FULFILLING THE FANTASY VII
By Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)
The temperature was delightfully cool as Mark and John descended the gangplank of the Fantasia for their visit to Porto Alegre, a little known Brazilian port right above the Uruguayan border. There was a nice breeze present and the sky was so clear it was cloudless.
"This is more like it," Mark remarked as he took in the perfect climate. "I thought I'd melt in Surinam."
"Well, we're far from the equator now, so I suppose they have this glorious weather a lot,"
John added. "I imagine our slaves in the ship's hold are enjoying the change as much as we are. Our steward said he almost passed out from the stench down there where he was bringing some of boys up when the ship was a lot further north around the equator. I imagine stuffed in those little shipping cages doesn't help the situation. I always feel a little warmer if I can't stretch out. But, they're just slaves, after all. Probably used to it."
"Probably," Mark agreed. "No different than the slave pens we bought them out of," he added. "What's the tour include today, John?"
"Well, we're scheduled to visit some famous waterfalls located not too far from here, then go to a ranch of some type out in the countryside, then to a boat ride to see some piranhas, indigenous snakes, some exotic birds located no where else, and some strange water lilies that are unique to this area. After that, we're supposed to go to some fancy reception at the estate of Brazil's biggest slave breeder who, surprisingly, lives down here close to his operations rather than in Rio When all that is over, we'll be taken to the sales area where they promised they'd have their very best stock on display for our perusal. Some dealers I talked to who have been here before love the place - not only for its great climate and sightseeing opportunities, but they claim the slave market here is really something."
"A full day. Good thing we're getting an early start. I won't mind being out all day in this kind of weather."
"Exactly," John added. "It's good to stretch our legs and get off that ship for a while."
"Yes, and," Mark laughed, "it will be the first day in a week we will go a full eight hours without fucking something or other. Look at it as a test! Do you think our room steward will pine away, not having his butt poked for that long a period?"
"He's probably zonked out on the bed resting his sore ass as we speak," John howled in laugher.
Two fairly new Mercedes buses quietly arrived, thereby assuring a separate double seat for each passenger. As each bus door opened, two extremely handsome men emerged, both dressed in a smart form-fitting uniform, complete with leather cap and driving gloves.
"Smart looking employees," John commented to Mark as the two quickly climbed onto the bus with the bus employees' ready assistance and welcoming smiles.
As the coaches got underway to the waterfalls, John leaned forward and said to Mark, in the seat above, "I'd sure like to know where they hired those two," nodding toward the driver and the attendant right behind him,
"Real lookers, aren't they - I got a hard-on just looking at them," Mark replied.
Both men enjoyed the two-hour drive to the waterfalls which took them through vibrant forests, lush jungles, and numerous views of wildlife. Along the way, the smart-looking attendant served them delicious freshly brewed coffee and a tasty local pastry: a small donut coated with a paste of Brazil nuts and coconuts. As the attendant bent to his tasks, Mark studied his incredibly smooth skin and beautiful green eyes framed with long curly black eyelashes.
The waterfalls were truly incredible and well worth the long bus ride. Both Mark and John had never seen anything quite so spectacular, although speech was impossible due to the overwhelming roar of the falling water practically surrounding them. From there, they reboarded the bus for the ranch, which the attendant announced was only a short distance away while refreshing their cups of coffee.
Soon the bus turned into the entrance of the ranch and then traveled six more miles down a narrow one-lane road until it reached the main doorway of the "estatione" manor house where the ranch owner, dressed regally in the Portuguese manner preferred by the major Brazilian landholders, personally greeted each of us warmly as if we were long lost relatives. As we entered the manor house, we were impressed with the rich furnishings, the polished hand-made tile floors, and the huge staff of collared naked slaves who lined the walls in readiness, all holding themselves in rigid attention with heads and eyes straight ahead. All were young and handsome with fully shaved bodies, and all very a very light brown color with dark brown hair and jet black eyes.
"Welcome to my humble abode," our host greeted us. "My staff has prepared a simple barbeque for your enjoyment - all Brazilian specialities - which we can enjoy as soon as you finish your tour of our famed stables of Andelusian ponies which we are most proud of, the herds of Black Angus cattle unique to this part of Brazil, and witnessed a modest rodeo demonstration by the ranches' gancheros, our version of the American cowboy.
The small ponies, bred to perfection, were led through they paces when we visited the barns housing them. The huge staff of slaves we'd first witnessed in the manor house had apparently followed us and were now in charge of demonstrating the ponies' trotting, prancing, and dressage skills. The ranch owner carefully explained the exact breeding behind the select ponies and was most proud of the ranch's reputation as one of the top stud farms for Andelusians in all of Brazil. Most of the dealers, including Mark and John, were as impressed by the collared slaves leading the ponies through their paces as in the ponies themselves, although the slaves themselves were never mentioned as if these properties were as nothing compared to the well-trained ponies.
We were led to an elevated observation stand where it was possible to see miles in every direction, notable because all you really saw were cattle everywhere - tens of thousands of Black Angus cattle, all appearing well fed with shiny coats radiating good health. The owner explained these cattle produced particularly tender, well-marbled beef that was prized throughout the world for its great flavor. Each year we slaughter 20,000 to 25,000 head dependent on market conditions. When we expressed our astonishment, the host laughed and said all things were possible which you owned over one million acres give or take a little. This led to even more astonishment among his guests, which the owner obviously relished. When one of the guests said such a holding was unbelievable, the host laughed.
"Not in Brazil, my friends," the owner explained. "Several ranches throughout the country are even larger. But its not the land, but what's on it that counts. "Here we take pride in the huge number of Black Angus the land supports, our prize Andelusian ponies, and, of course, we can fed and house the 2,400 slaves it takes to run the place without buying any outside feed or supplies. We bred our slaves in house just like the ponies and the cattle and sell our excess off in the Porte Alegre markets - a good 500 to 600 a year usually since over 800 of our slaves here are females. But I'm sure you'd guessed that since our slaves all look more or less alike after five generations of careful breeding. We're trying to establish a breed of slaves here unique to this ranch, much like our ponies and cattle."
We all broke into spontaneous applause at that announcement whereupon our host blushed with pride and then led us to the waiting barbeque featuring lamb, beef, pork, and chicken grilled over an open fire, along with barbeque sauces in varying degrees of spiciness, baked potatoes, baked beans, corn on the cob, and a delectable cole-slaw. We were sitted outside under the shade of a huge tree on tables laid out with silk tablecloths, sterling silver tableware, and beautiful crystal dinnerware while the handsome slaves graciously served us our choice of food and wines. The food was delicious, the service impeccable, and even the haunting music of Brazil was provided by a small group of slaves playing native instruments.
As soon as the scrumptious meal was over, the host invited us to make use of the slaves waiting on us if we so desired, but our tour guide warned us we were on a tight schedule and, nice as the invitation was, our group wouldn't have time to use his slaves today - an announcement that was received with a chorus of boos and catcalls from the dealers while the ranch owner smiled delightedly motioning for his coterie of handsome slaves to display themselves for our selection. Each of the slaves, all appearing to be in their late teens or early twenties, instantly placed their hands in back of their heads, flexed their muscles, and thrust their pelvises forward for our inspection.
"Oh! Very well," the tour guide laughed. "Fifteen minutes. But everyone must be back on the bus in 15 minutes if we want to get to the boats on time for the river tour."
The dealers scrambled to seize a slave that appealed to them. John had a sandy-haired black- eyed beauty on his knees sucking him within the minute while he kneaded the slave's big ringed tits. Mark acted almost as fast, choosing a smooth skinned well-muscled slave with silky blondish brown hair reaching his shoulders and quickly had the slave on his knees enveloping his erect organ. Almost all the dealers, due to the time limitations placed upon them, had the uniformly light brown slaves doing oral service. Only five or six had their chosen slaves on their backs taking it up the backside for what was going to have to be, by necessity, a quick fuck.. The air was filled with sounds of slurping, suctioning, gasps of relief, a few groans and moans from slaves being face or ass fucked, and a lot of heavy breathing, and finally, the slaves humbly voicing "muchos gracious, Senor," as the guests withdrew from their bodies completely spent. But within 15 minutes, every dealer had sincerely thanked their gracious host and was on board the coaches for the next destination to the tour guide's great relief who had feared the dealers might want to spend hours enjoying the ranch owner's hospitality with his stable of well-trained and admittedly quite handsome unique "breed" of slaves.
The coach's attendant served a mint-flavored ice tea as the bus sped to the river station. There a score of small canoes, each holding three passengers and two oarsmen, took them on a truly exotic ride up a small jungle river where the clear waters easily revealed its treasures of brightly colored fish, including piranhas of all sizes and colors. Overhead the paddlers pointed out the huge snakes hanging from the overhanging trees, laughing when the snakes would occasionally sway down close to our heads, and the exotic birds that seemed to compete with each other in display, dazzling you with their panopy of brilliant colors and raucous calls. Even the canoeists seemed part of this jungle scene. Native Indian slaves, they were nut brown, small in stature, and wiry in musculature. Each wore only his slave collar, which was chained to the canoe itself. That way, we were assured, our safety was assured in that the slaves would be eaten by piranhas if the canoe overturned, having no way to escape the man-eating fish. Despite this, the Indian slaves were solicitous in the care of their passengers and did everything possible to make our trip as interesting and educational as possible. Since much of the fairly long trip was upstream, most of the dealers marveled at the canoeist's endurance - they never seemed to tire despite the current. When Mark commented on this, another dealer said he imagined the Indian slaves had done this their whole life, as if that made the task easier.
Back on the bus, one dealer mentioned the solicitousness of the Indian canoeists.
"Yes," the guide laughed. "If they're not, they don't get fed for a couple of days. That's pretty common down here in Brazil. An effective discipline in most cases, I suppose, and probably saves a little on feed costs."
It was only a 30-minute ride to the reception at the slave breeder's farm. When the coaches arrived at the huge compound of buildings that covered thousands of acres, all the dealers clearly understood why it was billed as the biggest breeding operation in Brazil.
"I wonder if this reception will include a tour?" Mark asked his friend John.
"I hope so, Mark. Could be interesting."
The reception included a fantastic choice of wines, the availability of every conceivable mixed drink, and a delicious buffet of the most expensive delicacies. The ebullient host urged us to eat and drink all we wished, but then added he would be willing to give us a quick tour of the facilities if we were interested. When all the dealers enthusiastically responded they were, he seemed delighted and invited us to have our drinks freshened and then take them with us on the tour. We followed him out a side door to the first huge barn.
"The heart of the operation takes place right here," our host announced after all the dealers were inside the anteroom of the barn. "This is the actual breeding barn. We have 200 breeding stations, some of which are in use right now. We practice selective breeding, of course, so only the finest studs and broods are privileged to participate in the program. Studs are used for about six years, generally from the ages of 20 to 26 when their fertility is at its highest level. We have found a highly fertile stud can be used six times a day without significant loss of sperm count or libido if you have picked right and they can be used each and every day at that rate. So a single stud can impregnate hundreds of broods over a given year and thousands over the years. Consequently, we really don't need too many studs on hand at one time, so being chosen to be a stud is a rare opportunity for a male slave. The females are brought to the stations at their peak period for "catching" within their ovulation period and then submitted to a series of ruttings. After each rutting, she is tested for pregnancy four hours after fornication. If she didn't take, she is brought back to the breeding station for another rutting, then tested again four later, and so on and so forth until her pregnancy test shows positive. After four days, and still no positive results, she is recycled 28 days later for another round. If she doesn't take in that series of ruttings, she is again scheduled 28 days later. If the three series of ruttings fail to impregnate her, the female slave is reassigned to labor befitting a sterile female or sold off. This usually only happens when the female brood is aging and has already produced 20 to 25 offspring, perhaps 30 or more if multiple births are achieved with the administration of small doses of fertility drugs which we routinely give most of our broods, thereby avoiding the problems of tiny, undeveloped sets of 5 or 6 babies full dosages often led to, yet taking advantage of the 'boost' offered by these drugs for simple twinning or, occasionally, triplets. Broods producing a minimum of 20 healthy offspring before 'retirement' are often sold off into service situations that slaves covet as a 'reward' for their productivity: child care, nursing care, retirement home attendants, care of the psychotic and mentally retarded, etc. The 'retiring' stud is either reassigned to more orthodox slave duties such as farm or construction labor, but knowledgeable women buyers and a large number of men preferring the pleasures of male flesh often snap them up at auction as 'house boys' where their proven talents as ever ready studs are put to good use for their enjoyment and pleasure. That, of course, is every stud's dream," he smiled as the audience murmured their appreciation of his humor. "Any questions?"
"Yes," one of the dealers ventured. "How to you motivate these slaves to perform their duties of making more slaves on a regular basis? Do they ever balk or give you any trouble?"
"Oh, once in a while, but a thorough lashing with a bull whip or one of those new Mylar whips generally corrects such a attitude," the breeder laughed. "Once, just once, even that didn't work and we simply sold the stud, in this case, off to a mine where I'm sure he's still regretting his mistake, although I doubt if he lived more than a year or so in that environment, big and strong as he was," the dealer smiled. "That stud, as I recall, kept muttering some nonsense that it was wrong to breed slaves like cattle and bring babies into a world where they would always be slaves. Obviously, no one understood what he talking about, least of all him. Let him preach to his colleagues in the mines, I figured. Most of the slaves there are half mad anyway knowing they'll never see daylight again."
"But," he smiled even broader, "don't forget what we're ordering slaves to do is a natural function born into them that is mighty pleasurable if you do it right. Most slaves understand this and enjoy the privilege of being allowed to have sex, even if it is solely for their master's benefit. Most slaves aren't so stupid they don't realize their master's welfare is their own welfare too. Any more questions?"
"Yes," another dealer asked. "Can you predict whose going to make a good stud or brood?"
"An excellent question. The answer is yes. A good stud is easily excitable, is quick to harden, quick to shoot off, and recovers quickly for another round. Good studs are also able to deliver big loads of thick, creamy cum that has a pleasant, salty smell. Good broods are also easily excitable as evidenced by hardening of their clitoris to manual stimulation and copious secretion of lubricants, seem to instinctually want to encompass all of the male's organs within them (lifting themselves up onto the male shaft if necessary), and are, for lack of a better word, passionate with their assigned mate, such as putting their arms around his body, scratching his back in the height of orgasm, and trying to kiss the stud anywhere they can. Once impregnated, good broods can deliver the resultant pregnancy easiest if they're broad hipped, have large vaginas, and are sturdy in build, but when we're breeding to produce exotic beauties, these qualities in a brood would be counterproductive. In that case, we often deliver their offspring by Caesarian surgery. It may surprise you to know that healthy women, even the most petite with tiny vaginas, can easily survive serial Caesarian births - we had one lithe East Indian woman who had 23 progeny, each with a Caesarian delivery. Any more questions?"
"Well, if not, we'll proceed with the tour. You may have some more questions when we're thorough."
With that, we entered the giant breeding barn where huge ventilation fans dominated both ends of the building to insure a fresh interior. Each "station" consisted of a smooth wide wooden bench about 18 inches off the ground and four feet wide with a big number painted on it. Shackles were located at all four corners, obviously to hold secure brood slaves less than enthusiastic for the forced mating. Some broods were already in position on the boards awaiting a stud, their arms and legs spread wide in anticipation. Other broods choose to position themselves on their hands and knees with their lips of their vagina fully exposed for a rear entry. The breeder explained that women were given a choice in which position they preferred, since their research showed it didn't make any difference in fertility rates. Male studs, holding two number tags in their hands, were busily trying to find the right station, but as soon as they did, they hung the number tag of the station on a small hook at the bottom of the mating table along with the other tag, the tag identifying the stud so records could be double checked as to brood and stud for each mating. As soon as the stud (already excited by previous conditioning, his own thoughts about his role as a stud, the sexual activities all around him, and his hand if necessary) climbed up on the table, the mating commenced with no preliminaries. Nothing was said between the partners, there was no fore-play of any type, and where the woman had chosen to position herself on her hands and knees, there was no visual contact of any type. Generally, within three or four minutes, the studs were howling and hooting as they shot deep into the brood beneath them, and, once drained, got off the table and went back to their cage to rest and be summoned again in three or four hours. An overseer generally supervised six to eight matings at once with a whip in hand. He chained the broods down if necessary (a fairly rare occurrence since every brood slave fully understood she was going to get fucked regardless of her willingness), whipped the stud's butts if their pistoning wasn't fast enough to led to quick orgasm or if their insertion didn't include the entire length of their shaft. When the stud howled in orgasm, the overseers usually reached between the stud's wide spread legs and squeezed his balls - if he had drained himself properly, his balls were soft and spongy; if he was faking orgasm, his balls remained hard and felt stuffed. Faking orgasm was a serious offense, of course, and if a series of sound lashings didn't solve the problem, the stud slave was usually disposed of to the mines. But this was such a rare event, most overseers could only recall one or two times it had occurred in their tenure. Most of their ball squeezing, they said, was simply to make sure the stud had got the last drop of his man juices into the brood slave.
John and Mark were surprised how quickly one could get bored with fucking when it was done on a production line like this. Somehow, sex seemed mechanical, not sensual and even the studs, each an epitome of masculinity, their massive aroused pricks and balls swinging from side to side as they sought out the correct mating table, went about their tasks mechanically and without much emotion. They looked like they might as well be sweeping out a garage floor or hefting a bale of cotton as far as they were concerned. Although most male slaves dreamed of becoming a stud at one of the breeding farms, the reality seemed a little less glamourous.
"Six years of fucking five or six times a day seven days a week with no breaks," John said. "I wonder when the studs are through their tour of duty if they ever want to get it off again?"
"Well, they're just slaves, after all, John, so what they want or don't want doesn't have much to do with it, does it?" Mark shot back. "I think it beats working in those Surinam mines we saw any day."
"I think you've got more sexual energy in you than I do, Mark," John laughed. "I suspect you were just born all hot and bothered. You might make a good stud here."
"Maybe, if I could choose the stud I'd mate with," Mark retorted which left both doubled up with laughter.
The breeder next showed us the stud's cages which were unremarkable other than they were spotlessly clean and airy with bars on all four sides so the stud could be viewed easily at all times to both prevent him ever trying to unload without permission and to make sure he did his mandatory exercises to keep his body in top shape. The studs represented all races, hair colors, hair textures, and eye colors one could imagine. But all were very large and muscular, very heavy hung (as one would expect a stud to be), had large balls, and all were exceedingly handsome in most people's opinion. They looked exceedingly healthy and disease-resistance which the breeder assured us they were. As the breeder pointed out, it would be foolish to use any other types of studs since you really didn't need that many anyway. You could afford to be extremely selective.
Next we visited the brood's quarters where frequent urine tests to determine pregnancy were the order of the day. Elaborate scheduling on a huge wall chart instructed each brood slave which breeding station she was to position herself at and when, but no information was given them on the stud assigned. Broods testing out pregnant from the last rounds of studding were congratulated and scratched off the list, usually being sent back to their original work assignment until they were a month or so from delivery where they would be brought back to the farm's brooding station for a healthy delivery, a short period of rest and recuperation, and then scheduled for the next mating sessions. The breeder assured us most broods didn't mine this routine too much in that they all looked forward to the pleasures they got from being fucked (the only opportunity ever given them) by handsome studs, but most of all to the one to three months "vacation" they got when approaching delivery, the delivery itself, and the recuperation period afterward. It was the only "vacation" slaves ever got, male or female, and the broods treasured this special privilege simply for adding to their master's wealth a little.
"Do they mind giving up their offspring?" a dealer asked.
"Well, first of all, it's not their offspring, it's mine," the breeder corrected him, "and the broods understand that. But, in answer to your question, the answer is 'no'." Slaves bred for a purpose like this have no expectations of keeping their offspring and have no idea of what they would do with it, let alone care for it, once they had it. After all, these broods are regular slaves and have work assignments they go back to the minute they are fully recovered. How on earth would they care for an infant? Furthermore, the offspring belongs to the master, not to them, of course. It's the master that will take care of the offspring and really is the only person capable of arranging care for it. The broods understand that without even being told. The offspring never see their brood mother generally. The babies are whisked out to the nurseries here and fed by wet-nurse slaves and cared for by them and old men and women slaves who can't do much else but enjoy talking care of the next generation. They teach them everything they need to know as obedience, compliant slaves and nothing else. By the time, they're 14 or 15, we're able to harvest a big crop each and every year and sell them at auction holding just a few of the very best males back as potential studs when they're older. Bred slaves, as you know, draw premium prices nowadays as people realize the advantages of selective breeding and thorough slave training from the day they were birthed."
Although he wanted us to visit the nurseries and slave-training schools run for the bred children, our guide explained we simply didn't have time and, if we were going to be able to do any shopping at all, had to end the visit now. We all personally thanked the breeder for his hospitality as well as his interesting and informative tour, but we all found time for one final question.
"If we want to buy some of your products, what do we look for? Any special identification at the markets?" brought up by a dealer from London.
"The best question yet," the breeder laughed. "Yes, there is a way. We brand all our products as a permanent identification. A small brand, yet easily identifiable and not easily counterfeited. Look for a small star brand on the inside of their left thigh. Out of way for those not liking bodies marked up with a bunch of brands, but clearly visible if you know what to look for. Thanks for asking."
"Thank you!" the dealer said. "I'll be looking for it, starting with our trip to the local markets within the hour."
"You'll see some of our stock there, I imagine. They usually hold some of the prime stock back when they know a bunch of dealers are coming in. But we sell to wholesalers all over the world, so you're likely to see one of our products for sale most anywhere these days," he said with considerable pride.
As the London dealer said, we were at the local market within the hour and feasted our eyes on thousands and thousands of slaves eager to be sold. Most dealers bought up at least a slave or two with the star brands on their inner thigh as not only good investments, but as a remembrance of their visit to the huge breeding farm outside Porto Alegre. But the market featured huge variety and fantastic choice - all at most reasonable prices since slaves were so plentiful here.
John bought up four more slaves - two young 18-year-olds white boys with star brands on their inner thigh who were strikingly handsome and well built as well as massively hung; a 25-year-old white Argentinian of Greek-Italian descent with curly brown hair that formed ringlets, a handsome face, and a great body; and a brown slave about 20 who was smaller but very muscular and well hung and certainly displayed well. Mark bought a slave with a star brand on his thigh as a souvenir of his memorable visit: this 17-year-old boy was tobacco brown with blue eyes and brown hair and had long curly eye lashes, a handsome face, and gigantic sexual organs that were easily aroused. Mark thought he looked perfect as an interesting bed buck to have around the house and John readily agreed after quickly fingering the boy's features.
When Mark and John were finished making all the purchasing arrangements and reboarded the bus for our trip back to the ship, Mark again noticed the extremely sexy driver and the attendant.
"Too bad I can't buy one of them," Mark said to John as the two of them approached the bus door.
"But you can," a voice appeared out of nowhere.
Mark turned to the source of the voice and confronted a large man who explained he was the manager for the bus line the ship had chartered for the day.
"All are staff are slaves," the man explained. "Don't be fooled with their fancy livery. Underneath all those fancy togs, every driver and attendant you see is collared and often tit-ringed. Didn't you notice the ID tags riveted in back of their ears, sir? Oh, I see the problem with these two. We have both of them in long hair so you can't see the tags. Sorry!"
"I'm not used to slaves being clothed," Mark stammered in explanation. "Although, we occasionally uniform them like this or put them in costume for one reason or another - usually for a show or a special party or some such occasion.
"Strip and display," he ordered the two staff in attendance at the bus door. Instantly, both threw off their tight fitted jackets and peeled out of the ultra-tight pants which displayed their large baskets so well, and then slipped off their patent leather shoes. Within 30 seconds, both stood in the standard slave display position before Mark and John stark naked with their thick slave collars and ringed tits fully revealed. Both looked as good without their clothes as they did in them, except the clothes hid the high muscular definition and their very smooth naturally hairless skin. The tight pants had not exaggerated their huge genitals which quickly hardened when Mark hefted their balls and weighed them.
"How much for this one?" Mark said, as he began to stroke the selected slave's shaft and fondled his nipples.
"I can let you have him cheap," the manager said "We're overstocked with attendants right now and I was planning to sell him off anyway in the near future."
The price stated was about an eighth of the price Mark had paid for the slave with the star brand on him just minutes ago in the Porto Alegre slave market. He was immediately suspicious. So was John from the look on his face.
"Both these slaves are sterile, I'm afraid," the manager said. "That's all we buy to train to be drivers and attendants. We never bred slaves so to us it doesn't make any difference and we can get them dirt cheap in that most buyers want a slave that can breed if the buyer decides he wants to do that with the slave. But we never bother with breeding - besides, how could we possibly compete with that huge breeding farm outside of town?"
"I'll take him," Mark said. "I'm not going to breed him either. Can you take a credit card?"
"Sure thing," the manager answered happily. "But could I deliver this slave at the dock when they get the bus there and emptied? I'll send down another driver to pick the bus up. That way it won't hold up the passengers any. By then, I'll have my credit card machine right with me as well as a bill of sale and the ownership certificates for transfer."
"And I'll take this other one," John said as he continued stroking the large smooth shaft of the driver who was beginning to drip a little. "Same price?"
"Same price. Credit card as well?"
"Yes to both. I'll buy the driver and yes, put it on my credit card.".
"Alright if I get them back in livery for the bus trip back to the dock. Company policy, you know."
"Sure, but we'll take delivery with them stripped. You can keep your livery for the next slaves in line," John said. "Leave the collar on them along with the rings but undo their ID tags. The ship will be happy to install new ones for us."
"Consider it done. See you in about 20 minutes down at the dock next to the bus. I'll bring all the paperwork, the credit card forms, and that device that unclips those ear tags. We can throw their livery and shoes in the bus as soon as they've stripped down there."
Turning to the two naked slaves, he ordered them to don their togs and greet the remaining guests as they arrived for the bus trip back to the dock. Within 30 seconds they were fully dressed and solicitously helping each of the dealers back onto the bus who, like Mark and John, didn't realize they were slaves for sale.
When the two friends arrived at the dock, the bus company manager was already there in his car with all the bills of sale, appropriate ownership certificates, and the credit card machine. As soon as the bus had unloaded, he had the two slaves strip and kneel while he removed the riveted ID tags from their ears with the special gadget all large slave-holders had as well as most dealers. As soon as that proved successful with only minor bleeding, the two slaves were ordered to their feet and marched over to the ship's hold manager who knew exactly what to do with them once he had their owner's names and room number grease-penciled on their backs, chest and rumps until he could assign them a cage in the hold. The slaves involved had never said a word the entire time.
When the two masters got back to their suite on the Fantasia, their Italian steward was waiting eagerly for them, as usual. John remarked he looked refreshed, and both he and the slave giggled. But Mark kept thinking about the attendant on the bus he had just purchased. While John was motioning the Italian to get on all fours so he could fuck him doggie-style before supper, Mark went down to the cargo master's office and asked if it would be possible to have a purchase he had made just minutes ago be delivered to his room before the slave was cleaned and caged.
The cargo master smiled. "He must really be something, sir, but in answer to your question, the answer is yes. All we need is your name and room number and I'll have one of the baggage slaves deliver him to your room pronto. But you'll have to clean him up yourself, sir."
"Fine," Mark said. "I appreciate it."
Mark returned to the room to find John plowing into the Italian's ass which didn't surprise him, but he didn't have long to watch the fucking. Within minutes after his return, their was a knock on the door and two kneeling naked slaves outside. One slaves had a neck leash on him, held in the hand of the other kneeling slave.
"The slave you requested, master," the slave holding the leash said, his eyes glued to the carpeted floor while he lifted his hand to give Mark the other slave's neck leash.
"Yes," Mark said as he brought the new purchase into the room and shut the door on the baggage slave still kneeling in the hall. The slave's hide was still decorated with the grease pencil markings on his chest, butt, and back.
"Get in the bath and wash those markings off, slave,"Mark commanded, pointing to the adjoining bathroom as he unhooked the neck leash. "Otherwise, you'll ruin the sheets."
"Yes, master," the slave said humbly as he hurried to fulfill the command, unperturbed by the fucking of another collared property going on in front of him.
Within a minute the slave emerged marker-free. Mark pointed to his bed adjoining the bucking couple in the other bed and motioned for the slave to get on his back and lift his legs for a fucking.
"Yes, master," the slave said smiling as he quickly got on his back, spread his legs wide, and then lifted them up over his shoulder to best expose his hole. It was obvious he was no stranger to being fucked and it was also obvious this task came as no surprise to him. But the smile on the slave's face gave one the impression he certainly enjoyed being fucked as well.
By the time the ship brought up anchor and slipped out of the Porto Alegre harbor into the open seas, both John and Mark were lost in the use of the slaves, both pumping into them slowly but deeply to prolong their pleasure. By the time they were completely satiated, they just had time to hit the late dinner serving and the evening's entertainments. The Italian steward was given the task of taking the former bus attendant back to the cargo master's office so they could mark his hide again. Only then could he be properly cleaned and caged at last.
TO BE CONTINUED
Comments are greatly appreciated. Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)