DIETER GOERING
by Bill Smith
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PART VII: VISITING A FEW OF THE GOERING'S INCOME PRODUCING ENTERPRISES:
[As in Part V, a few structural elements of this story are borrowed from one of my own stories "Citicus" set in the times of the Ancient Romans]
The 'fun' tours of his estate weren't the only ones Dieter had available for his guests. When he hosted a group of potential buyers of his products, who bought Goering slaves by the thousands to man their factories, farms, mines, and construction companies, pleasure and personal slaves were novelties that were best left in the manor house.
The Goerings made a lot of money selling pretty, well trained boys to insure full pleasure to anyone able to afford them. But, frankly, the real money, due to the volume involved, was in labor slaves who cost less per body but made up for it in sheer numbers.
Consequently, these other types of tours showed potential quantity buyers what uses slaves could be put to outside the sexual arena and more into the labor supply area. These tours were conducted on regular diesel buses because of the distance involved and the large number of businessmen usually taking the tours. These tours visited far different operations located a full two hour's drive away from the manor house.
Each luxury bus was equipped with two slaves: the driver and a steward. Both were "high collared," (the term used to denote slaves fitted with a 3 to 4" high copper collar which forced their heads into a constant upright position), thick copper tit rings, and a thick copper band around the base of their large well-shaped genitals which forced their sex into a highly protrusive position that no only displayed everything they had but was also easy for the bus passengers to fondle if they so wanted. Both slaves were exceptionally good looking with dark olive skin, thick black hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones in addition to well-defined, muscular physiques. The steward's job was to offer the guests aboard piping hot freshly- made Columbian coffee, fresh-squeezed fruit juices, a variety of freshly-baked Danish rolls, and, of course, himself, especially, this time of day, his mouth and throat if the passengers needed their balls drained.
Soon after the bus departed, every passenger in the luxury bus (fitted with leather covered bucket seats widely spaced apart) had enjoyed the breakfast refreshments and, one by one, took advantage of the steward's sucking service. By the time the bus reached the first scheduled tour stop, the steward had managed to swallow 14 loads of fresh cum which filled his tummy and left his jaws and throat a little raw, but, being quite experienced (he had been a bus steward for several months already), he knew all the passengers would expect full service before the next stop or two, including probably fucking him up the ass after they began to really wake up. He was glad he had put plenty of lubricate up his ass chute right before boarding the bus this morning. Given no breakfast himself, the 14 loads of cum already in him was as good a breakfast as any, he thought to himself. He had learned to like the taste of cum since being placed in sex service and the passengers today, all businessmen, didn't disappoint him with their tasty outputs although some of them were quite rough as they often grabbed him by the back of the head and forced his mouth further down on their pricks to get it all the way down his throat as they became fully aroused. He noted with satisfaction none of them were as well equipped as he was - slaves like him were, of course, picked not only for their good looks but also for their massive endowments.
VISITING ONE OF THE GOERING'S FARM OPERATIONS:
The first stop on this type of tour was at the storage and processing center for one of the Goering family's huge farm operations, one of the agribusinesses prominent at the time among the world's plutocracy. There, thousands and thousands of full-service life-time slaves, all collared, clad in a few rags if anything at all, and with their feet manacled together by an 18" chain, labored under the close scrutiny of numerous, perhaps overzealous overseers - slaves themselves who knew the slightest leniency on their part would lead to instant reassignment to the heavy labor ranks. Most of the farm slaves had once been free men in a variety of nations before their capture but, increasingly, those born into slavery, particularly deliberately bred slaves, were joining their ranks.
Each overseer carried a long steel-tipped whip which seemed to be in constant motion, and the screams and groans of the chained slaves were never ceasing as the slaves were "motivated" to give everything they had for the profit of their master. It was sobering to think that despite all the technological advances over the years (electric shock collars, pain center simulator implants, mechanical choke collars, "ball burners" - the electric shock apparatus strapped to slave's genitals, etc.), the whip had remained the simplest, most convenient, least costly, and the easiest to use. It was easy to carry, it cost next to nothing, it was instantly ready, it didn't need to be recharged or have its batteries replaced, it required little training of its user, and there was no way the slave could deactivate it or escape it tearing into his hide. The Goerings had tried all of the new devices over the years, priding themselves on keeping abreast with the times, but, like almost all other slaveholders around the world, had come back to the simple, but most effective, slave whip which basically hadn't changed since the time of the ancient Babylonians motivating their Jewish slaves or the ancient Egyptians perking up their statuesque black slaves from the southern regions they called Nubia.
Upon seeing the tour bus of their owner arrive at the isolated agribusiness, all slaves, overseers included, fell to their knees and bowed in total subservience. Folding chairs had been set up for the bus passengers between the kneeling slaves and the bus itself.
Dieter, who was personally conducting this particular tour of business associates, ordered the naked bus driver and the bus steward to accompany him as he was last off the bus. He then ordered the two bus slaves to get on their hands and knees with rumps pressed tightly together to serve as his chair to one side of the folding chairs with the already seated guests.
Once seated comfortably atop his naked bus slaves, Dieter pointedly addressed the agribusiness' slave overseers. "Don't let my presence interfere with the work at hand, or you'll soon find yourself manacled in their place," nodding to the work slaves all with their foreheads pressed into the dirt .
"Up, slaves," the overseers said almost in unison, "and get back to work." The whips lashed across the closest backs and a few woeful screams correlated with raw rump flesh being lacerated. Leg chains rattled above the moans as more whips cracked over the slaves' heads. It was like a whole machine grinding into action.
Bales of hay were lifted into storage on sweating backs and straining legs; others, yoked like oxen to turnstiles, were powering the grinding of millet used in feeding the slaves and other livestock; still others, harnessed to farm wagons four and sometimes eight to a team, struggled to pull the heavily loaded wagons; while hundreds of others were moving huge rocks out of newly developed fields while still others dug foundations for the construction of additional buildings.
Dieter quietly explained to his guests the activities they were viewing may seem primitive, but with the current high prices of gasoline and diesel fuels, even from his own refineries, it was far cheaper to use manual labor instead of fork-lifts, diesel-powered grain grinders, tractors, and bulldozers, especially when slaves were cheaper than ever these days and the food to feed them could be grown right on the grounds.
Dieter explained that, for maximum profit, all the slaves were working "under the whip," i.e., under constant surveillance of overseers who never hesitated to lash into their hide to extract more work. As time wore on throughout the long days, whip usage increased to compensate for the exhausted bodies that tended to slow down until prompted to renewed effort with ever more pain. The system worked well if it was managed effectively and an owner realized that extracting maximum output made a lot of sense as long as slave replacement costs remained so low. It was a common mistake to associate a slave's productive work life with the normal life span of a free person. That was viewing them sentimentally as humans when any real businessman saw slaves as work animals - nothing more and nothing less.
Dieter Goering continued to point out that no slave present thought his life would ever be different under their ownership by the Goering family and all memories of a previous life had long been removed by the whip which was an important part of a slave's acclimation to his status if he wasn't born into it to start with.
But what Dieter Goering, in all his knowledge of slavery, probably did not realize was that those pain-wracked eyes of his slaves enjoyed anything to break the monotony of their unceasing work. The sight of their owner, an actual member of the fabled Goering family, casually sitting on the backs of two amazingly beautiful naked slaves he had brought with him (just for this purpose, they wondered?) only added to the awe and respect of he who owned them body and soul. And all enjoyed the pure spectacle of his arrival: the latest model luxury coach filled with important free men and the two extremely handsome naked slaves that went with the owner's bus. The owner's bus slaves had not a hair on their bodies, were fitted with genital bands that forced their most ample manhood into a constant prominent (some would say obscene) display that emphasized, rather than detracted, from their manly beauty, and all high collared, obviously at their owner's whim. To own and totally command such epitomes of masculine beauty was beyond their wildest imagination and the awe and respect of their owner soared even greater. Not a farm slave present didn't dream of being chosen to serve their master in such a fashion - it would be an even greater honor than being chosen to be a slave overseer in that you could be close to such a force - a power beyond their comprehension once they had been fully broken to the realities of contemporary slavery, a reality practically defined by the family that owned them, the Goerings - still rumored to be the world's largest slaveholders.
Dieter chatted briefly with his chief overseer, who knelt before the human chair made up of the two bus slaves' hips. The conservation was loud so all the guests could hear without straining.
"Production quotas being met?" Dieter asked.
"Yes, master, and better," the chief overseer responded. "But with some cost," he added cautiously.
"What cost?" Dieter demanded with a frown.
"Forty three slaves failed to respond properly to the whip," the chief overseer ventured, "and had to be sent to the rendering plant, Master."
"Well, at least their deaths can be put to some use," Dieter commented. "Some of the hides can be tanned, some organs can be harvested and sold, and, of course, once gutted, it adds protein and a nice texture to the next batches of slave chow."
Some of the guests looked astonished at this comment, obviously naive in all the uses slaves could be put to, even in death.
"My God," one of the guests muttered to the person sitting next to him on the folding chairs, "do the slaves know what's in the Goering's slave chow?"
"Probably, but it's not just the Goering's slave chow - it's all slave chow I'm aware of. Most slaves handle it by just not thinking about it - that's probably how slaves handle a lot of things in their lives."
The questioner nodded in agreement and tuned back into the fascinating conversation taking place between their host and his chief overseer.
"Mainly those grown old and weak, Master Goering, chief overseer continued, "but a few young ones with perhaps overzealous drivers," the overseer continued. "Most were well past their forties, but three just starting manhood were whipped to an early death, I fear, thus cheating the Goerings out of full value from their property. I've taken the proper steps, master, and those overseers are now back in the ranks, of course. I branded them on the face with a big "X" so I wouldn't forget their error and reassign them someday to an overseer's role. After a thorough beating, of course, to punish them for their waste of Goering property. With the special brand to mark them, I've told their overseers to work them so hard they will make up for the loss they have incurred. Once their faces are branded like that, it would be hard to sell them for much of anything, so they owe their loss of value to you as well, master."
"Yes, they should be made to make up the cost of their negligence," Dieter said. "They may die a quick death themselves in the process but, if so, it serves them right, of course, for cheating me and my family. And what replacements are at hand, Overseer?"
"We have about 140 a month reaching working age on the breeding farm," the chief overseer continued. "We'll pick out the sturdy but ugly as replacements here and try to market the best looking and best equipped to slave dealers in the city. No use wasting a good looking boy on the work around here," he laughed, "although, Master, some of the dealers seem to be getting more and more selective in the stock they are handling as the market expands. Just last month, their regional procuring agent told me only the real cream of the crop, maybe one out of 50, would meet the most prestigious dealer's body quality standards. Most of the breeding farm's output, despite their attempts to selectively bred the stock, is a long way from that, I'm afraid," the overseer concluded.
When Dieter appeared to accept his report, he looked at his owner cautiously before venturing further. "Even a lowly slave like myself tires of trying to find satisfaction with the ugly brutes left on this farm," looking hungrily at Dieter's bus slaves, their muscular backs tense supporting the weight of their master on top of them with their banded tackle hanging down conspicuously between their wide spread legs.
Dieter laughed briefly before warning, "Even a chief overseer is lucky to have any satisfaction at all. Remember those under you can never hope for any satisfaction of their manly needs other than their right hand or, if they've got the strength, the body chained next to them. At least, you can pick and choose among these animals when you want to relieve yourself. It's a privilege few masters would grant unless they were a lenient fool like myself. I don't want you touching any boys reserved for the slave markets - you stick with the brutes available to you here, or you'll find yourself as barren as those under you are. I'll not warn you again."
"Yes, Master Goering," the chief overseer responded humbly. "I'm most grateful to be allowed to use the animals here on the farm. Don't worry about the boys being saved for the auctions - they're your property and I fully understand that. It's most generous of you to let me use your other property as you do - it's a privilege allowed few slaves and I'll not risk losing that privilege, master."
"Even with the losses we need to replace, that still gives us a good crop for market, no matter how fussy the dealers are getting," Dieter reflected. "In fact, the breeding is growing each year. That means you've got to produce more and more food to feed the growing slave crop."
"Yes, Master Goering," the chief overseer responded, "and with proper supervision and some loss, I grant you, that can be accomplished."
Dieter Goering looked around again before addressing the chief overseer. Whips continued to crack, moans escaped the lips of those singled out for "motivation," and sweating bodies strained ever harder to please the overseers' demands. In the far distance, a struggling slave had been whipped to the ground, and his bleeding back and rump, accompanied by screams of anguish, meant he would either have to find the strength to get to his feet and resume work or face being terminated by the whips. The choice was up to him at this point. At one side of the field was a cart destined for the rendering plant already holding the work day's first dead slave and it was still mid morning.
Dieter felt the bus slaves shift a little as their hip muscles strained under the load of his weight. He smacked one hard across the rump.
"Quiet, slaveboys, or you'll find yourself left to work on the farm," Dieter said harshly. "That would make you appreciate the pampered life you live," Dieter added. "A week here in the chief overseer's bed would be a lesson in itself," he laughed. "I doubt if you'd walk for a week after his usage of the two of you. And you wouldn't last a day pulling those wagons over there," he said threateningly pointing to a team of eight slaves almost prone in their harnesses struggling to pull a huge load while an overseer lacerated their backs and butts with a 12-prong metal tipped whip.
As the harnessed slaves screamed in agony from the overseer's whip, one of the draft slave's eyes bulged out as his face turned bright red. His efforts to pull the load was displayed in every muscle in his body and his veins visibly protruded as he continued to struggle as the whip continued to tear into his hide. Suddenly he slumped to the ground with froth and blood gurgling out of his mouth.
"Up, dog," the overseer screamed as his whip continued to lacerate the slave's back.
"Forty-four, master," the chief overseer said with a sigh.
"Forty-four what?" Dieter spat out.
"That slave's dead, master. That overseer is just wasting his energy tearing all the flesh off that slave's back. His body just gave out. We'll need to replace him too."
"Well, Chief Overseer, I'm glad I was here to see it myself. Was the slave shirking his duty, was the overseer too zealous, or was the slave sick? Certainly the discipline I saw seemed to be appropriate."
"That slave wasn't too sick to work, Master Goering, and the brute's generally been a hard worker despite his age. He looks to be in his late forties, so his time was about up anyway. Nevertheless, my guess is the overseer has overworked him, judging from the looks of the others in his team. I'll brand that overseer and make sure he makes up for the work loss as soon as we get him properly marked and fitted in the dead slave's harness."
"How wise you are, Chief Overseer, "Dieter said. "The whip, while always essential to a slave's well being, can be overused I fear in the hands of an amateur. However, judging from his age, we no doubt got our money's worth out of him, that is, if we even bought the animal to start with."
Again, the naive guest whispered to the person sitting next to him. "The Goerings seem to be a little hard on their work slaves," he commented. "My overseers are never allowed to whip a slave with anything but a small riding crop - certainly nothing that would tear their hide. And even then, I never allow over a single stroke of the whip for each offense. They cost too much to expose them to discipline like this."
"Then you're not getting your money's worth out of them. Slaves don't cost that much to replace compared to pampering them without proper motivation. The Goerings had studied this from a cost-analysis viewpoint like I have and believe, me, the Goerings know exactly what they're doing. That's why they're so damn rich. You better shut up and learn, buddy."
Chastised, the questioner again sunk into silence and returned his attention to the scene in front of him.
"Do you wish to stay for the branding?" the chief overseer said, "The slaves always enjoy seeing an overseer getting his comeuppance."
"No, thank you, Chief Overseer. My responsibilities elsewhere preclude the pleasure. I've got to get my guests to he mine operations next."
Dieter rose from his human chair, snapped his fingers for the handsome pair of bus slaves to fall behind him, and, again boarded the bus, leaving his bus slaves to help his guests climb the few steps back into the bus, again giving the guests a good chance to feel all aspects of the two slaves' bodies. Both slaves felt their tits pulled and pinched, their balls hefted and churned in the palms of numerous hands, their shafts stroked and squeezed, and numerous fingers finding their way up their lubricated ass holes and pumping them briefly, presumably to ascertain how tight they were if that particular guest decided to fuck them later.
Once everyone was onboard, the two slaves switched roles with the former steward driving and the former driver serving cold pop, beer and wine along with some appetizers kept in the bus refrigerator. As soon as everyone had been served, the new 'fresh' steward found himself being called from one seat to another for oral service, some of the guests having been stimulated by viewing the slaves at the farm in various scenarios. While he was servicing them, the guests took the opportunity to feel every aspect of his handsome body, from running their hands through his thick head hair, to cupping his pectorals and playing with his tits, to massaging his massive banded balls, to stroking his massive erect prick, now dripping in arousal.
The naive chronic questioner again poised a question to the person sitting across the aisle from him who happened to be well engaged in having the bus steward sucking him off at the moment.
"What do they used slave hides for? Dieter Goering mentioned having them tanned or something? What for?" he asked the nearby passenger, already arching back from the intense stimulation he was receiving from the steward's well trained mouth.
"Jesus," the fellow passenger gasped, "you sure know how to time your damn questions. Couldn't it wait a minute or so?"
"But I was curious," the questioner replied, seemingly oblivious to the fact the person he had questioned was already in the beginning throes of orgasm.
"Shut the fuck up and drink your damn coke," the man said. "When I've finished dumping a load into this boy's throat, I'll answer you, thank you very much." With that, his face flushed, he grabbed the back of the slave's head and forced every last millimeter of his erect prick down the steward's throat and held it there until he had completely discharged, seven eruptions in all.
When the slave had completely swallowed the last remnants of his discharge and properly thanked him for the privilege of serving him, the man turned to his fellow guest across the aisle.
"What was it? Something about tanning a slave's hide? If a slave's hide is smooth and unblemished and fairly free of whip scars, it's usually tanned and then used for the manufacture of billfolds, briefcases, handbags, and even some stylish vests. Surely you've seen them for sale - almost everywhere these days. Expensive, but soft and supple and surprisingly long lasting. And you can get them in most any color from albino white to coal black, even yellowish and reddish tints to the hide when they've utilized the pure Oriental and American Indian hides."
"Oh, I've seen them for sale - in fact, I'm carrying a billford in dark brown right now. I knew they weren't pigskin or cowhide, but I always thought it was some fancy new polymer product. I never realized it was as simple as slave hide. What a clever use of stuff that would just be wasted otherwise."
"Guess who first marketed it?" the fellow passenger asked his questioner.
"Haven't a clue," came the reply.
"The Goerings. In fact, our host today, Dieter, put the first products on the market and they sold like hotcakes, despite the price. Dieter himself said any other leather would have done just about as well, but slave hides have a special appeal, and, as he pointed out, they do make lovely lamp shades."
"Why a special appeal?"
"Dieter said that for anyone who has ever owned a slave, it reminds him of the absolute control a master has over his property and that symbolism sells them if nothing else. If a person is so poor they can't afford a real live slave, he can own at least a token of one - even owning a piece of tanned slave skin is better than owning nothing. It's kind of like saying 'I almost own a slave.'"
The questioner took out his billfold and examined it more closely. Sure enough, on the backside was a tell-tale whip scar in the brown hide that only added to its appeal.
ONE OF THE GOERING'S COPPER MINES:
Ninety minutes later, the luxury bus had arrived at the site of another Goering business: a huge copper mine that had two components. The first operation was a large open- air pit where some copper veins could be extracted from the surface. The second operation was a much larger underground mine where the bulk of the massive copper deposits had to be extracted.
Dieter's businessmen guests were greeted by the sight of hundreds and hundreds of heavily muscled slaves manacled at both hands and feet as well as, of course, collared. All of these slaves were stark naked - the master wasted no money in clothing them since they were out of sight anyway and clothing would only get in the way of their work, destined to descend into the bowels of the earth each and every day to extract the waiting copper. The only time they came up from the darkness below was when there was a shift change, like now, and they were lead to their cages to get fed and sleep, freeing the room underground in the narrow chambers for the new shift of workers. Their wrist chains allowed them to lift and carry, swing the heavy pics and hammers, while the leg chains were only long enough to allow hobbled movement.
These slaves were strictly draft stock - even more so than the farm stock. Although considerably larger and even more muscular than the farm slaves Dieter's guests had viewed a few hours earlier, they had never been bathed or shaved, their uncut hair was matted into dread locks, and the lack of rest breaks meant their only choice was to eliminate as they worked. Hence they were generally coated across their backside with their own excrement. The stench from their bodies reached even the bus, some hundreds of feet away and the guests, although slaveholders themselves and certainly used to being around slaves, almost retched from the ghastly smell of years of accumulated human sweat, excrement, and even spent semen as the desperate slaves ejaculated spontaneously at the slightest provocation after years of enforced abstinence.
Overseers' whips cracked unceasingly over the backs of the slaves as the one exhausted group was led away to their cages and the fresh group was herded into the 'cage' elevators taking them hundreds of feet down into the hot earth below. Hot irons stood ready in nearby braziers to "motivate" any slave recalcitrant to start another day's work in the 115-degree steaming heat common in the chambers below.
Many of these slaves worked in gangs, leashed together by leg manacles as well as by their neck collars (actually now a piece of heavy chain tightly fitted around their thick necks that could be tightened instantly by a connecting leash), forcing them to work as a unit. The 'gang' system was in use now by many owners with construction crews and mine operations. This generally meant far fewer supervisors were needed in that work efforts were easily kept coordinated; individual insurrections were kept to a minimum, and escape was literally impossible. Since they had been fitted with the new choke collars, the slaves either did as the others did or strangled to death as the pressure on their neck collar cut off their wind. With the new collars, slaves who tried any independent action or any rebellious action whatsoever found themselves choking to death almost instantly as the chain tightened around their wind pipe. Just one act of resistance, at most two, to an overseer's commands was all that it took to make sure that slave towed the line of utter compliance from then on.
The Chief Mine Steward spotted his master, Dieter Goering, and ran as quickly as possible to kneel and bow before him in the unexpected visit.
"Everything in order?" Dieter queried.
"Yes, Master," the Chief Steward responded with his eyes to the ground.
"Production?" Dieter snapped.
"At record levels, Master," the steward humbly replied. "And, I'm happy to report, with less than normal death rate among the stock."
"Sturdier stock or are you getting slack in your discipline?" Dieter shot back.
"Neither, Master," the steward responded. "Discipline standards are kept high here, Master Goering, and the stock is probably as surly as ever, although they are a little bigger and more muscular than the last lots we've had. But your neck and leg leashing suggestions seem to be inspired, Master," the steward beamed. "Since we started the technique of choke chains as neck leashes, production has gone up over 10 percent, and slave replacement needs have dropped considerably. We should see sharply increased profits in copper production this year," he boasted, "as well as the byproducts."
"The Goering family likes to keep up with modern management techniques. But the downside?" Dieter coached.
"Nothing serious, Master," the steward continued. "A few of the more recalcitrant have suffered considerable damage to their throats and marked chaffing around their ankles, but, Master Goering, they now seem to work just as hard as the others, Nothing like some simple pain to teach these brutes what's expected of them," the chief mine steward mused.
"Keep the good work up, Chief Steward," Dieter Goering replied as another cage elevator, fully loaded with the naked mine slaves crammed together so tightly they couldn't move, descended swiftly into the living hell below.
"Thank you, Master," the steward said in an obvious, almost reverent, awe as he caught sight of the two bus slaves now in display right in front of him. As he eyed them greedily, his erection became obvious as he too was kept nude.
"Like those boys, do you?" Dieter teased his mine steward.
"Yes, Master," the Chief Steward said with lust in his eyes.
"Would you like to bed down one of them, Chief Steward?"
"Yes, Master," the Chief Steward replied.
"Why's that, Chief Steward?"
"They're like my workers, Master Goering, in that they are so muscular, but they're so handsome and so clean, and they don't smell and there are no bugs crawling through their hair, and their manhood, so proudly displayed by those tight genital bands, is magnificent. They would be the envy of any master in the world, I'd wager."
"That's why they're bred regularly, Chief Steward, and the animals here aren't. But I could see where you would eventually tire of using the stock here for your own pleasures, Steward. Next time you report to the manor house and get a bath to clean you up, I'll let you use one of these bus slaves here as a little bonus for exceeding your quotas in the quarry."
"Thank you, Master Goering, but are you sure you want to let a mere slave use another slave of their caliber and quality just because he was doing his master's bidding?"
"You're right, Chief Steward, it is a generous offer, but I feel you deserve it, and it won't hurt any of the boys here at all - they're used to being fucked regularly as I'm sure you know would be expected of any slave with an appealing body."
The two bus slaves being offered up for the mine steward's pleasure risked glancing up in curiosity to see who the offer was being made to and each shuttered as they saw the filthy hairy apparition of what had once been a man and imagined him fucking them.
"Yes, Master Goering. I'll forever be grateful. And, as you say, master, I'm sure being fucked by whomever you designate is an honor for them as your slave,"
The exceedingly handsome slave now serving as the bus steward (hours before the bus driver) glanced again at the mine steward and caught the bile rising in his throat, praying to his gods that he wouldn't be the one chosen to be fucked by the ugly steward, a stinking slave himself.
"Just make sure you clean thoroughly before using them," Dieter Goering warned.
"Of course, Master Goering," the Chief Steward said, his eyes to the ground in proper respect.
"Keep the good work up, Chief Steward," Dieter said dismissing the supervisory slave, "and don't hesitate to use those choke leashes we've fastened around the slaves' necks - this may be the best method we've come up with yet to motivate this type of animal."
"Steward, tell my guests here what awaits the group of fresh slaves you're jamming into the next cage elevator so they gain some idea of our mine operations underground.
"These slaves going down underground now will work for the next 12 hours when the ones you saw just coming up for some food and sleep will once again replace. 'Downstairs,' as we call it, there is just enough light to see the copper veins they are hacking out and the carts they have to load the copper ore into. They will not be fed until they return to their cages up here on the surface and they work under the heavy whip of their overseers their entire shift. We use the same overseers for each group each and every shift so the overseers know the stock - who tends to slack off if given half a chance, who needs to have his back opened up to put forth full effort, who needs to be fucked occasionally to remind him of who's the boss, who tends to whine if the whip isn't heavy enough to shut them up, and who is beginning to wear out and needs some really deep whipping to keep going. Those that die on us, just one or two a week actually, we just leave down in an abandoned shaft in the mine. Their stench just reminds the others how lucky they are to be alive and their hides and innards aren't worth harvesting they're so torn up by the whip by then and no serious buyer wants their organs. They get all the water they need through water hoses located at every work site - it's so damn hot they use up so much water they don't even piss - it all just oozes out of every pore in their hide. But if they don't get their water, they don't last much beyond three hours down there. They don't have a sex life - they're too worn out to even get it up normally - so we can't breed them effectively unless they're prepared for it with a good week's rest up on the ground and lots and lot of stimulation to remind them what their sex organs are for. Most of them last a good 10 years down in the ground before even the heaviest whip can't do much to keep them going. At that point, we give them a week's rest above ground, breed them if we can, and switch them over to the open-air mines where the work isn't easier, but the heat and darkness isn't there so it's definitely a promotion."
With that, the next cage elevator zoomed down into the ground and a third cage elevator was being loaded.
"This goes on all day in that the shifts, working in different shafts of the mine, are spread across all hours of the day so the elevators are kept in constant use. We have about 22,000 slaves altogether at this particular mine - 11,000 at any given time picking copper out of the shaft, transferring it to the carts, loading it out of the carts for the conveyor belts bringing it up to the surface 24 hours a day, or working in the extraction and smeltering plants we operate up here on the surface. Out of that 11,000 at work, only about 7,000 are underground - the other 4000 are up here in the smeltering and extraction operations where the temperatures can still get up to 120 to 125 on a good day - those furnaces are mighty hot, you know," Dieter added to the steward's explanation
"Dieter, if we didn't have slaves, would we have any copper?" one of the businessmen asked.
"Yes, but it would cost ten times as much. The automated equipment to do all this costs a fortune and doesn't last too long under the acidic conditions of most mines. It can be done without slaves, but at tremendous cost. And, of course, you could hire on free people to do it if you didn't mind incredible turnover and wages you wouldn't believe. No, slavery is the answer to the challenge of mining. It has been since the dawn of man's history. No one has done serious mining without having a cheap supply of slaves available - it's how the Greeks mined their silver, it's how the Egyptians mined their salt, it's how the Romans got their gold in Spain, it's how the British mined their coal in Scotland, it's how the Dutch got their diamonds in South Africa, it's how the Portuguese got their emeralds in Brazil. Without cheap slaves readily available, you just can't afford to extract the earth's treasures profitably. Without slaves, the Goering family wouldn't be in the mining business at all. But, since we do have slaves and plenty of them, mining is one of our most profitable businesses," Dieter smiled at the small group.
"Back on the bus and we'll take a quick look at the surface mine. We don't have much time, but it doesn't take long to get the big picture there," Dieter stated.
Dieter Goering was right. The open pit was huge - a massive circle four miles in diameter at the top with terraced layers going down a good mile into the scarred earth. There were no huge trunks, bull dozers, or cranes - just thousands and thousands of naked slaves working away with pics, shovels, wheelbarrows, and slave-drawn dray carts. They looked, from the rim, like nothing more than a huge ant colony - everyone working away strenuously, sweat running down each slave's back profusely, and each slave seemingly knowing exactly what his specific task was. Out of hearing, but clearly visible, were the unceasing whips of the slaves' supervisors, although occasionally a renting scream of sheer agony would reach the outer rim with an echo quality to it and once or twice you could see a slave literally being beaten into the ground by an outraged overseer for one reason or another. But almost all slaves were simply working away under the glaring sun without the need of the whip and, as we got closer to one such group, we could hear them singing some chanty while others seemed to be joking with each other and their overseers as they toiled away.
"Slaves here have all served time 'downstairs,'" Dieter explained. "Generally a ten- year hitch. They're so damn happy to be up here, we don't need to supervise them much - they just work themselves for the main part. Those songs you here are celebrating their release from 'downstairs' and being able to work out in the open. Once they're up here, they're generally good for a good 20 more years of hard work before it's time for the rendering plants."
"They seem quite happy, and I'm amazed how little the whip seems to be needed," one observer commented.
"They are happy," Dieter replied. "Happiness is a relative thing, as every slave knows. If you've had a stern master and have been sold off to a more lenient one, you're happy. If you had to wear heavy tit rings with your last mistress and your new mistress has them removed, you're happy. If you were fucked 30 times a day back in the brothel that owned you and now you're sold to a master who only fucks you four times a day, you're happy. If you were worked down in the bowels of the earth for 10 years under a heavy whip and now you're out in the open in the fresh air, you're happy. So not much whip is needed, those songs you here are expressions of their joy, and only those really out of sorts that day need to be reminded with a good whip how fortunate they are now."
"The ore you see being hacked out here and taken away to the smelters could be done by machine even faster and easier," Dieter added. "But when you figure in the original cost of the equipment and the depreciation and maintenance required for that expensive equipment, doing the exact same thing with this anthill of slaves saves thousands and thousands of dollars each hour of operation. Slaves wear out much slower than mechanical equipment as you all know, slaves are much cheaper to maintain, and their trade-in value at the end, even if for a rendering plant, is greater proportionately than mechanical equipment which tends to become obsolete the minute you buy it."
"You're right on that, Dieter. Slaves never become obsolete and their value holds up if an owner takes half-way decent care of his property," another businessman commented. "I know, in that I'm in charge of depreciation schedules for insurance companies. Believe me - slaves hold their value three, even four times, better than any machines they're always trying to sell you."
"And slave chow is sure a lot cheaper than gas and diesel fuel," another chimed in. "Caging them off duty doesn't cost much, and we've learned clothing them is a waste of money unless the weather demands it."
"No wonder my stock in Caterpillar and Euclid sucks," another businessman blurted out. "I'm dumping it the minute I get back from this tour and investing the money in a firm specializing in slave breeding or, at the very least, a slave leasing business like Halliburton."
"Smart move," Dieter laughed. "But an even better investment of those funds would be with one of the Goering holding companies like Goering Enterprises. Their stock has gone up 78 of the past 100 years and has consistently paid out around seven percent. Sure but steady, just like the slave stock underlying that kind of economic performance."
"As a testimonial, Dieter, I invested one million in one of your smaller slave breeding outfits that wasn't wholly family owned. That stock is now worth 12 million in only nine years and has consistently paid eight percent interest. That particular breeding operation produces only Polynesian types for the Australian markets and, I know, is small potatoes to your own enterprises. But it's been a sensational investment, Dieter."
"Thanks for the unsoliticited testimonial," Dieter laughed. "The Goering family is buying up most of its stock companies so that all of the business will eventually be wholly family owned. We're tired of making other people rich," he chortled, "but hold onto that stock as long as you can. No telling what we'll pay to get it back one of these days."
Everyone of the businessmen in the group laughed at Dieter's legendary humor, shown so well on this visit to one of his lesser mining operations, just as another slave song drifted up from the terraces below, interrupted just once with the scream of a whipped slave "out of sorts."
"I'm sure everyone is getting a little tired by this time," Dieter suggested. "It's time, I'm afraid to head back. I know you need to get back to your businesses. But I do want to take this opportunity to thank you for your time and interest and hope you enjoyed this little peek into some of the Goering enterprises."
Everyone clapped enthusiastically in appreciation and each one personally shook Dieter's hand to express their personal appreciation for arranging this tour for them.
"Most enlightening, Dieter."
"Very educational, as usual, Dieter."
"Eye-opening, Dieter. I didn't realize how naive I've been in this area."
"Most enjoyable, Dieter. I'm always amazed at the contributions of your family to the larger society."
"Your lineage shows, Dieter. When it comes to slavery, your family remains the world's leader - no doubt about it."
Back on the bus headed home, the businessmen chatted among themselves about various ideas they were going to try out when they got back home, new ventures into the buying and selling of slaves, and new methods they were going to explore in managing them. They did all this as the bus steward (the original one - the former one was now back driving the bus again) sucked them off on demand, bent over to be fucked on the arms of the luxurious leather seats, or stood passively as the passengers toyed with his tits, his balls, his pecs, his ass, or his prick.
"Dieter, that bus driver looks a lot like you did a few years back. Have you ever noticed the similarities?"
Dieter doubled over in laughter at the passenger's question.
"I'm not surprised. He's a product of the breeding barn located close to the manor house. Back in my early 20s, I'd occasionally go down there and fuck one of the broods just for the hell of it. Don't ask me why, when I had a whole harem available to me since I was 14 or so. But, you know, occasionally you like a wet pussy to stick it into and I always liked the idea of using my seed for adding to the family's wealth. Well, to make a long story short, that bus driver, who I noticed sucked you off so nicely when he was serving as our steward here on the bus, is the product of just one little trip down to the breeding barns. He's one of the many bastard sons I've spawned for the sake of the family fortune over the years. Didn't turn out too badly, did he?"
"How many offspring do you have wearing a collar now?" the guest asked, obviously astonished at Dieter's casual acceptance of his own son being a naked slave obviously used sexually most every day.
"The breedmaster claims there are about 30 of them over the years. Not too many, but not bad considering I seldom wandered down to the breeding barns anyway. Like now, I almost always used the harem boys for my sexual pleasure. But we never sell off our bastard children. We always keep them in house, like the bus driver here, in that we like to oversee breeding them regularly. Having Goering genes in you adds to a slave's value, it seems. The driver there, is bred to five ripe wenchs a week and, so far, has a great hit rate. We've got over 151 slave pups out of him already, each with a tiny bit of Goering genes in them."
"You Goerings overlook nothing it seems," the guest replied admiringly. "You fully deserve, Dieter, what I hear is the world's largest private fortune."
"Perhaps," was all Dieter would say to that last statement. He lay back in his comfortable seat, listening to the soft chatter of the businessmen behind him as they enjoyed their conversations with each other as well as the muted moans and sighs coming as a result of the bus steward tending to their needs.
He thought about what was awaiting him upon his return to his private suite at the manor house. The newest member of his harem, the American football player was, even as Dieter sat in the bus, being prepared for his master's return. His freshly douched and bathed body was being shaved and oiled and the 11" dildo, jammed up him for the past 12 hours to "stretch him" for his master's comfort, was now being removed and his ass chute was being carefully coated with a fresh-smelling lubricant if his master choose to fuck him. It would be enjoyable to try out the American slave, now at least partially trained to his new duties. But, looking at his handsome slave 'son' driving the bus, it would also be fun to try out the latest prodigy of his loins, a 16 year old mulatto who he had fathered with a young black wench in the breeding barns years ago. The breed master had told him the mulatto held such promise it would be criminal not to at least sell him into someone's private harem, if not a public brothel, if Master Dieter didn't add him to his own harem - at least until the novelty wore off.
Perhaps he should add the 'son.' He hadn't fucked one of his "own" for a long while now and he remembered there was a special thrill to it. Besides, this 'son' was of a color that appealed to him anyway - a nice light brown he had been told. And if the breed master had recommended him for his bed, well, why not, claiming that the Goering characteristics had shown up very well in this new medium brown version. As soon as he returned, he would have the boy prepared for his bed for a good fucking alongside the new American. That way he could take his pick between the two, or, if he felt as sexy as he did right now looking at the bus driver, he would fuck both of them at least twice. Why not? That's what the slaves were for, and Dieter knew that a good fucking by their owner and master was generally viewed as a great privilege for a slave. Sort of a rite of passage from a slave's viewpoint. As far as fucking his own 'son,' it sure as hell wouldn't be the first time and, to date, nothing but good had come out of it. The slave 'sons' interpreted it as caring concern although Dieter himself just viewed it as good sex. Whatever. The slave 'sons' bragged about the event the rest of their lives as if it were their crowning achievement.
Well, you never know what goes through a slave's head, even if you're a 53rd generation Goering who has owned hordes of them since the dawn of history. Dieter's heritage was to amass them in great quantities, keep up the quality, and make money in such amounts the rest of the world was left in utter awe.
It was great to be a Goering, Dieter reflected.
THE END
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