[This story was suggested, even partially outlined, by a faithful reader who has admired some of my work over the years and asked me to write the tale based on some of his ideas. Our thanks go to this person who wanted no more than to read the finished story.]
It's hard to fathom that SRC got its start only 11 years ago. Now it's a household word throughout all 50 states and most people know exactly what SRC does but can't tell you what the initials stand for: Slave Reconditioning Center. They do know that's where you take slaves that need refurbishing, reconditioning, rehabilitated, remodeled, reconstructed, re- something or other. They know it's where you take a slave to have its value restored; where you take a slave to get 10 or 15 more profitable years out of it; where you take a slave before you trade it in if you want to get a decent trade-in price; where you take a slave to have its primary functions restored; where you take a slave to make it presentable again. They know the fees charged by SRC are minuscule compared to the increase in the property's value. They know that most used slaves up for auction these days have spent a little time at SRC prior to the auction just like most used cars have been to a good detail shop prior to being re-sold. In fact, some people described SRC as a "slave overhauler" or a "slave detail shop," especially those who were also car enthusiasts.
It all started slightly over a decade ago. Tom Pratt, a businessman with a B.A. degree in Slave Husbandry and a Master's degree in Slave Psychology had attended hundreds of slave auctions over the years both as part of his educational studies as well as in all the years since then. He had seen human livestock of every size and color, every age and build, every type and level of training, from the beautiful to the ugly, paraded up to the block and sold for every conceivable purpose anyone could dream up. Slaves were now used for practically everything: from making beds at the nearby hotel to slaughtering pigs at the local meat processing plants to serving stud to some old mistress (who discovered it was easier to buy her sexual pleasure than become entangled with yet another husband) to constructing most new buildings to being a birthday present to a randy teenager (so he wouldn't be dumping his seed indiscriminately around town).
At those auctions, he had seen perfect slaves selling for huge sums of money, while imperfect ones went for next to nothing, almost given away to the few buyers that would even bother bidding on them. In fact, at one auction, he saw a couple of broken down old slaves offered free to anyone there who would take them. The dealer making the offer explained he didn't want the expense of feeding them while they awaited the next auction and he didn't want to pay the transportation cost of shipping them to the rendering plants.
The "perfect" ones bringing in the big bids were predictable to anyone who had been in the business even a short time. Typically, they had handsome facial features (smooth skin, long eyelashes, bright eyes, high creek bones, fine-textured and thick head hair, thin lips, even white teeth, and a winsome smile), muscular well-built physiques (featuring well defined pecs, biceps, abs, and butts) which were either body shaved or naturally hairless, and outstanding sexual characteristics (for males, circumcised long thick shafts easily aroused to full tumescence, nicely shaped and fairly large balls, tits that were fairly prominent and sensitive to the touch; for females, nicely shaped breasts that were firm and prominent, proportionately very thin waists, hips that were well rounded, a nice tight vagina and a clitoris that was easily aroused). For both genders, the "perfects" were well into young adulthood - just out of their teens but not yet showing any signs of the coarseness that age brings - about 17 to 24 generally, were always proportional, and never fat nor thin. The best of them were almost always presented completely body shaved below the neck (so nothing of their sex was hidden), sexually aroused (so the buyer not only knew they could be aroused, but what it looked like once they were aroused), almost always tightly "high" collared (the "high" three to four inch collar forced their head up for a good display; the "tight" gave them a nice controlled look), freshly facially shaved (the "scruffy" look didn't sell well on the auction block although some owners preferred it for their own collections), and often ringed, at least temporarily, through their tits, nose, ears, or around their scrotum if the salesperson thought it enhanced them in anyway (for example, male slaves with puffy pectorals looked very good with heavily ringed tits; fierce looking, hyper-masculine slaves looked much more controllable when nose ringed, especially to potential female owners; and slaves with low- hanging balls often presented their sex a lot better when properly ringed around their genitals which forced them to protrude significantly; females often looked more sexually appealing fitted with ear rings to enhance a particularly beautiful face, sometimes a clitoral ring which tended to keep them in a chronic state of sexual excitement, or even tit rings if they had well- formed breasts).
Even the most provincial dealers knew these rudimentary facts about enhancing slave appeal to buyers and the big city mega-dealers knew enhancement tricks you wouldn't believe until you got the slave home and some of it started to melt, fade away, wash off, or ooze out within the first week or so. "Buyer beware" was an apt caution with any dealer who didn't have a solid reputation and who didn't offer guarantees along with his sales goods. Almost all slaves were completely oiled before going under the glaring lights of the auction block so their bodies, especially their muscles, shone to best advantage. But some dealers used pancake makeup to cover ugly whip scars, skin diseases, age wrinkles, or even blotchy skin patterns you run across in some crossbreeds. The direct lighting of objects on the auction block "washed out" a lot of wrinkles, shadowed age creases, and minimized whip scars, so if the light was blinding, it generally meant the salesman was trying to hide defects. A good dealer used a lot of light, but soft light, which let a buyer see what he was actually getting for his dollar. Soft lighting generally told the knowledgeable buyer that the dealer was fairly trustworthy. Some unscrupulous dealers tried to hide chronic diarrhea or overstretched butt holes that wouldn't close anymore with huge butt plugs, horrible teeth with temporary caps, falling head hair with hair spray, and worms by forcing sawdust up their rectums. Some of the worse of the dealers tried to hide a slave's gonorrhea by forcing navy beans up his shaft so he couldn't drip the tell-tale discharges when he was being exhibited. About all you could do to protect yourself was to only buy from a solid, reputable dealer to start with who offered a solid 30 to 60 day money-back guarantee with anything you purchased. If the price was too low, if you'd never heard of the dealer, or the goods were offered "as is", walk away no matter how cheap the slaves were being offered. Such were the realities of today's slave markets, but, in reality, buying slaves has been that way since the dawn of time - slaves and slimy sales practices seem to have always been there since the dawn of time for the naive buyer of human flesh.
Tom Pratt was fully aware of all this and more but was cognizant that if you knew what you were doing you could make a lot of money in the business. For slavery was his business - always had been and always would be as far as he was concerned. He came by it honestly. His grandfather had been big in the trade followed by his father and now him. Tom was proud of his three-generation heritage in trading in human livestock. It gave him authenticity, reputation, and prestige among his colleagues in the business and he was almost a legend with a cadre of loyal customers.
But SRC had been his brainchild of how to distinguish himself in the business. He knew many slaves were not always in "perfect" condition. Sometimes, slaves suffered from anuses that were so stretched from chronic use, especially those sexually appealing, that they could no longer properly pleasure a master or his friends. Sometimes, slaves, especially those not born into slavery, become mentally incompetent as they "adjusted" to their new status in society and couldn't follow the simplest of orders as despair, depression or other so- called "clinical" disorders took their toll. Sometimes, slaves broke an arm or a leg and it hadn't mended properly when their overseers ignored their plight, leaving them partially crippled and prematurely ready for the rendering plants. Some slaves had been disciplined severely at one time or another and, as a consequence of untempered use of the whips, they now needed plastic surgery to undo permanent disfiguring whip scars or facial deformities from being hit too often and too hard by their overzealous trainers and overseers. Some slaves had simply been ignored by an uninterested master or a lazy overseer and hadn't been fed properly, exercised regularly, made to scrounge for food on his own, or, worse yet, been fed from the table like a spoiled dog. As a result, some had been starved into a semblance of the body they had when they had been sold last: a skeleton covered by skin instead of a full-muscled sleek animal in its prime. Some had gone to fat: their neck collars so tight now from the fat around their neck they could hardly breathe anymore; the fat forming rolls around their waist and their tits hanging like a woman's. Some were malnutritioned: their skin patchy and dry; their eyes turned red and scabby, their teeth rotted and yellow. Most of these last two types were clearly the result of being fed the scraps from their master's or mistress' table instead of a solitary diet of slave chow and nothing else. Still other slaves had simply been overused: the factory worker chained to his work station and never being exercised properly so the muscles he didn't use were atrophying; the overused stud constantly force mated which often resulted in swollen balls and a prick with abrasion burns; the farm worker driven by the whip to burn up more calories than he was ever given to eat; the draft slaves driven by prods to pull heavier loads than they could manage without pulling ligaments lose; the sex slave fucked so often their insides were all torn up. And some slaves, of course, were just getting too old to make them profitable anymore. They were the easy ones: a trip to the rendering plant brought what profit was left in their bodies - most had an organ or two still functioning well enough to find a buyer and some hides were worth tanning and, at the very least, once gutted, they could be recycled for some decent protein to be added to the next batch of slave chow.
Tom Pratt was an expert in all of this. He knew what stock could be fixed up and sold for a nice profit; what stock was so far gone it wasn't worth taking SRC's time and effort; what stock wasn't worth anything other than a quick trip to the rendering plant. The truth was, what with the constant influx of new stock from fresh captives as well as the steady output of the breeding farms, most offerings at the auctions were fine as they were: fresh and ready for their new lives.
Only about 40% were "used" slaves and a good half of them were still in good shape, having had owners who had fed them well, exercised them properly, and avoided the disciplinary measures that damaged their stock beyond a reasonable one week or so recovery period, e.g. electric prods that left permanent burns in the hide; bull whips which tore the hide and surface muscles up permanently, starvation that left a body ravished by malnutrition; or oversized dildos that had torn their insides up.
But that left 20% of the market wide open for the services offered by SRC: generally used slaves who had been mistreated (often psychologically so they were clinically depressed, schizophrenic, or suicidal), overly disciplined (so their hides and sometimes musculature was badly torn up with torsos covered by permanent whip scars, burns scars, etc.), poorly maintained (usually underfed or fed a nutritionally unsound diet, not given enough liquids, or exposed to excessive cold or heat over a prolonged period), overworked (usually sleep deprived as well as rest deprived so the body was in a state of chronic exhaustion), or sexually damaged (castrated, milked dry through over-masturbation or mechanical pumping, torn and/or overstretched assholes or vaginas, penises and vaginal linings chaffed raw through too much friction; tits bleeding and raw from over-manipulation; balls swollen and overly sensitive from too much handling; tits raw from too much handling of the rings through them; genital bases burnished from too much handling of the genital rings fitted to them; throat tissues scarred and bleeding from too much stretching and friction in oral activities, etc.) [Note: the use of the term 'sexual damage' is quite different for slaves than the contemporary use of the term 'sexual abuse' for free persons where the term is generally reserved for non- consensual sexual activities, especially with minors. There isn't such a thing as non- consensual sex with a slave since property cannot grant an owner what is already theirs - use of the slave's body. Hence a slave can be physically sexually damaged but is never sexually abused.]
Of that 20%, about half, or 10%, were easily rehabilitated by the services of SRC in that the slave could be 'market enhanced' within a month or so and the profit margin would make that rehabilitation worthwhile. The remaining 10% had to be evaluated most carefully. If rehabilitation would probably take much over six weeks of our therapeutic efforts, the property in all likelihood wouldn't be worth the effort and would best be sent to the rendering plants for whatever he would bring in salvage value. But there were exceptions: the unusually good looking, the still-young and fresh (but with some major damage), the exceptionally sexually appealing, the phenomenal muscular build, the freakishly endowed, etc. Occasionally, one could make a case that eight weeks, even 12 weeks of therapeutic overhaul efforts would pay off.
That's where Tom Pratt was essential. He had the experience and know-how to determine exactly what properties were truly exceptional and worth the extra rehab efforts.
S.R.C. CASE STUDY #1:
Tom Pratt had bought the 30-year-old mixed-blood stud for next to nothing. The 5'9" slave was still strikingly handsome, had a great physique, and well-proportioned sex organs prominently displayed thanks to a tight fitting genital ring welded permanently in place. He had stood tall and proud on the auction block as Tom made the winning bid on this aging piece of flesh, obviously a product of both Latino and African stock.
The reason for the low price was two-fold: his face showed some winkles, his hair was showing a little gray, there were crease lines above his tightly fitted bronze collar, his nipples were rather permanently swollen around the fitted tit rings, and he was showing only semi- erect despite the auctioneer stroking him vigorously. But the biggest problem was an oozing asshole, stretched so much over the years it wouldn't close anymore and, as a consequence, he had to be flushed out thoroughly before every fucking and wear a diaper in between. Tom knew slaves got that way after years of heavy use: their holes just wouldn't close up anymore, making them a lousy fuck and their pricks just wouldn't get totally hard anymore. Sometimes, it was so bad their balls had dried up on them - each ejactulation was a pathetic dribble if they had one at all. In the trade, it was called "BSD (brothel slave disease)," a nice way of saying a slave had been fucked into oblivion. A slave with BSD generally sold for no more than salvage value.
Upon being sold once again, the slave was leashed by his neck collar and jerked off the stage to join his new owner, Tom Pratt, who was standing over to one side but near the stage of the auction barn.
"You got a name, boy?" Tom asked his new purchase.
"Yes, master. They call me Dusty, although you can name me anything you want, master, now that you own me."
"I don't need to be told what I can and can't do as your master, Dusty," Tom Pratt reminded the slave. "Just answer a question directly or you're in for some serious retraining, slave."
"Yes, master," the slave replied with lowered head.
With that, Tom Pratt took the slave's leash and led him out of the auction barn back to his transport truck. There he had the slave spread his legs wide apart with his hands in back of his slave collar so he could thoroughly inspect what he had bought.
The exam was leisurely and thorough. Every part of the slave was inspected, from a small abrasion on the slave's back to a nick on his face when the slave had speedily shaved right before being placed on the auction block. The slave's body was coated in a sweet smelling body oil which made it glisten even in the regular day light of the parking lot, especially since the slave was completely body shaved below his eyebrows. The slave's thick head hair was still wet from being shampooed immediately prior to his being displayed under the strong lights of the auction block. The ringed prick had some abrasion burns, the balls were loose and squishy, and the tits were calloused but not drooping yet. But when Tom had the slave turn around and bend over to expose his hole, the worst was evident - an asshole so overstretched it gaped open by a good inch or so with a trickle of shit and lubricant oozing out slow but steady. As Tom thrust his middle finger in all the way, he found no resistance whatsoever and the slave apparently barely noticed the invasion. Tom then stuck three fingers in and barely felt the side of the anal lining, yet alone get an acknowledging squeal out of the slave being inspected as one would expect.
"Tighten your hole, slave," Tom ordered as he again plunged the three fingers deep into the slave's opening.
The slave tightened his ass muscles but still the hole didn't close around the invading digits.
"Might as well fuck a bowl of jello as this ass," Tom told the slave, "if this is as tight as you can make it anymore. No wonder nobody would bid any decent money on you, Dusty. You're all fucked out!"
"Yes, master," was all Dusty could think of to say that would be appropriate. He hadn't asked to be fucked day and night by a succession of huge shafts that had stretched him obscenely. He had exercised daily with all the routines designed to keep a tight asshole, but after a while even that didn't work no matter how much he worked out. And, once he had started involuntarily oozing out of his asshole, the huge butt plug they had kept up him when he wasn't being fucked certainly had made a bad situation worse. He knew other slaves at the same brothel he was at who had been "fucked out" and all had been sent to the rendering plants never to be heard of again. Why had this man bought him instead of letting the auction barn just send him to the rendering plant?
"Well, Dusty, I think I know just what to do with this rather serious problem you've got," Tom Pratt said reassuringly. "If I'm right, you've got a few years left before you go to the rendering plants, and I'm going to be able to resell you at a nice little profit after some serious rehabilitation work on you, boy."
"Yes, master," Dusty replied brightly. "I'll do just what you want, master," he risked adding.
"There you go again, Dusty, with that smart mouth of yours. Of course, you'll do just what I want - you're my slave now, boy, and don't you forget it. Slaves do exactly what their masters want or they don't live to tell about it."
"Yes, master," Dusty replied, admonished once again by this new non-nonsense master.
"First off, I'm sending you to the rehab farm I run. There you'll be exercised heavily, fed all the slave chow you want, and caged separately so no other slave can get near you. The overseers won't be allowed to fuck you, play with your tits, or even stroke your butt. You've be worked 12 hours a day doing ordinary farm chores like a regular draft slave, but nothing sexual the entire time you are there. We'll even manacle your hands behind your back at night so you can't jerk off. In other words, no sex at all for a good three months before I evaluate you again. If I'm right, your balls will be full to bursting, firm and solid once again; your prick will be hard most of the time like it probably used to be when the brothel first bought you; those nicely ringed tits of yours will have lost their callouses and be perky and taut once more; you should have firmed up all over a bit so your collar isn't so tight and your pecs and abs display like they did a good five to six years ago; and, most importantly, I predict your asshole will have closed back up and you won't be shitting all over yourself anymore and, when we ram a big dildo up you, you can grab it with your muscles and squeeze it tight - just like you did when you were a young buck first fucked by whoever was your master then."
Yes, SIR!" Dusty almost yelled out in his enthusiasm.
"Dusty, by the time I inspect you again, my hope for you is you'll be hard and dripping all the time, rubbing yourself up against a fence post you'll be so hard pressed to get some relief. And, hopefully, your hole will have closed up on its own and you can keep all your shit inside you until it's the regular enema time. If not, we'll keep the routine up for another three months and see where you're at. If you're still showing an open hole, I've still got my ways - we can operate on you and surgically tighten that loose hole of yours, but it's mighty painful and takes quite a while to recover. But we'll only go to that trouble and expense if you are showing hard most of the time. If you've slow getting it up, I'll cut my losses and send you to the rendering plant where I should have sent you to start with."
With that, Dusty was led by an overseer to the big cage on the back of the transport truck and taken to the rehab farm. There, just like his master said, he was worked hard 12 hours a day doing all the regular farm chores, had his hands manacled behind his back when he wasn't working, shitting, or eating, and was caged separately so the other slaves couldn't use him at night. No overseer or supervisor laid a hand on him outside of the whip routinely used in working farm slaves - no one touched his calloused prick, his sore balls, his inflamed tits; no one stuck anything, let alone a prick, up his overstretched asshole. In three months, Tom Pratt again looked him over, was satisfied the "treatment" was working, but disappointed the slave's asshole was still not completely closed, albeit much more closed than before. He ordered three more months at the rehab farm with exactly the same routine, taking the opportunity to masturbate his slave to assess progress. Even after three months, Dusty was showing hard most of the time, was frequently dripping in need, and his balls were firm and swollen once again. When the slave was allowed the one ejaculation in front of his master, he came after only a few strokes by his master into the provided measuring cup. Both Dusty and his master were delighted his balls discharged almost half a cup of thick tasty cream. After three more months of "treatment," the slave's hole was closed tightly, his ass muscles could squeeze anything inserted into his hole firmly, his prick was almost constantly hard and dripping in need, and his ringed balls were firm and full. His muscular body was even more sharply defined and his skin glowed with health.
Dusty was shipped back to the auction barn he had been sold at a mere six months ago where a young man in his early twenties bought him as his personal sex slave at a very good price (due to his age) for a handsome, well equipped sex slave, , but still about four times what he had sold for a mere six months ago. It was a win-win situation for everyone: the aging, but still eager slave Dusty; the young master who bought him; and the master, Tom Pratt, who had sold him.
The very afternoon of his sale, Dusty found himself on all fours with his ass thrust up while his new owner fucked him vigorously. Dusty smiled in pride as he tightened his ass muscles appropriately just as he felt his new owner about to ejaculate into him and heard his new master groan in ecstasy at the sensation of having his shaft massaged while he shot his load deep into the slave's ass.
"Good boy," his new owner said as he slumped over the slave's back.
Dusty knew he had avoided the rendering plant for several more years, just as Master Pratt had predicted. He would forever be grateful to have been bought by the S.R.C. for resale. If only more slaves could be as lucky as he had been when Master Pratt had first bid on him six months ago. No surgery, no pharmaceuticals, no formal therapy - just a respite to let a slave's body heal itself.
S.R.C. CASE STUDY #2:
Jake's back and butt was a web of permanent whip scars and bleeding open lacerations. He hadn't been shaved or washed in years and he now resembled a wild animal with his thick black body hair that hadn't been torn out by the whip, the hide so dirty with years of grime no one knew what color he was anymore, and the chronic dull look of disinterest in his black eyes. His only body fixtures were the heavy iron collar welded tightly around his neck and the equally heavy nose ring welded into his septum. No money had been wasted on tit rings, genital bandings, or even an ear ring or two, let along a shred of clothing on this animal.
The slave Jake was up for auction once again, this time for next to nothing - in fact, the only bid so far had been from the agent from the rendering plant who thought he could sell the slave's kidney, lungs, balls, and heart to a hospital if nothing else.
Jake was only 35 but he looked 60 if a day. He had been enslaved when 15 for shoplifting and sold with a lot of criminals to an mining operation that simply consumed slaves - turnover ran around 33% a year. To last 20 years in that hell of bullwhips slashing their hides open at the slightest slowdown, fed once a day on slops from the garbage dumps, worked 365 days a year from 6 A.M. to 6 P.M. with no breaks other than having to piss and shit in place as they worked, and with a sip of water only given occasionally in the stifling heat IF they exceeded their production quotas. Then, at night, usually unsuccessfully, trying to fend off their co-workers who were bigger and stronger than they were who liked to be sucked off or fuck them as their only relief and validate they were still alive. All of this - the chronic thirst, hunger, pain from the whips, having pricks thrust down their throats and up their asses, the insufferable heat - proved that Jake was unusual, a truly indestructible paragon of survival. Yes, in the mines, it was survival of the fittest and only the strongest, the most aggressive, or the most clever had a chance. It was dog eat dog among the slaves, and even if you could survive the heartless overseers (who were paid on productivity bonuses and the right to fuck you anytime they wanted) you still had your co-workers to contend with the minute you were locked in the holding pens for the night.
Now it seemed his previous owners thought they couldn't beat anymore out of his lacerated body. Jake's dull look told them he had died internally even if his body still kept functioning. The mine operators had seen it happen with thousands of others and, once it occurred, no matter how much you torn them open with the bull whips, no matter how much you burned their filthy hides with the hot irons, no matter how much you fried their balls with the electric prods, no matter how big the disciplinary dildos you rammed up their asses, you just couldn't get much more work out of them. They just shut down and were ready to die.
But Tom Pratt saw something in the slave Jake that hinted he wasn't quite ready for the rendering plant yet. It was the occasional glint of interest in his eyes at who was bidding on him, the slight twitch in his big penis when the auctioneer hefted the flaccid organ up for all to see, the quick look of raw hatred when the leash was snapped onto his nose ring. Tom had seen the signs before with the occasional slave from the mines and plantations being sold off to the rendering plants after years and years of service. True, it was one in a hundred, but his instincts told him this slave was salvageable.
Tom Pratt's bid was only slightly above the bid from the rendering plant agent - a bid so low it was hard to believe you could buy a human being, no matter in what condition, at that price. Despite every effort, the auctioneer couldn't get any one else to bid on this hunk of flesh and the agent from the rendering plant could buy many others even cheaper so he refused to raise the bid.
"Fifteen hundred - once, twice - sold!" the auctioneer said with disgust, spitting on the the slave that had brought so little commission to him. "And good riddance," he added as he roughly jerked the leash attached to the slave's nose ring to get him off stage while the slave groaned from the sharp pain in his septum.
Tom Pratt took the leash from the auctioneer and led the new purchase outside to his truck where a cage in back awaited his purchases of the day. Without being told, the slave climbed inside and put his nose through the bars so his leash could be fastened easily to the cage itself. It was no different than when the mine had brought him to the auction barn only yesterday. His new owner left him there and went back into the auction barn. Before three hours had passed, there were four slaves in the truck's cage - three from the mines like himself judging from the dust on their hide and one from a plantation probably, judging from the slave's deeply tanned hide, his eyes in a constant squint from working in lots of light, and sun bleached hair. All four were heavily muscled, totally unkempt with matted roped hair, shit all over their backside, and scars from the whips, prods, and branding irons all over their naked bodies. All wore only a heavy iron collar around their neck and ugly looking rings through their nose's septum, the usual fittings for cheap draft slaves - the livestock that was routinely used only for heavy labor. The only activity had occurred when the farm slave had been thrown into the cage. He was considerably younger than the others - no more than 23 probably - and one of the caged mine slaves, a huge African, raped him immediately with no ceremony in clear view of the many people going in and out of the auction barn. This created little attention other than a few kids accompanying their parents to the sale, along with some young girls, staring at the sight and giggling. Most of the adults watching the ravishment (the young slave being raped screamed hoarsely in protest as the huge organ pounded in and out of him) commented knowingly that slaves were just animals after all, so one could expect scenes like this whenever you put two of them in the same cage. Other than that, however, the four slaves just sat there in the cage staring out at nothing in particular except the one raped was on a crying jag he couldn't seem to stop.
Eventually, Tom Pratt was through buying for the day and started up the truck for the trip back to his nearby slave reconditioning center.
"Welcome to your new home," Tom said as he unlocked the cage door and ordered the four out to stretch their legs. The new purchases were obviously surprised he hadn't whipped them out of the cage as they had expected nor did he even have a whip in his hand - the dreaded instrument was still coiled and fastened to his belt.
"You probably have already figured out you were headed to the rendering plant until I upped the bid on you, thereby cheating you out of death for a while, and you're probably wondering why." The slaves being addressed were startled. No one had talked to them in years other than a direct order or threat. This strange master was addressing them as if they could still think and seemed concerned about how they felt. It was a trick no doubt! Or perhaps he was mad? Slaves were always referred to as animals who couldn't (or shouldn't) think or feel.
"This place is called the slave reconditioning center and it's just what it says it is - we fix up old slaves who others are getting rid of. The reason we do this, at least for those lucky enough to come to our attention, is so we can get you back in your original condition and then sell you at a sizeable profit. In most cases, it means you'll be able to serve others reasonably well over a number of years yet - maybe not in the same way, but serving someone somewhere as a useful slave like God intended you to in the first place. We've garnered quite a good reputation over the years and so you should bring a decent price once we sell you off again and you know as well as I do that a good price generally means good treatment. Not too many are stupid enough to ruin a big investment in a slave, although, I admit, a lot of you had previous owners just that dumb. So we try to profit from other's mistakes and I admit I'm damn good at spotting beat-up old slaves who have a few good years left in them yet, even though I know some of you have pretty well given up - I can tell by that dull look in your eye. But don't you worry! We're going to change all that and within a few months you'll be looking forward to serving a new master in all sorts of ways and cherishing all that life has to offer a good slave well worth his purchase price."
Only one of the slaves gave any indication they were listening intently to what was being said - the young kid who had been raped in the truck cage. The other three may have been listening, learning over the years to never trust anyone over them - master, overseer, or handler.
"Master, sir. How are you going to.... restore us... to what... what we were?" the young slave timorously asked.
"We've got our ways, slave, and they work," Tom Pratt said with pride. "Even when a slave has foolishly given up."
With that, Tom Pratt stepped toward the young slave who didn't retreat but looked fearful. He ran his hand gently through the boy's head hair, wiped the tears off the slave's cheek even more gently, and then ran his hand lightly down the boy's back before taking both the boy's hands and placing them in his own with a soft squeeze.
"Trust me, slaveboy," the said softly. "Life is going to get a lot better for you."
Turning to the others, he added, "And for all the rest of you too," he assured them. "Starting as of now, you'll be feed twice a day, morning and evening, all the nutritious slave chow you want - not the rotten garbage you've been fed. You'll get fresh water anytime you want - not a little sip now and then when you're totally dehydrated. You'll get a bath each and every day along with a proper body shave and lots of oil on that dried up skin. You'll be rubbing a special antiseptic cream on those scarred up backs and rumps before you bed down every night so heal up your hides. You won't be subject to the bullwhips anymore - discipline will be with a paddle or a proper slave whip designed to hurt but not tear. You'll get plenty of rest, being worked only 10 hours a day until you get your full health back. And," turning to the boy who had been raped just a few hours ago, "fucking each other in the pens is going to be rigidly controlled from now on. Separate cages for each and every one of you. I'm even going to let you earn the privilege of being paired with a female slave you can choose yourself if you do exactly what I have in mind. And, most important, I'm going to train you so you can appeal to a better class of buyer - a buyer who will pay plenty for you and thus value you enough to maintain his property properly."
Now Tom Pratt had all four slave's attention. They stared at him in total disbelief. No bullwhips? Fed something besides garbage? Given clean water anytime they wanted? Not being hungry all the time? Working just 10 hours a day? Not being raped regularly by anyone bigger than they were once they were caged? Even, getting to be with a female, something most of them couldn't even remember anymore? And being trained so they would bring a high price on the auction block? It seemed unreal and in no way resembled any world they had lived in as a slave.
But within an hour, they were shown to a room with a big trough of slave chow at their mouth's level which made it easy to shove into their mouths without even using their hands. And right next to it, fresh running water in penis-shaped spigots it was easy to get your mouth around and suck out all you wanted. Right after that, it was a long hot shower with antiseptic-smelling soap and then some slave handlers shampooed their filty hair and shaved their bodies clean below their eyebrows and then rubbed a neutral smelling body oil into their chalky hides.
"By God, we've got two blacks and two whites, it seems," Tom Pratt chuckled as years of grime was scrubbed away. Indeed, two of the mine workers turned out to be a dark brown and the other two pure whites although before the shower you couldn't tell the difference between any of those from the mines - they were all the same shade of a filthy dark gray.
Next, the center's veterinarian looked the new arrivals over carefully both inside and out. "They'll all need to be wormed," he announced after jamming his finger up each of their assholes, "and none of these boys are virgins," he laughed. "Far from it from the feel of it."
"What did you expect?" Tom Pratt laughed. "Overseers of draft slaves usually fuck their charges two or three times a day as part of their discipline."
"Oh, is this what they call getting their jollies now?" the veterinarian chuckled. "Whatever. But it doesn't matter - none of these slaves are overstretched yet, despite all the fucking that generally goes on in the cages at night at those places.."
The veterinarian continued his careful examination of the new properties. "They're all seriously undernourished as I'm sure you know, they're showing signs of vitamin B deficiencies among others, their kidneys are swollen from years of insufficient water intake, some of the whip cuts on them are infected and you'll never get rid of all those whip scars and prod burns on their backs and rumps. In addition, they're obviously scared of their own shadow and showing signs of depression to the point where they don't give a damn about much anymore - even me sticking my finger deep up their ass or squeezing their balls hard. You already know, Tom, what I'm going to recommend. A good nourishing diet of slave chow to correct their nutritional deficiencies, plenty of sleep - at least 10 hours a day - to correct their body exhaustion, all the water you can get down them to get their kidneys working properly again, no fucking them more than once or twice a week until their hole shrinks back to normal size and the soreness goes away but make sure you milk them once a week or so to assure they don't dry up on you, and use that new surgical dressing I left with you last week on their backs and rumps for a good six weeks - that stuff's almost miraculous in getting rid of a lot of the surface scars and burn marks. I'd recommend trimming all of them - no one ever bothers to circumcise draft slaves it seems - just to improve their appearance and get rid of any smegma problems. I can get it done today while I'm here if you approve. And, Tom, these boys have about had it. They need to be talked to as if they had feeling and thoughts - you're good at that I know. They need to be touched other than just being fucked or for some other sexual usage to reestablish their humanity. And, Tom, you're a genius at this - you need to convince them someone cares about them, gives a damn about them, will take proper care of them - you know, Tom, give them hope life is going to get better. You do all that and I can guarantee you you've have four worm-free, healthy, likely-looking boys with a sparkle in their eyes, a love of their master, a nicely trimmed dick and a hide only half as bad as it is right now."
"Got it," Tom Pratt said with a smile. "You get them wormed and circumcized this afternoon. I've already started on the food, water, and rest routine. I even gave them their first little lecture on a better life awaits them and I know the psychological therapy they need to cast off their depression and motivate them again. In three months, you won't recognize this sorry lot. You'll see four slaves eager to serve a new master and," Tom laughed, "worth six to ten times what I ever paid for them."
"No wonder you're so damn rich," the veterinarian chuckled. "I should charge you double my usual fee, you old goat."
"You get plenty as it is," Tom Pratt chuckled. "After all, you didn't tell me anything I didn't know already of your own admission and, frankly, anyone can worm and trim a slave themselves if they can read the label on a bottle and know how to sharpen a knife."
"Touche! But modifying those whip scars with those dressings I provide is something special and, Tom, I'd hate to see a slave's prick you decided to trim yourself," he chortled. "You'd probably castrate the poor bastard instead of just trimming him nice and neat."
With that, the worming was accomplished and the four slaves were all strapped tightly to a surgical table where they were all circumcised in short order with little lose of blood or other complications. The veterinarian had used a local anaesthesia in the procedure, highly unusual in trimming slaves, so the slaves didn't scream and thrash around while it was being done as one usually saw when this was done. Tom always insisted on the use of anaesthesia with his slaves - it was part of his therapeutic strategy in rehabilitating slaves. It would be a good two weeks before the worms in them were all dead and the foreskin had completely healed. Meanwhile, the dressings on their backs would have already begun to promote the skin growth necessary to cover some of the whip scars and prod burns that distinguished their backs and rumps now.
Over the next three months, the nutritious diet and lots of good water, along with plenty of sleep, did its magic. The slaves filled out, their skin and eyes took on a healthy tone, their vigor dramatically increased, as did their interest in what was happening around them. Their backs and rumps healed nicely, although the worst scars still showed through the new skin growth but they suffered no longer from infections and open lacerations. Their ugly nose rings had been removed, making them feel half way human again and the heavy iron collars had been replaced with smart-looking aluminum ones that were so tall they forced their heads up at all times and were fitted much tighter than before. They had been caged individually since Tom had bought them and no sex was allowed except the welcomed weekly milkings they had to perform on their neatly trimmed pricks to alleviate the pressure in their balls. As a result, after a month or so, most of them were at least semi-hard all the time in their constant need, a sure sign their sexual motivations were returning and their health was being restored. Their work at the center's farm was hard, but assured a good musculature and good body tone as well as a nice overall tan on their bodies. Even the two brown boys got considerably browner out in the sun all day. They weren't beaten or burnt, never had food or water withdrawn as a punishment, but did work under the whip - in this case a slave whip that didn't break the skin or leave any marks, but did hurt enough to make sure they were motivated by the pain.
It was obvious to all four slaves their new master cared about them and their well being. He talked to them almost every day, usually after their shower when they had finished their work. He told them about their future life under a new master who would value them due to their cost, how they could look forward to such tasks as serving at stud if their new masters or mistresses chose to bred them, the decent food and water they would probably receive as valuable properties, and the health care their new masters would provide to make sure they kept their market value.
After the surgical dressings on their scars had done all that they could do, Tom gave them skimpy and tight slave tunics to wear during the day that covered all of the remaining scars on their backs and rumps that had a simple leather belt around the waist to make sure their physiques were still displayed properly for all to admire even though they were no longer totally nude. Although it was difficult for the slaves to get used to having a covering on them at first, they soon got used to the garment and, somehow, felt better about themselves not being kept nude in public at all times. They almost felt human again without the animalistic nose rings and constant nudity and unkempt bodies.
But the big breakthrough came when Tom halted the weekly milkings and forced abstinence in between and let them choose a temporary mate from among a bevy of female slaves, also being reconditioned. Each chose a woman that appealed to him within the short allotted time and from then on, the pair shared a cage at night where the trysts included learning about each other's backgrounds, their hopes, their fears, their aspirations, and their need to love, physically and emotionally, another human being along with, of course, the sexual couplings. Three of the four male slaves had never been with a women before this and generally had to be coached by the female until nature took over and soon they were thrusting deeply into the woman as if they had been doing it for years. Just being held and touched and stroked meant even more than the sex itself and both male and female slaves responded psychologically to dispel all of their depression and despair within weeks. Although these initial pairs ceased when the female was obviously pregnant, the magic had been done. The males were allowed to choose a new female from those available but didn't forget the joy of their previous partners and the thought that eventually their seed would live on through a new birth somewhere - a slave pup, of course - but nevertheless a person who could form part of their legacy. By the time six months of rehabilitation had expired, each male had impregnated about four or five female slaves and each female could be resold with a slave pup in her belly - two for the price of one. But more importantly, each slave, male and female, felt restored and revitalized. No longer despairing and depressed, now with healthy well-rested bodies, feeling confident and useful, knowing they were of considerable value at the slave markets, they almost looked forward to the new life that would start when they once again climbed up on the auction block and watched hundreds bid upon their naked body. This time around, they felt they were a human, not a animal. This time they felt they had worth to offer a new master. This time they didn't despair as to their future. Tom's "therapy" had worked on them and worked well. No matter they might be bought as studs, as menials, as a sex toy, as a mistress' buck, as a warehouse worker, as a house steward, as a farm worker, as a garbage collector - it didn't matter as long as they were valued, cared for, and, in a way, appreciated for what they were.
Exactly six months after they had arrived at the slave reconditioning center, the four slaves were once again placed nude in a cage in back of Tom's truck and delivered to a new auction center about three hours away. There they were inspected by scores of potential purchasers while in the holding pens the first day and then placed up for auction the following day.
As Tom had predicted, each of them brought anywhere from seven to ten times what he had paid for them only six months ago. One of the blacks Tom had bought from the mines was sold to a mistress as her new bed buck - she liked his long thick (now circumcised) dick that was easily aroused and the rugged look on his face along with his magnificent physique. It was doubtful he would be wearing a slave tunic much anymore, but he seemed happy with his new owner. The other black from the mines was sold as a chauffeur to a rich old man who thought he would look smart in a chauffeur's livery and knew he was smart enough to learn how to drive his fancy car. The old man also liked a nice looking body around to fuck occasionally, but the black slave being sold knew they would probably only be once a week or so, next to nothing compared to his use by the overseers at the mines. The white boy Tom first spotted weeping from being raped was sold off to a restaurant looking for a young, smart- looking waiter. He would look good in the restaurant's uniform and, if a customer took a fancy to him, he seemed perfectly willing to accommodate their interest, viewing being fucked or sucking them off as a compliment to his body at this point in his training. It certainly beat being raped in the cages at the mines every night. The deeply tanned farm worker ended up being sold to another farm, but this time as a supervisor due to his experience and high price. Now he would be the one fucking the hands under him and he would be the one with a whip in his hand. He would get to wear a supervisor's tiny pouch instead of being naked all the time, but he knew the nose ring would be reinstalled. Nevertheless, he knew as long as productivity kept up or even improved, he could pretty well write his own ticket. He just hoped he didn't have to beat the hell out of the slaves under him to do that, but Master Tom had taught him some techniques other than the whip which he thought might help him reach his productivity goals. There was considerable status in being a farm overseer and he could bed down anyone under him he wanted although most of them would be male. Furthermore, his new owner didn't seem to be interested in him sexually, so from now on, he would probably be the one calling the shots in that area.
When the four had new owners, Tom smiled and figured up his profit. Taking out all his expenses in maintaining and reconditioning the foursome, the original price he had paid for the four slaves, the commission for the auctioneer as well as the holding pen charge, he had made a cool $78,000 on just those four over a six month period.
S.R.C CASE STUDY #3:
"You stupid, sadistic bastard," the slave dealer screamed at his handler, a free man paid minimum wage (and not worth that) to keep the dealer's stock under control and well displayed at all times.
Beneath the handler lay a young slave's badly damaged body, a broken bone jutting out of one shin, two ribs caved in where the slave had been brutally kicked, a broken jawbone now bleeding profusely with bloody teeth lying on the ground beside him where the face had been bashed in. The slave had given up screaming and passed into unconsciousness.
"You've damaged my property and, believe me, every penny is coming out of your wages, or, by God, I'm taking you to court for an enslavement order to sell you to get my money's worth back for this huge loss." No thought was expressed as to the suffering of the slave - just the monetary value of his body was the concern.
"But, sir, this piece of shit spit on me when I stuck a finger up his ass to speed him up a bit and I'm not having any slave spit on a freeman. That just can't be allowed, sir. Besides that, this bastard's had an attitude on him every since you got ahold of him - sullen, resentful, defiant - hell, he needs the shit whipped out of him with a good bull whipping to learn his place in the world. As it is, sir, he's not worth the chow you're feeding him. No one, sir, and I mean no one, is going to buy a slave with his attitude until he's thoroughly and properly broken, sir."
"You dumb son-of-a-bitch," the dealer yelled back. "That's for me to decide, not you. It's my property, not your's. Hell, you couldn't afford a mangy dog, let alone a full grown good-looking slave like this one was. I've sold many a slave with some spirit in them - some buyers only want a slave they can break themselves - others get their kicks out of slave breaking - but you're hired to handle them, you miserable bastard, not destroy them. This slave cost me $89,000 a week ago and now I'd be lucky to give him away. Are you going to pay me that $89,000 or am I going to have to get a court ordered garnishee on your wages, if anyone would hire you after this."
"But, sir, he spat on me and a little discipline is called for in a case like that," the handler continued arguing. "We can't have slaves like that - it's not... Well, it's not socially responsible... and no judge on earth is going to find fault with disciplining an out-of-control slave, especially one being offered to a gullible public to buy."
"You're fired, you bastard," the dealer retorted. "Give me your whip, prod, manacles and keys and then get the hell out of here. I'll see you in court. And don't think I can't prevent you from ever getting a job as a handler again - I'll make sure the word gets out on the likes of you. You'll be lucky to get a job shoveling shit after this."
The handler dropped his arms down to his side and looked defeated.
"Calm down, Mr. Stokes. I admit I did over-react a bit with the slave. It's just that I can't stand being spit on - sort of a hang-up of mine, I guess. Especially by the likes of a smart-ass slave. But I can see the property is damaged, Mr. Stokes, and I'll make amends, I promise. He ain't dead, it seems, and, when he recovers, he'll sell for something and, Mr. Stokes, you can take the difference between what he brings at market and what you paid for him out of my future wages - that is, sir, if you let me keep my job here. I promise to keep my temper under control in the future, Mr. Stokes, or I'll be in such debt you just could get me enslaved for my debts and then you could sell me off to pay you back."
"Well, I could do that now, you bastard. The problem is you wouldn't begin to get on the auction block what this boy costs me, so I might as well work it out of you as a handler. But you do anything like this again, and, believe you me, I'll be delighted to personally sell you for the courts to get my money back and, take my word for it, I'll find a buyer for you that will make your life as miserable as any slave's on this earth. Some cruel, sadistic bastard like yourself you enjoys nothing better than torturing a slave to death for an little afternoon's amusement. That's the fate you deserve, you bastard, and you know it."
"I'm earning about $160 a week now, Mr. Stokes. Make it $100 a week and let me keep my job until the debt paid off. Maybe I'll get lucky and the slave will heal up better than it seems right now," he looked down at the inert body between Mr. Stokes and himself. "I really need this job - unemployment is terrible right now, Mr. Stokes. What with so many slaves flooding the market and prices coming down on all but the best looking ones that buyers like for sex. I'm begging you, Mr. Stokes, to keep me on. And I promise to never damage any of your property ever again, no matter... how much... they spit and swear at me. It's your property and I can see where you'd be upset."
"Upset? Upset, you bastard. I'm a hell of a lot more than just upset. There's not a dealer in this city that wouldn't fire the likes of you on the spot for what you've done plus take you to court, but you've been with me a long while now and, I realize, haven't damaged any property up to now, so I've decided to be lenient against my better judgement IF, you bastard, you pay me back every penny of the loss I will incur, and IF you make damn sure you never damage - even one hair of their head - any of my property again."
"Thank you sincerely, Mr. Stokes. You won't regret it I can assure you. Now let me get this slave up on the table so we can assess the damage I caused. Maybe it's not as bad as it looks, Mr. Stokes."
"And maybe it's worse than it looks, you bastard. But get him up on the table and I'd get the house veterinarian so assess the damage. Not that he doesn't have other things to do," the dealer said disgustedly.
Soon the slave veterinarian had looked the damaged slave over thoroughly and vocally listed the damage to the dealer.
"Leg's broken with the bone sticking through the skin. I can set the leg and stitch up the skin, but it's take a good four months before it will hold the slave's weight. The broken ribs - there's not much I can do but bind him up so support his breathing and let the bones heal themselves, but he'll have to be bound daily for a good three months and can't be allowed to do anything that will cause him to breathe heavily - no hard work or even much sexual excitement - otherwise, his lungs will push those ribs right back out of place and he'll be deformed. His jaw's a mess - broken in three places. I can wire it all back together, but he have to wear a mouth bit to force his mouth open for a good three months while it's healing, he'll need plastic surgery to repair where his cheeks caved in, and you might as well pull all the teeth left in his head, including all the roots, and fit him with dentures. It'd be faster and cheaper than trying to repair those teeth of his. Too bad, the slave had such a nice smile on him. And, you may not have noticed, but his left eye is gone, knocked clear out of his head. I didn't notice it until I stepped on something squishy when I was looking him over and darn, if there wasn't his eye down there under my foot. His right eye is fine, though, and you really only need one eye anyway. We can fit a plastic eye in his left socket and a person would never notice if we get the color matched right. It will follow his right eye when it moves and everything. "
What about his appearance once we do all that?" the dealer asked.
"With some luck and a good fit with the dentures, his face will probably look just like it did if the plastic surgeon fixes that sunken cheek and we get an plastic eye that matches. His ribs should heal fine - the two broken ribs weren't crushed, luckily and if we hold them in position and limit the slave's breathing, they should heal where it won't even be noticeable as far as appearance goes - of course, he'll never breath as well as he did before all this, but you probably didn't want him as a rickshaw boy anyway - not one this pretty. My guess is he'd have a barely noticeable limp from the broken leg even if it sets perfectly - the only way to get rid of that is let it heal, then break it again and reset it, but we're talking another six months if we do that, maybe a year. But he's saleable with a little limp to him without too much loss - a boy hung like this and as good looking as this isn't going to be sold for how well he walks anyway - it's how he performs in bed that will matter a lot more, and if we get that face fixed up fine, that's what he'll sell as - a sex slave if nothing else. But he won't be selling to the Indianapolis Colts now - that's for sure!" the slave vet laughed heartily. "Well, maybe for use in the stands if an owner gets horny enough, but not down on the field anyway."
"Sounds expensive," the dealer said, "but necessary if we're to get much out of him at all."
"May I make a suggestion, sir?" the veterinarian asked.
"I'm open to anything at this point," the dealer said.
"You could pay for some of the repairs by selling off some body parts he won't be needing - he only needs to hear out of one ear, for example, so you could sell the cochlea from his left ear - a buyer wouldn't be bothered by a slave deaf in one ear and the price for a decent cochlea is pretty good right now. And he doesn't need two kidneys anymore that he needs two gonads - both of those organs bring decent prices now and aren't two hard to remove - we could do it when we were fixing his leg and face and he's under anesthesia. Of course, the kidney removal will leave a scar, but nothing like the procedure just a few years back. At most about 7 inches long and it's around the backside anyway. Most people pumping his ass will hardly notice and, if a new owner uses him as a display slave, a neat scar only adds character. Selling off just those three parts should pay for all the repairs, Mr. Stokes."
"Now we're talking," the dealer said with a smile.
"Well, if you don't mind a slave that's half blind, half deaf, half a man, and functioning on one kidney," the veterinarian chuckled.
"Any danger losing a nut will make him loose his manly looks?" Mr. Stokes asked concernedly.
"It's possible, at least a little, but, don't worry, if that happens, his new owner can easily remedy that with a monthly testosterone shot. It's common practice now and the shots only cost $2 or so. With so many slaves totally castrated nowadays, some owners keep their eunuchs looking no different than real men with weekly shots - that's how well it works. But just one nut - most don't need anything at all - it seems the other nut just works a little harder and makes up the difference in the vast majority of cases.
"Let's go for it - I don't have much to loose it seems like. Sell the cochlea, a gonad, and a kidney at the best price you can get. And get me the best plastic surgeon and a good dentist on this case - I don't want his looks ruined with a caved in cheek or ill fitting dentures. No use trying to save money at that end."
"Good thinking, Mr. Stokes. I'll line it up for you and do the best I can getting a good price on those organs we'll be plunking out of the slave."
"One little advantage you didn't mention," Mr. Stokes added. "Fitted with dentures, the slave will make a damn good cock-sucker with a little training."
"Oh, I'd thought of that too, Mr. Stokes. You ever had a slave suck you off with his dentures out?"
"No, can't say that I have had the opportunity."
"Well, Mr. Stokes. It's a totally different experience. They can swallow you down a lot easier, have a lot more room in their mouth to work on your shaft, and seem to get more suctioning into it somehow. It's just better overall. I understand from my colleagues that the brothels are now pulling the teeth out of all their male slaves and having them fitted with dentures. The customers wanting to have their cocks sucked are demanding it and the brothels, of course, have to keep up with the competition, so you're going to see more and more sex slaves looking like they have perfect teeth - all dentures, of course.
The next day, the slave was under general anesthesia so he wouldn't move under the knife and a team of veterinarian surgeons, plastic surgeons, and dental surgeons went to work on the carcass below them on the operating table. Within the first hour, the slave was minus a kidney, a gonad, and a cochlea. Within the second hour, a new eye had been fitted, a cheek bone had been restored to its former height, and a jawbone was perfectly aligned and carefully wired together. By the third hour, the leg had been set, the skin had been sewn back together and a plastic cast had been installed to inhibit any untoward movement and the rib cage had been girdled appropriately to restrict the slave's breathing. By the fourth hour, the slave was regaining consciousness and moved to a bed, cathtertized and strapped down to restrict his movement for the next 72 hours.
After that, he was up on his feet and being exercised appropriately, considering the surgery performed on him. For the next two months, he was fed through liquids via a tube in view of his broken jaw, but bathed and oiled daily when his bandages were being changed. By the end of four months, he could again eat whole food with his new dentures, his jaw worked fine, his face looked just like it had before the damaging event, and his body, with all the exercise, looked fine despite the new scar on his back torso. Mr. Stokes was delighted with the outcome (as was the anxious slave handler who was having his wages deducted), especially when it became clearly evident the slave would have no limp whatsoever now that the leg had healed so well and could support jumping, running, and anything else a slave was expected to do in normal functioning. Nor did the slave need the supplementary testosterone shot monthly. In fact, he didn't need it at all - all his manly traits, as well as his sex drive, seemed unaffected by the event - he was hard a good deal of the time, often dripping in need; his body hair demanded a twice a week body shave, and he had no trouble sporting his new pencil line beard outlining his rugged masculine jaw line. Even his teeth fitted well - he could eat as well as ever and sucked considerably better, especially when they were removed for just that task.
Mr. Stokes sold the restored slave for $106,000, a hefty profit overall even after taking out the maintenance costs of the slave over the six months he had had him. As the veterinarian had claimed, the sale of the excess organs had paid for all the surgery, and the money withheld from the handler's wages were just a bonus, as well as an good object lesson to the impetuous employee. The slave was sold for the primary use the veterinarian had predicted months and months ago - as a sex slave.
The slave's new master was about the slave's own age - a successful manufacturer of electric water heaters - who was looking for a moderate priced slave well broken to his new life of having his body sexually used for an owner's enjoyment.
The slave, once feisty and rebellious, had long ago lost his resistence to his slave status. His training had knocked any such nonsense out of him, if not the fact a slave had few rights in this world - not even the right to retain parts of his body that could be sold for profit. Besides, the beating had taught him once and for all others controlled his life now - not him, and he had learned even the most miserable free man, a lowly slave handler begging for a low-paying job, didn't have to feel sorry for how he treated a mere slave who was just property - all he had to suffer was a little lost wages. It was a hard lesson to learn - that he was just property that others could do anything with they wanted to - but that's what slaves were and that's what he was - a slave. He would do everything in his power to make his new owner proud of his purchase and make him realize he need look no further than his new purchase to find the perfect bed partner. If his new master would take care of him than he would do everything possible to take care of anything his master wanted.
His new master did take care of him - he fed him properly, he protected him from sadists like the slave handler, and he never threatened to sell him. The only discipline given was just and fair - a good whipping when he made a mistake in doing a assigned task - and a couple of missed meals when he wasn't listening carefully to his master's instructions - but nothing any slave didn't expect in a good home. Over time, he actually learned to love his new master as a child loves its parents. And the master respected the slave for meeting his expectations of proper slave conduct with little fuss or bother. As far as the master was concerned, he was well worth the selling price of $106,000, especially after he had enjoyed having the slave suck him off again or he fucked him once again wherever he chose. And the slave was proud of the price he had brought at auction and the satisfaction he brought his new owner. It was a win-win situation.
Tom Pratt like the slave so well he decided against his original plan of reselling him for a big profit, at least for now. Actually. he kept him over the next thirty years, viewing him just as attractive and responsive as most slaves half his age. Climax was a loyal slave and consistently excellent bed mate. Climax died of a heart attack in his mid-50's, but he died blissfully happy, loving his master and serving him with every fiber of his being just as long as he could. Tom Pratt buried the slave under an oak tree in his back yard with a little marker stating "Climax - the best slave a man ever owned."
I could go on and on with various successful case studies, but these representative four accounts give you some ideas of the types of slaves S.R.C. deals with and how effectively we can turn trash items into sellable commodities.
It's heart-warming to work within this specialized market. A minister proclaimed we were "saving souls." A politician claimed we were "indemnifying the society from its worst excesses." An economist proclaimed we were "stabilizing the marketplace." A psychologist announced we were a "model of what could be done using modern scientific techniques." A veterinarian claimed we were a "preview of modern technology." I don't know about all that, but I do know I get a lot of satisfaction working with slaves originally destined for the rendering plants and organ transplant factories. The grateful looks on their faces and their delight in once again being auctioned off to a useful life means as much to me as the substantial profits that also come my way in the process.
As S.R.C.'s reputation spread, so did my own reputation and I now spend a good deal of my time as a consultant and lecturer at professional workshops, so no doubt I've met quite a few of you already. If not, drop around the main headquarters of S.R.C. and take a tour. You'll not only get a whole new look at just how drastically slaves can be recycled these days but just might want to get into the business yourself.
THE END
[Comments should be directed to Bill Smith at anonymous4371@juno.com]