FULFILLING THE FANTASY XII
By Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)
[I don't know if anyone is actually reading this series or not due to lack of any feedback. If I don't hear from readers I will not post the remainder of the series. Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)]
The trip across the Indian Ocean was silky smooth but hot and humid, although the Fantasia's air-conditioning held steady for the passengers. In the cargo hold, though, it was a living hell - temperatures hovered around 135 F. by late afternoon and the caged slaves were reduced to simply panting in their closely spaced and very confining cages. In deference to the heat, the slave handlers scheduled the three hour forced exercise sessions in the cool of the morning (to assure the slaves kept their perfect physiques), arranged the sexual training sessions even earlier prior to the exercise sessions (for those slaves who needed ass stretching, regular milking, or swallowing or fucking experience as determined by their new owners), upped the bathing schedule to twice a day instead of the usual one, and sprayed the caged slaves with cold water every hour from 1 PM until their evening feeding around 7 PM. Slaves chosen to serve their new owners in the ship's staterooms, were the lucky ones - an hour or so in air-conditioned comfort was well worth any indignities heaped upon their naked bodies, no matter what their owners desired from their bodies. When the room stewards arrived to take selected slaves to their owners room to be fucked up their ass or down their throat, the excitement level mounted - those not chosen - the vast majority by a long shot - moaned at the lost opportunity to experience a decent temperature for a short period and resigned themselves to sweating against the bars of their cages until the room stewards would appear again.
Only one slave in the hold had died so far. After quickly stripping him of any body organs that could be frozen and later sold, an autopsy was performed to determine whether the slave died from the intense heat, the shock of close confinement, or some pre-purchase condition. Following that, the dead body was unceremoniously dumped over board as fish food. Although the cruise line had insurance on their cargo, the contract was set up to make it very advantageous for all parties that slaves be kept alive as much as possible. Generally, the slave's owner suffered 25% loss with 75% of the slave's value covered by the ship's insurance, unless it was ascertained that the slave was brought aboard with a pre-existing condition which led to his or her death. In that case, the loss was entirely borne by the slave's owner, of course, in that he or she should have checked into the slave's health prior to purchasing him. Considering the heat and confinement conditions, most passengers, as well as the cruise line itself, were well satisfied with the job being performed by the slave handlers down in the stifling hold. The one slave that had died so far was simply a product of heat stroke and the owner was happy he only suffered 25% of what the slave had cost him back in the Nicaraguan markets where he had been purchased dirt cheap anyway. The autopsy revealed that long malnutrition prior to purchase contributed to his susceptibility to heat stroke anyway, a worrisome problem with a lot of the Nicaraguan purchases who were only now beginning to respond to the vastly enriched diet offered them onboard the Fantasia. .
John and Mark availed themselves of their familiarizing themselves with their latest acquisitions in that both felt it was important to fuck a slave as quickly as possible after purchasing him in order to establish their total ownership of his body. Due to the large number of purchases in Bangladesh, this ritual alone took up most of their time and, due to the sheer volume of newly purchased slaves, was generally limited to one thorough fucking per slave although oral service was also frequently demanded in order to test the new slaves skills in that area as well. The Italian room steward was kept busy shuttling back and forth to the cargo hold getting the new acquisitions for his masters' beds, making sure they were locked securely in their cages back in the cargo hold when the masters were through with them - usually considerably humbled and with cum dripping out of their backsides, and keeping track of all the fucking taking place to make sure each and every new purchase was properly "introduced" to his new master and understood fully what was expected of him in terms of bodily usage now that he was under new ownership. The two young masters did little else but sleep, enjoy the long conversation-filled dinners on board, and fuck their own slaves at their leisure the entire journey. They were so busy they didn't have time during this leg of the journey to ever enjoy the ever-ready dining room staff, the baggage slaves, or even their winsome and ever-eager Italian room steward (although the Italian did get plenty of opportunity to fuck the new slaves himself once the masters had "broken them in" so that the new slaves completely understood their bodies were to be used by anyone their master designated, not just the masters themselves). Both the two masters and the room steward were fairly exhausted by the time the Fantasia entered the Arabian Gulf and getting properly completely aroused for a good fucking was taking longer and longer no matter how hard the slaves beneath them tried with their kneading fingers, beseeching mouths, and begging eyes. But the goal was met! Every new slave in their possession to date had now been properly fucked by his owner although they had long ago lost track of exactly how many slaves each one had bought and even had lost track of where the slave was bought, although they both knew all the purchases had been great buys, all would attract a bevy of potential buyers in the markets back home, all would turn a huge profit for them, and all were compliant and obedient as well as totally cooperative, even eager, in being used as bed bucks. They also knew every single purchase was extremely well-built, had handsome faces, and were invariably sexually attractive with their smooth skin, beautiful eyes, huge swollen organs, nicely shaped butts, and ready, eager, and even proud acceptance of their role as whores serving at the pleasure of their owner.
Soon the Fantasia had docked at Sur, Oman, an obscure port so overshadowed by the huge port of Muscat, the nation's capital further north, most seamen had long forgotten it even existed. Hidden away from view by a deep inland bay with a fairly narrow opening, it was easy to pass the Bay of Sur by without even knowing it.
But sophisticated slave traders around the world all knew of the "hidden city" of Sur. It was one of Arabia's most historic slave markets and today was still rated one of the best by knowledgeable international dealers. It was in Sur one could find a huge variety of all the dusky skinned black eyed, black haired beauties that Arabia had to offer along with large numbers of carefully bred slaves Arabian masters were so good at producing: huge muscular blacks with massive sexual organs bred for display as much as anything; half Arab-half black mulattoes who were carefully bred to incorporate the best features and raw masculine beauty of both races; and blond, blue-eyed Circassian slaves, originally brought as pricey slaves from faraway Georgia and other areas surrounding the Black Sea for their beautiful creamy white skin, their silky blond hair, their novel bright blue eyes, and their large well-shaped sexual organs, and now selectively bred (for at least 700 years now) to enhance their sexual attractiveness and willing compliance to being bought property even more. Sur featured all of these slaves in huge numbers and at great prices just as the city had for most of the past century. Nowadays, every large slave dealer, no matter where he or she was located in the world, made it a point to visit the Sur slave markets at least once in their lifetime - it was a badge of honor as much as a financial bonanza for them.
So much so that dealers offered sprinkled Sur into their conversations as a mark of sophistication: "When I was in Sur last year......"; "At Sur, I found this mulatto that........"; "The Circassians in Sur are simply phenomenal"; etc. Slaves purchased there are often marketed around the world as "Fresh from the Sur markets" or "Purchased in Sur" or "A product of Sur breeding" or "Originally marketed by the Sur slave breeders" or "Bred from pure Circassian stock at Sur."
John and Mark were surprised to see the luxurious Fantasia dock alongside two large super-freighters, each capable of carrying at least 4000 slaves each in their holds. Both of the huge freighters were modern and clean, but anything but luxurious. They looked to be designed for one purpose only: the efficient transfer of stock. Huge side door featured ramps which lead directly to the holds where row upon row of stacked cages were clearly visible along with fire hoses to sweep away the debris and huge ventilation fans whirling around the clock. Conveyer belts transported slave chow on one side and human wastes on the other. Exercise treadmills with restaint chains were clearly visible in all the wide aisles between the cages stacked ten high with fork lifts in constant motion putting the cages into position once they were loaded. Even the names of the ships revealed their purpose: one was named "M.S. Servus;" the other "M.S.Bondage." A blacksmith shop complete with welding gun, soldering equipment, metal cutters, and collars and rings of all sizes and shapes were located near the front ramps where convenient restraining tables and racks made sure the livestock was handled effortlessly while being fitted with the control and display devices desired by their new owners. Next to the blacksmith's shop one could see the beginnings of the training facilities with its manacles, wall rings, restraining benches, punishment racks, and wall mounted displays of whips, canes, prods, dildos, branding irons, and butt plugs.
While Mark and John were carefully studying the two huge super freighters from the open top deck of the Fantasia, two other passengers were expressing their concern.
"Bret, I bet each of those monster ships can hold at least 4000 slaves fully loaded. If they load them entirely from this port - that's over 8000 slaves. There won't be a single slave left in the place once they sail away. What are we going to buy? A bunch of left-overs?"
"Calm down, Greg. Obviously you didn't hit the port lecture talk yesterday."
"Uh, I'm afraid not! Breaking in one of my Bangladeshi purchases - a 17-year-old blond boy hung like a horse that was practically virginal," the man named Greg answered. "If yesterday is any example, the boy is worth 10 times what I paid for him. He actually wanted to be fucked and fucked hard," Greg added enthusiastically. "I got so carried away using him I forgot all about the lecture, although I must say most of them have been superb - well worth attending."
"Indeed they have," his friend responded. "Every single one so far and so informative. But I would say half of the passengers weren't there - doing exactly what you were doing I suppose. Sometimes I feel sorry for the lecturers - it's hard to compete with a handsome, well- trained and totally compliant slaveboy at the disposal of the passengers, each one trying desperately to prove his worth to his new owner by offering up everything his body can provide. If this cruise doesn't end pretty soon, all of us are going to fuck ourselves to an early grave I think. The cargo hold can handle 5000 slaves and we seem to have the idea we're got to fuck every single one of them at least once before we get home.
"But, getting back to the lecture yesterday," his friend continued. "The buyers for those ships aren't even going to start shopping around until we leave. We're such small-fry operations compared to them, they want us completely out of the way before they get down to serious buying which they generally do in lots given the numbers involved. Even if we get 'best in house,' it doesn't bother them in that almost all Sur slaves are highly marketable and if a few real beauties are sold out from under them, who cares when you're dealing in literally thousands and thousands of slaves in a single buy. The lecturer said it takes three days just to load that many slaves when you consider all the processing necessary: ownership titles; re-collaring; ringing; flushing out and proper caging for the trip. We're talking big-time slaving here," he laughed.
"Well, that's a relief! I guess that's why they're busy getting the ship ready," Greg commented as he saw the freighters' own staff of naked collared slaves furiously cleaning out the cages, scrubbing the floors, and washing the walls as eagle-eyed overseer slaves made sure the slaves were unceasing in their work and "on task" at all times.
"Why are those slaves over there fitted with those strange looking collars, Bret? I've never seen collars that thick before - they must be at least two inches thick and they're fitted so tight you can actually see the flesh sticking out around the top and bottom. Must take some getting used to to even breathe wearing collars fitted like that. And is that a little green light I see in the front of those collars?"
"Again, Greg, if you'd gone to the lecture instead of pounding some slave's butt most of the afternoon," Bret chided, "you might have learned something about what's new and modern in the world. The lecturer pointed out that one of the slave transports scheduled to dock beside us in Sur has recently equipped their slave crew with the latest in slave control equipment - the very collars you noticed with the little lights in them. Those collars are electronic and have to be fitted as tightly as possible because the electrodes inside the collar must fit directly against the slave's skin there in the neck area. See the little remote devices held by the overseers? One push on the main button and a searing and extremely painful electric shock is delivered directly to the slave's nerve system. You can hold it down as long as you like and it won't kill the slave, but it will, after two seconds or so, knock him to the floor and prevent him from breathing as well. If you hold that button down for 10 seconds or more, the slave is dead - asphyxiated actually, but usually they die before that just from the shock of that much pain all at once - the slave's heart can't take it! There are lots of advantages: you can administer all the corrective pain you want without tearing up their hide and decreasing their resale value with a lot of whip scars, brand marks, and the burn marks from those electric prods; you can kill them on the spot without any trouble if a slave goes berserk or tries to rebel against his discipline; and it's impossible for a slave to run away because every collar incorporates a global positioning device. That green light tells you the unit is fully operational and the batteries are fine; that light turns yellow when the unit needs to be recharged (about every three months or so if the average amount of corrective shocks are utilized; more often if a lot of correction is needed, like with a newly-enslaved animal; less with a well trained slave, usually a bred slave, who knows what is expected of slaves in today's world); and a red light tells you the unit is non-operational (dead batteries or some malfunction) and needs to be replaced. The lecturer said the manufacturer claims it ups slave productivity a good 15%, raises the average resale value at good 20% due to lack of scarred bodies, makes runaways practically a thing of the past, and cuts training time in half."
"What's the downside, Bret, according to the lecturer?" Greg asked as he studied more closely the slaves working away below them on the side alongside, all fitted with the new thick collars.
"Well, one is the cost. The electronic collars cost about 30 times more than the standard metal slave collar and recharging equipment and the remotes add to that cost as well. Second, the collars have to fitted so tightly some slaves have trouble breathing, especially when placed on jobs requiring lots of air exchange, like pulling wagons, hefting litters - anything requiring a lot of strenuous effort. The lecturer said they're working on a new model that would fit slightly looser and have electrode 'probes' that would actually puncture the skin slightly and make contact that way. Of course, now, those collars require such a tight fit the slave can't change dimensions without having to be refitted. With some slaves, their neck muscles just keep getting bigger and bigger as a result of heavy labor and so frequent refittings are necessary if the slave is to keep breathing. If the slave loses a lot of muscle or fatty tissue, the electrodes don't make proper contact and so again, the slave has to be refitted. They're working on a flexible collar that would eliminate some of those problems. But the biggest problem is based on its own success. The slave discipline now available is so immediate, so incredibly painful, and so debilitating, the slave fitted with the new collar becomes obsessed with avoiding the shocks. They tend to keep their eyes riveted on the remote devices held in the hands of their overseers or their masters and the slightest hand movement paralyzes them with fear. Anticipation of pain is worse than the pain itself, the manufacturers of the device claim, and slave reactions so far prove that to be true. Slaves fitted out with the collars often break into spontaneous crying, obsessive attention to their overseer's fingers, and get a look in their eye of sheer panic during the first month or so until they learn to just accept their fate, knowing there is nothing they can do to stop the pain other than working as hard as they know how. According to the lecturer, some slaves have literally worked themselves to an early death out of raw fear and hence productivity gains are offset by loss of capital investment. The manufacturers feel this problem will be overcome once overseers learn to be more judicious in the use of the device. "A wandering finger is a profit killer," is part of their new training literature for overseers. At first, apparently, some overseers just played around with the remote buttons and enjoyed watching slaves 100 feet away scream in agony as they collapsed to the floor writhing in agony. They got a real feeling of power, but didn't realize they were destroying their master's property in the process. With a whip, a good overseer can get his jollies, but it takes a long and determined effort to whip a slave to death. Whipping a slave properly is hard work and so the effort involved tended to monitor the effect on the slave being whipped. Nowadays, they're made punishing a slave too easy! Therefore, it's essential to educate the slave overseers in the proper (and economical) use of the new device. Another side effect is that slave whippers tended to stay in shape because, as I just said, whipping properly is hard work. Now, some of the slave overseers are having to exercise themselves to stay in proper shape."
Just as Bret was saying that, both men watched one of the overseers push the button on his remote briefly, followed immediately by one of the draft slaves screaming in agony as he crashed to the floor writhing in pain, convulsing on the spot, losing bowel and urinary control in the process. The mess and smell infuriated the slave overseer and he again pushed the button as the slave's eyes bulged out in sheer panic as he jerked and twitched on the hard metal floor with drool foaming out of his mouth.
"That's exactly the problem the lecturer was talking about," Bret commented as they watched the slave struggle to his feet, shaking with fear. "It's just too damn easy to discipline a slave this way - not at all like working up a real sweat beating a slave's back with a bull whip where the slave at least had the time between strokes to adjust to the pain."
"Yeah, but look at that slave's work output now," Greg said admiringly as the massively muscled slave frantically doubled the pace of his cleaning activity.
"Another problem the lecturer pointed out, Greg," Bret said. "At that pace, the slave will kill himself overworking and whatever he costs will be lost forever."
"Time will tell. The device is impressive, but sometimes, the old ways prove to be the best ways," Greg said reflectively. "I hate to sound old fashioned, but there's something about whipping a reluctant slave that satisfying to both parties - the master knows he's doing the right thing to teach the slave what is expected of him; the slave knows the beating is for his own good in the long run or the master wouldn't be spending all that time and energy disciplining him."
"I tend to agree with you, Greg," Bret said warmly. "Just pushing a button is far too easy somehow and, well, not terribly satisfying no matter how much they end up jerking around the floor in their own shit and urine crazy with fear. Besides, the overseers have to kept track of the button number for each slave they're supervising. Otherwise, the wrong slave gets fried. With a whip, you can aim it exactly where you want - the exact slave and just where you want on that particular slave - his back, his butt, his shoulders, his tits, or his balls."
"Well, slaves owned by a shipping company transporting other people's property may present special problems and warrant some new approaches," Greg added. "For example, when their ship is in port to load or unload, anyone of them could make a run for it despite their nakedness and thick slave collars. In the places where that ship would go, it would always include big slave markets where the runaways could hide out among the tens of thousands of slaves up for sale. They won't be going anywhere collared with a global positioning device on them. Besides, I'm sure the shock devices would go off automatically if they get anywhere near a ship exit."
"You're right. The lecturer mentioned that feature yesterday. Ten feet from any exit and the shock device automatically triggers off so you don't have to watch your own slave staff. That means, of course, once a slave is purchased for work on the ship, they'll never set foot on dry land again until they're either dead or sold off," Bret laughed.
"Are they empty?" Greg asked as he gazed out at both of the huge slave transports, apparently feeling the topic of electronic slave collars had been exhausted.
"That's what the port lecturer said yesterday. Apparently, one of the ships just runs a full load to London very three weeks or so and returns with slave chow, chains, collars, whips, and other general merchandise needed here in Sur. The other ship runs between here and Hong Kong supplying the Asian markets with Sur slaves. It brings back food, cars, and clothing from the Asian manufacturers. They've got it all worked out apparently. Profitable for everyone on both ends."
"Except for the merchandise," Greg laughed.
"Oh, I don't know. The merchandise gets a nice new home and a change in climate," Bret smiled back. "I imagine it's kind of boring being raised on those breeding farms just waiting to reach market age and being trained over and over and over to be a good obedient slave," he added. "And, for the others, a new prick up their backside is always exciting! Since slaves can't determine their destiny in any way, any change is always welcome. At least, it seems that way when they're begging you to buy them at the markets."
Greg moaned as the kneeling beautiful Greek slave in front of him brought him to a full orgasm with his suctioning mouth, now fully stretched above his thick collar as his user's large organ was completely down his throat. The slave was one of the deck hands conveniently located throughout the upper decks for just that purpose. The handsome young black slave kneeling in front of Bret, another one of the deck hands, was furiously pumping his lips back and forth on Bret's fully erect organ, his cheeks drawn inward with his intense suctioning of the master's prick. Greg's release was all the stimulus Bret needed to also erupt down his slave's throat. What followed was a chorus of slurping, swallowing, and wheezing as the two slaves retained every last drop of the passenger's offerings and then quickly cleaned their user's pricks of any remaining cum. Upon completion, both slaves humbly thanked the two passengers for their use and quietly asked if they could be of further service before quickly crawling backward to their assigned duty stations where any passenger could demand any use of their body at any time - a frequent occurrence, especially when passengers had a lot of free time to roam the ship, like now, when the ship was tying up at dock.
"You two want to use these slaves?" Greg asked John and Mark standing nearby. "They're not bad for an early morning suck." The two slaves being offered smiled broadly to demonstrate their eagerness to please, fresh pearlescent cum still glistening on their teeth as they continued to swirl their tongues around trying to rinse away the last remnants of their recent usage.
"All passengers can now disembark," the loudspeakers announced. "The Fantasia will leave Sur promptly at 12 Noon tomorrow. Be sure you are on board at that time with all of your newly purchased stock. Have a good day, gentlemen, and enjoy the delightful port city of Sur."
"Naw, we're going shopping," John answered the two other passengers. "Thanks for the recommendation, though. Maybe we're use them when we get back. That Greek boy's a real looker."
"Who could see his face?" Mark laughed as the Greek slave being discussed blushed deeply and lowered his eyes to hide his embarrassment at once again prominently displaying a fully erect prick for one and all to see - a result of the tight genital ring fitted around the base of his balls and the root of his long, thick prick. "But his package is impressive, especially displayed like that," Mark added as he reached over and stroked the Greek slave's organ a little for emphasis. With that parting comment, all four passengers hurried to the exit gangway, checkbooks and charge cards in hand.
The slave markets of Sur started less than half a block from where the ship was docked and stretched out for several miles from there. Each merchant's long display stands and vast holding pens occupied a full city block and it was hard to know where to start shopping. John and Mark headed inward for about half a mile before stopping, feeling the best bargains might be located further away from the docks. But the other two passengers ducked into the first auction house they could, close to where the Fantasia was docked. The two pairs of shoppers never ran into each other again until long after the ship had left the Sur harbor.
"What's your major interest, Mark? The Circassians?" John asked.
"Probably, but Arab boys can be a real turn-on," Mark replied. "Especially with those big black eyes and long eyelashes you see on so many of them."
"And you, John? The same or do you think some 'display' blacks would turn a good profit back home?"
"From what I've heard, there's not much here that wouldn't sell like hot cakes back home," John laughed. "I just hope the prices aren't prohibitive."
By then, they had come upon the display stands of one of the major dealers judging from the two-block long facade of display stands in front of the dealership. There, chained by their collars to the wall were hundreds of magnificently built offerings, each shackled by their ankle bands, all presenting themselves with hands behind their collars and muscles tensed, pelvises thrust forward, and legs spread as wide apart as their hobbles would allow. Almost all were hairless below the neck so all their bodily attributes were on full display, most sported at least a semi-erection so potential buyers could see the size of their manhood, and most had a ready smile on their handsome faces revealing sparkling white teeth and an unspoken invitation to be fully inspected. Each offering was a beautiful living sculpture of what a man should look like if he was close to perfect; each was the epitome of masculinity with well defined muscles, well sculpted pecs and butts, huge, well shaped and dripping sexual organs suggesting they were indeed sexual machines if nothing else, and each looked eager to be sold with their engaging smiles and subtle pleading looks. They ranged from jet black with glistening well-oiled almost blue-black hides to the deeply tanned white hides of pure Circassian blonds with brilliant blue and green eyes. In between were the swarthy brown skins of the Arabs, complete with their huge black eyes framed with long curvy eye lashes and deep eyebrows, rich black facial hair usually trimmed carefully around pencil width beards and mustaches, and hairless, muscular, but somewhat wiry bodies graced with huge sexual organs, all carefully circumcised so no hoods were visible. It was exactly as the port lecturer had described.
"A buyer's heaven," John commented, somewhat overwhelmed by the quality of offered stock. He stopped in front of one of the displayed blacks and roughly hefted his huge ball sac and then wrapped his fist around the black slave's huge penis, a good 12 x 5" even semi-erect.
"Master," the black slave whispered auspiciously in acknowledgment of being handled as he begin to leak pre-cum into John's fist. "Buy me, master," the black pleaded with deep respect.
John kept his fist wrapped around the now fully erect shaft and pumped it hard. Within 30 seconds, the black slave was shooting huge amounts of warm cum wherever John aimed his rigid staff - in this case all over his chest, face, and stomach. The black smiled happily as he began to lick the dripping mess running down into his mouth.
A huge Arab appeared out of nowhere, dressed entirely traditionally with long flowing robes, a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, smart leather sandals, and a large belly announcing his prosperity.
"Bred for display," the Arab stated before introducing himself as the owner of the establishment. "We have a number of offerings just like him. All big, beautiful, and black. And all perfectly trained since birth to serve as display objects, bed bucks, brothel whores, or whatever you might have in mine for a piece of handsome black meat like this. And at prices you won't believe, considering the high quality," the dealer smiled, displaying a full set of beautiful white teeth on his own handsome face. "This one I've bedded down myself on a few occasions, and, let me assure you, it's as close to Paradise as you'll find on this earth," he chuckled. "Always eager, as you just saw for yourself, and perfectly trained to produce the utmost in pleasure."
"How much?" John asked as he turned the black around and felt his back and ass muscles before inserting his finger completely up the slave's hole. "Good and tight," he commented as he twisted the finger now deeply embedded in the slave's rectum as the slave softly moaned.
"$300,000 U.S. dollars - not a penny less. A genuine steal at that price."
"$250,000 and not a penny more," John replied.
"Sold."
Both men shook hands as John signaled his intension to look at other stock.
John bought up eight more black 'display slaves' that appeared to be almost clones of his first purchase - each handsome, hugely equipped, and proud to display their bodily attributes with no prompting. [Five of them had been fitted with large brass tit rings, obviously several years ago, in that their tits were now super-sized and very sensitive relative to the slaves of similar build whose tits had been untampered.] Each expressed eagerness to provide their new owner with the pleasure they knew their bodies could offer.
John then moved over to the Circassian section of white, light-eyed slaves carefully bred for generations now to absolute physical perfection. He was impressed with their glorious physiques; their overall sexual attractiveness; and their apparent willingness to totally please any owner in any way that owner might desire. All had huge organs which were hard and dripping just from being put on display.
"Bred for over 22 generations now to absolute perfection," the dealer said proudly. "Circassians are our most valued product here in Sur. Expensive, but well worth the investment."
"How expensive?" John asked as he stroked a particularly sexy boy being displayed right in front of him as the slave smiled in appreciation.
"Our most expensive - more than the display blacks and the winsome Arab boys. $600,000 - the buy of a lifetime."
John continued stoking the blond boy until the slave broke out in a full sex sweat and began to pant in his need to ejaculate. "Please, master," the slave pleaded as he gritted his teeth to avoid spurting all over the potential purchaser. "I can't hold it much longer, master."
John whirled the slave around and jammed his finger up the slave's asshole as he gave the slave permission to shoot. As the slave arched forward, his ass muscles clenched themselves around John's finger so tightly John couldn't have removed his finger if he had wanted to. John could feel the slave spurt over and over by the contractions of muscle around his finger as the slave moaned happily in utter relief.
"$500,000?" John ventured as the slave continued to spurt volley after volley of hot cum on the pavement in front of him.
"$550,000 is the lowest I can go," the dealer said with laughing eyes, "and cut any profit at all."
"Sold," John said as he pumped his finger in and out of the slave's tightly clenched hole.
John then proceeded to buy five more Circassians, ranging in price from $400,000 to $600,000, but all models of what slaves could be if bred for generations toward absolute perfection and all of whom would bring at least one million on any market in the U.S. All the Circassians offered were the perfect market age: 16 to 20 years old. And all had obviously been fully trained to a long and profitable life as wanton whores who totally enjoyed all aspects of their slavery, whores or not. After all, for 22 generations the Circassians in Arabian markets had primarily served as comely and willing whores for their Arab masters who found their blond hair, light skin, beautifully shaped sexual organs, and blue or green eyes irresistible as bed partners- that aspect of behavior was now completely bred into them.
"My friend was interested in an attractive Arab boy," John said to the dealer indicating he was through buying up blacks and Circassians.
"Of course," the dealer said graciously, leading John and Mark to another section of the huge dealership. There, displayed on the usual display stands, were a variety of beautiful brown skinned Arab boys ranging in age from 17 to 21, all with smooth creamy skin, jet black hair, and beautiful large round eyes. All had well developed, muscular, but not stocky frames. All were relatively short: 5'5" to 5'8" but all had long thick, well shaped organs fully circumcised.
"Only some of these boys are products of our breeding farms," the dealer pointed out. "You can spot them with the farm's brand on the inside of their ankles. Sort of a proud trademark of their breeding expertise and in most cases carrying a one-year guarantee on their product. The others come from a variety of sources: orphans - those without a family in Arabia are generally destined for the slave markets to they can belong to someone, in this case a new owner; some are sold to the markets by their destitute parents who need the money to rear all their brothers and sisters at home - those slaves know any misbehavior as a slave would only bring shame upon their family and hence make very good slaves, especially since this is obviously the will of God; and most of the rest are the offspring of prostitutes who can't afford to raise their whelp and sell them to the markets at a very early age - these slaves work out well because they've experienced years of training before being placed up on the auction block and realize they were born into the lowliest of stations - a child of shame - a status even lower, if possible, than that of a slave."
John began looking the available stock over starting at one end of the line while Mark began at the other end. Soon, Mark had picked out two for himself and John had identified seven more he thought he could resell at great profit back home. Mark's choices were both very young - each 17 - faces so breathtakingly beautiful they appeared somewhat feminine, but their bodies were anything but feminine - ruggedly handsome and totally male, including their large, easily aroused organs. Both were "children of shame" - the sons of prostitutes who had sold them off to the markets at an early age where they had been extremely well trained as their bodies developed to their present full glory. Given the circumstances, both looked forward to a new life as fully owned slaves where their status was no longer associated with shame but with pride in being valuable owned properties of a master who cared enough about them to pay large amounts of money for their bodies and wanted them to bring him all the recompense their bodies could produce - both in work and in pleasure. They knew most owners were proud of their possessions - a long way from being objects of shame. When Mark tested their output with a quick masturbation on the display stands, both slaves wept in joy knowing the man in front of them was most likely going to purchase them as valuable and desired properties.
John, despite buying up so many Circassians and display blacks bred just for slavery, couldn't resist buying up some of the novel Arab stock offered. He ended up buying 10 slaves; 8 bred for sale (all guaranteed for a year) and 2 previous orphans who wept at being sold to a dealer who would eventually probably resell them into a "family," even though that family would be in a faraway land and a totally different culture from anything they had known. Nevertheless, someone, somewhere would take care of them and they would "belong" - in this case literally.
Mark ended up paying $450,000 for his two purchases; John paid around $500,000 since the eight bred slaves were genetically more predictable and would offer better resale value. Both considered the prices good value, especially in view of what similar stock would cost back home - at least $1 million each. Nevertheless, Mark ended up parting with close to $1 in that single day while John shelled out close to $11 million for these new additions to his inventory of slave stock.
"That bank account of yours is getting quite a workout," Mark smirked as John wrote the large check and handed it to the dealer.
"When you're a dealer, you get used to throwing around the big bucks," John laughed. "I'll get it all back and then some," he smiled.
"That's for sure. I imagine you can sell that stock off for at least $25 million, maybe $30 million if none of them die down in that stifling hole on the ship.
"Unlike you, Mark, I can't just charge $900,000 to my Visa card as a minor purchase," John chided. "Why is it fair you're so damn rich and I have to struggle to just make ends meet?"
"I don't consider writing a check for $11 million 'just making ends met'," Mark laughed. "So none of your crap about being so poor all the time. I admit I'm financially comfortable, but you can hardly afford to poor mouth it all the time," Mark lectured. "You hardly live the life of a destitute, impoverished merchant - a different slaveboy in your bed every night, world cruises to purchase new stock, and a traveling companion who is always fascinating, witty, and engaging."
"That you are," John said with genuine affection, "although I stand to correct you: I usually bed down two or three slaveboys every night - not just one!"
With that, both friends hugged each other and happily walked back to the Fantasia, only glancing occasionally as the tens of thousands of other offerings at the multitude of other dealers there in Sur. For the moment, at least, both were totally satiated in buying slaves, no matter how appealing, how sexy, how well trained, how well bred. Right now, they just wanted to get back to the comfort of their suite on the ship, a good meal, and possibly a light nap without the incumbrance of a willing slaveboy next to them trying to urge his masters into using his body.
While they were bathing and then napping, the Arab dealer had delivered the numerous new purchases to the Fantasia's cargo handlers along with all the paperwork and the slaves purchased were busily being bathed, oiled, shaved, purged, and carefully labeled before being caged for the night. Their new life was already being to take shape. By the next morning, it was obvious the Fantasia's passengers had been on a buying spree - the hold was now 83% full and there were five more markets to visit before the ship headed back to New York. The Fantasia's cargo hold was a beehive of activity throughout the night and all the next morning.
As the Fantasia prepared to disenbark into the Arabian Gulf exactly at noon the next day, the slave handlers in the adjoining slave transports were already busy processing the first lots of slave purchases arriving to be shipped to new markets. The ship's crew would have to work for the next three days 24-hours-a-day before the ship was completely loaded and ready for its regular journey and the crew could take a well-deserved rest. It was obvious why the one ship, at least, had invested in the new electronic shock collars. The discipline those collars imposed would assure the slaves would work hard and steady through the 72-hour loading stretch, albeit with fear and panic as their constant companion. Maybe there was a market for the new device after all! Who would have the strength and energy to beat slaves with a bull whip enough to see them through that long a stretch of back-breaking work without a break. And, even if you did, their bodies would be a bloody pulp after that - it was doubtful the bodies would heal before the unloading process would start at the other end of the line. Maybe technology had solved yet another problem!
As Mark and John lanquidly studied the slave handlers working away on the adjoining ship, their new electronic collars all showing their bright green light, they marveled at the sheer energy being expended at such a rapid rate.
"How many just die being driven like that?" Mark asked.
"Oh, slaves are remarkably enduring," John counseled. "If too many die, the whole thing is a flop as far as slave control goes and the new collar will just be a historical footnote. If it works like they think it will, all slaves will be fitted with one within just a few years. Either way, that's progress!"
"Get the name of the company that makes it, John. It may be a good idea to buy up some of their stock. If it all works out, we'll make a bundle. If not, the stock's probably pretty cheap right now and we won't loose too much. But, even if it turns out to be worthless, we can say we contributed to the science of slave husbandry."
"Oh, Mark. You're so noble. I'm sure all those slaves over on that ship over there will be thanking you forever."
"You never know, John. You never know. If not, their owners will!"
With that, both friends doubled up in laughter, and retired to their suite where the Italian steward had brought up Mark's two new Arab boys, had them completely cleaned inside and out and properly lubricated, and both boys were now chained to the beds ready to be used by their new masters.
"I'm going to get a family when I get sold again at the new market," one slave said proudly to the other as he shuffled around in the bed to accommodate his huge swollen penis.
"And I'm going to prove my worth to my new owner today. As soon as he uses me, he'll see I'm a real good slave - not just a child of shame," the other slave said with great anticipation and a sense of inner peace."
"And our new master and his friend aren't old and ugly," the first slave replied. "Allah has indeed blessed us. Let us make sure we don't blotch up this marvelous opportunity to prove our worth."
"I'm going to try as hard as I know how to please the masters," the second slave replied.
"And I the same. It is our fortunate destiny," the first slave responded, squirming within his chains as the thought of being ravished by a new owner sent him into full sexual arousal.
TO BE CONTINUED
Comments always appreciated. Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)