Guiliano Imports

GUILIANO IMPORTS

by Bill Smith

Making the Arrangements:

"Guiliano Imports" the deep voice answered the phone.

"I.. I .. was given your number by a good friend of mine who .. who. who has had some business dealings with you," I stuttered not knowing quite what to say.

"Who was this friend?" the voice replied suspiciously. "We'll need to know. We only do business with customers who we are sure of," he added coldly.

"Sure of?" I asked. "In terms of credit or character?" I shot back rather astonished.

"Both," he answered without emotion, but then added, "some of our transactions require a certain amount of discretion as well as confidentiality in order to protect our clientele."

"John Morgan gave me your number. He had purchased some items from you a few months ago."

"We've dealt with John for several years now," the voice brightened a little. "I'm Eduardo Guiliano, the old man's son. Are you interested in purchasing items in the same category as Mr. Morgan?"

"Yes, definitely, but our tastes are a little different. I understood through him you'll need to check my credit before we get too far."

"You got that right, Mr... ?"

"Parsimi. Guilo Parsimi, Italian, like you. That's spelled P-A-R-S-I-S-I and the account number at Suisse Credit is 43808821.

"First name G-U-I-L-O?" Eduardo replied. "My secretary can validate your account on another line while we're talking, but I'll need to check this out with John Morgan. No offense - it's just we've got to be careful to protect our clients."

"I understand."

"I'll get back with you as soon as I get a hold of Mr. Morgan. If you don't hear from me, we're not interested in doing business. What's your number?

I gave Mr. Guiliano my number and hung up.

Ordering the Merchandise:

The next day the phone rang.

"Eduardo Guiliano here, Mr. Parsimi. Sorry it took so long but I couldn't get ahold of Mr. Morgan until late last night. He recommended you most highly as a potential customer and assured us you would not only be discrete but could afford anything you wanted. Suisse Credit more than confirmed that appraisal I might add. Look's like we're in business. If you're still interested, I need to get some general parameters of what you might be interested in now and we can work out the details later."

"Well, Mr. Guiliano. I'm looking for at least eight males, all around 18-20 years old, all about the same height and physique, muscular, but with different skin and hair colors. Also," I hesitated, "all should be very masculine, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Guiliano. Any particular nationality?"

"No."

"Do they have to speak English?

"No."

"And I assume you want them pre-trained?"

"What does that mean?"

"Trained to accept the reality of their status in life now."

"Yes - they'll need to be thoroughly trained. I don't have the time, knowledge, or energy to get involved with all that."

"Well, Mr. Parsimi. I've got good news. We can meet your request and then some of you're willing to pay the price which will be pretty steep on stock like that."

"I'll pay if you deliver what I want," I assured him.

"In that case, the best thing to do is pick and choose yourself. That's the only way you're really going to be satisfied. We could pick some out for you, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say, and our experience has certainly shown that's true. We can present a wide variety of offerings and you simply pick out those who suit your needs best."

"Sounds good. When and where?" I replied enthusiastically.

"Where do you live?" Mr. Guiliano asked.

"The mother country - Italy - Mr. Guiliano."

"You're in luck We maintain one of our warehouses on a small unnamed island near Delos in the Aegean where we own the whole island for privacy. You go to Delos and we'll pick you up in our boat and take you over to our island. When you get to Delos, tell them where you're at the small landing strip there or the dock - just call 03-881-5644-012 and in 20 minutes our boat will be there to pick you up. Once you're on our own island, you'll be our guest so you don't need to worry about accommodations - we'll take good care of you and get you back to Delos whenever you like. But, Mr. Parsimi - you'll probably want to stay at least overnight. Selecting stock can be tiring, especially after a long trip."

"Sounds good. I can get to Delos in just a few hours from here by chartered plane. But how do I get my purchases back here to my estate?"

"Oh," Mr. Guiliano laughed, "let us worry about that. We're experts at shipment. We'll have them at your estate within 48 hours and all charges are included in the purchase price."

"Sounds great. Give me that phone number again. I'll looking over my schedule and I'm free day after tomorrow. I'll get a plane out of here then in the morning. Should be at this airstrip you were talking about no later than noon day after tomorrow."

"I'll set it all up. Your contact there on our island is Arista Mythos - I'm sure you'll find him a charmer and he'll handle all the details for you - that's his job."

Arriving in Delos:

The small charter landed around 11:00 A.M. and I called the number given me on my cell phone. So far everything was going as smoothly as John Morgan had assured me it would. When the phone answered, it was Arista Mythos himself who told me one of his staff was already at the air strip to pick me up.

"Look for a young man around 25 or so driving a white BMW," he chuckled.

I looked around and sure enough, rapidly approaching me was a white BMW driving right up next to the plane. An strikingly handsome man leaped out, asking "Mr. Parsimi?"

"Yes," I replied as he quickly took my overnight bag from the pilot and put it in the luggage compartment and just as quickly opened the back door for me.

Within seconds we were speeding away from the airstrip down a dusty two lane road.

"It will only take us five minutes or so to get to the boat," he explained pleasantly.

"What do you do with the car?" I asked, curious if this was his only job.

"We just leave it locked up at the dock. We just use if for trips back and forth to the airstrip and a little sightseeing if a client wants to see the sights of Delos. You interested in seeing Delos?"

"Not now. I was here years ago but never knew there was another island nearby. I didn't see anything from the ship I was on at that time."

"No," he replied. "The shipping and air routes are all on the north side of the island. Our little island lies to the southeast and is far enough away you really can't see it from Delos, even on a clear day. Out of the way doesn't quite describe it," he laughed.

"Guiliano Imports owns the whole thing?" I asked.

"Yes. Only a few real old fishermen lived there when they bought it and they promptly all moved to the mainland once they had a few coins in their pocket. They were so old they're all dead now and everyone has forgotten the place ever existed. I tell the guys at the dock we're from Mithia, another island about 25 miles west of Delos. They view Mithia as the end of the earth, so they just tease me a little about having to live there and never ask questions."

"How did you end up living here?" I asked.

He stared at me briefly and then realized I was really cueless.

"No one asked me about it," he smirked as he reached up and pulled down his turtleneck sweater until I saw a bright metal collar fastened tightly around his neck. "I was shipped to the island in one of Guiliano Imports' own boats a number of years ago."

"But you speak Italian perfectly," I exclaimed, somewhat embarrassed that I hadn't figured out that Guiliano Imports obviously used their own products in lieu of regular employees..

"I should. I'm Italian, but I also speak enough English, German, Russian, Spanish, Arabic and a little bit of Chinese to be able to do my job."

"Well trained," was my only comment.

"Yes, but not just in languages," he winkled suggestively. "There's a quiet alcove right off the road up here if you're interested."

"Yes, very well trained," I laughed, "but I'll wait until we're at the company's island if you don't mind. That's a rain-check, not a 'no'," I chuckled, "if you look as good out of your clothes as you do in them."

"Yes, ... Master," he replied with a beguiling look, as he carefully again covered his collar with the turtleneck sweater top. "I don't want the dock workers to think I'm a hippie or something," he chuckled in explanation. "We keep the island's affairs totally private."

My First Sample:

It turned out the boat was equipped with an autopilot so I didn't have to wait to get to the island to take my guide up on his invitation. Even though he was a beautiful man clothed, he looked even better out of his clothes than in them and was as skilled in the use of his body in pleasing me as he was in his mastery of languages. Within 15 minutes he had drained me dry and I just lay there studying his naked very muscular body. Not only was his neck collared, but he sported a small "G" brand on his right pectoral, both of his prominent brown tits had been fitted with 2" brass rings, and his genitals were banded with a thick collar of their own, made of the same material as his neck collar and tit rings. The latter appliance forced his package out in front of him and not only emphasized it's large size, but made it extremely easy to handle.

"You're something to behold," I commented as I twisted the band around his genitals a little, noting it was tightly welded. "Are all of Guiliano's products decked out like this?"

"Most," the boy answered, "but it can be removed easily if the customer wants it differently. Master Mythos thinks we sell better this way."

"And the brand?"

"We've all got that. Guiliano Imports brands all their stock. Reminds us of what we are, of course, and then Guiliano is proud of his products too," the boy reflected.

"You remember being branded?" I asked.

"It was the turning point of my life, seems like," the boy answered without malice. "After that, I realized I'd never be free or anything like that again, so I might as well make the most of it."

"The most of it?" I queried.

"Well, you know, adjusting to what is - getting treated decently, making myself of some use to those who were now in charge, avoiding punishments, pleasing my owners - you know - that soft of stuff that all slaves have to deal with. What I didn't realize was the rest of it?"

"The rest of it?" I prompted.

"At that time, I didn't realize slaves take pride in what they do just like anyone else. But I soon caught on and took advantage of the opportunities offered me. I learned a lot since then and am really proud of how much I've accomplished in just a few years. Learned all those languages, can please most anyone in bed, and am proving I'm a darn good overseer that can be trusted. That's more than I'd learned in my whole stinking life up until I came here. Now I'm a trusted and valued member of the organization that gives me a lot of pride inside.."

You could have accused the boy of hubris, but it didn't come off that way. He seemed genuinely pleased that it had all worked out so well and that, even though he was now a piece of property owned by Guiliano Imports, he had gotten further in life than he ever thought possible, thanks to them. You definitely got the impression he thought the trade-offs in personal freedoms had been well worth it. But then, I reflected, we Italians are always ones to take advantage of the opportunities presented us.

Since the island was in sight, I expected the guide to put his clothes back on, especially since some of my cum was oozing out of his ass and down one of his thighs for all the world to see. But instead, he carefully folded his clothes and placed them in a small locker in the pilot's compartment before turning the autopilot off and guiding the boat neatly into the moorings while remaining stark naked.

When I looked at his bare body rather pointedly, he explained.

"Even the overseers are nude on the island, master. It's one of the Guiliano rules. Only Mythos and the guests like yourself are clothed. After all, we are a training and sales facility," he added as if all of this was self-explanatory and made perfectly good sense.

"In which case, I better get my duds on unless I want to be mistaken for a Guiliano property," I chuckled.

The guide laughed. "Don't worry, master. We'd know the difference. You're not collared."

"No," I laughed back. "But I hope there's more difference than that."

"Oh, there is, master," the guide replied with great respect.. "You're obviously a person of great wealth and resources or you wouldn't be a guest here. The rest of us had only our bodies as assets and now, even those belong to Guiliano or whoever buys us. We've learned there is a natural order in the world, just like Aristotle claimed. Those who are masters and those who are slaves. Destiny has placed you as a master - fate has cast me as a slave. Both of us have to adjust to what is!"

"You're more Greek than Italian," I laughed. "But I agree with your philosophy. It makes for a happier world all around."

"Yes, master," the guide said with humility as the boat docked and he leaped out with my overnight bag and led me up a small stone path to the main facility still stark nude and a proud posture to him.

The Man in Charge:

"Welcome to our island, Mr Parsimi. " a nice looking middle aged man stepped forward and shook my hand firmly. "Aristo Mythos here at your service. I see Santos got you over from Delos OK," Mythos said as he gently patted the bare rump of the collared slave who had served as my guide and, noting some stickiness, wiped his hand off in Santos' hair. "From the looks of things, he has been appropriately hospitable," he laughed as he wiped some cum off of Santos thigh and again wiped that off in the slave's hair.

I blushed at his brashness.

"No need to be embarrassed, Mr. Parsimi," he said assuredly. "That's exactly why you're here, isn't it? To pick out some stock for your pleasure?"

"Well, yes, but I hadn't counted on being treated to some of your offerings on the boat ride over," I shot back. "I thought I'd at least have to buy them first."

"Nonsense, Mr. Parsimi. You're our guest here and all the slaves are available at all times. It's part of their reality."

"Am I your only guest right now?" I asked.

"No, we've got a young man from Moscow with us. But he's not buying. He just supervised the delivery of 25 new boys from Russia he'd acquired and sold to us. He'll be leaving in the morning now that his stock is safely in our hands for extensive training. But he's an interesting person and I'm sure you'll enjoy his company when you get a chance. He's been in the business for about two years now and has some fascinating tales about acquiring some of his stock to share. He doesn't speak a word of anything but Russian, but Santos can act as your interpreter. Would you like to freshen up before looking over some of the available stock?"

"Yes, I probably need a shower after enjoying your initial hospitality," I replied as I looked pointedly at the cum still running down Santos' legs.

"Let Santos help you. He needs a shower himself from the looks of it. Santos, take Mr. Parsimi to Suite #1 and serve as his body servant."

"Yes, Master Mythos," Santos said as he again grabbed my overnight and led me a short distance away to a lovely guesthouse whereupon he carefully undressed me, administered a thorough shower with him scrubbing my back and massaging my legs and lower back, then toweling me down gently and carefully unpacking my overnight before offering himself once again for my enjoyment if I so pleased.

"Not right now, Santos," I chuckled. "Later."

Santos promptly helped me dress and then stood to one side with his head bowed, obviously waiting for my instruction.

"I can rest later. Let's go see some of that stock your master was talking about."

"Yes, master," Santos said cheerfully, as he opened the door and motioned for me to follow him.

Selecting the Stock:

As we entered the nearby warehouse, Santos picked up a whip on a table near the door looking amazingly like a British riding crop. The large facilities were clean, airy, and well organized with individual cages all along the perimeter of the building as well as alongside three low aisles dividing the area into sections. Since the cages were small - only about 4 x 4 x 4, they were stacked three high everywhere so overall I would judge there must have been at least 300 cages available. It looked like a good two-thirds of them were occupied..

"This is the stock that's completed training and is waiting for sale," Santos explained. "We're plenty well stocked right now, although, as you can see, we can house a lot more here. It all depends on sales and the number coming out of training at any given time. These properties have been here a short while - we haven't had too many buyers visiting us lately. All the others are in one or another of the training facilities."

"How many there?" I asked.

"With the 25 Russians delivered today, that should bring us to around 1668 in one stage or training or another. But training takes a while - usually 6 months to a year until they're really marketable, so you've got to have that many in training if you plan to have many sales offerings at any given time. Right now, the mix is about right. This gives the customer a good choice without giving us a serious surplus of stock on hand. Mythos told me you're interested in male stock around 18-20, well built, and heavy hung. He also said you wanted them about the same height and body build, but in different colors. Is that correct, master?"

"That's about it, Santos. I might as well tell you exactly what I'm looking for. I want eight litter-bearers who can tote a heavy litter all day long, have the endurance to run with that litter for considerable distances, look like a matched team in terms of how they're built - but in different skin and hair colors to make the team interesting to look at. They'll all have to be able to easily lift a heavy load and carry that load all day long if necessary, sometimes at a fast trot, so they'll have to have the muscles and wind to make that possible without too much fuss. They're as much for show as anything, so they're usually not going to be wearing much while serving as litter slaves and nothing at all when they're serving me in the privacy of my estate so they've got to have nice-looking bodies and be handsome in their appearance. In the evening, they'll be waiting table and servicing me and my guests with what their bodies have to offer and I don't want to be embarrassed in front of my guests by their deportment in that area so they'll need to be well trained in that area."

"Anything else, master?" Santos said humbly, totally unperturbed by my request as if everyone asked for this or something very similar.

"Well, I certainly like your rings and banding and think they would look good on my team. I assume they've already been branded with the Guiliano trademark and collared?"

"Yes, master. They're all branded, of course, but their collar is generally replaced with something a little nicer than their training collars which are just a loose heavy hinged iron collar with a padlock. Most owners like to install a good tight brass or copper collar that's welded on them permanently. And, if you want, we can tit ring and genitally band your purchases right here before you leave. May I suggest their collar match their rings and banding - gives a nice coordinated look, if I may say so, master," Santos said with lowered eyes.

"Santos, does that band around your genitals give you any trouble? It sure shows you off well."

"At first, master, it felt mighty strange and sort of threw me off balance, but I got used to it within a few days and barely notice it now. But it took my tit rings a good two weeks to heal and a good six weeks before I wasn't aware of them all the time. Even now, master, they're mighty noticeable to me - change in temperature, the wind hitting them, bouncing up and down when I walk or run. I'm not sure a slave ever gets totally used to them, master."

"A constant reminder, huh, Santos?"

"That and my collar, master. A slave never forgets they're collared, especially when they're fitted tight like this. You always know you're a slave," he smirked. "No way to forget that fitted out like I am."

"Is that good or bad, Santos?"

"Oh, it's good, master. Keeps me focused on what I am now."

"That's good to hear, Santos. I wanted the fittings for pure decoration, but I see they have deeper implications than just a mere decoration."

"Much deeper, master. There's like a brand in that respect."

"Well, let's see what you've got on hand," I said as I rubbed my hands together in anticipation.

"Your timing is good, master," Santos smiled. "The slaves have just finished their daily four hours of exercises followed by their routine cleaning and grooming procedures. With this many stock in one room, you begin to smell all those bodies by late evening."

Without further ado, Santos quickly disappeared into the maze of cages. I heard some cage doors creak open as the locks were undone, bare feet jumping down to the floor with those caged on the top rows, and a few grunts as the objects to be scrutinized stretched out their cramps from their confinement in the tiny cages. Within five minutes, 15 handsome young men were assembled in front of me with their legs spread apart, their hands neatly placed in back of their collared necks, and with their heads bowed despite their erect posture to best display their bodies. Amazingly, they were all about six feet tall, ,very muscular, and shared about the same body physiques. As requested, they were a variety of skin colors varying from pure white to a creamy brown to the yellow Asians to the pure black Africans. Their head hair varied from the long flowing stresses of almost pure white blondes to the short-cut kinky jet black curls of the Africans and everything in between. One up for inspection had bright red hair, a well-tanned ivory hide, and freckles despite the tan. All were at least 8" flaccid, thick in circumference, and neatly circumcised. with large, but not freakish, balls. It was easy to view their organs since all had been completely body shaved. It was obvious Santos knew his stock well and what cages held what.

"If you don't like them smooth skinned, master," Santos intoned, "you can always let it grow back. Five of these properties were covered in hair when we first got them. But we always show our stock smooth skinned so a purchaser can easily see what he's getting."

"No, I like them smooth skinned anyway," I replied, "so they'll need to stay that way."

"They're trained to keep themselves fully body shaved, Master, if that's what you want," Santos said assuringly. "Would you like to see them hard, Master?"

"Yes, just to be sure," I replied. Santos grabbed the first slave in the line, the aforementioned redhead, and begin pumping his shaft vigorously. In less than 30 seconds, the slave was rock hard with a drop of pre-cum on the tip of his penis.

"That was fast," I exclaimed.

"Yes, master. They're not allowed any sexual outlets once they leave training so they respond well to the buyers' inspections. This boy here probably hasn't shot in at least a week or so - I think it's been that long since a buyer examined him rather thoroughly at that time."

"You mean he milked him then?" I asked.

"Yes, master. Most potential buyers want to see what their output looks like, both in terms of quantity as well as quality," Santos replied as if he were displaying a diary cow. "May I suggest, sir, that we feel it's a good idea before actually buying a boy. We want to make sure you know what you're getting, Master. These slaves are trained to expect nothing less of any buyer, master, and actually look forward to it, knowing this may be their only chance to discharge before another buyer shows up, Lord knows when. Would you like me to stroke him to full eruption or would you prefer to do that yourself, Master? We usually catch the output in one of these little paper cups so you can see the total output plus have it handy to taste if you want."

"Not now, Santos. I'm not sure I want a red head in my team."

The slave under discussion tried to hide his disappointment in not being allowed to alleviate his need as well as his rejection for being bought. He knew he might sit in his cage for weeks before another buyer came along who was specifically looking for someone with his coloring and in the interim, without any relief, he knew he would be perpetually hard, dripping constantly, and almost obsessed thinking about alleviation of his sexual needs, especially in full view of all these other beautiful bodies stroked , fondled and milked all around him. He bit his lip to keep from crying, but never broke his "display" stance knowing Santos' whip was ever ready and Santos loved to have an excuse to use it.

Santos quickly moved to the next slave and started stroking the huge semi-erect tool of the very handsome mulatto attached to the large organ. "Shall I bring him to fruition, Master?" Santos asked as his hand firmly wrapped around the organ and pumped away.

"Yes, he's looks like something I might want," I replied as I walked in back of the beautiful slave being milked and admired his tightly clenched ass, his muscular back and thighs, and his massive shoulders.

Within one minute, gob after gob of thick stringy cum was flowing in eruption after eruption into the paper cup until it was almost full and the slave was obviously spent, gasping for air as he struggled to maintain his equilibrium and perfect "display" posture. The orgasm had left his skin shiny with a light coating of sweat and his eyes slightly glazed.

Santos handed me the full cup. I sniffed the hot offering, sipped a little to appreciate its fresh, clean but salty taste, and ran a little between my fingers to see how thick it was. The cum was still steaming warm and had such a pleasant after-taste, I decided to quaff down the whole cup in one big swallow. It was creamy and thick and I savored it a while before sending it on its way down my gullet.

"Delicious, Santos. I'm surprised you aren't selling him as a milk stud."

"We would if that's what a buyer wanted," Santos laughed. "But I think you'll find most of these slaves can produce just as well as this mulatto boy. Keeping them caged does wonder for their output," Santos said with a professional tone.

"Where did Guiliono Imports get this boy?" I asked.

"I'm not sure, Master, but it would be in his provenance book on the stand here, quickly handing me the correct volume catalogued by cage number.

I opened the book and read.

"Male, age 19, 6.0 tall, 210 pounds. 8" flaccid, 11" erect. 4" penis circumference flaccid or erect. Purchased in Istanbul from our agent there 13 months ago who had obtained him from Istanbul prison authorities. Son of an Istanbul dock prostitute, this boy, according to the mother, is the product of her mating with an American black sailor, one of her steady customers at that time. Legal history starts at age 12 with purse snatching and other tourists annoyances, prostitution starting at age 14 in a brothel near the docks where his mother also worked, soliciting in gay bars and coffee hours throughout the city; and grand theft when he was 15. Placed in Istanbul prison following court sentencing for 10 years. Prison life characterized by prostitution to older prisoners for small favors, and ready adjustment to prison rules. No family known, so Director of Prisons sold him to agent along with his death certificate, which claimed he had been killed by older prisoners in a fight over his sexual favors. Took to slavery well once properly caged and food and water intake was totally controlled. Training proceeded without any troubles and fairly quickly. Slave himself states he is happier and more satisfied than at any time in his life and fully understands his only asset is his handsome body and that his body is the sole property of whoever buys him.. Should adjust well to new owner, regardless of demands. No diseases, good health record to date. Purchase price: $350,000."

"I'll take him," I stated, closing the folder.

"Without fucking him first?" Santos said in some astonishment.

"I can't fuck them all, Santos," I explained with a smile.

"You want me to fuck him for your examination?" Santos countered.

"Takes too much time, although I may have you do that later if time allows."

"At least let the slave suck you, master," Santos almost pleaded. "He's very well trained in that area."

"I've no doubt that he is, Santos, but not now. We have a lot of others to pick out while we're here."

"Yes, master," Santos said, obviously thinking I was being a little hasty in my selection of stock. "But most buyers try a slave out thoroughly before buying them, master," Santos almost pleaded..

"Not this one, Santos - not when I'm got a whole team to buy up."

"Yes, master," Santos said resignedly as he moved to the next slave lined up before us, thinking of the weeks and weeks of training a slave got to handle being fucked thoroughly as part of any sales inspection..

"Ah, a pure black," I said as I ran my hand quickly over the swelling pectorals of the next slave in line. I than reached down and tightly squeezed his balls, testing for reaction. He smiled and thrust his pelvis further into my hand.

"Cooperative," I commented as the black's penis swelled to full erection in seconds.

"Yes, master," Santos said. "Guiliano Imports got him with 19 others about a year ago from the Persian Gulf. "But I've taught him enough English to obey most commands," Santos said proudly as he sorted through the files until he found the one for this slave and handed it to me.

"Male, estimated age of 18, 6' 0" feet tall' 225 pounds. Penis 12" erect, 8" flaccid with 5" circumference fully erect, 4" flaccid. Bought in lot of 19 from Saudi Arabian prince who had received him as a gift from his grandfather when the slave was 15 and who served his owner as a personal body servant and bed buck. Owner died in unfortunate automobile accident and all of his slave stock (19) was sold to our Persian Gulf agent in that owner's family was currently overstocked with slaves themselves. Slaves from this lot are relatively unique in that all of them are products of the grandfather's selective slave breeding program which furnishes most of the royal household's current slave needs. This program stresses rigid adherence to breeding only the best stock while retaining pure blood lines. Therefore, this slave is a pure Mandingo black, being bred from full-blooded Mandingo slaves owned by the royal family for generations. Trained at the breeding program for full slave compliance, then specifically trained to serve as a competent bed buck and personal servant before being gifted to his grandson who used him in that capacity with a high degree of satisfaction according to our reports. Took to training in our facilities with little difficulty other than initial loneliness due to inability to communicate with anyone other than other slaves in his purchase lot. As a bred slave, he has no concept of personal choice or individual freedom and is well adjusted to slave status and duties, readily performing any task asked of him. No diseases with excellent health. Purchase price: $360,000."

"Shall I milk him now," Santos asked, reaching for a paper cup, "or would you prefer to fuck hm or have him suck you off first."

"I'll milk him," I said, taking the paper cup from him and proceeding to pump the black's huge staff until, quickly, the paper cup was full to overflowing.

"Blacks seem to have prodigious outputs," Santos commented, looking down at the spilt semen on the floor. "He can lick that up while you're tasting his juice," motioning for the black to quickly get down on the floor and lick up his overflow.

I sampled a little of the frothy warm output and then handed the cup back to the black being examined, motioning for him to drink it down. He did in one eager gulp, smacking his large lips together in appreciation.

"Sucrum," the black said with lowered eyes as he carefully put the emptied cup back on the nearby table.

"That's 'thank-you' in Arabic," Santos explained as the black quickly resumed his display position, still with a full erection.

"He's still hard as a rock," I commented.

"We could milk him two or three more times before he'd lose that trait," Santos laughed. "Some blacks are that way - especially the pure-breds like this one. They're always ready to go, seems like - some of the rest of us envy them."

"I'll take him," I said.

"You want me to demonstrate his fucking and sucking skills, master?" Santos asked. "He's very talented in both areas."

"Not now, Santos. We've got to move on here."

"Yes, master," Santos replied, obviously disappointed.

The next five purchases consisted of another pure black, this 20-year-old from a market in Chad; a Chinese 21-year-old bought by Giliano Imports at a Hong Kong market; another 19-year-old mulatto somehow illegally 'purchased' from a Texas prison in the United States; a showy blonde 21- year-old from Australia beautifully tanned kidnapped by Guiliano's Aussie agents and trained by Guiliano Imports for over two years now; and a hugely muscular blond lad Guiliano Imports had picked up in the Ukraine. All five were priced slightly lower than the two I'd already purchased. All had displayed well, all were obviously very eager to be purchased, and all responded to Santos' milking with eagerness.

I was a little unsure of the Aussie slave since his training has taken so long and he'd obviously been forced into slavery from different circumstances than the others. I asked Santos to fuck him then and there which the overseer did with vigor, eager, I think, to show off his fucking skills to me when he was in the driver's seat. I shouldn't have been concerned. The training has obviously been totally successful. The Aussie took to the fucking with no resentment or resistance evident and openly displayed his eagerness to being fucked, churning his ass at every chance to heighten his user's pleasure.

As Santos withdrew after shooting a full load up the boy's ass, I asked him if the Aussie was naturally gay.

"I don't think so, Master," he laughed. "I bet we had to rape that boy 200 times before he learned to relax and enjoy it. But," he paused as the fucked slave quickly cleaned his shaft with his mouth, "he sure seems to appreciate a good fucking now, doesn't he?"

"That he does," I admitted as I felt the Aussie's prominent tits, now fully erect and, reaching with my other hand, stroked the slave's quivering erect prick.

"You like getting fucked now?" I asked the boy under examination in English.

"Yes, master," the Aussie said respectfully as he pushed his penis further into my hand. "Very much so."

"In that case, I'd like you and your overseer in my suite tonight," nodding to Santos to make sure he understood.

"We"ll be there," Santos promptly answered, obviously pleased that at last I was going to test out one of my purchases and possibly use his body once again.

"Santos, I'm getting a little tired. We've got two more purchases to go, but I think I'll put those off until after breakfast tomorrow. I've seen about all the slaves up for inspection I can handle for one day, I think."

"Yes, master," Santos said understandingly. "If you'll just give me a minute to cage the stock back up and mark the cages of those already sold. It won't take me long, master." With that, he again grabbed his riding crop and began to usher the stock back to their small cages, but then paused.

"Do you want the Australian slave with you now, master, or do you want him sent to your room around bedtime?"

"Bedtime with you with him," I smiled. "I wanted time to chat with the Russian agent who delivered some new stock after dinner."

With that, he quickly re-caged the stock and lead me back to the main facility where dinner would be served shortly while I casually looked at some of the other caged stock available.

When Santos returned, he saw me peering into the cages nearest the door.

'If you see anything that interests you, just let me know and you can examine them tomorrow," he said. "You may see some stock outside your original specifications which you may want to purchase over and beyond your team requirements."

"You're quite the salesman, Santos," I laughed, "as well as a good overseer and we both know you're damn good in bed."

"Yes, master, but don't forget the seven languages I speak," he responded with a huge smile lighting up his face. "I can even scream in ecstasy in all seven languages if you so desire it to heighten the experience."

"No wonder Guiliano hangs on to you," I laughed back. "You're too good to let loose."

Dinner with the Russian Agent:

The Russian agent proved as interesting as Aristo Mythos promised and, to Mythos's surprise, he spoke English well, so Santos' serving as a translator wasn't needed.. As the three men supped together, waited on by three extremely attractive house slaves, naked save for their heavy metal collars, the Russian explained where he had obtained the lot of slaves he had just delivered.

"Russia's a strange place these days," he started out. "The economic situation is desperate for many, and so a lot of boys without families hit the streets trying to supplement their meager incomes from the factories. When the factories close, they go into selling themselves full time but soon find they need a "sponsor" or they get beaten up and aren't allowed any customers whatsoever, no matter what they look like. After the Mafia takes them over, it's just a matter of time until they end up in one of the Mafia's brothels where they put out on schedule or are quickly whipped into shape, let me tell you. After there is no resistance left in them and they do what they're told without questioning it anymore, the Mafia picks out the best looking among them to beef them out with a lot of forced exercises and good food, gets them immunized against all the major diseases, teaches them proper grooming techniques, and then starts to market them internationally. By this time, they pretty well know there's no going back - the few that balk end up floating in the nearest river as an example to the others - and gradually accept the fact they're now just owned properties.

When they're first referred to as slaves instead of just boys, they're usually shocked, but eventually the reality of their situation sinks into them, especially since they're usually shackled most of the time now and are totally dependent on their 'masters' for their food and shelter. By the time it comes to market them abroad, they usually aren't too concerned when we cage them for shipment. Most of them feel their new life certainly won't be any worse than working the brothels day and night and might even be better. Slaves, are that way, Mr. Parsimi. They always think the next sale will lead to a better life. I don't know why, but that's the way they think."

"How many stock do you obtain that way?" I asked.

"Oh, maybe 20 to 30 percent."

"Where do you get the others?"

"The old state-run orphanages are a big source. The supervisors there, left with no funds whatsoever since the collapse of the Soviets, simply sell off their inmates that have come of age and are fully developed. It's the only way they can raise any funds to take care of their youngest charges. The orphans don't have any say in it at all - one day they're orphans, the next day they're shackled, collared, and find themselves in an agent's holding cell in some warehouse somewhere. We agents typically sort them out and market the best looking, best hung ones to places like this, Guiliano Imports. The rest we sell out to third world countries looking for cheap labor where no questions are ever asked. It's quite a lucrative market either way. Even the ugly ones bring a good price if you can find the right labor market. Of course," the Russian agent smiled, "some of them take considerable training before we can market them with confidence."

Ariso Mythos laughed. "That's the understatement of the year. Some boys like that take up to 12 or 13 months before they're properly broken to slavery. When we buy boys like that, we always have to figure in the considerable training costs involved as well as feeding them all the time they're learning what being a slave is all about."

"Well, at least the Mafio brothel slaves are fairly easily trained," the Russian countered.

"That I admit," Mythos laughed again. "Four or five months of good rigid training for the world market and they're ready for even Guiliano Imports to market them."

"And your other sources?" I asked.

"Well, we buy up prisoners from the state-run prisons, but only those without any family and usually only those given death sentences or at least life imprisonment. The prisons are glad to get rid of them and what use to cost them in food and housing turns into a tidy profit. Of course, only the young and able are marketable, but that's the bulk of their new prisoners anyway. Those poor souls are glad to be sold - it sure beats the alternative - and accept their slavery easily enough it seems like. I imagine they're easy to train, aren't they, Aristo?"

"They're certainly the easiest of the Russian stock we get," Aristo said. "Slavery to them isn't any different than their prison life, they never had any freedom there anyway, and they were fucked half to death while being incarcerated anyway. So being sold off as a slave doesn't mean much of a life style change for them. The real problem we have is getting them back into good health and building up their physique to market standards. But getting them used to being bedded down, following the orders of others instantly, and all that - it's a piece of cake with these former prisoners. Of course we're only buying the best looking, heavy hung boys anyway, so they were probably used to be fucked at every opportunity while they were serving their time in those drab Russian prisons."

"What about those prisoners not very good looking?" I asked.

"There's a good market for them - anywhere cheap labor is wanted. You can't beat slave labor when it comes to cost. Even feeding them well, you still can pay back their cost in 5 to 8 years if you've good a good overseer who knows how to manage slaves and isn't timid when it comes to proper discipline," the Russian replied.

"Yes," Aristo Mythos added, "good management is essential with any slaves - whether they're good looking or not. And all slaves need to be kept in an environment of rigid discipline for their own good."

"Santos seems to be an excellent overseer," I commented. "I notice he always carries that little riding crop in his right hand and he's not afraid to use it at the slightest provocation."

"Santos is good," Aristo confirmed. "Being a slave for years now himself, he fully understands a slave is only happy and content when he knows what is expected of him and what the clear-cut boundaries of his existence are. Translated, that means Santos lets his boys know exactly what they're going to do with a happy smile on their face or get their ass whipped until they can't walk for a week and their food, water, and sex outlets cut until they can think of nothing else but their bodily needs. The judicial administration of pain, combined with rigid control of how a body can fulfill their natural needs to survive, is a great educator, Mr. Parsimi. Santos understands that - he's been through it all himself and he knows, once a slave accepts that fact, he can be happy and content in his new life. He certainly is as I'm sure you have noticed.."

"Yes," I smiled. "I've going to enjoy him and a new Australian slave I bought in my bed tonight."

"Once wasn't enough, huh, Mr. Parsimi," Mythos smiled. "It seldom is with Santos, as I can vouch for myself."

"I feel cheated," the Russian laughed. "We dealers are never allowed to use Guiliano's own stock, so I'm always stuck with the Russian stock I bring in. But I'm not complaining. The last batch worked out very well and I've got a couple of those prison boys shackled to my bed as we speak awaiting my evening's pleasure."

"Fucked to death by the time we take title on them," Mythos chuckled.

"No, just starting their serious training," the Russian laughed in return.

"And you, Mr. Parsimi, are looking for some new slave stock here?" the Russian asked.

"Yes, eight to be exact. I'm buying them as litter bearers among other things," I replied.

"Litter bearers? They still use those contraptions in your country?" the Russian looked startled.

"No, but I want one on my estate just for the fun of it. It's a big ornate thing with lots of room and will take eight big and sturdy slaves to make it work right. Should be lots of fun to show my friends, and, of course, I'll use those big handsome studs in a lot of other ways too," I explained.

"A literal harem," the Russian said enviously.

"That's the plan," I replied.

"A final coffee for anyone?" Mythos asked. When we nodded in the negative, he invited us to look over our waiters who, like everyone else on the island, was for sale. "Perhaps you'd like to have them suck you off as an after-dinner treat?" he invited.

We looked them over as they stood next to us in full display position with their semi-erect organs thrust out for our convenience in handling them. One was a handsome young black boy, another a striking Asian man of about 25 with magnificent musculature, and the third that was a very- well equipped blond boy of about 20 who Mythos said was from Argentina. But both the Russian and I declined further use of them in that both wanted to save our output for the slaves that awaited us in our guest suites.

"Oh, very well," Mythos said as he continued stroking the muscular Asian slave nearest him. "I'll just bed them down myself if you don't mind."

We all laughed as Mythos led the three slaves in attendance back to his quarters by their neck leashes and the Russian and I headed back to our own guest rooms.

That night, the Australian proved he was indeed a rare find and that he was completely and thoroughly trained in all aspects of what a slave was expected to do for his master these days. His sucking skills were excellent and his ass was well trained to deliver a most satisfying fuck. The Aussie seemed to enjoy whatever demands were placed upon him and thanked me profusely for using him each time I did. Santos was even better than in the boat coming over and, since we had plenty of time, I fucked him three times before we all went to sleep.

Final Selections:

At breakfast the next morning, the Russian looked exhausted, but well satisfied, reporting he hated to part with the Russian slaves he had bedded down last night. Mythos said the same about the three waiters he had taken to his quarters, but muttered something about business being business and all slaves here were just market commodities and there were plenty more from wherever those slaves came from.

I soon joined Santos once again for the final selections who again had the stock he'd selected and which I hadn't already bought exercised, cleaned up, and back in the display area. He reminded me that if I wanted a good variety, it might be good to look at a Latino and a Polynesian and, when I nodded my ascent, quickly led me to two he thought might do.

Both were exactly the same height and weight of the stock I'd already purchased, were just as well built and heavily hung as the others, and certainly looked equal to the task of hefting the heavy litter rather easily. Both were very good looking with well chiseled muscular definition on very handsome bodies and both had unusually beautiful facial features. The Latino was a rich dark brown with almost feline facial features with his green eyes, dark eyebrows and heavy eyelashes. The Polynesian was a much lighter brown with a smooth milky complexion, blue eyes also heavily lashed, and magnificent pectoral development topped with large brown nipples. Both were at least 8" flaccid which quickly grew once I started handling them.

"They're well trained, master," Santos said. "Would you like to try them out?"

"I don't have the strength after being with you all night, and I doubt if you do either," I laughed.

"Well, I'll milk them first," Santos said as he reached for the paper cup, "unless, of course, you want to, master."

"Oh, go ahead," I said as I began to seriously look over their bodies front and back.

Within a minute, Santos had a full discharge out of the Latino which, in six successive spurts, quickly filled the cup almost to the top while the Latino bucked and heaved some in the throe of his orgasm while trying to control his verbal moans as he emptied his balls. Santos quickly moved to the Polynesian and within no longer a time, had that slave spurting his juices out into a fresh cup, breaking out into a full sex sweat as he did so which covered his body with a nice sheen. Both slaves were a good 12" in full erection, but quickly shrank back to 8" when they had completed their milking although their 5" circumference remained the same.

I drank down both cups of hot cum in that it was one of my favorite breakfast treats and these slaves' output was particularly fresh and tasty. It might be a good idea to milk all eight studs I was buying every morning, I thought, in that it would give me a good fresh supply each and every day and wouldn't hurt the stock one iota. I mentioned this idea to Santos who thought it was an excellent plan and assured me the slaves would like nothing better, reminding me that the milking would probably be their only chance to alleviate their own needs. I hadn't thought of that, but could see where the slaves would appreciate such an opportunity to have a satisfying orgasms even if on schedule every day, especially if there were no other opportunities afforded them.

"They'll be forever grateful," Santos assured me, "and love their master all the more for it. Look at that grateful look in their eyes right now," had added and sure enough, the slave's eyes reflected their intense gratitude at finally being allowed to shoot off themselves and relieve the chronic aching of their overfilled balls.

"I guess I should see if they fuck OK" I murmured as I finished the last of my breakfast treat. "Would you mind fucking them for me, Santos, of should we just have them fuck each other."

"I'll be delighted to fuck them, master," Santos said, "but if they fuck each other, you could judge how well they take a fucking as well as how well they can fuck on command, master."

"Good idea, Santos," I replied.

Without further ado, Santos ordered the Latino on all fours and the Polynesian to mount him for a deep fucking. I was surprised the Polynesian had the strength to do so after just being milked and mentioned it to Santos.

"They're trained to last through three or four orgasms if that's what their master wants," Santos explained. "It will be no problem."

And indeed it wasn't. The Polynesian pumped long and deep into the Latino's ass while I studied the Latino's face as he handled the huge intrusion up his rear. At first the Latino bucked and wiggled a bit to better accommodate the large shaft entering him, but soon settled down to the steady rhythm of the pounding with only a constant low moan of ecstasy issuing from him as his own organ swelled and started dripping heavily as he reacted to being fucked so vigorously. The look of ecstasy on his face revealed he'd obviously learned to enjoy this aspect of his slavery and he now welcomed his own whoredom.

"Did he always enjoy it like this?" I asked Santos.

"Hardly," Santos snickered. "He fought being fucked a lot more than most - Latinos are that way - they come in here thinking you're not a man unless you're doing the fucking. But after a while, you realize you're not raping them anymore - they relax and begin to enjoy it. By the time they're through training, they crave it as you can see for yourself with this slave here. He's a natural whore and just didn't know it," Santos laughed. "Slavery has revealed his true self just like it did with me."

When I indicated I'd seen enough, even though the Polynesian hadn't shot into the boy's butt yet, Santos had them trade places, but this time with the Polynesian on his back with his legs lifted as the Latino mounted him from the front and entered him in one huge stroke, the Polynesian's slimy prick sliding between the two bodies. The Polynesian was a little nosier in taking a fuck, groaning as the Latino's large shaft quickly entered him, squirming around until his rectum stretched, and then moaning with each new thrust into him as his arms reached around and started scratching the back and rump of the Latino drilling into him.

"Stop that scratching, you whore," Santos said as his riding crop nipped at the sides of the Polynesian's torso. "You know better than that."

"Yes sir. Sorry, sir," the Polynesian moaned as his scratching turned instantly into gently caressing his fellow slave's back and he pressed his hole even further onto the prick well within him.

"Well, they both seem trained in that department well enough," I said as I motioned the demonstration could stop.

Santos ordered both slaves back to a full display position, their erect pricks now dripping with each other's ass juices. "They're trained not to just accept a good fucking, but to actually enjoy it," Santos said with some satisfaction since he had been in charge of their training.

"Yes, it certainly seemed that way," I conceded. "But a slave's lot is to do what he is told whether he enjoys it or not," I cautioned.

"Certainly, master," Santos quickly replied, "but we have found that if a slave enjoys it too, he never loses his initial training in the area."

"You've got a point there. We can't always have a slave in training, now can we?" I laughed. "Santos, I'll take these two you picked out to complete my litter team."

"Yes, master. Would you like to see some other stock while you're here?" Santos said. "We have some other interesting stock caged right here, and then there are well over a thousand in our training facilities, not counting the new Russians brought in yesterday."

"Always the salesman, aren't you, Santos? The only time you haven't been hustling stock was when I was fucking you. That seems to settle you down at least temporarily," I laughed.

"Sorry if I was too forward, master," Santos said sincerely. "Perhaps instead you would like to fuck me again?"

"Not now. Maybe on the boat going back to Delos. I need to get back to Italy to stay on schedule. I take it you can handle getting the eight slaves shipped to my estate in a reasonable time?"

"Master Mythos will go over those details with you, Master, along with the payment procedures. Meanwhile, Master, I will be cleaning and preparing the stock for shipment in their cages in that we ship sold stock out fairly quickly, Master - just as soon as your payment clears the bank."

"How are they shipped?"

"On one of our own small vessels. They look like fishing boats on the outside, but inside, they're fitted out for quick secure shipment of slaves to their new homes. When they get to port, the slaves are drugged, their cages are crated up so no one can see their contents and they are transported to a closed truck which will deliver them right to your estate's slave quarters, master. The drug we use will wear off about the time you uncrate them on delivery at your estate so they'll be frisky and ready to use the minute they arrive and are fed and watered. Although we completely clean them with four successive enemas before shipment and don't feed them from this moment on, they still may need a good cleaning before you put them to use. But, master, in your case, I doubt it. It should only take eight or nine hours to reach the port nearest your estate in our high speed boats and another couple of hours by truck. Most stock don't mess themselves until they're caged for 24 hours or longer if they're cleaned out properly to start with."

"Santos, you're a wonder," I exclaimed. "If Guiliano ever decides to sell you, tell them to notify me first. I'll outbid them all to get you as my chief overseer."

"Thank you, master, and what a pleasure it would be to serve as your property. I shall be sure to tell my owners that if they decide to sell me."

With that, Santos led the two slaves I had just bought back to their cages before starting shipping preparations for the whole batch.

Meanwhile, I met with Mythos who quickly tallied up the purchases, prepared all the sales papers and certificates of ownership, and arranged for me to electronically transfer the necessary funds to the Guiliano account in Switzerland. When that cleared within minutes, he carefully put all the slave's provenance and health records, along with their certificates of ownership and bills of sale and the keys to their shipping cages into a large leather portfolio.

The Training Facilities:

"Anything else you'll like to see while you're here?" Aristo asked.

"Well, I do have about three hours before my plane is scheduled to arrive. Would it be possible to see some of your training facilities?"

"Of course, Mr. Parsimi. I can at least give you some idea of how we handle fresh stock just being shipped in, some boys about half way through their training, and boys in the final stages right before we put them up for sale. We ought to be able to get that done in a couple of hours or so. Just follow me," he said graciously as he led me out the door for about a four-block walk to a huge building surrounded by electrified fence, double door entrances, and other features of most any maximum-security prison. There didn't seem to be any windows whatsoever and the doors were solid metal so no one could see in or out.

The guards quickly opened the doors for us and, once inside, it was bright and airy - huge skylights, high above the area below and heavily grated with iron bars, filled most of the roof and could be opened to allow fresh breezes to enter - which they were at the moment. The walls were plain cement block but most were covered with small individual cages, stacked five high with walkways outside each of the levels for easy access. Trainers were much in evidence, identifiable by their leather body harnesses and the numerous whips and electrical prods fastened to their harness for ready access. Most carried a 6' whip in their right hand which seemed to be made of some synthetic material resembling cowhide and which branched out into 12 separate lashes. Other than that, they looked like most of the others in the building: naked, collared, branded on their right pectoral with Guiliano's own brand, and some tit-ringed and genitally banded.

"The best trainers are slaves themselves," Aristo explained as he saw me staring at them. "It seems you know how to train a lot better if you've been through it yourself. Using non-slaves as trainers works, but it's just not as good. Non-slaves are either too hard on the new stock or too lenient, whereas slave trainers seem to know exactly how far to push a slave on any given day without having them beat to death or getting off too easy for effective slave training."

"Interesting," I replied as I watched one of the trainers order one of his charges down over a sawhorse for shackling, and, when the slave didn't move quickly enough for him, lashed out with his whip until the slave was screaming in agony, his back a mass of ugly red and purple bruises, almost diving down over the sawhorse to get in the commanded position.

"These slaves here are mid-way through their training as you can probably judge from all those whip marks on them everywhere a whip can reach. The new Mylar whips we're using are a Godsend - they hurt worse than any whip we've ever used and bruise a boy up for a lasting impression, but they rarely lacerate the skin. Before we started using them, most of our slaves' bodies were pretty well scarred up by the time they finished training and there used to be blood all over the floor in here. Now training goes somewhat faster and we can sell a finished product with very few permanent scars on their pretty bodies."

By that time, the slave just disciplined was draped over the sawhorse being vigorously fucked by his trainer's exceptionally large penis. The trainee made no sign of resistance; instead he was busily churning his ass to heighten his user's experience and was moaning softly as his body was being used. His own organs were rapidly swelling in response to being fucked. - a sure sign he was responding appropriately for a slave.

"Won't be too long until he's a full-fledged whore," Aristo Mythos laughed as he watched the slave's organs beginning to drip profusely in the excitement of being fucked. Once they reach that stage and are able to get similarly excited at being ordered to suck someone off, they're almost ready to market successfully."

All around me, slaves were being fucked, were sucking their trainers, were having huge dildos driven up their asschutes, or were standing complacently while their trainers played with their tits, their balls, or fondled other parts of their bodies.

"These slaves are through the basic slave response training - you know, learning to kneel, position, get on all fours, and wait at ease with their heads and eyes lowered. And by this time they generally respond to any and all commands without question or any hesitancy. What we're doing now it shaping them into responding immediately, always demonstrating subservience and humility, and learning thoroughly their body is for their new owner's pleasure no matter what he or she may want. They know they're a slave long before they get to this stage of training - now we're working on making them a slave of some value. Before the trainers are finished with them in here, they'll take considerable pride in doing what's asked of them to the very best of their abilities. This stage generally takes three or four months for most of the stock."

"How long for the initial slave training?" I asked.

"A little longer if slavery's new to them. Usually about five to eight months with extremes both ways. If we get ahold of a person who was a slave before, it doesn't take much time at all of course. Same's true if they were a lifer prisoner somewhere - life as a slave isn't much different than their life before so they adjust quickly. But some, generally middle-class spoiled kids who are kidnapped or debtors sold to us by the Mafia can take up to a year before they're properly broken to slavery. But they all break at some point or another, believe you me," Aristo laughed.

"How do you know they actually accepted their new status?" I asked.

"I'll show you," Aristo replied as he lead me to another whole area of the huge building. "This is where we train brand new stock. Look, over there are those Russian boys that were just delivered yesterday. They look scared to death, are embarrassed at being displayed without a stitch of clothing on them, and are still trying to hide their genitals. That's the way new stock generally behaves. But you'll be amazed how quickly they adjust to being nude all the time, especially when everyone else is in the same condition, and good solid whippings every day let them know no nonsense in cooperating with us will be tolerated. It's important to beat them soundly at first - until they think they're going to die from being beaten work's best. Then they get no water and no food until they do something we want they wouldn't dream of doing in their old life - like standing on full display with their hands in back of their necks while we run our hands all over their bodies. We don't allow any sexual outlets with new stock, so after a while they're constantly horny which only helps the training. Hell, we don't even allow them to shit or piss without getting our permission. Any hint of resistance to any of this gives us a good excuse to beat them senseless with our Mylar whips, shock them at the slightest provocation with these electric prods or withhold their food and water until they think they might die. Sounds harsh, but it really works, especially if you start right in on them the minute they arrive. Those Russians, for example, will not get any food or water for at least 48 hours no matter how well they behave simply so they learn whose in control of their lives now, they won't be allowed to jerk themselves off, and they'll be beaten several times even if they haven't done anything wrong - the theory is they're beaten just because they're now slaves and slaves need to be beaten for their own good. By nightfall, they will have been forcibly fucked three or four times shackled to those sawhorses over there and before the week is out, they will have been forced to suck their trainers off three or four times every day. Our trainers claim constant fuckings, combined with a heavy whip, are what acclimates a slave best. I don't know - seems to me food, water, and sex deprivation would have a big hand in it. Well, at any rate, buckle under they do. And, you know, Mr. Parsimi, once a slave buckles under he pretty well stays that way the rest of his life. Good training seems to be a lifelong proposition - kind of like learning to ride a bike - you never forget it."

"When do they acquire those beautiful physiques I saw on every single slave you had up for sale?" I asked.

"We work on that from day one. Those Russians over there, for example, will be put into a heavy exercise routine for four hours starting today under the whip and prods where they'll give it everything they've got or get beaten half to death. That four-hour routine stays with every slave here right up to the time they're sold and shipped out. Nobody's going to pay much for a slave not in top condition these days, but by the time they reach the marketing stage, the slaves have learned to enjoy all those exercises and have learned to take considerable pride in their beautiful bodies.'

"Why would they take pride?" I asked, rather innocently.

"Their body is all they've got anymore, even if it does belong to someone else now. You've got to have pride in something and they know they've got splendid bodies now. But most of them also take pride in being a good slave, fucking well, pleasing their owner, and all the rest of it before they're marketed. It's how a slave carves out a life for himself. How valued am I? How much to people admire my body? Is my master or mistress pleased with me? Do other slaves look up to me? Would other masters like to owe me? It's all a slave has to define themselves. Despite the fact they are just slaves, they are still human, despite the fact we often just view them as livestock."

"You should look at our correctional center," Aristo Mythos said as he led me to another area.

Here the walls were covered with embedded shackles, leg irons were fastened to the cement floor, stretch racks and whipping posts were everywhere, and on numerous tables and stands were huge assortments of various types of whips, huge dildos, mouth gags, jaw restraints, mouth bits, butt plugs, thrashing rods, wicked looking whipping canes, catheters and even a few hot branding irons smoldering in one corner. In yet another corner were the facilities to fit various types of slave collars, everything from the simple hinged metal collars used in training with a padlock to the thick welded type found on most slaves sold off, tit rings of all types and description, genital bands of every material and thickness, wrist, arm, and ankle bands, along with all sorts of shackles, leg irons, etc. A long row of benches equipped with various sized dildos embedded in the bottom bench had chains cleverly attached so that slaves could be impaled on the dildos and then chained so they had no choice but to remain seated with the enormous dildo stretching their insides. Not one control device had been overlooked, it seemed.

"Well equipped," was all I could say.

"Yes," Aristo agreed. "And well used. Almost every slave in training visits this room frequently for some infraction or another no matter how hard they try. And, of course, we can fit out slaves being sold to their new owner's specifications. It won't be long until those eight you bought will be back here being fitted with the tit rings and genital bands you ordered along with their new welded collars to match.

As we talked, several slaves, passed out from the pain of their discipline, were being removed from their shackles on the wall and dragged back to their cages while others were being chained to the whipping post. Within minutes, as the whipping commenced, the place was filled with the slave's screams of anguish that seemed to reflect the fact they had no way of escaping their master's discipline, no matter what form it took. Still others were shackled by their arms and knees to a nearby table while huge dildos were forced up their backsides as the slaves begged and pleaded for mercy, but none was forthcoming from the trainers. Others were impaled with butt plugs, chained tight to the bench holding the plugs, so that their own body weight forced the plugs further and further into them.

"What trouble did these slaves get themselves into?" I asked, looking at both the slaves on the whipping post and the slaves locked to the table on their hands and wide-spread knees with their ass forced open as wide as it would go as giant dildos were being forced up them.

"Nothing outside the routine, probably," Mythos answered. "Otherwise, they would be getting some memorable shocks where it really hurts," he laughed. "They probably balked doing something quickly enough after being ordered to do so, or they may have given a resentful look to one of the trainers or they may have forgotten to have thanked their trainers for correcting them with just a normal whipping. We don't tolerate such nonsense around here A judicious amount of pain administered at just the right moment makes a lasting impression on a slave and helps them adjust to the realities of their lives more quickly.."

"Do you expect these slaves to thank the trainers after they been disciplined to this extent?" I asked.

"If they're still conscious, of course, Mr. Parsimi. A slave has to learn he should always be grateful when a master corrects him. Such correctional discipline is what makes him become a better slave. Most slaves figure that out eventually."

"Of course," I answered. "Only makes sense."

"Those slaves you bought are fully trained to thank you for your discipline. If you are negligent in that area, they're trained to remind you of it. They've been taught that's the only way they can be of utmost satisfaction to you."

"Good," I responded. "That way I won't feel guilty when they're screaming in pain."

"Just the opposite, Mr. Parsimi. You should feel proud you're being a good master - one they are trained to relate to."

At that moment, the eight slaves I had purchased were ushered in by Santos wielding his whip over their backs to keep them in exact line and positioned where he wanted them. He greeted the two of us heartedly with a quick wave of his hand as he shackled each of my new slaves to a separate "fitting" table where they would be unable to move a muscle. The "fitter" soon started in on the first slave I'd purchased, the Turk, removing his old training collar and replacing it with a new shiny metal one he welded on with a great shower of sparks. He then quickly fitted the genital band, making sure it was good and tight before welding it shut, again with a great display of sparks.

"Doesn't that welding gun burn them?" I asked.

"Not directly, but the collars and bands heat up quite a bit in the welding and the hot metal often burns the slaves a little but it heals fast enough - nothing like the branding they've all endured," he scoffed. "Those surface burns hurt like hell, but they heal up fine in a few days. We put an antiseptic cream on the burns and will send some for you to use if you want in their shipping crates which you should apply for two or three days after you get them."

Lastly, the fitter quickly pierced each of the slave's nipples, inserted the ordered rings, and welded them shut - this time with the slave screaming in pain rather than just groaning and gritting their teeth like they did when the tight collars and ever tighter genital bands were installed. Those being fitted had every muscle on their body showing the strain from their tit-piercing and the quick ring insertion through the sensitive piercing. Each slave was left gasping for air in a sea of tears by the time the rings were installed, blood running down their chests from the piercings.

"Northing like tit-rings and genital bands to remind a slave of just what he is," Aristo remarked. "You'll be happy you're fitting them out this way. They'll appreicate it in the long haul. It's a constant reminder their body is your property. Even now, they're already thinking all this is being done to them at the mere whim of a powerful master who now controls them and their body in all ways. It's a powerful lesson. I wish all slave owners had the sense to fit slaves out this way. They would have happier, more content slaves in the long haul."

"Santos claimed it was as effective as branding," I reflected.

"Well, he should know," Aristo chuckled. "He's been fitted out with rings and bands since we first acquired him."

"How long for their tits to heal up?" I asked.

"The bleeding will stop within the hour probably, but those tits are going to be mighty sore and susceptible to infection for up to two weeks for most slaves. We'll lavish their tits with antiseptic cream as soon as they stop bleeding and tape the rings to their chest so they don't swing around and start the bleeding again. I'd suggest you spread that cream on them for a good 10 days and keep their rings taped tight to their chest. After that, they'll be fine and those rings will swing around on their tits like they've always been there. Makes a handy thing to leash them by once they're completely healed," Aristo commented. "A boy leashed by his tits doesn't give his owner one drop of trouble. We send out plenty of strapping tape and antibiotic cream with each delivery that's had its tit's ringed so you won't need to buy anything extra. Other than that, no special considerations are needed. You can fuck them the moment you get them - just rmember not to play with their tits while you're doing it for the first couple of weeks. After that, those tits are all yours and, after a boy's ringed, they just grow and grow until there's something substantial to play with," he winked. "You'll be happy you had it done. Over time, your slave boys will learn to appreciate them too."

"Sounds good," was all I could think of saying, having no expertise in the area myself.

"Santos keeps slaves on a strict schedule," Aristo Mythos laughed. "He'll have them in their shipment cages before we can get you back to Delos. But we still have a little time for you to visit the last stage of training here."

This area was close to the shipping docks, where stock was first bought in and, a good many months later, shipped out to new owners.

Slaves in this area were unshackled, sported perpetual semi-erections, and seemed to possess a calm demeanor as they responded to their trainer's commands. All had a pleasant smile on their face and seemed eager to please, not out of fear, but out of pride. Most of their naked bodies were healing up nicely from the numerous "corrections" they had received in their prior training - none showed open lacerations and most had only a few purple, green, and yellow bruises marking their bodies as remembrances of past lessons. It was obvious their bodies would be without blemish by the time they were marketed. And what bodies they were after months and months of forced exercise and weight-lifting to obtain clear definition. Magnificent to a man, they almost strutted in pride of their bodies, showing them off at every opportunity to each other, to their trainers, and certainly to us as visitors. Most thrust their pelvises out when they saw us, again proud to display their large genitals, now almost constantly erect. All had an inviting smile on their face as they went about their duties of sucking each other off, getting fucked, fucking, fondling another's body, or standing quietly as they were milked - all under the careful direction of their trainers.

"We're a long way from those Russian boys trying to hide their genitals," I laughed.

"Yes," Aristo laughed with me. "But those Russian boys will be strutting their stuff just like these boys here in a few months."

"I don't doubt it - not after what I've seen here this morning. Unfortunately, I'll need to get started back, interesting as this place is," I replied.

"Of course, Mr. Parsimi." With that, we left this last segment of the training center and Aristo Mythos led me back to the main facility's front door..

Leaving the Island:

"Very pleasant doing business with you, Mr. Parsimi. If you have any problems with the shipment or with the slaves once you have them toting that big litter of yours around the estate, just let me know. Guiliano takes pride in their products and will stand in back of our training procedures. Occasionally, we have to bring a boy back for retraining, but not too often. Still, if you encounter any problems at all in any area, just give me a call and we'll have the slave back here for a serious round of retraining or give you a new one of equal value instead. Santos assures me you have made some excellent choices among our stock." With that he gave me his card and led me to the front door where Santos, stark naked as usual, was awaiting me for the return trip to Delos.

"Santos will see you to your plane. Bon voyage, Mr. Parsimi, and remember to take advantage of Santos on the way back as a parting remembrance."

That's exactly what I did the minute the boat was on autopilot and this time it was even better than the previous night. I fucked him until it was time to dock whereupon he again donned his clothing, docked the boat, greeted his friends on the piers, and got the BMW for the short trip to the airstrip.

"Want to use me again before the plane, Master?" Santos said with a big smile. "I can always pull over in a grove of trees if you want."

"Thanks but no thanks, Santos. Don't you ever wear out?"

"No master," he chuckled. "I love whoring even better than lording it over those slaveboys back on the island."

"I'm beginning to believe it. But I will say, Santos, you're damn good at both from what I've seen."

"Thank you, master, and I won't forget your offer to buy me if the opportunity arises," he smiled.

With that, we were at the waiting airplane and Santos quickly helped me in and placed my overnight case in the luggage compartment of the chartered plane.

The pilot promptly started the engines and took off. I wondered if I would ever see the fabulous Santos again?

The New Stock Arrives at the Estate:

Within 13 hours of my own arrival at the estate, a large truck was at the front gate asking for clearance stating they had an express shipment from Guiliano Imports. After I told them the route to take to the delivery area, I quickly pushed the button to open the electric gates and hurried out to supervise the unloading. My trusted steward was right behind me and, I knew, would handle all of the details once the crates were unloaded and the truck was long on its way back to the port.

"There's eight of these crates, sir, and they must weight over 300 pounds each. We'll need to use the power lift gate to get them off the truck," the burly driver stated almost apologetically nodding to his assistant to start shoving the first crate back to the power lift. Between the two of them, they had all eight crates on the ground in back of my estate within ten minutes.

"What's in those crates, anyway?" the assistant asked. "They're sure heavy. Smells like animals or something."

"Some art work from Greece," I explained. "Very delicate. That's why I had it shipped special handling and express. I suppose that odor you thought you smelled is due to the straw they often pack the art in. I knew you guys always take real good care when its marked special handling and I thought the express charges were worth it so they didn't get lost in some warehouse somewhere," I explained jovially, handing each of them a sizable tip.

"Thanks, sir," both of the truck drivers exclaimed, obviously pleased when they saw the tip was indeed generous. "Hope you find that stuff in good shape. We tried to get it here as quick as we could."

"I'm sure it is - thanks to you," I replied as I quickly signed the receipts they had handed me, signifying I had received the crates at such and such a time.

"If you want, sir, for a little extra, we could stick around and uncrate the stuff for you," the head driver ventured. "We made such good time up here we would stick around 30 more minutes or so and still make it back in time so as not to get the boss on our back."

"No thanks," I replied. This stuff is better left crated just like it is until I can get around to dealing with it now that you're got it here safe and sound. I don't have time to fiddle with it right now. But thank's anyway. I appreciate the offer."

The truckers were so happy with their generous tip they didn't try to hustle the estate's owner any more and quickly drove the truck out the exit, jabbering to each other the whole way about their good fortune in delivering something, at last, to a person who knew enough to tip a driver who'd done a good job.

As soon as the front gate was again secure, my steward immediately took a crow bar and begin prying the boards lose from the cages underneath. Quickly revealed were eight sturdy metal cages lined with straw, each with a magnificent body stuffed into it just now beginning to move just a little.

"Just like they said, Sergei," I said to my steward of many years, a Polish slave I had bought over 10 years ago from a underground dealer peddling his stock in Italy at the time, "the drug is just now beginning to wear off. If we wait a few minutes, they can walk of their own steam back to the slave quarters where you can get them cleaned up, fed, and watered. Then you can have them move their cages back into the storage room - we may need them if we ever sell them!"

"Yes, master. Should I give them a series of enemas when I'm cleaning them, master?" Sergei asked pointedly.

"Might as well, Sergei. It'll get them used to the routine and I really don't know which of them I may want to use yet today."

"Yes, master, " the steward replied with lowered eyes. "The new stock is certainly first quality, master, if I may say so. I don't think I've ever seen eight prettier and better built bodies in my whole life, master."

"They are a good looking bunch, but they cost a pretty penny, Sergei. Any one of them cost ten times more than I paid that nasty little German dealer that sold you to me years ago, even though I admit you were a mighty good looking buck back when I first bought you."

"Inflation, master," Sergei smiled.

"Even taking inflation into account, any one of these pieces of slave flesh would bring three times more on the block than you could of in your prime. Admit it, Sergei, they're better looking, better hung, and better built than you ever were."

"Yes, master," Sergei chuckled. "They certainly are, but they don't have my years and years of experience in pleasing an exacting master."

"Maybe not, but I'll take care of that deficiency very shortly. On the other hand, they don't have mouths that run on and on either," I replied.

"No, master," Sergei replied, getting the message he was reaching the limits of proper slave protocol with a master, no matter how long they had lived together.

The crated slaves were rapidly becoming more and more active, stretching within the confines of their cramped cages and opened eyes were beginning to take in their new environment. I handed Sergei the keys to their cages and indicated he should proceed getting them lined up and standing on their own two feet so we could look them over.

Sergei reached down to the belt around the form fitting pants and shortened turtle-neck shirt I generally had him wear around the estate if we were expecting visitors and unhooked his multi- bladed slave whip, similar to the one Santos seemed to prefer back on the Greek island. With a sharp crack of the whip, he introduced himself as the head estate steward who would be in charge of them as their chief overseer from now on. Whipping off his turtle-necked shirt to expose his tall metal slave collar and his ringed tits, he explained that he himself was a slave so he was well aware of all the tricks and chicanery slaves were capable of, and that he ran a tight ship with lots of discipline: whippings with his own slave whip (waving it in the air for them to see) for the slightest mistakes or any hesitancy whatsoever in fulfilling an order. They were to respond to him by a simple "yes, sir" or "No, sir" befitting his position over them. All food, water, getting to piss and shit, and alleviating their sex needs were earned privileges and would only be allowed with express permission of him or the master, and most slaves were whipped with a Mylar whip at least once a day whether they did anything wrong or not - all slaves were routinely whipped because they were slaves and needed to be reminded daily of their obligations - but much more severe beatings would be added if any problems were encountered with the slave during the course of a given day. Problems were defined as not demonstrating total subservience to their master or him at all times, talking too much or without permission, any looks or actions that could be interpreted as resembling resistance or not wanting to do a given act, and any act that didn't demonstrate the slave wanted to please the master to the best of his ability. They were not allowed to have any sex outlets or even touch their bodies in any way without direct permission from their owner, Mr. Parsimi, who had been kind enough to buy their miserable bodies for his use here at the estate. Sergei added that no slave ever wore clothes while on the estate, but would be dressed if they were taken off-grounds for one reason or another in the same type of clothes they first saw him in: turtle-necked shirts to hide their slave collars and tit rings cut off below their chest to best expose their abdominal muscles, and pants especially designed to flaunt their big baskets like the pants he had on right now. . Their bodies would be used for a lot of manual work around the estate, generally under his supervision, for serving as litter bearers for the master when he desired that type of transportation, and, of course, for his sexual pleasure or the pleasure of anyone they were loaned out to. They were to keep themselves in top physical shape at all times and toward that end they would be exercised regularly if the manual work assigned or carrying the heavy litter did not keep their physiques perfect. Any backsliding from their training would not be tolerated, but would result in quick shipment back to Guiliano Import's Training Facilities.

Sergei was pleased this last statement brought a visible shudder to each and every slave being addressed.

"Just because I'm wearing a pair of pants now doesn't mean I've forgotten I'm a slave just like you. So I know how you think. I understand how you feel. I know you better than you know yourselves, you bastards. So don't think you can pull any wool over this slave's eyes," he stated, looking each slave straight in the eye. "If you try it, you'll end up with a body beaten so badly no one would give a lira for you, let alone waste the cost of feeding your body. On the other hand, you cooperate with me and your master, you give your whole being to everything you're told to do, whether it cleaning out a pig pen or taking it up the ass, and you've manage to have a reasonably happy and fulfilling life just like I have."

"Well said, Sergei," I said rather warmly. "We do seem to enjoy our life together, don't we," I added, "and I still enjoy bedding you down. Which reminds me, you better tell them you'll probably be using their bodies now and then for your own pleasure."

"Yes, master," Sergei beamed at my praise. "You're most generous."

With a quick command and a sharp crack of his whip over the slave nearest him, Sergei had each new slave pick up and carry his cage to a storage room before moving them into the slave quarters for their thorough cleaning, obviously convinced they were fully capable now of carrying their heavy cages rather than waiting until later. Before all the cages had been hefted and carried away, each slave had tasted Sergei's biting whip on numerous parts of their body - a ritual Sergei utilized to esablish his authority over them in all things right from the very beginning..

With 20 minutes after the truck had first delivered them, there wasn't a trace of the slaves or their cages visible from the main house. This was by design, of course. The slave quarters, totally soundproofed, were semi-underground, far out of sight of the main house or anyone visiting it.

The Ukrainian and the Slave from Chad:

That night, I had Sergei bring me two of the new purchases I had only hurriedly examined when I had bought them - the huge muscular blond from the Ukraine and the equally well built pure black from Chad in central Africa. Both were sparkling clean now, refreshed after a thorough bath and plenty of hot food and a fresh watering, and both had been cleansed out and completely lubricated by Sergei in preparation for the night's activities. Sergei had also "polished" both slaves with a light coat of body oil which made their skin glisten in the soft light of my quarters.

As they ended my quarters, totally nude except for the restaining tape and antiseptic cream over their newly installed tit rings, they immediately sank to their knees in obeisance with their collared necks bowed and their knees wide spread to best display their sexual organs.

"As you requested, Master," Sergei said indicating the two kneeling slaves attached by their collars to his leash. "Do you wish me to stay for supervision, Master?"

"Yes, Sergei. I really don't know these slaves well enough to trust them yet."

"Yes, master," Sergei said as he removed the leashes and retreated over to a corner with his head bowed but with his hand gripping his ever-ready slave whip.

Since neither slave spoke Italian yet, I spoke to them in English in which they understood simple commands from their training back on the Guiliano island.

"You," I said pointing to the Ukrainian slave. "Suck me," I commanded.

Instantly, the Ukrainian crawled forward on his knees as I opened my robe, and swallowed my organ to the root in one gulp before suctioning it with hollowed cheeks for all he was worth. I moaned at the warm pleasurable feeling of his throat massaging my shaft and ran my hand through his thick, blond hair. His throat muscles seemed to seize my organ as he closed around it, massaging it vigorously and then he ran his tightened lips up and down by shaft, gripping it tightly in the process. Before I knew it, I shot a huge load down his throat. He never once faltered, but instead slurped and swallowed until every drop of my large discharge was residing in his stomach. Once the last discharge was down his throat, he swiftly cleaned by shaft with his tongue until it was completely clean.

"Thank you, master," he said humbly in English in a most sincere and soft, pleasing voice.

I let my robe slide to the floor as I ran my hand through his hair again.

"Would you like to fuck me now, master?" the Ukrainian slave invitedly asked as he again resumed a kneeling position with his genitals in full display.

"I'll need to recharge after that draining, slave boy," I replied, "but I'm sure my steward would be happy to fuck you."

"Yes, master," both the steward and the Ukrainian said at once, the steward quickly moving over from his corner position peeling off his skin tight pants in the process (as a slave he wasn't allowed any underwear or shoes, steward or not), while the Ukrainian slave moved forward from his kneeling position.

"On my back, master, or on all fours?" the Ukrainian asked to make sure he was complying with my wishes.

"Hands and knees, slave. I can see how you take to the fucking better that way," I responded.

"Yes, master," the Ukrainian responded as he quickly assumed the commanded position, spreading his knees wide to again best expose his open hole.

Sergei just as quickly entered the hole his entire length, giving the slave under him no chance to adjust to the large intrusion. Instantly, he was pumping in and out of the hole, plunging the full length with each stroke but being careful not to grab the slave's tits beneath him..

As Sergie pistoned away into the slave's asshole, I studied the Ukrainian's beautiful face. It changed slowly from a grimace of pain at first entry to a look of resigned acceptance as his ass stretched itself fully open and finally to a look of sublime pleasure as Sergei continued plunging full length into the boy beneath him.

I hadn't read this boy's provenance yet and this was a good chance to do it.

"Male, age 20: 6'0" tall, 215 pounds: penis: 8x4 flaccid, 10x5 erect. Blond, blue-eyed Ukrainian acquired by our agents over 15 months ago from a German dealer specializing in local purchases, mainly rural, around Kiev. Boy sold at age 18 by aged "parents" who had taken homeless boy into their home (along with 15 other homeless boys) previously living on the streets of Kiev. Once in new home, fed and clothed well, but all educational efforts were directed at training in servile tasks thought to be marketable when children came of age and were fully developed. Hence, boy, totally illiterate even now, was taught waiting tables, cleaning tasks, gardening, animal management, and sheer manual labor as he developed to full musculature. After full sexual maturation, sold to German dealer in Kiev who began limited training in sexual skills for both heterosexual and homosexual markets, leasing the boy out, at one point, for two months to a local movie producer who wanted a live-in stud for her and her friend's personal amusement. Serving successfully on this assignment, he was then leased out to two other movie producers, this time male, who also wanted a live-in slave for their use for a two-month trial period. When returned, the two movie producers tried to buy him outright, but was outbid by our agent whereupon he was promptly shipped to our training center. Thirteen months in training, yielding a slave who is totally accepting of his status in life, happy in his role of serving others, and should adjust well to any and all demands of a future owner. Very healthy and disease resistant with excellent attitude toward future placement as owned property. Price $290,000."

I looked down at the property being described, now being thoroughly fucked by my steward. He was dripping profusely and his deep blue eyes had a content look of total satisfaction.

"Enough, Sergei," I ordered.

As the steward withdrew his enormous twitching shaft from the Ukrainian's hole, he looked frustrated that he hadn't been allowed to shoot, but said nothing of course, and quickly resumed a kneeling position. The Ukrainian slave remained in place, not having been ordered to move.

"Sergei, fuck the black boy now - again riding the boy's back so I can study his reactions."

"Yes, master," Sergei responded as he immediately moved to the black slave telling him to get on all fours with a crack of his whip and promptly entered the slave full length with no preliminaries. The black gasped at the quick entry, churned his butt vigorously to ease the penetration, and then eased his knees even wider to stretch his hole. When Sergei was almost all the way in, the black pushed his butt back onto the invading shaft to aid in the complete ravishment of his hole.

"There's one eager slave," I laughed as the black again struggled to make sure all of Sergei's staff was completely in him and Sergei began pumping him rapidly, this time determined to reach orgasm as quickly as possible.

"Yes, master," Sergei grunted as the pace of his pistoning increased dramatically until the poor black was being scooted forward with each stroke of Sergei's giant organ. "May I shoot, master?" Sergei asked.

"Not yet, Sergei. Maybe later in the evening."

"Yes, master, "Sergei responded, slowing the pace of his fucking considerably to avoid an action his master wouldn't allow at this point.

The black slave's shaft had swollen to full erection and was dripping copiously as the fucking continued. He looked at me pleadingly, but I shook my head negatively whereupon he compliantly gritted his teeth, closed his black eyes, and strained his muscles to avoid shooting off himself.

With both Sergei and the black slave struggling to obey their master and avoid cumming as the fucking continued, I casually studied the black's provenance, enjoying the power inherent in the slaves' struggle to control their bodies due simply to my whim of the moment.

"Male, 20 years old, 6'0", 230 pounds; Penis: 8x5 flaccid; 12x5.5 erect. Acquired in Chad slave markets by our agents 12 months ago when slave was 19 years of age. Being sold by third owner to date to acquire funds for purchase of another similar slave 14 years old, an age more in line with owner's preferences, i.e., a trade-in. Had served third owner as basic house servant, doing all cleaning, cooking and laundry, as well as sole bed buck for widowed owner and his 16-year-old son. This slave was the son of a slave couple owned by first owner who sold him off at 10 to an elderly couple needing personal assistance and househouse chores done for them,. When they died four years later, he was sold to third owner at age 14 who bought him as general house servant and personal catamite. Took to training at our facilities readily and with no difficulties, telling trainers this was the best life he had ever experienced so far with its easily understood rules, clear discipline standards, and expectations that were predictable. Eager to be sold to new owner now that he is fully trained after only six months. Should adjust well to any new owner who sets clear boundaries and expectations of behavior and who is rigid in enforcing discipline at all times. Has no concept of freedom or individual decision-making due to being born into slavery. Sales Price: $220,000 due to surplus of blacks at this time in world markets.

The black being discussed was sweating profusely on the floor beneath me as he struggled to keep from ejaculating from the constant stimulation Sergei was providing up his hole.

"Keep your prick in him, but reach around and jerk the black off but time it so you both cum at the same time, Sergei," I directed.

Sergei smiled broadly, happy that at last his master was going to allow him to alleviate his overwhelming need, and quickly reached around the slave he had mounted and began stroking the huge shaft.

The black slave again looked up pleadingly at me with this new stimulation and this time I nodded affirmatively whereupon he broke into a huge smile which lit up his face as almost instantly he began to buck and whinny as he shot strand after strand of thick, hot cum onto the floor beneath him, gasping for air with each new emission. Sergei plunged all the way in, froze into rigidity as he emptied his balls deep into the black's bowels, and, after several spastic jerks, collapsed on the black slave's back.

"Well, that was quite a show," I commented as both slaves, wet with sweat, continued panting.

"Yes, master. Thank you, master," Sergei muttered.

"Both of you, up on your feet. And you," I said pointing to the black slave, "assume display position. I want to look you over now that your balls are emptied."

"Yes, master," the Chadian said, quickly assuming the commanded position the minute Sergei was off his back.

I looked him over thoroughly, studying the high cheek bones, his deep heavily lashed black eyes, his smooth, sweaty skin, his powerful musculature, his puffed-out over-developed pectorals topped with the taped tits, and then ran my hand down his ridged abdominal muscles, his thick muscular thighs, his muscular but heavily fleshed butt, and finally, the large ball sac, now noticeably unswollen, and his very thick but unusually smooth long penis, now protruding far out from his body for very easy handling thanks to the recently installed genital band. He quivered and shuddered a few times as I stroked his body from the excitement of being handled, but otherwise remained absolutely still for my inspection. His shaft was already once again fully erect, a result of my handling no doubt as well as the months of training in effecitvely responding to an owner's inspection. His broad smile when given permission to ejaculate had never left his face and he gave every impression he loved being fondled and inspected.

"What a buy!" I exclaimed. "Only $220,000 for a boy this well trained. That's little more than I paid for you, Sergei, decades ago."

"Yes, master. And he's extremely handsome, at least in my eyes," Sergei ventured.

"That he is, Sergei. The epitome of masculine beauty."

"I don't know what epitome means, master, but he sure is a looker," Sergei added, "and he obviously enjoys being fucked as you probably noticed, master."

"That I'm going to find out shortly, Sergei. Take them both back to the slave quarters and clean them out completely. Then bring them back freshly lubricated. I'm going to bed this black down tonight and you can have the Ukrainian blond to do with as you please. I'm feeling so horny now I think I'll fuck this black two or three times before the sun rises if all goes well."

"Yes, master," Sergei said as he quickly snapped the leashes on the neck collars of the two slaves and headed for the slave's quarters. In 10 minutes, he reentered the room with both of the slaves following on their leashes. He fastened the leash of the black to my bed, and led the Ukrainian slave to a small rug over in the corner where slaves often rutted on the floor for their master's entertainment and where Sergei slept himself when ordered to his master's bedroom and wasn't in use in his master's bed.

Within two weeks, all of the tit piercings had healed with no problems and now each of the new slaves were adjusting to the new and strange sensation of tit rings bouncing off their bodies at the slightest provocation. By this time, each of them had "settled" into their new cages in the slave quarters, had learned to appreciate Sergei's strict discipline and proper efficient organization of their time, and were busily exercising each day at assigned manual labor around the estate to keep their bodies in top shape. The food and accommodations were good, compared to what they were used to, and their duties pleasing the sexual needs of both their new master and his steward were certainly comfortably well within the boundaries of what their training had led them to expect. They expected their usage in this area to increase once their new master began to entertain his friends and show off his new litter which was scheduled to arrive shortly.

Each morning, the steward milked each of them when they first arose, gathering up their sizable morning output into a one-liter thermos caf‚ so that its natural warmth could be retained on its trip to the master's breakfast table. Their master, Sergei told them, enjoyed a cup or so of warm cum with his breakfast not only because he liked the taste and texture of fresh cum, but because it was thought to be an effective anti-aging agent if you ingested enough of it. Toward that end, he saved the rest to use as a condiment or sauce while eating his lunch and dinner, dependent on what was on the menu that day. Any cum left in the caf‚ was sprinkled over their own slave chow for added flavor and protein, so none got wasted. Sergei told them every time they chowed down, they were getting a little taste of each other as a special bond between them. Although any flavoring to their monotonous feed was welcome, they were most appreciative of the chance to empty their balls each morning and sincerely thanked both Sergei and their master each time Sergei milked them.

"Thank the master for me, sir," was a common heart-felt response each time one of the slaves shot load after load into the fancy caf‚ under the direction of Sergei's busy fingers. So far, it was about their only chance to alleviate their every present sexual needs and, knowing how painful overstuffed balls could be from being caged so long in the island's sales department, they were all the more appreciative.

The litter arrived a day earlier than scheduled and the eight new slaves were immediately put to the final assembly of the contraption and then chained by their newly installed tit rings to the poles themselves.

"If you let the litter fall, you're going to get dragged down with it, and your tits are really going to feel that," Sergei warned as he fastened either the left or right tit ring to the poles, dependent on which side of the litter the slave was stationed. "I don't think I need to tell you to make certain the litter is in the correct position at all times, no matter what the terrain," he laughed as the last slave's tit-ring was snapped to the chain connected to the poles. "You're going to feel the weight of the chain on your tit-ring to start with, and when you get going, it's going to bounce up and down on those rings, so you're going to feel it through and through with every step you take. It should keep you all fully erect at all times - that's the ideal - so concentrate on getting your prick hard all the time. That's the way litter bearers are supposed to be to show well. Those rings vibrating and pulling on your tits when you're trotting should cause everyone of you to be hard all the time easily enough, but when you're just standing, you're going to have to concentrate on keeping that prick just as hard as it was when you are trotting and the rings are tugging away on you. Any failure in that area and you'll feel the whip on your body until you learn how to keep it up all the time, no matter what."

"You understand, slaves?" he cracked the whip over their heads for emphasis. "Up and hard all the time, no matter what."

"Yes, master," they all responded, already erect from the unique tit stimulation of the rings weighed down by the chain, not knowing whether the feeling was pleasant or not at this point.

"We'll start your training with the litter empty until you get used to that load and how it feels on your shoulders, especially when we get you up to speed. After that, we'll load it down with about 500 pounds of sandbags so you can see what carrying the master and a guest or two would be like. Then, we'll teach you how to lift it smoothly even when fully loaded and how to crouch down becomingly beside it when you're resting so that your bodies still display well."

With that, Sergei worked the slaves hour after hour, day after day, hefting the litter smoothly, trotting together in a totally coordinated fashion with one slave designated the lead slave each day so they all learned how to serve this function, serving in all positions of the litter so they were familiar with the different strains on the muscles unique to each position, and finally, building up their wind to take the long fast runs their master might require.

At first, each slave's leashed tit became red and inflamed from the constant irritation, but within a week or so they toughened, although all tits got noticeably larger as the resultant swelling never really left, but their bodies developed even more musculature - waists got thinner, hips more rounded, and shoulders, thighs, and arms even more massive as the intense training continued. When running in coordinated step with their mates, each felt their banded genitals swaying back and forth in perfect harmony, and each step was felt as the tit rings swung back and forth around their swollen tits, again in a totally coordinated fashion. Within three weeks, the team performed error free and could run mile after mile at a fast pace without stumbling or collapsing from lack of wind. At full pace, their feet slapped the pavement like horses's hooves, their tit rings jingled on their litter leashes in harmony, and even their steady gasping for air was done rhythmically like the chugging of a well- functioning steam engine. All eight slaves had learned, with the motivation of Sergei's frequent beatings, how to keep themselves fully erect at al times, even when the tit rings weren't stimulating them and most of the slaves now found themselves hard and dripping whenever they were leashed to the litter. Sergei, had, in effect, conditioned them to be hard whenever the litter was present, a fact clearly established when the slaves started to become erect the minute they even saw the litter, long before they were leashed to it by their tit rings.

Sergei urged his master to try it out when convenient as soon as the extensive training was complete.

I did and was more than pleased with the final result. The slaves lifted my weight easily and smoothly up to their full height and smoothly increased their speed until a fast trot was maintained mile after mile around the estate's roads. I invited Sergei up with me on the second round to see how they handled the weight of two grown adults. Again, the operation went very smoothly, although the panting increased in volume and frequency noticeably, but not enough to slow the conveyance in any way.

Several days later, I decided to have an endurance trial and, with both Sergei and I aboard, we ordered a fast run - not trot - for a good ten miles. The slaves never faltered or stumbled despite their desperate gasps for air. Sergei's "encouragement" to keep up the pace during the last two miles with his whip constantly lashing over their bodies and the muted groans after each lash only added to the excitement of the run. But at the end of the ten mile fast run, the slaves literally collapsed as far as their tit leashes would allow, choking and gasping trying to get air into their tortured lungs. Sergei jumped off the litter and whipped each one unmercifully, cursing them for being lazy, unappreciative whores as well as worthless slaves not worth what it cost to feed them, but even with this, they could go no further no matter how hard he laced into their bodies with his painful Mylar whip. They didn't have the strength left to scream from the horrific beating, and, for once, their omnipresent erections were gone.

"Well, now we know the limits of the contraption," I laughed as the slaves moaned in agony from Sergei's severe beatings and their irritated tits, throbbing in pain from the constant stretching of their leashes. "I'd say eight miles max with a full load at a fast run; ten with just one person aboard. But at a reasonable trot, it seems they can go mile after mile with no trouble, especially if just one's aboard. But even with two, I doubt if they'd wear out within a day. Well done, Sergei."

"Thank you, master. I'm not sure further training will pay off or not, master. Their lungs are the problem, master, not their muscles. I can see where horses have a big advantage with those big lungs of theirs," he mused as the slaves around him continued gasping for air and moaning from the residual pain of Sergei's beatings.

"You slaves should thank your master for putting you to this test," Sergei suggested pointedly, raising his whip once again.

"Thank you, master. Thank, you, master," was chocked out between gasps with their eyes pleading that they not be whipped further.

"And I should think you would want to thank my slave Sergei for training you to this level," I replied.

"Thank you, sir. Thank, you, Sergei sir," they all again bleated, still trying to get their breath.

With a crack of his whip, Sergei ordered the exhausted slaves to their feet, but then ordered only a slow walk back to the main door of the estate with both he and his master aboard the heavy litter. The slaves managed to again smoothly raise the litter to full height and, still gasping for air, walked the litter in a smooth coordinated fashion back to the main house despite the pain wracking their bodies from the fearsome beating. When they knelt down together to lower the litter to ground height, each one hung his head in proper subservience with his knees spread wide to display his once again fully erect organ.

"Didn't take them long to recover, Sergei," I said, pointing to their erect dripping organs.

"No, master," Sergei responded. "They're all ready for your bed tonight if you so desire."

"Let's see," I said looking them over carefully. "I'll take the Arabian black and the Australian tonight. I haven't fucked them for over a week now."

"Yes, master," Sergei said as, with a crack of his whip, he had the team move the litter to the storage shed and then moved the slaves themselves to the slave quarters where he would supervise their baths, feeding, and preparation for the night's activities.

There were only two provenances I hadn't studied yet of my newly acquired team of litter bearers. One was the American black and the other was the 21-year-old Asian slave Guiliano Imports had bought in Hong Kong. I turned my attention to the Asian slave first.

"Male, Asian, 21-years-old: 6'0"; 195 pounds; Penis: 7.5 x 4.2 flaccid, 11x4.5 erect. This slave is of pure Chinese stock and was first sold into slavery in the province of Nanking in the Chinese mainland when he was 17 years of age by roving slave catchers who had overtaken his small village the night before. He, along with five other villagers (4 females and himself) were shackled and caged and then transported by closed truck to Hong Kong, where they were sold at discount prices to a underground Chinese slave dealer who frequently bought goods, both human and other, off of these roving thieves at bargain prices. The four female slaves were quickly sold to local merchants in a discrete auction, but the male was sold privately to a mining concern who promised to keep him in close confinement and "break" him into slavery. A year later, his physique was spectacular from the extreme hard work in the mines, and the frequent beatings and other punishments had fully acclimated him to his new status. His owners decided to cut a quick profit on him by selling him to a brothel catering to both male and female customers in the Kowtoon district. The brothel master there trained him in pleasing both female and male customers and soon, due to his youth, vigor, splendid good looks, and magnificent physique, he was a popular favorite, especially among the female customers who found his ability to withhold any debilitating orgasm until they commanded it, was worth whatever they had to pay for his services. When he reached the age of 20, our agents offered his owner a purchase price equal to his earnings in the house over the next five years. Since they were well aware most brothel slaves decline in performance well before five years of heavy service, they quickly sold him whereupon he was shipped to our island for training. Training took 11 months without complications and the slave seems most content with his present status, claiming (probably rightfully) that he is better treated and respected for his unique abilities and showy body than he would have been back in his home village where only farm labor is valued. Should adjust to any and all demands placed upon him by a future owner. Purchase price: $295,000 due to age."

I quickly went to the next provenance.

"Male, 19-year-old mulatto; 6'0", 220 pounds; Penis: 8x5 flaccid; 11.5x5.5 erect. Born to a black prostitute operating in Dallas, Texas, USA, who conceived him with a white customer (exact customer unknown). Raised in numerous short-term foster homes in the Texas child welfare system until he was sentenced at age 15 to Juvenile Corrections for drug dealing and two counts of pimping. Released six months later on probation, but terms of probation broken when he was 17, again allegedly dealing in illicit drugs and new counts of working within an illegal escort service catering to adult females. Sentenced to Texas Correctional Prison where his "adjustment" primarily consisted of selling himself to other inmates for small favors. Our agents, who keep close contact with this warden, bought this male outright on his 18th birthday, the same time the warden signed a death certificate for him along with ownership papers to our agent. Sent to island for training which was completed in 15 months, requiring a long period of initial adjustment to slave status and expected duties of a male slave but resulted in a magnificent physical development. Now fully acclimated to new status as owned property, adjusts well to structured environments requiring little decision- making, and responses well to authority. Enjoys admiration his body receives from prospective purchasers and is eager to please them regardless of their gender despite his basic heterosexual preferences (but understanding fully a slave has no preferences when it comes to performance). Should make an excellent adjustment to new owner if proper discipline is utilized. Purchase price: $290,000 due to mixed racial lines."

Interesting, I thought. Here was a slave who had done nothing for the past 15 months but get fucked up his butt, suck other men off on command, fuck other men on command, get milked by men over and over, and let men paw and probe every part of his body as ordered. Yet they still mentioned a "basic heterosexual preference." Some guys never give in, he though to himself, no matter what happens to them or how much they're tossed around by other men.

Just this morning, the mulatto slave happened to be tit-leashed right next to me on a litter ride. I had the litter bars at their top level (the bars supported the roof of the litter and hence I was suspended beneath the bearer's shoulders). At that time, I had admired his beautifully muscular physique, his handsome face, but especially his light tan skin, highlighted by the copious sweat running down his cheeks, over his pecs, dripping off his tits and the end of his shaft, running down his stomach, back, and rump, giving a glowing appearance to his smooth hide. His tits were large and well-shaped, having grown considerably since he had been ringed, and his large organ was fully erect the entire trot, his equipment swaying back and forth in perfect coordination with his fellow litter bearers. Even his panting, quite noticeable at the trot I had ordered them to maintain, was smooth and soothing, lacking the desperate gasping that sounded rather ugly when they were ordered to a prolonged running pace. When I had reached out of the litter to stroke his sweaty body as he worked, he lifted his head briefly and let out a dazzling smile, letting me know he appreciated this special attention from his master, before quickly assuming the normal position of a head bowed as low as his tall neck collar would allow.

It was hard to believe he wasn't really into the only type of sex he was allowed at the estate if the provenance was right, I knew such slaves were relatively rare in that most slaves quickly learned to like the new forms of sex demanded of them, but often fun to fuck when you knew, deep down inside, they sort of resented it, no matter how much training they'd had. It would be fun to watch another slave fuck him so he could study his face and see if any remnant of that old "preference" was actually still there. I sort of doubted it - for over a year now, his only source of sexual release had been with other men. I doubted if he even remembered what a women was like anymore. I looked forward to questioning this mulatto slave as to whether he resented being "used" by men like he was regularly. He might even ask him if he wanted to be sold off to a mistress. Yes, that was it! A much better test. If he was eager to be sold as a mistress' house stud (a growing market in sophisticated circles I understood), it meant that old "preference" was still part of him.

That evening I had Sergei cleanse the American mulatto slave and bring him up to my suite in the manor house. As Sergei led him into my quarters by his neck leash, he was fully erect with a drop of pre-cum showing on the end of his large swollen circumcised prick. He promptly knelt in his master's presence with his knees wide spread, his hands in back of his neck collar, and with this chest thrust out to best display his body. Sergei had given him a coat of light oil on his hairless shaved body so it gleamed in the artificial light, highlighted by his bright metal collar, genital band, and tit rings which showed up well on his light tan smooth skinned body. Both slaves had their heads bowed awaiting instructions.

"On your hands and knees, slave, with your knees spread wide," I ordered the mulatto.

"And you, Sergei, fuck this slave thoroughly until I tell you to stop. No shooting off, Sergei, but you ram it in him good. I want to study how this slave takes to a good fucking."

"Yes, master," both slaves answered as they assumed the commanded positions.

Sergei inserted his huge shaft slowly up the mulatto's lubricated butt hole, twisting it as he entered, until he had all 12 inches fully up the boy's stretched hole. He waited briefly and then began a slow steady plunging of his shaft in and out of the hole, bringing it all the way back each time until he was almost out and then plunging it back with great force before repeating the cycle over and over.

I studied the mulatto's face as he was being deep fucked. At first entry, he gritted his teeth and grimaced until Sergei was all the way in him, wiggling his butt a little to best accommodate the intruding shaft. But I saw no indication of resentment whatsoever - in fact the mulatto seemed to be pushing himself onto the shaft at times to gain full penetration. When the fucking motions actually started, he again shifted his butt around a little but mainly in order to tense his butt muscles to grip the shaft within him. The mulatto's own shaft, quivering in full erection beneath him, begin dripping profusely onto the carpet beneath him. As I saw the mulatto's slave work his ass muscles, I knew he was gripping and massaging Sergei's shaft - he was, in effect, "milking" Sergei's shaft as he was being fucked.

I chuckled to myself. Such wanton licentiousness was more typical of an experienced male whore getting his jollies with a client than a slave boy resenting every moment of his rape. It certainly wasn't behavior you'd expect of a slave "preferring" fucking a female and resenting everything else he was forced to do. I suspected the provenance of this slave provided at the time of his sale was considerably off the mark.

"You like being fucked?" I asked the mulatto.

"Yes, master," the slave quickly responded, panting from his 'milking' efforts on Sergei's shaft. "A lot, master," he sighed as he again stretched his hole further onto the shaft plunging into him.

I reached down and felt his balls.

"Sergei, didn't you milk this boy this morning?" I asked as I squeezed the firm, swollen balls, obviously chock full of cum.

"Yes, master. I drained him completely no more than 10 hours ago. But this slave boy recharges fast, master. He's usually dripping again by noon each and every day, no matter how much I pump out of him that morning.

"Pull out of him, Sergei. I want to fuck him myself now."

"Yes, master," Sergei responded as he withdrew inch by inch from the stretched hole, his own prick quivering in need, covered with ass slime and lubricants. "You want me to lube him up again, master?"

"No," I answered as I took Sergei' place on the boy's back and quickly inserted by own phallus well up the boy's anus.

"Now, slave, you milk my shaft in you just like you were working on Sergei's. There's no use for me doing all the work. You bring me off with your ass muscles."

"Yes, master," the mulatto said without hesitation as I felt his ass muscles cramp around my shaft and begin rhythmic contractions that felt exactly like fingers milking my prick as I remained as still as I could under such stimulation.

I reached beneath the slave and grabbed his own pulsating prick and began stroking it.

"No shooting off until I give you permission, slave," I whispered in his ear as I timed by stroking of his prick with the pace of his own ass contractions on my prick.

The mulatto slave broke out in a sweat all over his body as he struggled to control shooting off and his breathing became ragged as his own ass muscles picked up the pace of their fierce contractions in the task of 'milking' me, drawing my own prick into his body more and more with each contraction.

Within minutes, I felt my own discharge racing up by penis and I leaned down and whispered in the slave's ear that he could discharge when he felt me do so, and then reared up as spasm after spasm tore through my body with each new discharge deep into the slave's rectum, raking my hands across the slave's back in the process..

"Thank you, master, thank you," the mulatto practically screamed as his body stiffened and he discharged buckets of steaming hot cum on the carpet beneath him, his stomach, his chest, and his chin and even his face as his prick waved around desperately dispelling his huge load.

I left my prick in him as he continued bucking in his post-orgasmic reactions and said, "How would you like to be sold to a mistress?"

"You're going to sell me, master?" the mulatto asked, terrified. "Please, master, don't sell this slave. I'll be better, master. I'll do anything you want, master, but please don't sell me off, master," he spit out, tears welling in his eyes.

"I was told you preferred serving women, slave boy," I responded quietly, my prick still buried deep within him.

The slave looked perplexed, then puzzled, and finally anxious.

"No, master. No, master. I don't want a mistress, master."

"Slaves have no choice of who owns them, master or mistress, slave boy. You know that, so you watch your tongue. And slaves don't 'want' anything for themselves. They only 'want' what best suits their owner - you know that. You'll have to be punished for such stupid talk, slave boy."

"Yes, master, I know, master," the mulatto replied, openly crying now.

"You'd rather be fucked like this than be fucking a nice mistress?" I taunted him.

"Yes, master," he tearfully responded. "Yes, master," he repeated.

"Well, you certainly respond like you like to get fucked by a master," I teased him as I rubbed his own hot cum all over his belly and chest. "You can't shoot a load like this if you don't like it, I wouldn't think."

"No master, I love to get fucked, especially when I'm allowed to shoot off like you just let me, master. Nothing I like better, master."

"Have you forgotten how good it is to fuck a women, slaveboy, even though, with a mistress, she'd be calling all the shots?"

"Master, it's been so long I can't even remember, master. Never even saw a women in prison, master, and, since I was sold off to that company you bought me from, I only fucked three or four slave women as part of my training but that was under heavy direction, master."

"Yes, but wouldn't you prefer servicing a mistress than servicing all of us around here?"

I put it to him bluntly. "I can arrange it, you know, by selling you to a good mistress who is looking for a likely stud to service her at her whim."

"Yes, master, I know you can sell me off to anyone you want anytime, but, master, I beg you not too. I've never been happier in my whole life than since you bought me, master, and I've learned to like servicing men better than anything I can remember, master. I get more excited, master, and shoot off bigger loads, master, than any sex I can remember before I was taught how to service masters," he said with a serious and studied look. "Yes, master," he concluded, "I guess I'm just a natural man whore now if you want me to tell you the honest truth."

"That's exactly what I want you to do," I said, feeling my prick becoming erect again while still in his butt. "I won't sell you to a mistress, slave boy, if you give us everything you've got in that pretty body of yours," I continued.

"I will, master. I'll give you everything I've got, master. I love you master," he added for good measure. "My life with you is better than anything I ever imagined possible, master," he slave said, breaking into sobbing once again.

"That's exactly why I going to fuck you again, you half-black whore, before I change my mind."

Sergei chuckled from his kneeling position in the corner, happy the slave under his supervision had pleased his master.

As I turned the mulatto slave over, motioning for him to place his legs over his shoulder, I resumed a long leisurely fuck of this new property. Apparently, the provenance provided by Guiliano Imports was sadly out of date!

The Chinese slave was still kneeling in the corner, head bowed awaiting instructions. I had completely forgotten him until I finally finished fucking the mulatto for the second time and, after resting a bit, looked over to Sergei, kneeling beside the Chinese slave.

I ordered him to display position and took my time in thoroughly inspecting his body - much more thoroughly than when I first bought him. The slave had been leashed closest to me on the opposite side of the litter this morning and so I couldn't help but notice his magnificent musculature and exuding masculine sexuality at that time. After examining every square inch of his body, including pinching his swollen tits, cupping his large ringed balls, stroking his long thick cock and opening his hole with my fingers to test his tightness there, I couldn't find one fault with this slave's body no matter how hard I looked for even one simple blemish. His Asian features only added to his handsomeness. His beautiful brown eyes were slanted slightly upward to give an almost feline look to his otherwise rugged face and the yellow skin was doubly attractive when it was shiny with sweat, as it was in the slave's excitement of being examined by his master.

I ordered him to kneel again and then motioned for him to crawl toward me, pointing to my flaccid organ. Instantly, he understood he was to suck his master and promptly swallowed the entire organ down his throat and began massaging the shaft with his throat while he very gently lifted my balls with his hands and lightly gripped them to heighten the effect of his oral ministrations. Despite my previous activities, I felt myself hardening in his mouth and could actually feel my shaft inching its way down his open throat.

"Sergei," I ordered. "Mount him from the rear and fuck this slave while he's servicing me with his mouth."

"Yes, master," Sergei said, immediately crawling over to the slave's back and mounting him, then slowly inserting his own hard shaft up the slave's open hole.

The Chinese slave moaned softly as Sergei' shaft entered him, but never wavered in his mouth suctioning and massaging my shaft with his throat muscles. Quite the contrary, once Sergei started pounding into him, his own actions increased in intensity as if he had to swallow even more of me and he churned and contracted his throat muscles in perfect harmony to Sergei's pumping of his ass.

I reached down and grabbed the Chinese slave's tit-rings, tugging and twisting them until his tits were fully erect and swollen bright red. Then I squeezed them, rubbing them between my thumb and forefinger until they swelled ever bigger in my hand. The slave moaned again, and reaching down to place my hand around the slave's own erect organ, I found him dripping profusely, even more than when Sergei started fucking him. This slave obviously responded to tit play, I noted, and probably received considerable pleasure just being tit-leashed to the litter where his tits were under constant stimulation. He probably had trouble keeping from shooting off just being leashed that way.

"Oh," I moaned as I shot down the slave's throat, my third discharge that evening. The Chinese slave's throat muscles contracted around my shaft and milked the last drop out of me while Sergei continued pumping his ass.

"You can unload if you want now, Sergei," I ordered,

"Thank you, master," Sergei said, plunging deeply into the Chinese slave's ass and then stiffening as he discharged load after load deep into the slave boy beneath him. "Thank you, master," he repeated as he withdrew his still erect shaft, wet with cum and ass juices from the slave's stretched hole.

"And you can shoot now, slave," I said to the Chinese man, still rubbing his tits vigorously.

"Thank you, master. Thank you," the slave panted as he immediately began shooting hot cum out in spurt after spurt all over himself and some clear up on my hands still playing with his tits. A look of pure gratitude spread over his handsome face. "Thank you, master," he gasped out once again as he continued spurting cum.

When the Chinese slave had finally emptied his balls and had lifted himself up on his knees to give me easier access to his tits, I continued playing with them.

"You love having your tits played with, don't you slave?" I smiled at him.

"Yes, master. More than anything, master," he said, pushing his tits even further into my kneading fingers.

"You must have been in heaven when I had you ringed," I commented.

"Yes, master. I loved it, master. Now I'm excited all the time, master," he responded almost dreamily as I continued stimulating his tits.

"And you, of all the slaves I own for the litter, must love being leashed by your tits," I added.

"Yes, master. Every moment on the tit leash makes it difficult for me to control shooting off, master. Master, I'm always on the edge when I'm leashed to the litter, master."

"Good, but you keep yourself from shooting off while you're tit-leashed. You can only shoot off with my permission, slaveboy."

"Yes, master. I know, master. I always control myself, master," the slave assured me.

My friend, John Morgan, loved playing with a slave's tits as I recalled. He would love this Chinese tit freak. When I invited him for a visit to see my new litter in action, I would make sure he was given the Chinese slave for his personal servant and bed partner while he was visiting. Those two would really appreciate each other. I owned him an invitation anyway, especially after he had referred me to Guiliano Imports to start with.

"I'm going to have a small party to show off my litter, Sergei," I announced two days later. "Just a few close friends who would appreciate the novelty of the contraption and would probably love to take a demonstration ride now that you've got the slaves fully trained."

"Yes, master," Sergei responded, his head bowed low over his ever-present slave collar.

"I was thinking of no more than eight. That way each guest can pick out their own slave to serve them when they aren't on litter duty and we'd still have you as a spare."

"Yes, master. But what about your own needs when they are here?" Sergei politely asked.

"As I said, I've always got your body to amuse me - aged as it is."

"Yes, master. Of course, master." Sergei responded brightly, considering I had just made a crack about him getting older.

Without further ado, I sent out invitations to eight of my friends who shared my interest in the proper utilization of slaveboys in today's society and who had the means and wherewithal to make that utilization a reality. All discretely owned slaves of their own, carefully hidden away at their own retreats throughout the world, but none, to the best of my knowledge, had slaves trained to the litter. The novelty would amuse them.

With 24 hours, all had responded by phone that they would be delighted to visit and all were looking forward to a ride in my new litter. All planned to stay at least overnight in order to fully enjoy the litter slaves when they were "off the poles." Most said they would be bringing a slave or two of their own to help out, but I assured them it wouldn't be necessary. I thought the slaves I had on hand could handle their needs, no matter what they were. But they insisted, so I could hardly order them not to. As one of the guests put it, "we like to show off too, buddy!"

"Let's hope your new slaves are up to this new attack on their bodies," one of them joked over the phone. "If they are, my own slaves will be happy for the rest, I'm sure," he laughed.

John Morgan said he had heard from Eduardo Guiliano himself that I had purchased eight well hung slaves to train for carrying a Roman-style litter around my estate and that, since he hadn't heard back from me, Eduaro had assumed it was all working out fine. I told him it worked out better than I thought it would, and the stock I bought was damn good in pleasuring their master too. He laughed and said he looked forward to the visit where he could see about that "pleasuring" himself. He had been to the island himself only last week where he had traded one of his slaves in on a fresher, younger one who was a real looker.

"Got a great price on him too," John exclaimed. "Eduardo says there's a glut in the market right now and that prices are unusually low."

'Yes," I replied. "I was surprised how little I had to pay, considering the quality of the stock I purchased."

"Good," John replied. "I'll see you in a few days. Oh, by the way Aristo Mythos said to be sure and give you his regards," John added. right before he hung up.

The day of the party arrived. All eight guests had arrived as scheduled, along with 14 of their slaves. Most of the guests had flown in, then rented a car with one of their slaves chauffeuring them to the estate while a second slave, if they had brought one, was stuffed into the boot. All the slaves arrived fully dressed in the standard slave outfit for traveling with their masters: turtle necked shirts that covered their collars, tight pants cut to display their ample baskets, and a simple pair of sandals or slip-on shoes over their bare feet. Judging from their walk, most had been butt plugged for the trip, probably to constantly remind them of their slave status while oust among free folk.

The minute each party arrived, the slaves, without being told, promptly stripped and stored their clothing in the cars. They kept their butt plugs inserted, however, and promptly kneeled at their master's feet, awaiting instructions.

I suggested the slaves be put under Sergei;s supervision, who would take them, with their master's permission, to the slaves' quarters for a thorough cleansing inside and out along with a series of enemas.

"Do the masters want their slave's butt plugs reinserted once they're cleansed?" Sergei asked humbly, kneeling with a lowered head at my side.

"No, have them clean if off thoroughly and then lock it in the car with their clothes - they'll need it for our return trip," one of the guests answered and the other guests all nodded in agreement. "I guess they'll get enough use in their hole to stay open pretty well without the plugs," he laughed and the other guests again nodded in agreement.

By early afternoon, all the guests had arrived, their slaves were cleansed and returned to the manor to attend their masters along with Sergei who was, along with the other slaves, kneeling alongside his master.

"Let's see this contraption you're so proud of," John Morgan said. "We all made the trip to see the damn thing in operation, so get it and that team of slaves you're so proud of out here where we can all take a little demonstration ride."

I had anticipated this, and just as John Morgan said this, the huge litter was sighted through the window rapidly making its way to the manor house at a fast trot. The guests rushed out of the room to the entry to study it up close. As the litter got closer, the guests could hear the tit leashes bouncing off the litter bars, the coordinated panting of the litter slaves that so resembled a steam engine in operation, and admired the huge erect penises, all ringed for upmost protrusion, swaying together in perfect rhythm.

"My God. It's magnificent!" one guest exclaimed. "The slaves are all matched for height, weight, and physique. And, my God, even their pricks are the same size. Absolutely brilliant!"

"Well, they are about the same height and weight, but they do vary a little," I smiled, "and their pricks aren't quite the same when they're erect like they are whenever they're on duty this way, but they are matched for size when they're flaccid."

"I love the variation in their hides," another guest exclaimed. "About every color available in the markets these days A very nice touch."

"I think the most spectacular thing are those tit-leashes. A beautiful idea and so creative," another guest said. "It just reeks of total control, especially on tits that are already ringed and so nicely developed as a result of being ringed."

"The leashes are a nice touch," another guest admitted, "but banding their package tightly with a good banding like you've done to show it off so nicely is just perfect. That way, they all show well and it even makes their shafts swing in symphony with each other - it's a beautiful sight."

As the heavy ornate litter came to a halt right in front of them, the guests appreciated the heavy coordinated breathing, the quivering muscles in their magnificent bodies reacting to the load upon their shoulders, and the phalluses which remained erect even while standing still.

"Splendid - just splendid," another guests said as he ran his hand down the sweating body of the slave nearest him, the full-black from Chad.. "But," he said, hefting up the ball sac of the slave and squeezing it, "how do you keep them hard all the time?"

"Lots of training," I responded, enjoying the compliments. "They get hard the minute they see the litter now and stay that way until we put it away. My slave trainer Sergei calls it "Pavolovian conditioning" or some such thing. But Sergei's a Polish slave - he's always trying to play up the Eastern Europeans," I laughed. "At any rate, as you see for yourself," I added, motioning to all eight slaves' quivering erections, some with a drop of pre-cum at the end of their pricks, "it works."

"Now, who wants a ride first. We can handle two at a time easily enough."

John Morgan and another guest from England indicated they would like to be first, and smoothly placed themselves into the lowered litter. They were both big men and the total weight would be close to 550 pounds I thought.

I snapped by finger, nodding at the lead slave and the litter was hoisted smoothly onto the slaves' shoulders, and with another snap of my finger, I ordered "Around the lake and back at a moderate trot."

Instantly the litter glided down the road, picking up speed until the "moderate trot" speed they had been taught over and over was reached. The remaining guests marveled at how swiftly it sped out of sight and how smoothly it moved on the cushioning shoulders of the eight slaves.

The designated route was about a mile-and-a-half, so it wasn't long until the litter again came into sight. This time, the heavy panting of the slaves was audible hundreds of feet away and the sun reflected brightly off of their sweat-soaked bodies. When they returned and lowered the litter down smoothly, their heavy panting, totally coordinated, was most evident as was the sweat rolling off of their ringed tits, their massive pecs, their erect phalluses, and even down their muscular thighs.

"Glorious!" John and the other Englishman exclaimed.

"One of the best experiences I've had," the other Englishman explained.

"Guilo," John Morgan said excitedly, "It's a novel use of slaves that's a real pleasure - their struggling to maintain the pace; their heavy breathing all for your benefit, the sweat running down those handsome faces, those erect phalluses swaying back and forth - all for your benefit. It's a heady experience, Guilo," John padded me on the back. "Thanks for opening our eyes to a new use for slavemeat - you've shown us there's a lot more to slaves than just a body waiting your table and some fresh meat for your bed."

The other six guests clamored to go next, but quickly reconciled themselves to waiting their turn, two by two. By the time the fourth trip was completed and all eight guests had been given an initial ride - all the same distance at the same pace - the eight slaves powering the litter were no longer panting, but gasping; the sweat running down their bodies were now riverlets, and their left or right tits, dependent on which side they were positioned, were red and swollen from the constant pulling of the leashes. Their swollen penises were now coated with pre-cum, as the muscles of their shoulders, rumps, and legs quivered in fatigue from the heavy loads

All eight guests were as enthusiastic as John Morgan and, after completing their demonstration ride, went on and on about the sheer ecstasy they felt as the slaves labored beneath them; the feeling of power and control the litter ride gave them, and the erotic display the slaves and the litter made, especially when it was in action with the slaves gasping and sweating from the forced pace and the heavy loads imposed on their bodies. All thanked their host profusely for sharing this experience with them and if was obvious, most of them were already planning such a conveyance for themselves as soon as the right type of slaves could be located, purchased, and trained appropriately. There were a thousand questions directed at me as to best size of slave; the training involved, the endurance of the slaves, and on and on. It was obvious not all questions could be answered right now, so I suggested we discuss this at a leisurely dinner I had arranged to be served in the main dining room where these very litter slaves, freshly cleaned inside and out, would be waiting on them throughout the dinner, and - I winked suggestively - after we've through supping.

"Can we bring our own slaves if we want?" John Morgan asked and several other guests looked concerned.

"Of course, John," I replied, "as long as they too are completely cleansed inside and out, are as naked as my own slaves will be, and have all been lubricated for the 'fun' things we all enjoyed doing."

This brought a lot of laughter from everyone and we retired to the lounge outside the dining room where Sergei fixed everyone drinks while we waited for the litter slaves to be delivered, fresh and ready for the events of the rest of the afternoon and evening.

Sergei served drinks all around, checked for refills, and, after that disappeared. Within a half hour, however, he was back again, this time with 22 freshly scrubbed slaves, all collared, many tit- ringed, and, of course, eight of them genitally banded.

The slaves the guests had brought were highly varied. Some were black, some brown, some yellow, some white. They were all sizes and shapes - everything from young 15-year-old boys just recently reaching maturity and weighing no more than 120 pounds to burly slaves in their early 30s that would top a scale at close to 250 pounds. Three were tit-ringed, only one had his equipment banded, four had ear rings permanently installed, and two sported nose rings that seemed to be welded shut. All were heavily collared, all seemed to accept their slavery without question at this point, and all were obviously used to being naked most of the time. Most of them were heavily hung for their size and the majority were already sporting semi-erections. Balls ranged from small to large, and most hung down between their legs rather alarmingly, as if they'd been stretched somewhere along the line. It was a look I didn't particularly care for, and I was glad my own slaves were all banded to prevent such a thing. A few had magnificent physiques but most were well-built but not exceptional. Most were body shaved - those that weren't either didn't have much natural body hair or their owners obviously bought them for their animal like hairy appearance. Indeed, one was so hairy, he looked like the missing link to me, but his owner must have been turned on by it for some reason or another.

My litter bearers served the meal as they'd been trained to do by Sergei, their magnificent physiques shining with a fresh coat of oil as they did so. The visiting slaves served their masters individually as directed - everything from cutting their food into small bits for them, milking themselves to produce a good supply of condiment their master enjoyed with his meal, or slipping under the table to suck their masters off as they enjoyed their meal. Some knelt close by as their masters played with their tits, stuck their fingers up their upended holes, stroked their rampant pricks, massaged their balls, or wiped their greasy hands off in their slave's hair in lieu of the provided napkin. It was obvious all of these slaves were acclimated to such service and none of them seemed to be humiliated in the slightest at these requests.

As the meal leisurely progressed, all of the questions got answered about how they too could fit themselves out with a litter and team, the training involved, and what it would cost, figuring in the initial cost of the stock plus training and maintenance. Since the diners frequently interrupted their meal for some dalliance with their own slaves, by the time they got around to the dessert course, five hours or more had elapsed.

I had gotten so exasperated at the pace of the meal, I too followed their lead and had Sergei suck me off under the table at one point. But it gave my own litter bearers a good chance to rest up and study the other slaves in action. Most of my slave boys were fascinated by the nose rings installed in two of the slaves and wondered what use those rings were put to in the slave's lives. I saw some of them rubbing the tissue between their nostrils as if they were trying to imagine being fitted with a nose ring. Even while serving the meal, and despite the wide availability of all the other slaves, my eight got their bodies fondled frequently, their shafts stoked, their balls weighed, and their tit-rings played with every time they bent over the table to serve another course - actions they endured willingly enough, although some of them seemed rather stoic about it. They knew full well they would be placed at the total disposal of the guests the minute the meal was over and were glad they had the chance to rest up before they were ordered into full compliance with whatever these guests desired.

As soon as the meal had been cleared away, my eight litter slaves were ordered to full display in the dining hall

"We're going to play a little game. I going to ask a question connected with this slave meat you see displayed in front of you. The first one to guess the correct answer will get that slave for his evening's entertainment. Of course, when you're finished with them, you might want to share them with the other guests, or perhaps trade around a bit," I winked as they all laughed.

"The first question is," I paused dramatically, "which of these slaves comes from a country where the capitol is Kiev?"

A guest from the United States quickly pointed at the Ukrainian slave.

"Correct, Bruce. He's all yours for the evening," as Sergei, whip in hand, lead the selected slave over to the winning guest where, under Sergei's commands, he quickly knelt and kissed the feet of his 'master for the evening.'

Everyone clapped for the winner and made ribald suggestions as to how best to use the slave.

"Next question," I again paused dramatically once I had their attention. "Which slave comes from a country that rhymes with 'had'?"

There was a long pause of several minutes as the guests mulled the question over and mumbled among themselves. Finally, an Frenchmen pointed to the black from Chad, exclaiming "I should have recognized a slave from one of our former colonies."

Everyone clapped as Sergei grapped the erect prick of the black and, using that as a handle, led the slave over to the Frenchman's seat where he was directed to prostrate himself before his new 'master' in total obeisance.

Next question: "Which property in front of you has seen the Southern Cross?"

Again there was a long pause as each of the slaves on display felt the guests' eyes pouring over them. Finally, one pointed to the Australian slave.

"Correct," I announced, "the Aussie is all yours for the night," as applause greeted my announcement.

This time, Sergei stuck the handle of his whip up the asshole of the Aussie and pushed/led the slave boy to the winner, an older German, where he was told to kneel with his lips on the floor as Sergei pumped the whip handle in and out a few times to establish the mood.

"Next question," I continued. "Which piece of meat displayed here tonight had ancestors that worshiped volcanos?"

Instantly, several guest pointed at the Polynesian slave.

"I think you were first," I said, pointing to another German guest.

Sergei put his finger through the Polynesian slave's tit ring and led him to the German, motioning for the new German master to put his own finger where Sergei's currently was as a "transfer of ownership" for the evening.

All that was left standing after a while was the Chinese slave and the only guest without a slave assigned to him was John Morgan.

I turned to John and asked, "Which slave loves to have his big juicy tits played with and could be described as a "tit freak" in that he shoots off every time his tits are properly stimulated?"

A huge smile went across John's face. "How thoughtful of you, Guilo," as Sergei fastened a chain connecting both tit rings and then, gapping the chain, pulled the Chinese slave over to Mr. Morgan, placing the chain in his hand as he stretched the Chinese slave's tits a good inch away from his massive pecs in the process.

"Oh," moaned the Chinese slave as his tits were stretched and pre-cum started dripping out of his erect prick.

"Look at the bastard, Guilo," John said delightedly. "He's about to shoot already."

From that point on, the guest's own slaves got time off for the main part. The litter slaves were put to instant use and, within the hour, most of them had already been fucked thoroughly, had sucked their new "masters" off at least once, and had every part of their body fingered and fondled. By the second hour, they were being traded around among the guests who demanded a whole new round of sexual services. By the third hour, most of the guests were totally drained and amused themselves by having the slaves fuck each other, suck each other off, or fucking the slaves they had brought with them or having their own slaves suck the litter slaves off. By the sixth hour, all the slaves as well as all their masters didn't have a drop left in them and most were falling asleep wherever they could lay down.

Finally, even Sergei had been drained dry and the only two people awake were John Morgan and myself.

"Guilo," John Morgan whispered. "I've got a little treat for you."

"Really?" I replied. "What is it?"

"It's out in the back of my SUV. Let's get some fresh air and I'll show you.

Both of us more or less drug ourselves away from the dining room, now reeking with the heavy smell of oozing hot lubricant, drying cum on most of the slave's bodies, tons of raw body sweat, and drooling saliva.

John Morgan took me out to the parking area, reached into the back seat of his SUV to extract a slave whip, and then proceeded to unlock the tail gate. Inside was a shiny metal shipping cage and inside that was crammed a naked body, fully restrained with his wrists shackled to his neck collar and his ankles hobbled together with a close 8" chain. John unlocked the cage, and, smacking the whip hard over the exposed rump, ordered the slave out of the cage.

The slave howled from the pain of the whip as he quickly shuffled out of the cage as best he could with all the restraints on him to avoid yet another blow of the sharp-edged whip. As he emerged, I saw his nose had been ringed between the two nostrils and both tits had been pierced with the thickest rings I'd ever seen - both the nose and tit rings were a good half-inch in diameter. He had not been body shaved and his hairy body, covered in bristly black hair, gave him a distinctive 'animal' appearance.

"Stand up, you bastard," John Morgan commanded as his whip wrapped around the hairy body once again, drawing a little blood on the slave's back. The slave screamed in pain and a frantic look of panic filled his eyes, tears spilling down his cheeks as the scream turned into a series of sobs.

"What... what... is it?" I asked, startled by the slave's wild stare.

"It's a slave freshly taken.... A wild bastard... A slave with no training whatsoever under his sorry skin yet.. He's a Brit construction worker that got himself too drunk a couple of nights ago and one of England's notorious slave catchers got him. Those guys sell their stock as soon as they can in that they like to get rid of their catches as soon as they can to avoid feeding them, they say. I say its because they are scared to death of getting caught in the act," John laughed. "Anyway, I bought him night before last, not four hours after he'd been caught and had them tit and nose ring him while he was still dead drunk. When the bastard woke up finally, I had the collar on him, his wrists fastened to the collar and his ankles shackled just like you see him now. He had no idea of where he was or what had happened, other than his nose septum hurt like hell and his tits were inflamed and burnt like fire. Thank God I had him caged because he tried everything in the book to get loose - didn't do him a bit of good, of course.

"I've never seen a slave that wasn't broken to slavery pretty well," I commented. "This one as rogue as they get, looks like."

"Yes, rogue is a good word for it, Guilo. This poor son of a bitch has no family, so he won't be missed, but he was so naive he didn't know there were still slaves in the world, he didn't have a clue that slaves were used sexually, and he'd obviously never heard of, let alone see up close, locked slave collars, nose and tit rings, and cages for human stock. His whole world is brand new to him. Look at that look of panic on the bastard's face, Guilo. It's going to take months to break this boy I tell you."

"At least," was all I could say. "Maybe a lot longer. I hope you didn't pay much for him as I reached forward to grab his balls, but he lurched back as far as could within the limitations of his shackled feet before John let fly with the whip again and again, each stroke wrapping itself clear around the torso of the new slave before revealing the new open weals laid upon his hide. The slave screamed anew as he bent over, trying to avoid the slave whip cutting into his skin.

"Stand up straight there, slave, and get those legs apart as best you can. The master here wants to examine your balls."

"No..no..." the slave wailed, as a fresh barrage of blows descended on his body.

"Very well," John said calmly as he continued to beat the slave fiercely. "We'll just have to put that new nose ring to some use," he announced as he quickly grabbed the nose ring and jerked it until the slave's head was drawn all the way back, a fresh scream of raw pain emanating from the slave as the ring dug into the still unhealed incisions in his nose septum and a flesh flow of blood began oozing out of his nose.

"Now, slave boy, you'll pay attention," John announced as he jerked the nose ring forward and twisted it a little, jerking the slave into an upright position as the boy screamed again and turned pale from the severe pain.

"Now you can feel his balls, Guilo, can't he, slaveboy?" John said calmly, keeping a steady tension on the distended nose ring.

When the slave didn't respond, John gave another vicious tug on the ring, and with his other hand twisted one of the slave's tit rings a full 90 degrees. The slave gasped in renewed pain and gasped out another wrenching scream.

"Can't he, slaveboy?" John repeated, again twisting the rings as hard as he could.

"Yes....yes.... " the slave gasped.

"Yes, what, slave?" John twisted the rings even harder.

"Yes..... yes.... sir?" the slave moaned, too week with pain to scream any longer.

"There... that's better," John said, pulling but not twisting the rings in his hands.

"Guilo, he's all ready for you to feel his balls now," John prompted, never letting lose of the rings..

I reached forward and hefted the slave's amble balls. They felt strange with hair all over them - I personally liked them smooth skinned - but, when I squeezed them firmly, they were so full I was sure John hadn't allowed the slave to empty them since he had been captured. A low moan was the slave's only response to my ball squeezing.

"If you don't mind, Guilo, stroke the slave until he's good and hard," John said. "I don't want to use him if he's not all hot and bothered," he laughed.

"John, how in the hell can you fuck an animal that's wild?" I asked in amazement. "He'll kill you if he ever gets loose."

"That's what the nose ring is for. See that snap hook I've installed on the floor of the SUV. I'll just lock his nose ring to that hook and with his wrists shackled to his collar, there's not a damn thing he can do when I fuck him but wiggle and scream," John laughed as he quickly locked the slave's nose ring to the embedded hook which resulted in the slave's ass positioned just right for a good fucking with his shackled feet supporting his weight firmly on the ground.

"Ever fucked an untrained slave?" John said. "It's an experience you'll never forget. That's my little treat for you, Guilo. He's all yours."

"No, I haven't," I admitted, "and now that he seems secure, it might be novel," I admitted as I opened the robe I had grabbed to wear outside and began stroking myself a little in readiness. "Is he lubed, John?" I asked.

"No... Makes it all the better, Guilo. Go ahead, poke him.. You'll love the way he screams when you feed it to him."

I felt almost savage but couldn't resist the novelty of it all. I positioned myself behind the twitching, struggling slave, closely bound by the highly restricting nose ring and both hands clamped to his neck collar, reached around and grabbed his sore, swollen tits to better control him, and drove up his tight hole inch by inch.

The slave tried to clamp his hole shut, but my continued pressure soon overcame that, and as my shaft worked its way up his dry virginal canal, he bucked violently as he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"You son of a bitch," he yelled, "you God damn son of a bitch, you fucking bastard, you damn perverted bastard," he screamed as I drove all the way in. "I'll kill you, you bastard," he moaned as I began pumping him steadily, appreciating the feelings the contractions of his anal muscles gave my shaft.

"The boy's a real virgin - about as tight as they get," I laughed as I increased the tempo. "Haven't you fucked him yourself yet, John?". The slave continued to buck as he screamed out his threats and curses.

"Only two or three times so far," John said. "Certainly not enough to open him up at all. Don't you love that raw resistance - that total revulsion to what is happening to him - the agony he seems to be putting himself through as he's completely and totally raped. He's so totally humiliated - so shamed - so repulsed by what's happening - it's really a totally different experience from using a well trained slave like we generally have available."

I drove even deeper into the slave's hole and continued to play with his raw, sensitized tits which only increased the slave's agony.

"I grant you it's different alright, John. I don't think it's the best fuck I've ever had, but you do get a rush of power that's intoxicating that you don't get with most slaves you fuck who are surprised if you don't fuck them at every opportunity. In fact, most of mine are so trained by now they love to be fucked anyway you want to do it."

"Exactly," John replied. "That's get boring after a while. Once in a while, I like to fuck a boy who fights you every inch of the way. I can almost feel their deep shame - the humiliation to the core of their macho self - the fact they have no idea yet their body is simply a owned piece of meat. They still think it's their body, not ours. It's real novel and, as you say, there is a power rush in it - you really understand what power a master has when you actually rape someone instead of just using them."

Within minutes, despite all the activity I'd already had that day, I once again felt myself getting ready to shoot and, pushing even deeper into the slave's ass, shot what little cum I had left deep into his anal cavity.

When the slave realized I had shot, he again cursed me and shivered in repulsion, knowing he was now carrying my seed within his body. As I withdrew, my prick was coated in cum, shit, and blood.

"Sorry, Guilo," John said as he handed me a rag to clean myself. "I could possibly force this bastard to clean you with his mouth, but I'd be scared he'd bite you. Too risky at this point, I'm afraid, nose ring or not!" he laughed.

"Are you going to fuck him now?" I asked.

"I think I will, as long as I've gone to all this trouble," he answered. Without further ado, he stripped down and promptly shoved his full length into the bleeding hole of the slave who screamed anew, knowing his torment was far from over. John proceeded to fuck the slave vigorously which took some time since John had been drained dry by his antics in the dining room. Finally, he summoned up a small amount out of his drained balls which eventually, with a lot of pumping and stroking, exploded into the slave's bruised hole.

By this time, the slave's nose was bleeding profusely since the nose ring he had been fastened by had been yanked and tugged many times during both his fuckings.

When John withdrew, there was even more blood on his prick than there had been on mine and I handed him the rag to clean himself as the slave was reduced to uttering a few curses under his breathe and groaning in agony from his ravished hole, the whip bites on his body, his swollen, bleeding tits, and his raw nose septum also bleeding profusely now.

"What are you going to do with him?" I asked.

"Put him back in his cage, Guilo. Did you want him up at the house?"

"No, no, John. I meant what are you going to do with a raw rogue slave like that once you get him home and he heals up?"

"I haven't decided yet, Guilo. I bought him dirt cheap as you can imagine so I haven't too much invested in him at this point. I could sell him off to a good training school who will then eventually market him, or I could try to train the bastard myself."

By this time, John had unlatched the nose ring from the embedded hook and with a volley of whip lashes, drove the slave back into his cage which was quickly locked. As the slave scooted around in the cage so he could see out, he managed to spit at his master which infuriated John. He promptly reached through the bars, grabbed the nose ring and locked it to one of the bars with a padlock he kept handy.

"There, you bastard," John said as he wiped the spit off his face. "You'll think twice about spitting at your master again after being ringed like that bouncing around back here. Besides," he smiled, "there's no way you can do anything now but keep your face pressed against the bars. That will be your only rest," he smiled as he reached through again and twisted the nose ring painfully. The slave screamed from the depths of his being which seemed to satisfy John for the moment.

"If it were me, I'll sell him to Guiliano Imports for anything they would give me. They've got a trainer at their Greek facility - one of their slaves named Santos - who is a real marvel. In about 15 months or so under his tutelage, this brute could be one of those slave boys serving us so well at dinner tonight. If you're really interested in him, you could always buy him back from Guiliano, once he was properly trained.

"Fifteen months?" John exclaimed. "Is that how long it takes to fully break a slave?"

"That's what they told me at Guiliano when I bought my litter slaves. It's a lot shorter if they were born into slavery or they had been a slave for years before, but a slave that was free before - 15 months to fully break them. They ought to know, John. They're in the business."

"Well, that settles it, then, Guilo. I don't have the patience or time to fiddle around for 15 months with this worthless piece of shit. If I were doing the training, he'd probably be dead in two weeks because I'll beat the last breath out of him. Imagine - spitting on his master! I should just beat him to death now and make us both feel better about it. But... you know, Guilo, I'm too tight. I'm sure Guiliano Imports will pay me more for this sorry mass of muscle than the trifling I paid the slave catcher for him. Then they can have this Santos, or whatever his name with, beat, burn, and fuck the bastard for 15 months or whatever it takes to make him worth something on the open market. I'll call them on my way back to the airport and arrange for them to pick the sorry bastard up for shipping down to their training facility. Meanwhile, I'm not going to feed or water him and, once I get him out of my car, I'm not going to allow toilet privileges, so the bastard can just lie in his own shit caged up the entire time until they take possession. Serves him right and maybe that will teach him he's not calling the shots anymore."

"A good plan, John," I counseled. "I have a feeling you would kill him with your whip in no time at all. This way you'll probably end up making a little off of him -Guiliano Imports will give you a decent price even though he is about as rogue as they've probably encountered. Nevertheless, I have a feeling that their Santos will simply see it as a challenge and have him broken and totally compliant in a year or so. Meanwhile, thanks for the experience, John. It was unique, to say the least. But I'm sticking with trained slaves myself. It's considerably more pleasant - power trip or not!"

"Me too," John admitted. "These wild stock just aren't worth the trouble of feeding them."

With that, both of them headed back to the manor house for a well deserved rest.

When Sergei woke up, everyone was sound asleep, not surprising in view of all the activities just four or five hours ago, he thought. He was glad to see his master and his friend John Morgan were deep in sleep on one of the sofas. Rising silently, he went to each of the slaves and with a finger to his lips to indicate they should be totally quiet, he rounded all 22 of them up and had them silently move back to the slave quarters where he would supervise their showers, their enemas, their body shaves (for those already body shaved), and their breakfast. He decided not to milk the eight litter slaves who had been totally drained just hours before nor did he feel he had the right to milk slaves not belonging to his master. If the master wanted his morning cocktail, he could always order it delivered when he had breakfast, whenever that might be. That way it would be warm and fresh.

The communal shower and cleansing rituals gave the slaves a chance to meet each other and compare their circumstances - a rare privilege for most slaves owned by single masters - a privilege Sergei knew they would appreciate and which he himself was interested in.

Initially, most of the questions from the visiting slaves were directed toward the litter slaves about where they were bought, their training on the litter, how much and how often they got fed, how many hours a day did they get to sleep, were the slave quarters always this clean and sweet smelling, whether the tit rings bothered them very much, how did it feel to have their genitals banded continually, how often they got fucked by the master and his steward, how often they had to entertain guests like today, whether their master let them play with each other if he wasn't using them, and whether their master had a stud farm, and, if so, how often they were put to stud there. Most were brazen enough to ask how much their master had paid for them, usually comparing that price with what they had sold for at their last sale.

Sergei listened carefully to all the questions and the quickly forthcoming answers from the slaves under his supervision, reminding himself that those treated like animals quickly become like animals - animals that were easy to manage. None of the litter slaves found the questions unusual, almost as if they expected nothing less when interrogated by other slaves, and poured forth elaborate answers. All took great pride in telling how they were milked every morning so their balls got drained regularly, a fact received with awe and enthusiasm by the visiting slaves who reluctantly admitted they often had to go weeks and weeks before they got relief of some sort.. The litter slave's pride in their purchase price bordered on arrogance but slaves have their pride too, Sergei reminded himself, thinking of his own purchase price years ago and how proud he had been at the time to think he was worth that much to a master.

Then it was the turn of the litter slaves to ask questions of the visitors. What did they do other than satisfy their masters sexually? Where were they trained? How long did their training last? How long after they were trained until someone bought them? How many masters had they had? How much did they bring at their last sale? How often did they get fucked every day or have to suck someone off? Did they ever wear clothes? Did they see free people other than their masters often? Did they think their masters would sell them in the near future? If so, would they probably be sold to a company or another individual master like they had now? Had any of them been owned by a mistress? If so, how did she use them and how often? Had any of them served stud at a breeding facility or with their master's females slaves? Had any of them ever worked in a male brothel? If so, did they like it? How often did they get to shoot off? Did they get enough food? Was the food tasty or was it just standard slave chow? Did they get to piss and shit when they needed to or did they have to have their master's permission first? Were there cages clean? (When three of them announced they weren't caged at night, the others asked where they slept - all three slept chained to their master's bed it turned out.) How many hours a day did they have to exercise or did their work assignments keep their bodies in shape? And, for the few that weren't body shaved, why did their masters want all that hair on them? How often did they get loaned out to their master's friends and business partners? For the three fitted with nose rings, they asked what it felt like, why they had been fitted with nose rings to start with, and how long, if ever, did it take to get use to them?

Sergei analyzed both the questions and the answers to ascertain the success of his stewardship of the slaves. He came to the quick conclusion his master's slaves were content, even happy in their own slavery, that they felt their treatment was exceptional considering they were just owned property, and that they weren't asked to do anything a slave shouldn't expect to be asked to do anytime, anywhere. None of them seemed to want to trade places with the visiting slaves - their lives were no better than their own - and, sometimes, judging from some of the questions they were asking - they obviously considered some visiting slave's had things somewhat more demanding than what they were used to. Of course, Sergei though, most of the visiting slaves hadn't cost as much as the litter slaves, so what did you expect? Slaves got treated pretty much according to their value on the auction block. Look at all the cheap ugly slaves bought up by corporations for working in the mines, construction crews, and assembly line work hidden away throughout the world. They didn't cost much to start with and their treatment reflected it -worked beyond endurance under a heavy whip or electric prod to an early grave, fed garbage and slop, never allowed enough sleep, and never given any opportunity to relieve their sex needs. All of these slaves discussing their pampered lives, Sergei reflected, were young, exceptionally good looking, well hung, well built, and sexually appealing. They were the lucky ones when it came to slavery - much like himself, hppily. He's always been privileged in his slavery and he knew it. Thank God he'd been born, like those around him now, with a beautiful face, a magnificent body, and big, easy to arouse sexual equipment. All it took other than that to get decent care was a willing attitude, an eager-to-please compliance with a master's desires, and an air of absolute obedience that delighted any buyer.

When the cleansing and the chatter was finished, Sergei took his whip and quietly marched the freshened slaves back to their masters, still asleep in the manor. He told the slaves to keep absolutely quiet, sitting over in a corner, until they saw their master's awaken. At that point, they were to quickly crawl over to their master and kneel beside him, awaiting his orders. Most, he pointed out, would probably enjoy a good sucking upon awakening. Others might want to drain their slave's balls as a liquid breakfast. He doubted if many wanted to fuck them this early after last night, a comment that brought a few quietly muted chuckles from the slaves. All the slaves smiled at Sergei, appreciating his obvious great supervisory skills with slaves. But the visiting slaves were especially appreciative of him, knowing he guided them smoothly through all that was expected of them in this new environment. The few Sergei had explored sexually for his own enjoyment didn't mind - it certainly was his privilege as their overseer and use of their body was the least they could do for an overseer so through - as well as thoughtful - making sure they were fed, cleaned, and even allowed to talk to the other slaves. The whole visit, even if this was the end of it, was a rare threat for them, in large part due to Sergei.

As the masters woke up one by one, Sergei had predicted it right. Some wanted to be sucked immediately, some wanted a morning cocktail out of their slave's loins, but the majority were totally worn out from last night and were satiated with the slave's willing bodies by that point. Instead, they wanted their coffee, some eggs and pancakes, and fresh orange juice, which Sergei had once again anticipated and had all ready for the slaves to serve their masters.

By mid morning, most of the masters were snapping leashes onto the collars of the slaves that would be returning in the boot or caged in the back of an SUV, watching the slaves driving them don their carefully folded clothes, and, before long, all were gone except Sergei, the eight litter slaves now thoroughly cleaning the entire manor house under Sergei's ever-present whip and me.

The visit had been fun. I had been able to show off my new contraption, including my well trained litter slaves, and renew old acquaintances. I planned to do it again sometime.

That afternoon, I took a prolonged ride in the litter - we went at a mild trot - and covered almost every road and trail on the estate's grounds. By the time we returned, Sergei was patiently waiting, as usual, to unleash their tit rings from the rails, get the litter put away, and get the slaves cleaned inside and out for the evening. The slaves were pretty well exhausted, panting heavily with almost all the sweat completely worked out of them by this time. Their tits were flame red and swollen from the irritation of the swinging leashes. But they were obviously a happy lot. Every single one of those pieces of beautiful slave flesh sported a full dripping erection, every single one had a smile on his face, and each was grateful I had ordered the milking to resume in the morning. Their appreciation at that announcement was evident in their grateful eyes as they all gave me a look of pure appreciation - even love?

I asked Sergei that night if slaves ever loved their owners.

"Of course, master," Sergei responded without hesitation. "Haven't you noticed my love for you?"

"But why, Sergei? After all, we own your bodies - we control your lives?"

"Yes. That accounts for part of our love for our owners, master. You are the source of fulfilling all our needs - our food, our health, even our sex outlets. How could we not love you?"

When I looked skeptical, Sergei added, "It's not bullshit, master. Look at it this way. Everyone wants to love, even slaves.. What else do slaves have to love but our master? We don't have families, we don't have mates, we don't have children that we live with even if we are being put to stud; we no longer have a mother or father. Our master is all of those. "

"Yes, Sergei. I see your point. You probably do love your masters in some strange way for those reasons. But we do won you body and soul. You're just property we can sell at any time we want to anyone we choose."

"Of course, master. That is the privilege of any owner, master. But, master, everyone wants to belong to something or someone - slaves are human even if they are property. Free people belong to their own families, their professions, their educational backgrounds and social status, their wealth, their spouses, their nation - I could go on and on. Slaves have none of those things available to belong to - so we belong to our master or mistress. It's a big part of a slave's need - to belong to whatever they can, and in a slave's case the only option is to belong to someone else. Masters feel a real need with us, master, and, to us, that's a good reason to love our masters. If we don't, master, we have nothing and lose everything - we're like those draft slaves you see with nothing in their eyes and only move when a whip bits into their back. I don't expect you to understand my ramblins, master. I never understood this until I was well into my own slavery and had finally accepted it - only then did I learn to love my master."

"I bought a slave and got a psychoanalyst," I laughed. "But what you say makes sense somehow. I suppose if I were a slave I'd agree with you. At any rate," I laughed again, "my new litter slaves seem to buy it. They seem to love you, Sergei, for all the wrong reasons as best I can figure out. You beat them, you cage them, you give them enemas, you fuck them, you have them suck you off, you milk them each morning, you work them hard around the clock, and you withdraw their food and water if they don't please you in every way. Yet they seem to love you for it."

"And they love you, master, for buying them and putting them to some use."

"Well, that I can understand, Sergei."

THE END

[Comments on this tale would be appreciated. Send them to anonymous4371@juno.com. If you enjoyed this tale, read "Oceanum" also posted at this site. Thanks. Bill Smith]