonight up your ass, no telling how many times you'll need to swallow a big load down your throat, and God knows what else you'll be asked to do. It's just as well the dealer didn't milk you back there. You'll need all the juice you've got to make the Colonel's guests happy tonight."

"Yes, master steward," Sebastian said, knowledgeable of what demands would be made of him during the coming evening. But he was looking forward to the training of the new slaves. For once, he thought, he would be in the driver's seat for a change.

CHAPTER 21 EIGHT MONTHS LATER:

Each week Jess had produced the tape recorder and Clint had dutifully offered more and more suggestions to increase efficiency for the airconditioner manufacturing facility where he was now assistant production supervisor under the tutelage of Jess, who had, as promised, routinely fucked the slave Clint several times each and every afternoon when Clint was assigned to the Morgan Airconditioner plant for assigned duties. Clint was so much a slave now in his mind set he thought nothing of Jess using his body so wantonly and so frequently.

Every morning, he, hitched alongside his former rented whore Sebastian LeMasters, served as Colonel Beddington's team of human ponies for the inspection trips and pleasure jaunts around the Colonel's vast estate (containing all of his various production enterprises) in Namibia.

The black Sebastian had taken to his enslavement well, considering he originally thought he was being offered a fabulous high paying job in Namibia when the truth was he had been sold for $100,000 to the Colonel by his former pimp (and owner of Paradise Modeling), Mr. Singh. Now Sebastian pulled the Colonel's gurney as one of the Colonel's trained ponies as the black component of a white/black team of human steeds.

Although the dreyage duties were exhausting and stretched their endurance to the limits, both of the slaves had the stamina and strength in their magnificent bodies to serve as human stallions and all that entailed. The constant terribly painful whippings, the ever- present huge dildo implants in their churning asses, the irritating lead leashes pulling at their sensitive nose rings, and the tight confining body harnesses strapped tightly around their extraordinarily muscled bodies were all part of their daily existence. Both Clint and Sebastian's duties didn't stop at being mere ponies, however.

Both were fully trained as pleasure slaves as well: each slave was pressed into sex duties each and every evening, often "entertaining" seven or eight different people each and every night: the Colonel himself, of course; the Colonel's main slave supervisor, called a steward; the frequent business associates and other guests of the Colonel who delighted in (and expected) being offered an exceptionally good looking, well hung, eager, and willing bed buck as part of the Colonel's famed hospitality, and sometimes as "rewards" to other slaves who had "earned" the privilege to use the well muscled pair as part of the Colonel's "incentive" program for his other slave properties. As a result, the slaves' asses were chronically sore and tender from overuse, their jaws ached from being stretched so wide in swallowing the huge variety of shafts forced down their throats, their tits and their pricks and balls were raw and swollen much of the time from constant handling, and, when called upon to serve stud to their assigned partners, their shafts were sometimes chaffed and their balls ached from fucking hour after hour to met the demands of the guests taking a passive role in their pleasure seeking.

Both slaves now had a third set of duties: each had been assigned supervisory roles. When the Colonel was through using them as his ponies for the day's round of the estate, Clint had to briskly trot to report in at the Morgan Airconditioning manufacturing comlex where he was expected to come up with endless ideas to increase labor efficiency, i.e., to extract even more work out of the thousands of slaves assembling airconditioners there, in addition to taking care of the sexual whims of the plant supervisor, Jess, who oversaw his activities while at the plant. Sebastian, the Colonel's fairly new black pony/pleasure slave, had been put in charge of selecting and then training a new set of five incredibly handsome young men purchased to be pleasure slaves. Once fully acclimated to their fate, the five were scheduled to be given to the Colonel's business associates as "contract sealers" once their training was completed to the level assuring full satisfaction from whomever they were gifted.

Colonel Beddington had implemented most of Clint's slave management suggestions one by one and was so pleased at the steady increases in efficiency as a result of the changes that he ordered Clint to expand his analysis to the bauxite mining operations as well as the farm operations. Here his suggestions proved to be equally effective in increasing productivity, although Colonel Beddington, like his reactions to the changes in handling the manufacturing slaves, was originally misanthropic, feeling Clint, as a slave himself, was "too soft" in his suggestions for the handling of his fellow slaves. Nevertheless, Clint's ideas worked. Allowing the miner and farm slaves to shave their bodies (and thus get a bath in the process) made them cooler in the constant heat of their working environment and their productivity went up. Cutting the amount of overseers, who tended to be overly zealous in beating the slaves, worked as well at the mining and farming operations as it had in the manufacturing operations - slaves actually worked harder if they weren't beat half to death and the excess overseers could now be turned into workers themselves. Offering slaves a way to earn a supervisory role through extraordinary hard work worked for miners and farm workers as well as for assemblers. And working out a "rewards" system where the male miners and farmers could "earn" sex privileges with each other seemed to make the slaves put forth their last ounce of energy for their master's benefit if, for the first time in their ownership by Colonel Beddington, they could obtain some sexual relief, even pleasure, for themselves in the process. Female slaves eagerly sought out opportunities to get pregnant (rather than having to be force mated) with the assigned studs once they realized it was to their advantage in terms of better food, lighter work assignments, and, sometimes, sexual pleasure for themselves with the handsome, muscular studs. Consequently, reproduction rates climbed and, in a few years, huge increases in bred slave stock was anticipated which, when placed up for auction, would bring in millions more than currently budgeted. Even the average productive lifespan of farm and miner slaves climbed a good five years (clear up to the mid forties) which vastly lowered the replacement costs of the slave force.

"The boy always had a lot of talent in handling workers," the Colonel said triumphantly to Jess, the manufacturing plant supervisor, "even back when he was free. But it's taken the discipline of slavery to really bring that talent to its full blossom. If he had any sense, he'd thank me for that."

Even though Clint was standing stark nude to the side of Jess with his eyes properly lowered and fresh cum oozing out of his ass when this comment was made, he had grown accustomed to conversations about him as if he wasn't even there, and he knew, as a slave, he dared not respond without being invited to do so.

"He is, Colonel," Jess responded. "When I was fucking him awhile ago, I asked him if had learned to love his owner. You know what he said, Colonel Beddington?"

"What?" the Colonel looked curious.

"Without hesitation, he said 'yes'. When I asked him why, he said he knew now his life needed the structure and discipline that only slavery could give him and that he was happier than he had ever been when he was free."

"What a bunch of bullshit! You fell for that? He probably just wanted you to fuck him harder so he could get his jollies."

"No sir, Colonel. This slave meant it. You know how I could tell? He tightened his ass muscles around my prick and started crying. Now that's not the way slaves bullshit you."

"Maybe he was just ashamed of himself, getting fucked like a whore around the clock with no relief in sight."

"No, Colonel. That boy likes to get fucked as you've probably noticed yourself when you bed him down, and what was the last time you heard him complain, even when you're beating the shit out of him when he's hitched to that rig of yours? And why does he work so hard coming up with suggestions for improving the efficiency of all the animals we've got stocked here? There's nothing in it for him - it doesn't keep him from being fucked all the time; it doesn't keep him from being hitched up as a pony on your rig; it doesn't keep him out of being forced to exercise to keep his physique like you want it or having every bit of that tasteless slave chow he eats being monitored.. No, he does it because he loves being owned, and as a result, he loves you. I've never seen a more natural born slave, Colonel, even among those born out at the breeding farms where you'd expect nothing less."

"You may be right," the Colonel answered. "How about it, slaveboy?" he jerked up Clint's chin to let him know he would be allowed to answer his master.

"I love you, master," Clint responded as tears welled out of his eyes. "My life has real meaning now."

"Humph. It didn't before? After all, slave, you were the chief executive officer of a major multinational corporation before you became my property."

"Yes, master. But I never felt successful - I never felt I was doing all I could. Since I've been collared, all of that has changed. Now I feel of real worth, not only, hopefully to you Master, and Master Jess here, but to myself, although I know, master, slaves don't really have selves - that belongs to you, master, of course."

"Well said, Clint," Colonel Beddington responded, obviously pleased his enslavement of his former business partner had turned out so well for both parties involved. "You always were the articulate one, weren't you? Being fucked regularly only seems to have improved that talent. Or perhaps it's the service harnessed as a draft animal?"

"All of it master, all of it," Clint responded as he thrust his well-shaped tits and large semi-erect organs out invitingly and felt more of Jess' cum running down his leg.

"And the black pony you're hitched with every morning?" the Colonel prompted.

"He loves you too, master. And for the same reasons," Clint replied.

"But you were a CEO before you were enslaved; he was only a black whore being paid to let you poke him each and every night and resenting a white honky fucking a fantasy black slave each and every time," the Colonel challenged his white slave. "That black whore knew exactly what his appeal to you was - he wasn't just any old body - he was a hapless black slave yielding up his ass to a white master in some re-enactment of the Old South."

"That's why he loves you, master. You have stripped all of us of our illusions. Now he is fucked because he really is a slave and has no choice in the matter. Before, he choose to participate in a fantasy. Now it's no fantasy - its real life. And the same is true for me, master. Now I can't buy my way out of my own frustrations by hiring a black whore. Instead, I'm fucked physically and mentally because I'm a slave and have no choice but to adjust to the reality. For both the black pony as well as myself, master, we live totally honest lives and for that, master, we love you."

"You're not only a damn good manager, Clint. You're a philosopher as well, I see. Well, whatever makes you happy," the Colonel grinned as he reached over and pinched one of Clint's ringed tits. "Tell my steward I want to fuck you tonight. All this talk has made me hot for your body again," he eructated.

"Yes, master," Clint grinned back before again lowering his head in appropriate submission.

"Now get your ass back out on the production floor and make sure those poor bastards chained to the benches are working at full speed. They'll get a kick out of seeing their supervisor with cum dripping out of his ass."

"Yes, master," Clint said as he quickly prostrated himself in full obeisance to his owner and then quickly crawled out of the door backwards with his eyes lowered to the ground. The slave was obviously excited in this demonstration of his submission: his penis was swollen to the point where it was practically dragging the floor in the process and precum dripped steadily onto the carpeted floor beneath him.

"Lick your mess up, slave," Jess directed. "Hell, a little tit squeezing by your master and you're as excited as a bitch dog in heat," he laughed.

"Yes, Master Jess," Clint replied as he quickly lowered his head and licked up his own drippings as directed..

As soon as the slave had exited, Colonel Beddington smiled and confided to his general supervisor. "You know, Jess. I've been thinking about the Australian operations. I'm going to ship that slave over there to take over the marketing of Morgan Airconditioners in Australia. I can't very well do that with him still a slave, so I'm going to free him with the new assignment. I think he can turn us around over there and so he's more profitable to me there than serving us here. You've got the best of his stock management ideas out of him anyway, by now, and, great as his body is both pulling the rig and plowing in bed, there's plenty of other meat on the market for that. I'm afraid, Jess, the slave is just too valuable to keep around here to fuck," he laughed. "Don't worry, Jess, I'll furnish you with another slave just as good looking you can fuck to your heart's content."

"I'm sure you will, Colonel," Jess laughed. "Clint's organizational skills in Australia will make us millions in the long run, Colonel. Our sales over there suck, as it now stands. Moving Clint over there is sheer genius, if I do say so, Colonel. But, could I ask a question?"

"You've earned it, Jess," the Colonel replied pleasantly. "Shoot."

"If you grant Clint his freedom, what makes you think he'll do it? What's in it for him, if I could be so bold?"

"Jess, despite my huge respect for you, I must say I'm constantly amazed at your naivete," the Colonel laughed. "Did you hear what the slave just told me? He was now at full development as far as he was concerned. That self-actualization was due to his slavery. He'll go to Australia because I tell him to. He'll do his work to the best of his ability because, as far as he is concerned, he is and always will be my slave, no matter whether I'm there to back it up with the whip or not. He'll be free as far as the Australians are concerned, but to both Clint and to me, he is my slave permanently. One thing I've learned over the years in handling human stock, Jess. Once you're properly trained as a slave, there's no going back no matter what happens. Clint has changed to a slave mentality and that will be with him the rest of his life. And that means, his last master is still his master. You'll see - he'll always be my slave; he just won't call me master anymore in public. To seal the deal and to make sure he keeps his mind on his new assignment, I'm going to give him Sebastian as his own personal pleasure slave. He can keep Sebastian collared and out of public view in the house I will furnish him and Sebastian can keep the house and grounds in order, cook the meals, do the laundry, wash and scrub the floors, and keep his master properly drained. Clint is predisposed toward muscular, good looking black asses and Sebastian sure fills the bill on that score."

"But, Colonel, I thought you said Sebastian resented Clint always fucking him when he was a free black whore? What makes you think he won't give Clint some sass once he starts getting fucked regularly by his former co-slave?"

"Jess, when Sebastian was training those new pleasure slaves I bought to give away as business gifts, it was obvious he was almost envious of the slaves he was training, even though the entire time he was a trainer we were still plowing him regularly around the house. Deep down inside, free or slave, Sebastian craves to be fucked by white men. Don't ask me why - something in his childhood, probably. But he had a lot of choices when he was growing up - he didn't have to become a paid whore for Paradise Modeling. He sought that out. And what did he end up doing most of the time - volunteering to be fucked by a white man about his age? Sure, he bitched and moaned about it, but he never once suggested he move on to something else, did he? No, that bastard needs to be fucked regularly by a white 'master' and, when the chips are down, that's what will make him happier than anything. When I tell him I'm transferring his ownership to his former pony-mate as a bed buck, he'll bitch a little to the other slaves in the pens, but eagerly look forward to the new assignment. Clint won't have a bit of trouble with him as long as he fucks him long and hard each and every night. If he always refers to him as his "black slave" it will only help the situation in that it plays into Sebastian's fantasies of being a black slave to white masters back in the Antebellum days. That boy was just born 200 years too late and now I'm correcting that for him."

"You're going to need a new set of ponies, Colonel," Jess smiled, "along with a new good looking epitome of manhood I can fuck every afternoon."

"Oh, stop worrying. I've got a handsome stud back at the estate I'll throw your way - a gorgeous Afghan about 22 hung like a horse and who takes a fuck extremely well that's just your type. And I'm sure my steward will be able to quickly train two of my whole new corps of pleasure slaves he just recently purchased at the Keetman-shoop Slave Auction Center to serve as ponies I can appreciate and others can envy. After all, he has trained several teams successfully for me to date with little trouble. Jess, you should see the new crop of pleasure slaves over at the estate: they're about as appealing and good looking as male slaves get and eager as can be in pleasing their users."

"Bred slaves?" Jess asked.

"Oh, about half and half. The 'breds' take to their new life a little faster the steward tells me, but, to date, he's had no trouble in breaking the formerly free to their new life with great success and in surprisingly little time. But who wouldn't want to be a bed buck over assignment to the mines or the farms or, Jess, even here to manufacturing. They know they're lucky to be blessed with those magnificent bodies and stunning good looks - they're not about to blow an opportunity for an easy life by not putting everything they've got into pleasing whoever wants to use them."

A MONTH LATER:

Mr. Clint Morgan was already getting a grip on the marketing of Morgan AirConditioners out of Syndey throughout the entire Australian market. His sudden re- emergence into the international business scene was explained as an understandable mistake on the part of the press - the press assuming he had died in the plane accident. Actually, he had survived, but it had taken all this time to conquer his injuries and struggle back to civilization. The plausible tale of overcoming all odds only added to the "Clint Morgan invincibility" myth which the public loved.

Being of the same name as the product he was selling didn't hurt - people liked to buy from a man with a vested interest in the product. Sales were already up by 50% as numerous TV and newspaper ads saturated the market, prices were cut another $10 as an "special sales incentive" and Clint personally called upon hundreds of distributors, contractors, and wholesalers. His stunning good looks and his magnificent body, although hidden in an expensive suit, as well as his inherent charm, often closed the deal over and above the good price on a quality product. Clint expected to increase sales by 100% within another month and predicted as much to Colonel Beddington in his last report to the home office of Beddington Enterprises.

His last report also thanked the Colonel, who he still considered his master, for the gift of the black slave Sebastian, who was now safely ensconced in the privacy of Clint's well- hidden mansion some miles outside of town. There, Sebastian, collared, ringed, branded, and stark nude at all times, did all of the gardening, cooking, cleaning, laundering, and repair work, as well as kept his body in top shape for the use of his new master, Clint Morgan.. Master Morgan had fitted him with his own collar with the transfer of ownership from Colonel Beddington, had installed an even larger genital ring causing maximum protrusion of Sebastian's large package, and branded him with his own mark of ownership on the opposite side from the Colonel's original brands. Master Morgan also required him to contain a huge butt plug at all times he wasn't cleansing himself or he wasn't being screwed by his new owner. His new collar, his new genital ring, and the entire set of butt plugs all featured the Morgan Airconditioning logo, clearly establishing who he belonged to now. Sebastian, to date at least, was fucked repeatedly each and every night by his white master which not only kept his ass chronically sore but, somehow, made him feel at peace with the world.

*********** FIVE YEARS LATER:

Sales of Morgan Airconditioners in Australia had reached record levels and now completely dominated the "down-under" market. Their reputation for high quality, low operational costs, quiet operation, and long durability - all at a bargain price - produced a product that made all other makes simply non-competitive. The Namibian manufacturing facility had to be expanded twice to meet the demand, requiring thousands of new slaves toiling around the clock to meet the production quotas.

Jess had e-mailed Clint that the supply of slaves were more plentiful than ever and slave prices were actually dropping a little as ever increasing outputs from the breeding farms had their influence on market forces. Jeff had mentioned that slaves were becoming more homogenized with each new crop from the breeding farms in that, world wide, breeders seemed to be in an amazing level of agreement as to what made up good marketable slave stock. As a result, Jess had noted, slaves were slowly but surely getting better looking, sturdier and heartier in physique, had considerably less health problems even under ever heavier work loads, and, in general, were getting steadily bigger and more functional in their sexual attributes, which, in turn, seemed to make them better breeders themselves. And, Jess had added, Clint's ideas on slave management were still in full use and carefully followed. If anything, they seemed to be even more effective than first implemented.

Sebastian was still trotting from one room to another in the Morgan mansion, stark naked on full display as he performed his assigned household duties. Each night, he satisfied his master - almost always by offering up his well-used muscular ass for yet another thorough fucking. Clint had never tired of him but, when Colonel Beddington sent him another resplendent black slave, considerably younger but fully trained as a pleasure slave, as a "bonus" for the record sales of Morgan Airconditioners in Australia, he decided to keep the new slave as a backup for faithful old Sebastian. Although he occasionally used the new slave for variety (as did a number of his closest friends when visiting), it was Sebastian himself who used the new boy the most. Being fucked most of the time himself, he found the opportunity, granted by his master, to fuck instead of being fucked refreshing and invigorating. It reminded him of the old days when his previous master, Colonel Beddington, had put him in charge of training a batch of pleasure slaves to be utilized as business gifts. At that time, he had fucked each of the new charges frequently and vigorously, even though he himself was being fucked equally hard each and every night by the Colonel, his steward, and the Colonel's many guests. Now he was right back in that happy position and was grateful for Master Morgan's generosity in sharing the new black property, a mass of well defined muscle, beguiling good looks , beautiful satin smooth skin, superbly equipped with large have gonads and a long, thick, and very smooth circumcised prick that stretched to 12" when fully erect, and seemingly inexhaustible when bedded down.

One of the Colonel's long time friends, the slavebreeder from the Outback, occasionally visited Clint when he came to Sydney on business. Clint had first met him when he was a guest of the Colonel at the Namibian estate and Clint, brand new to slavery, had been chained to the Colonel's dining room wall, to witness pleasure slaves in action. The Colonel had thought this would give the new slave Clint a good idea of the what was expected of slaves designated for pleasure duties. At that time, the Australian had brought his own body slave with him - a magnificent Latino stud who had been milked, fucked, and put to sucking his master and almost everyone else present at that dinner party. The Australian breeder still had the Latino stud in tow when he visited Clint's mansion in Sydney. This time, though, Clint was invited to take his pleasure with the Latino slave while the Australian breeder explored the bodies of Clint's two black slaves.

Clint had certainly enjoyed fucking the Latino stud who knew exactly how to churn his ass muscles to yield maximum pleasure to his user. While he was doing this, his Australian guest fucked Sebastian. As Clint then tarried playing with the Latino's tits, balls, and prick, the Australian fucked the new black slave. Midway through his pounding of the black's ass, he suggested that Clint try out the Latino's exceptional sucking skills. Clint took him up on the idea, spread his legs, and pointed to his erect prick. The Latino immediately swallowed Clint's prick clear to its root in the first gulp and then, using his throat muscles, massaged the deeply embedded shaft until Clint arched his back, and, gasping, shot a huge load down into the Latino's stomach. As he glanced over, he saw the breeder too was arching his back as he shot deep into the black slave's hole, simultaneously squeezing and kneading the black's tits until the black slave sprayed the carpet beneath him with load after load of hot cum. Both men, breathing heavily from their orgasms, watched as the Latino stud ran his tongue all over his mouth and then swallowed the last of Clint's remaining cum and the black slave licked his own steaming cum off the carpet before he was punished for causing a mess.

The Australian breeder was only one of many who visited Clint on occasion. All the visitors were slave holders themselves and, over the years, had discretely learned all the sources, as well as the many uses of contemporary slaves. All were experts in managing slave stock and all made profits, one way or another, from the sale of slaves. All admired Clint for his business success (knowing full well that Morgan Airconditioners were assembled by slaves) as well as his good management of his local household slaves. This 'secret' society of slave owners offered just the right mix of social support and fellowship that enriched his life.

Clint Morgan truly enjoyed his new life in Australia. He was a highly respected and successful businessman, frequently asked to give "motivational" talks to his colleagues in the business world. He made sure his name-sake airconditioners were the "gold standard" of the world, and, each and every night, he could strip out of his super-expensive clothes, rub the Colonel's brands on his still magnificent body, and then proceed to enjoy his personal black slaves any damn way he wanted.

He understood why his products were so good at so low a price. It was the same reason he could enjoy himself in bed every night with a body of his dreams and never had to worry about the mundane details of running a large estate. It was the same reason Beddington Enterprises was the multinational leader in everything it undertook. It was the reason people like him, and of course Colonel Beddington and hundreds of other knowledgeable people like him, all enjoyed a lifestyle of comfort and personal satisfaction unparalleled in human history. Even now, as he reflected on the satisfactions of the good life he led, an example of what made all of this possible was kneeling at his feet, his collared body in full readiness, awaiting his pleasure. The new black "gift slave" was a perfect example of all that was right in this world.

Clint fastened a leash to the young man's collar and led him to his bedroom. Later that night, a few of Clint's discrete friends and business associates were dropping over to watch a football game on the big screen TV and have a few drinks before partaking of the bodily pleasures offered by the two black slaves waiting on them. Yes, it was a good life and Clint once again rubbed the Colonel's brands on his body - the Colonel who had made it all possible!

THE END

[Please let me if it is worth the time and effort to post this story as well as let me know what you think of this story by contacting me at anonymous4371@juno.com. Thanks, Bill Smith]