The Brazilian

THE BRAZILIAN

by Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)

CHAPTER 10

Thinking I could put Rico and Beauty "on hold" during Juan's visit was ridiculous of course. Juan was completely attuned to having hundreds of slaves available to him at any time and trying to limit him just to my bed was absurd.

The next night, Juan and I reached new levels of enjoying each other's bodies. But, by 2 A.M. Juan asked if my two slaves could "at least" put on a little show for us as we were playing around and shortly after that, Rico and Beauty were staging one of their tableaus they often presented for my guests.

But, even before they dutifully started to fuck each other for our amusement, Juan started directing them, first having Beauty lower himself onto Rico's prick and then proceed to pump himself; next having Rico on all fours while Beauty fucked him. Neither slave was allowed to shoot off during their performances, especially difficult when Juan ordered the two slaves to suck each other off in a 69 position we could both view easily. Both slaves were covered in sweat with every muscle tensed as they performed, biting their lips as they struggled to keep from having the forbidden orgasm.

"Jesus, Juan," I said as I watched the slaves performing while Juan was languidly fucking me, "at least let them get some relief."

"Nonsense, Christian. It's good for slaves to practice self-control. Reminds them of what they are," was Juan's reply as he pumped into me somewhat more vigorously.

Well, Juan got his relief, deep within my rectum. And I got mine, deep down his throat a little later. But my poor slaves never did, at least when performing for us on top of a large library table in my bedroom where we could view them easily.

But relief did come for them the next morning. Juan, waking up long before me, had supervised the preparation of a breakfast to his liking and Beauty, being a young black buck, had been milked to supply the fresh cum Juan liked in his omelette as well as coating his breakfast rolls. But Juan was ravenous and one omelette wasn't enough. Beauty's second milking yielded little and so Juan had to make do with Rico's cum, certainly plenteous after all the stimulation he had the night before, but "not as sweet as a pure black's" according to Juan's assessment.

By the time I arrived in the dining room, both Rico and Beauty were strangely flaccid and both looked a little sheep-faced as they brought me what I wanted: corn flakes and orange juice.

"Why aren't you hard?" I asked.

"Master, we've been .... we've been.. milked," Rico stammered out, his rich brown skin turning a strange shade of pink as he blushed in embarrassment.

"Milked dry, Master," Beauty added with a shamed look on his face. "Master Juan milked us for his breakfast, Master."

"Omelettes and frosting for his breakfast roll?" I smirked.

"Yes, Master," the two slaves answered in unison, both amazed I could read their minds.

"Master Juan is accustomed to that for breakfast. Back on his ranch, that's what he has every morning as far as I know," I informed them. "When I was there, he kept a nice-looking black slave with very large balls, still in his teens, in the kitchen just for that purpose."

I noticed Beauty shuttered at the revelation, realizing his probable fate if he belonged to Master Juan.

"What's the problem, Christian?" Juan burst into the room, freshly showered and dressed for the day by now. "Didn't Beauty realize slaves can be milked like any other animal" he laughed.

"He probably never thought about it, Juan," I replied. "He's only belonged to my friend Will and I so far and doesn't know much about all the uses slaves are put to these days."

"Well, his innocense is appealing. I noticed when I fucked him, he was cooperative enough but responded like I was being a little rough. I'd like to see his reaction if he were in my training center back at the ranch. Those trainers of mine aren't noted for their gentleness," Juan laughed, "and that's good because a slave never knows who or what he's going to be sold to. Some owners, I understand, really enjoy treating their slaves rough - very rough. I've even had a few buyers looking to replace stock they got too zealous with in their lovemaking and destroyed their own property in the process. Pretty stupid - destroying your own property but it's their money," Juan sighed.

"Makes you wonder what happens to slaves given away as corporate gifts," I commented, thinking of the beautiful slaves Juan sold yesterday right here in my living room. "Do you ever hear what happens to slaves just given away, Juan?"

"Only from that client I sold to yesterday," Juan said. "By the way, any of those frosted rolls left, Beauty?"

Beauty quickly exited to the kitchen and returned with a plate containing two more rolls, both glistening with his own creamy white cum. It was quite obvious he didn't like looking at how his manly output was being utilized that morning, but he properly knelt before Master Juan for presentation of the rolls, his eyes downward in respect.

As Juan took a bite into the roll, he slurped up the icing with his tongue and savored the treat before continuing to answer my question.

"My client doesn't get too much direct feedback but he does run into his gifts now and then when visiting his business associates. He claims since he only gives away the best looking, heaviest hung slaves he can buy, most of them end up as his associates' sex slaves where they get pampered and spoiled over time. He said one of his associates died once and the gift he had given him was returned but that slave was so cocky and full of himself by then he had to send him off for serious retraining before he could give him away again. The retraining center was harsh but thorough, and when the slave came back to him - at considerable expense for his new training, he added - he was fine to give away again. But, Christian, he added he thought the retraining center had sort of overdone it - the slave tremored and shook a lot when on display and was so eager to fulfill any command at all he came off as a beaten dog that never got over it if you know what I mean. My client said if he ran into a slave like that again - too big for their own britches - he'd just sell him on the open market for whatever he could get and suffer the losses. That, or just sell him off for his body parts."

"And what would you do under those circumstances, Juan," I asked out of genuine curiosity, while I enjoyed the alarmed look in both Rico's and Beauty's eyes, now in slave display again.

"Well, it would depend, Christian," Juan replied as he picked up the second roll and began licking off the 'frosting.' "First off, I'd see where the boy was originally trained or whether he was bred. If he'd been at a good training center, like the one I run, I'd just write him off as a loss and sell him for rendering. If a slave's been properly trained to start with, you'd never have a problem like that - forgetting what you are is at the core of it, you know. But, if he'd had shoddy training to start with or was a bred slave who'd probably had little or no formal training, it'd be worth the cost to enroll him in a reputable training program - something like the one I have down on the ranch. But, to get that sort of consideration, he'd have to be one damn fine looking stud with lots of years of service left in him, let me tell you."

"There's an answer for everything, it seems," I replied. "At least when it comes to slaves."

"I'm curious about Beauty's training," Juan countered. "Rico's I know is good - I did it myself," he laughed. "That training will last a lifetime if you don't muck it up with a stupid owner. But Beauty I wonder about. He resisted just a tad when I milked him this morning and when I fucked him yesterday he wiggled around just a bit too much to tell me he'd had good training."

Beauty's eyes shot to the floor in shame and he shivered noticeably at the report from his master's guest.

"He was trained at a state slave training center in Kansas according to Will, his original owner. Of course, he was just 16 at the time but it seems to me that would make it all the better. Will never had a bit of trouble with him I know, nor have I," I added. "Why, aren't the state slave training centers any good in Kansas?"

"I have no idea. Did his last master tell you how long he was in that training center?" Juan pushed the issue.

"I think he said four months or so, maybe six - I can't remember. I could call him to find out if you think it's important, Juan."

"Don't bother, Christian. It's not the time as much as the quality of the program itself. Some government programs in Brazil are O.K. but some are just a joke - depends on which province. Some know exactly what they're doing - some don't. Maybe that's the case in the U.S. Every heard of any problems of Kansas trained slaves, Christian?" Juan asked with some concern.

"No, Juan, but I wouldn't hear that sort of thing anyway. It's not like I'm into buying slaves everyday, you know."

"I've got my sources. I'll check around before I leave. If the slave has been in a decent training program, that's one thing and you can relax. If he hasn't, I can take him back to Brazil on my plane and run him through my own training center and have him back to you within a month without a scar on his body and raring to go. I won't even charge you for it since you've proved to be a great host, Christian."

Beauty, hearing all of this, broke into tears without breaking position and tried to make sure his sobs were silent so as to not bring attention to himself. The horrors of the Kansas center just two years ago raced through his mind where he had entered a free-spirited teenage boy and left a broken slave nothing but property and eager to please anyone who bought him. He couldn't imagine a product of that program being anything but a good slave the rest of their life. But, then, he couldn't imagine Master Juan viewing him as suspect in his training just because he moaned a little when Master Juan forcibly fucked him and shuttered a little when Master Juan unexpectedly grabbed his balls in the kitchen and started pumping his big prick and massaging his balls until he shot off into cup held in front of him. He had never resisted in any way or done anything but cooperate with the manhandling. After all, he was only a slave.

Beauty needn't have worried so much. Juan made his calls and reported back the Kansas slave training center had a good reputation and reported few 'rouge' slaves among their alumni that ever needed to be retrained or disposed of.

"Sorry to have alarmed you, Christian, but I'm so use to slaves trained to Rico's standards I guess I'm overly critical of what other's are doing in the training arena."

"Hooray! Kansas is redeemed," I laughed and Beauty, still in full display, risked a relieved smile. "I had no intentions of being without Beauty for a month anyway while you worked him over at your ranch," I added. "He's too handy around here to be gone a whole month," I said as I reached over and rubbed Beauty's ass to emphasize what I was talking about. "But, if he ever needs retraining, I know where to send him - the same place as Rico was trained and the price you cited can't be beat."

Juan left the next day in that he had done what he came to do and he needed to get back to his business he said. I could imagine how busy he probably was down in Brazil what with the constant arrival of new stock, the management of the huge operation he was running, and then constantly selling off his finished products before his holding pens were jammed.

"It's been three years since you visited my ranch, Christian?" Juan almost pleaded. "And we get along as well as ever despite being apart so long. It's like destiny has determined we're to be best friends forever. You don't seem overly occupied. Can't you come down for a good vacation before too long - you can even bring your slaves with you if you think you would miss them too much."

"It's not a bad idea, Juan. I did really enjoy my last visit and you're a great host. And that ranch of yours has all sorts of hidden treats, so I can see why you're anxious to get back, business or not, you horny old bastard. I'll think on it and let you know if I can work something out."

"Be sure you do, Christian. I promise I won't drag you off to some slave dealers in San Paulo the next time like I did before. But, believe me, I never dreamed my friend Senor Alcazar was going off buying a few slaves when I set up the visit."

"That was one of the highlights of my trip, Juan. If I do come down again, I'd love to visit some of the local markets - it's not only educational but fun."

"Whatever you want, buddy. As long as you visit, I'll set up anything you want - a bout with a fresh white stud from the rutting sheds; a romp with a muscular black from Africa; a good sucking by a fresh Middle Eastern boy - you name it, it's yours, my friend. But I think what you might really like is watching some fresh meat from right here in New York City being put through their paces as we turn them from the good-looking 'boy next door' to a high priced offering in next year's market place."

"You know me like a book, Juan," I replied in a tone that told Juan I would indeed seriously consider a visit in the near future.

Rico chauffeured us back to the New Jersey private air field with Beauty in the back sucking off Juan so he would be completely drained before the six hour trip home alone.

"Have you ever traveled without a slave or two to play with?" I asked, rather worried about my friend's welfare. "I could loan you Beauty here for the trip if you'd promise to get him back to me before too long."

"That's nice of you, Christian, but not necessary. I've got a lot of paperwork to catch up on before I get back and can't afford the time to be distracted anyway. Besides, it's not like I've been deprived of any action while I was visiting you," he laughed as he put his hands around Beauty's head and pressed the boy's mouth totally into his groin and raised slightly out of the seat and gasped.

Juan dumped a fresh load well down into Beauty's stomach just as we arrived at the private air facility. Juan hopped onto the waiting plane and, within minutes, his plane could barely be seen in the sky.

"You drive, Beauty," I commanded. "I want Rico to suck me off on the way home. Juan's not the only one needing a little relief."

"Yes, master," both slaves answered simultaneously as Beauty took the wheel and Rico took to the floor directly in front of me in the back seat, his mouth already open for action. By the time we arrived at my townhouse, I had been completely drained, Rico had had his afternoon snack, and Beauty was hard and dripping once again. We were back to normal.

CHAPTER 11

Two months later, I did arrange to visit Juan at his ranch. When I called him of my plans, he was wildly enthusiastic.

"It's a great time to visit. The weather's really nice this time of year and we're right in the middle of processing a huge new batch, Christian, that, if nothing else, are sure good to look at." Juan's excitement at the pending visit was reflected in the tone of his voice. "Are you bringing those two hunks of meat with you?" he asked.

"I don't think so, Juan. It's always a bother having them caged for shipment and it's not like I would need them down there - unless," I paused, "your hospitality isn't what it used to be?"

"I've got more than enough meat around the place to keep you well drained, Christian," Juan laughed, "if that's what you meant by hospitality."

"I was hoping to hear you say that, Juan. In that case, I just put them in the kennel while I'm gone. Those two would probably appreciate a little rest from their duties anyway," I responded.

"Make sure the kennel guarantees they'll exercise them regularly - you don't want them getting flabby while you're gone," Juan advised. "And make sure the kennel keeps them individually penned and that their wrists are chained to the cage bars when they're not being exercised. That way, they can't empty their balls and they'll be more than eager to see their master when you return."

Two hours later, Juan called back and said my timing was perfect. He had to deliver a dozen slaves to New York that had been purchased by a local trucking firm to load and unload their trucks. They weren't premium goods, he noted, but it would be cheaper to ship them up in his private jet than the usual airfreight arrangements. He planned on using the same air facility in New Jersey as before and the same DHL delivery service to deliver the slaves from the plane to their new owner, also in Northern New Jersey. I could ride back in the plane and even bring my own two slaves with me if I wanted. "That way, Christian, it wouldn't cost you anything, you'll be a lot more comfortable than in a commercial plane, and it will take half the time. You'd have to change planes three times otherwise, as you know."

"Great," I answered. Juan gave me the estimated time of arrival and said the plane would start back the minute it refueled. "But, Juan, I think I'll still kennel my slaves. They'd just be in the way down at the ranch and, if you can make the trip with no slaves around as you did the last time you flew back from New York, I guess I can grin and bear it as well. Just have something for me to dump into when I get there," I snickered.

"Don't worry, Christian. You can fuck the chauffeur on the way to the ranch from the airport if you want - I can drive the damn car if you're that hard up." We both were laughing as we hung up.

The next day, I left Rico and Beauty at a reputable nearby kennel and, taking a cab, was in New Jersey at the designated time. Juan's sleek jet arrived exactly as scheduled and so did the DHL agent. He promptly got the dozen slaves out of the aircraft's locked cages and out onto the tarmac where they stood in 'display' position before him the minute they saw the whip in his hand and a small bag of slave pellets in his other hand.

They were all big whites, deeply tanned, muscular, and young enough to guarantee several decades of hard work out of them. No one had bothered to body shave them, but their head hair was cut very short in the fashion of most draft slaves and their faces appeared to have been shaved at least weekly. All of them had some random whip scars on them, and none of them were by any stretch of the imagination handsome and none of them seemed to be particularly heavy hung. Their only clothing was a heavy iron collar with several attachment rings around their neck and a 'control' ring through the septum of their nose. No ear rings, no tit rings, no genital banding - all of these could get caught in equipment and damage the property. On the other hand, the nose ring was handy for securing them at night - any retaining chain in a wall at the warehouse would do - and it provided a good means of leashing them when they needed to be moved to another location or if they needed to be fixed in place. A 'control leash' fastened to a slave's nose ring was all that was necessary to insure a slave's almost complete cooperation with whatever his handler hand in mind.

"Their new owner has insured them for $75,000 each so whoever sold them must have made a neat little profit. Says on the bill of lading they're Australian - originally prisoners there before the wardens sold them off. But," he added, "that place in Brazil that originally owned them seemed to have done a decent job training them - they display well enough and certainly pay attention to the whip in my hand as well as these slave pellets I brought along," the DHL agent laughed.

Addressing the slaves, he told them they had permission to piss in place which, with a sigh of relief they all did.

"All housebroken," the agents said with satisfaction. The agent then had them turn around and noted their was no shit on their rump.

"The place in Brazil must have flushed them out good in preparation for the trip so they can hold it until we get them to their new home."

When the slaves had finished emptying their bladders as ordered, the agent threw each of them a slave pellet which was quickly swallowed with the expected, "Thank you, master."

"As you boys probably know by now, the only way you're going to keep from being hungry all the time is to do exactly as you're told - promptly and with a big smile on your ugly faces."

"Yes, master," the 12 answered in unison, never taking their eyes off of the small bag of slave pellets in his hand.

"Now get your ugly asses into a cage in that truck over there - one to a cage and back into them so your head is up against the cage door - sooner you've tucked yourself in properly, the sooner you'll have another pellet of slave chow to chew on along with a nice drink of water."

"Yes, master," they all chorused in unison as they clamored to fulfill the command.

"I know where they're going, sir," the agent said in explanation, although he owed me none. "From now on, they'll be feed a piece of slave chow at a time - when they perform exceptionally well - and they'll earn a sip of water the same way. They never fed them regularly. Each scrap of food and every drop of water has to be earned from now on. It means their overseers have to carry around bags of slave pellets and a water bottle, but they claim they get more work out of them that way. I could see where it would work, though. Nothing like an empty belly and a dry mouth to really motivate a slave."

"I hear some owners get much the same results by only allowing slaves sexual relief as a reward for exceptionally hard work. Of course, that would only work if the slaves were still young and randy and you restrained them enough so they couldn't relieve themselves on their own or with each other."

"That's the system DHL uses with their warehouse slaves in that they want the overseers free to discipline the slaves with their whips and prods and you can't do that well if you're always having to feed and water them. The problem is, sir, you hate to get around those slaves - they're always hard and dripping and it gets messy if you rub up against them. I've even seen them rubbing up against a warehouse pole trying to get off before the overseer whips them off it. In fact, sir, some of them start humping each other if they think the overseer is dosing or taking a leak himself."

"Sounds like either way of insuring good work output has its good and bad points," I responded. "Someday they'll probably work out some combination of the two that works best."

"Let me check out the inside of the plane before you get in, sir," the agent said. "I just want to make sure the slaves didn't crap or piss in there. If so, by God, they're going to clean it up in that I'm sure they were told not to. But you know slaves, sir."

The agent went up the stairs and looked around briefly from the cabin door, sniffing the air as he did so.

"Some body smell from slave sweat, but it'll soon go away. Otherwise, nice and clean, sir. I don't think those Aussie slaves let one drop of piss out of their bodies. Well disciplined lot, it looks like," the agent said, obviously pleased. "I shouldn't have any trouble with them getting them to their new home."

With that, he proceeded to lock the individual cage doors inside his delivery truck and I got on Juan's private jet which, if you didn't mind looking at the stainless steel cages inside, was nicely fitted out - luxurious leather lounge chairs, tables for your drinks, a fold-down 'fucking bench' in soft plastic, a neat little refrigerator with lots of ice in the built-in bar, reading lamps, cabin air-conditioning controls, and an assortment of the latest magazines which would be of interest to Juan, e.g., "The Slave Marketeer;" "Modern Slave Training;" and "Slave Breeding." All had a world-wide subscription base, I realized, but I'd never taken the time to actually read through a whole issue. Now, I figured, I would have that time.

As the plane took off, I began thumbing through the latest issue of "The Slave Marketeer." It proved so interesting I barely had time to start in on "Slave Breeding" which was equally interesting before the plane started to land in Campinas. I had heard these magazines sold as well to those not in the slave business as to those in it. After reading the two issues I got through, I could see why. It was damn interesting reading and the Slave Marketeer ran a full-page ad from the very place I was headed - Juan's ranch.

Juan was right there to meet me as he had promised and one of the two slaves he had in tow got my luggage off his private jet and into the back of Juan's Range Rover. Both the slaves he had with him were fantastic beauties - one an olive-skinned well muscled boy with prodigious equipment Juan claimed was Italian; the other a smooth skinned brown boy with nicely developed pecs and huge nipples from a breeding farm in Senegal Juan had picked up somewhere. Both slaves would be labeled 'prime' in any market in the world. I had just read in "The Slave Marketeer" that the 'prime' label was only given to about one slave out of a thousand - even today when breeding was rapidly eliminating so-called 'trash stock.' These two slaves were certainly in that one in a thousand category.

"Take your pick, Christian," Juan laughed as he saw me looking the two slaves over. "One can drive while you fuck the other. Then, they can switch and the other one can suck me off."

"Sounds good, Juan. I'll take the Italian boy but right now, I'd like a good suck rather than fucking him here in the Rover. A little cramped for a good fuck. By the way, Juan, I read a few of those magazines you had in the plane and saw your ad in 'The Slave Marketeer.' Very nice presentation. Made me want to lift up the phone and order a lot of slaves from you."

"That's the feedback I like to hear, Christian. But let me tell you, that Italian that's going to service you on the way home puts the stock in the ad to shame."

"Well, the brown boy from Senegal or wherever isn't exactly hard on the eyes," I laughed as I pointed to the big bulge tenting out from my loose slacks.

"That's what they're here for, Christian. And the best part is, they know it!" Juan laughed as he got up in front with the naked Senegalese boy and I got in the back with the Italian slave already digging my prick out of my pants with his beautifully shaped mouth already open for action.

"I see what you mean about knowing why they're here," I laughed as, with one movement, the Italian slave engulfed my entire organ and I felt his throat muscles wrap tightly around my shaft. I marveled at the slave's long eyelashes, his flashing black eyes smiling up at me, and his dark skin as smooth as butter. The slave literally purred as I ran one hand through his head of soft black ringlets and massaged his large dark brown nipples with my other.

"Jesus Christ, Juan," I gasped. "Is this a slave or some sort of milking machine?"

"Both," Juan laughed as the brown chauffeur moved the car out onto the main road while his owner started playing with his ringed nipples and his huge banded genitals.

"Where did you find this treasure" I gasped as the slave slid his clenched mouth up and down my shaft, showing no difficulties in taking me completely down his throat without the usual natural gagging and choking.

"One of my agents bought him at an orphanage in an impoverished area of southern Italy. The priest running the place was overjoyed to get the $100,000 'donation' my agent gave him for the 16-year-old 'ward.' To make it all nice and legal, the priest called it an "adoption fee" and we went along with it as long as the priest signed the full ownership papers we demand with any purchase. The priest just had one stipulation - that the boy be brought up Catholic. We assured him he would be shipped to a Catholic country and his new owner was Catholic himself who gave generously to the church, but, unfortunately, we didn't offer slaves religious training. We did, in all honesty, point out the boy would probably be used sexually - slaves as good looking as he was could expect nothing less. The priest's reply? "It's in God's hands," as he gave his blessing to the handsome orphan he had just sold. The priest then proceeded to try and sell my agent several other boys just entering manhood."

"I'm being sucked off by a slave officially blessed by a priest?" I chuckled as the beautiful boy worked his mouth up and down my shaft expertly.

"That's what my agent said," Juan laughed. "I wonder if I should ask my parish priest to come out and sanctify the Catholic boys I'm selling off each and every day? You think I could raise their price if I advertised them as 'sanctified with a special commission for their new life by the local priest.' My priest would do it if I made it a stipulation for my next big donation. Christian? You're Catholic along with me. Are all religions this.. well.. hypocritical? Shit, blessing slaves before their sale implying it's God's Will or it wouldn't be happening."

"Juan, maybe the priest's are right. It just might be God's Will. They end up slaves, don't they and it's not just random chance. Besides, Juan, all religions preach one thing and practice another on some issues - they've got a responsibility to adjust to the needs of society just like everything else - look at the Mormons, one man to every four women and suddenly polygamy is part of the religion. Look at the non-Catholic countries - they embraced slavery just like the Catholic countries - no difference. And look at countries that are non-Christian - they buy and sell slaves just like the Christian countries - no difference. So if it makes that old priest in Italy feel better to bless the boy he was selling into slavery, what difference does it make. It doesn't change the new slave's life one way or the other - see, he's sucking my dick like his life depends on draining me dry."

"Well, Christian, before you justify everything so cozily, my agent informed me in checking the boy out before purchase, he found he was far from virgin. In fact, he told me, the boy was well used to being fucked when he bought him. Now just who do you think was fucking this handsome boy so regularly?"

"No one but the Vatican claims priests aren't men first and priests second. Look at your slave, Juan. Who could resist something like this?"

This conversation was typical of the bond between Juan and I, I reflected. I could see Juan was the same person he had always been and my visit was going to be pleasurable as well as interesting.

As the Italian slave really got to work, I had forgotten all about Rico and Beauty back at the New York kennel with their handcuffs locked to the cage bars to make sure their balls were full when I returned.

CHAPTER 12

I was surprised at all the changes in the Campinas area since my last visit just a few years earlier. There was no doubt now that Brazil was a full slave economy. Slaves seem to have monopolized all types of occupations, everything from farming (as one would certainly expect) to building new roads and buildings (again certainly to be expected). These activities in New York were entirely slave powered as well by now. But in the Campinas area, trucks and busses had been largely replaced by wagons pulled by teams of slaves in full harness, taxis by slave-pulled rickshaws, and, rather spectacularly, limousines and private cars by rather gaudy litters carried on the shoulders of very muscular litter bearers. It was obvious Brazilians were cutting their dependence on paid labor and traditional fuels to a minimum.

When I mentioned this to Juan, he said fuel costs had risen to the point where it was now considerably cheaper to convert to slave power. The cost of a team of slaves and the cost of feeding them was about now about one-third of what methanol cost (Brazilians had long ago learned to make methanol from sugar cane) for any given usage and people had adjusted to the disadvantages of using slaves: each team generally required a whipmaster, himself a slave, to get full output consistently; it was obviously slower, especially in intercity transit; and slave shit on the roads was a problem sometimes. On the other hand, a nice litter could be showier than a luxury car if done right and, with traffic congestion the way it was, it was often faster to go by litter and especially rickshaw than in the cabs and cars of old.

"It's certainly been good for my bottom line," Juan commented. "The price of slaves has almost doubled since methanol got so expensive and the demand for slaves goes up every day it seems. It's hard to keep a nice inventory on hand anymore the way the pens empty at each sale.."

I studied the scores of litters we passed. Most owners had carefully sought out a 'matched' team for their litter, i.e., all the slave bearers were about the same height, the same skin color, the same very muscular build, and, in many cases, were obviously matched in genital size. Owners had a clear-cut preference toward bearers with large, circumcised organs that protruded well with a tight-fitting genital band. Each bearer was invariably 'fastened' to the litter in some way whether it was a short chain linking his collar to the litter, a tight chain from a tit ring, or a taut leash from a genital band. That way the slave looked like he was a part of the litter itself, there was no way to escape from the litter, and it assured the slave lifted and lowered the litter smoothly and gently to avoid being choked or having his tits pulled or his balls squeezed most painfully. Many owners had matched the slaves so carefully they looked close to clones, especially when all were fully body shaved and worked nude. I shared my admiration at these studied displays with Juan.

"You generally have to search a number of markets to match a full team closely and be willing to pay what it takes to get what's needed. It's been a real boon in selling off brothers who look a lot alike, and half-brothers sharing the same stud sire from the breeding farms. And muscular twins strong enough to serve as litter bearers are selling at great prices once the demand for matched teams started developing."

"And nice for brothers up for sale," I added. "That way they have a chance of staying together if they look a lot alike. I suppose those newly enslaved prefer to be around family if they can."

"Well, they just might, Christian," Juan laughed, "but you're such a sentimentalist you're absolutely charming in that your perceptions are so out-of-touch with the realities of slavery. Even if you get sold with your brother to an owner, the odds of both of you staying with that same owner over the years is practically nil. I don't think any owner I know of even thinks about that when he buys or sells a slave - they're just property and family is a concept that only has any meaning if you are free. Once you're a slave, your owner is the closest thing you have to a family. Those two slaves of yours, Beauty and Rico, think of you as their father until you sell them and they get another father. After all, like their father before they were enslaved, you make all the decisions; you decide what they do and don't do; and you can sell them when you feel like it. But you also feed and house them; you protect them from predators and kidnapers; and you fix them up if they get injured. That's the security of a family from a slave's viewpoint. That's why most slaves are quite devoted and damn loyal to their masters."

We passed a 18-wheel wagon, as big as any semi in the old days, being pulled by a team of 20 slaves, 10 reined on each side of the long hitch out in front with a whipmaster busily making sure all the slaves were in step to the pace of a drum manned by a small slave boy five or six years old who didn't weigh much. The carefully choreographed movements assured a smooth, rapid pace down the road. The whip quickly found its mark on the back and rump of any slave who was out of step with the others or failed to keep up with the fast pace of the drum, no matter how much they were panting or dripping with sweat. I was amazed at how fast the wagon was actually moving considering the power source and commented as such to Juan.

"All those big high pressure tires on the wagon have a lot to do with it," Juan said professionally, "along with good lubrication on the ball bearings. If you have enough good strong slaves hitched up, like that wagon does, the only limitation as to speed are the lungs of the slaves. No matter how much you beat them, at a certain point, they simply can't exchange more oxygen in those lungs than nature allows. A good whipmaster keeps a slave right at the maximum exchange rate the entire time he's in rein. Just short of passing out and slack enough to assure endurance for an all-day run - the slave's only problem that way is that his lungs burn like hell for several hours after he's unhitched."

I marveled at how educational this trip was proving to be and how much we Americans had to learn yet about effective use of slaves.

Just then, Juan's Senegalese slave chauffeur brought the Range Rover to a quick stop. There was a disturbance on the road ahead. Much to his credit, the Italian slave never wavered from his assigned duty and kept my shaft completely down his throat as he continued to suckle me.

I lowered the window to hear, "Rogue slave! Rogue slave!" from a man standing by the road, obviously bemused by what was going on, whatever it was.

"What's a rogue slave?" I asked Juan as I saw a handsome young rickshaw slave, chained by his wrists to the rickshaw's shaft, straining to get loose and screaming at the top of his lungs as he rocked the rickshaw around violently in his efforts to free himself..

"Listen," Juan advised as he too lowered his window to hear the commotion.

"You God damn son-of-a-bitch," the slave screamed as his throat muscles pushed out bright red against his tight slave collar. "I'm not an animal - I'm not an animal! You're treating me worse than an animal, you bastard. Even a horse isn't fucked in public like this, you God damned pervert. You can't treat me like this, you fucking asshole. You...."

The slave's soliloquy abruptly ended as a long penis gag was forced down the slave's throat and tightly strapped around his head by the police who had quickly arrived because of the traffic holdup. With a rain of whip blows that covered the slave's body with blood, the police drove the errant slave and his rickshaw over to the side of the road so traffic could continued.

"What happened, Juan?" I asked as the traffic began to creep forward again.

"That's what's called a rogue slave, Christian. A slave that goes berserk and forgets what he or she is. In this particular case, I would guess little to no training or a patently inept training program. That slave doesn't even know he's a slave obviously. He was probably free just a week or so ago would be my guess and some guy bought him for rickshaw duty assuming he was fully broken and trained for his new role in life. One of three things will happen, probably depending on how much he sold for. One, he could be sent off for rendering and the owner will just cut his loss. Two, he'll be returned to whoever sold him to his owner for a rebate and retraining. Three, the owner will train him in place restrained by his wrists to the rickshaw, which shouldn't take too long with heavy use of the electric prod, unbridled use of the bull whip, food and water deprivation during the entire retraining time, and continual adjustment counseling. Four, the owner will try to sell him off to some unsuspecting rube at a heavily discounted price." With that, Juan jumped out of the car and walked over to the irate owner, a young man looking to be no more than 19 or 20.

"Went rogue on you, my friend?" Juan said soothingly as he ran his hand through the bound slave's hair.

"Did you hear what came out of that slave's mouth?" the owner said, still red in the face from his anger. "That will never happen again. As soon as we're home, I'll have my handler mute the bastard and after that his opinions will be kept to himself."

"I heard the animal part, my friend," Juan said. Turning to the gagged slave, he jerked his face upwards with his head hair and said, "Of course you're an animal - all slaves are. Whatever gave you the silly idea you weren't an animal now? And even though horses generally aren't fucked in public here in Brazil that I know of, slaves certainly are at every opportunity. It's good for them - teaches them their position in life, especially when it's done in public, and, of course, it's a good opportunity for them to serve their master over and above merely pulling their rickshaw to the very limits of their body. It's a compliment to be fucked by your master or any one your master allows to fuck you. It gives you a way to thank your owner for feeding you and keeping you away from the slave rendering plants."

Juan looked at the owner who was obviously relieved someone else was temporally dealing with the rogue slave and continued stroking the restrained slave, moving his hand down to the slave's banded sexual organs and stroking the slave until he was hard and dripping.

"You won't be able to talk anymore after the handler has burnt out your vocal cords, and you'll learn to appreciate the food and water your owner provides after a good five days of no slave chow and a full 72 hours of no water" - nodding to the owner to make sure he understood the prescription - "and 50 lashes of the bull whip by the handler is always instructive for a new slave like yourself who's confused and uncertain of his new status." Juan again nodded to the owner to make sure he understood the necessity of the murderous whipping which would leave the slave unable to work for several days, his body permanently scarred, but rather permanently changed in attitude. "And having a 12 x 5 dildo up your ass, held in by a good tight dildo holder, for a couple of months, will teach you your ass is property of your owner, just like the rest of you, and is there to be used by your master, whenever or however he wants, including right here in the streets if that's what he wants. In fact, many rickshaw slaves are fitted with a dildo every time they're harnessed in place just to remind them they're slaves and always will be," again nodding to the slave's owner who shook his head in his understanding of the necessity of the prescribed measures.

"Once these corrective measures are taken, with your adjustment to your new status in life paramount in the concerns of your new owner, and you take on a healthy perspective of your new role in life now that you're a valuable slave property, you'll forget all about this foolishness today and carve out the best life you can for yourself. Look around, slave. Everyone is laughing at how foolish you've been."

The slave did look up at the crowd gathered around the rickshaw and burst into tears and sobs muffled by his penis gag.

"See, I knew you'd be ashamed of all the trouble you've caused," his anguish was deliberately misinterpreted by Juan. Taking a huge plastic dildo out of the Range Rover, Juan proceeded to work it slowly up the slave's ass who wiggled and groaned but couldn't move due to his wrist restraints on the rickshaw's shafts. The slave's eyes turned white with pain at the invasion.

"A good fucking, right here in public, is always soothing," Juan announced to the slave, continuing to pump the slave's erect shaft as he worked the dildo deeply into the boy's ass. "I can't imagine a slave not liking a good fucking. See, you're prick shows you're enjoying it - it's all hard and dripping already."

After a few minutes, the slave squirted a full load onto the pavement beneath him right in front of everyone and, as his body relaxed in response to the orgasm, the fight seemed to go out of him for the time being and, after Juan had retrieved his huge 'training' dildo, the police led the slave back to the stables at his owner's house where he could be muted, beaten, starved, and fucked into permanent submission.

But not before the owner profusely thanked Juan for his being such a "Good Samaritan" and for his excellent advice in how to remedy a bad situation. Little did that rickshaw owner realize he was talking to one of Brazil's leading experts in slave breaking.

"Will those remedies really work?" I asked Juan as the brown chauffeur got the Range Rover up to full speed again and Juan was again churning that slave's balls for his amusement.

"Should, if he follows my advice completely," Juan said with some satisfaction. "If it doesn't, he knows what to do."

"What's that, Juan?" I asked out of curiosity.

"Well, I gave him my card. He could send the slave to my center for retraining for a hefty fee. Or," he laughed, "he could send him to the rendering plant. The slave's hide won't bring much after 50 lashes of a bull whip - it will be too scared up to be worth anything - but his organs should bring a decent return - about 10% of what he probably paid for the slave, but it beats nothing at all."

Two hours later, we were on Juan's property and began the long drive from the highway to his manor house and, beyond that, his processing and training centers, his holding pens, and his sales venues. By this time, Juan and I both had been completely drained by the well-trained slaves, a feat accomplished by switching chauffeurs half way there during a rest break where the slaves were watered and allowed to piss. That allowed me to compare the striking Senegalese boy to the Italian in their sucking skills and allowed Juan to fuck the Italian in the back of the Range Rover once he had the beauteous olive-skinned slave put down all the seats back there.

I was getting as bad as Juan, I thought to myself as I looked down on the beautiful brown slave who had just serviced me. Three times today I had been drained: once by Rico; once by the Italian; and now by the Senegalese.

At this rate, I'd be worn out by the time by the time I was 35, no different than male brothel slaves, who were usually 'dried up' by the time they reached their 30th birthday. Who said slaves weren't addictive? And harmful to your health if you didn't watch it!

Juan's manor house was as comfortable as usual, with the air-conditioning just right, the decor tasteful, and gorgeous naked slaveboys always available to assist but never obtrusive. I was shown to one of the several guest suites which had been recently remodeled. Now there were true suites that included a sitting room/study; a huge bedroom; a walk-in closet; a luxurious bath complete with separate bath, shower and bidet and, adjoining, an unobtrusive slave cell complete with its own shower, enema, grooming, and lubrication facilities. Even the accouterments handy in a sidebar were carefully thought out for the guests' convenience: whips of various types; a huge assortment of dildos, butt plugs and tails, leashes of varying lengths and styles; battery operated electric prods; along with the usual restraints useful with slaves - handcuffs, choke collars, tit pincers, and ball holders to mention a few.

I took a quick shower and threw on some fresh clothes before I started exploring the suite. In the slave cell, which I hadn't even noticed before my bath, I found a well tanned white slave kneeling quietly with his knees wide apart to best display his impressive large endowment. He was totally body shaved outside his nice fine black head hair, had sparkling blue eyes once he raised his head at my command, and the creamiest smooth skin I'd ever seen on a full-grown man. He wore a thick leather collar in bright red with brass grommets, 2" brass rings in each large tit; and a matching brass band tightly fitted around his sexual organs.

"What have we here?" I asked the slave whose eyes were cast down properly.

"Jim, Master, here for your pleasure," he answered in a deep bass voice that was so masculine it seemed to emanate from his balls.

"And where were you from originally, Jim?" I asked.

"Oklahoma, Master, in the United States," the handsome slave answered.

"Were you bred there, or have you been sold into slavery?" I asked.

"Master, I'm not off a breeding farm, although we have those in Oklahoma now, Master. I was in the career Army, Master, but went A.W.O.L. in protest to the war. When I was caught trying to cross the border into Mexico, the Army sold me into slavery under the standard provisions of the National Security Act, and I ended up here in Brazil for my slave conditioning and specialized training, Master. Once I was down here, I was two months in basic training and another two months in special sex training, Master."

"And how did that go, Jim?" I asked, delighted with his easy, unassuming conversational style.

"About like the Army, Master. Not much different, really, outside the specialized training and the fact we were never issued any uniforms but our birthday suits and my collar, these tit rings, and my genital band. Of course, Master, the Army didn't brand and tattoo us, but I like that better than always having those damn dog tags jingling around my neck. And, here it's so damn hot outside, I didn't mind not having clothes, especially when none of the other guys did either, Master."

"A slave with a body like yours should be proud to show it all for his owner," I commented, "especially with a nice big prick like yours, slave."

"Of course, Master," the slave answered promptly.

"Well, I see your point, Jim. 'Master' instead of 'Sir;' a slave collar instead of dog tags; a chance to display your body instead of an uncomfortable uniform. What the hell! And following orders and living a life laid out by others is just like the Army, isn't it, Jim?"

"Yes, Master. Except I feel more appreciated here than I ever did in the Army, master."

"Then, Jim, you're pretty happy with the way things turned out?"

"Yes, Master," Jim said as he boldly looked up and winked at me invitingly. "Especially, Master, since I got chosen to be a sex slave. The Army didn't offer that specialty that I was aware of and, once you settle in and get use to it, some of the time it can prove to be downright fun - even for the slave."

"Well, Jim, a slave is usually on the receiving end of things," I laughed. "And the main job, as you no doubt are fully aware, is to make the master happy, not you."

"Of course, Master. But a randy young buck like myself still enjoys a good romp no matter whose calling the shots," Jim said smiling. "I get a lot more action now by a hundred times than I ever got in the Army, Master," Jim added, "despite the R & R and the Army whore houses."

"Yes, Jim, but wasn't that all straight sex?" I asked, " and here you're forced into servicing male masters for the main part?"

"Yes, master. But, Master, that's the glory of it. I wasn't straight to start with although I can bed a wench down with the best of them if that's what I'm ordered to do. Being a sex slave is the best thing that ever happened to me, Master, and I'm going to make sure no master is unhappy with this boy in his bed." He paused a bit and than added, "or a mistress either if that's what is needed. But a master would be even better," the slave licked his lips and gain risked giving me an inviting look.

"Prove it, Jim," I said as I unlocked his cell door and, taking him by his collar, led him over to the bed.

As soon as I had slid out of my clothes and was up on the bed myself, Jim did indeed prove himself to my complete satisfaction and then some. I forgot all about joining my host for supper or evening entertainment and it was morning before I emerged from the suite, freshly bathed and even dressed by my new suite slave, Jim, who had proven himself inexhaustible. I had fucked him on his back with his legs thrown over my shoulders, on his hands and knees with his knees spread wide apart, standing bent over with his legs spread apart, and on his knees with his mouth spread wide for my entry.

When I was deep up his ass, I asked him about any family before he was sold off.

"Slaves don't have families, Master," the body beneath me gasped as I pumped vigorously into him.

"Of course not, slave, and how dare you presume to lecture a master," I shot back harshly, slapping him soundly across the face. "I said before you were sold into slavery, slave," using the word slave instead of his name to indicate my irritation.

"Sorry, Master," Jim said humbly as he noticeably pushed back to take more of me into him, trying to convince me of his total submission. "They disowned me when I went A.W.O.L. and I think they're the ones who tipped the National Security Forces as to where I was, Master."

"No matter. As you said, slaves don't have families," I replied as I arched my back and shot deep into him and then had him clean my prick off with his tongue of the juices, lubricants, and cum that was all over it by this time.

When Juan joined me for breakfast, he asked whether the slave in my suite had proven to be satisfactory.

"The Oklahoma Wonder?" I smiled. "That slave is simply priceless."

"I thought you'd like him," Juan smiled. "You're into those Midwestern corn-fed types."

"Did you know he's gay?" I asked Juan.

"No, I suspected as much as he took to his training with zeal. It doesn't make any difference, though, Christian............" Juan started his lecture.

"I know straight slaves can service you just as well with good training, Juan," I interrupted. Nevertheless, Jim is a natural as a sex slave - and, I would argue, noticeably better than either Beauty or Rico, who are straight left to their own devices as far as I know."

"Now you're not going to be happy with them when you get back to New York, despite their long wait in the kennels without a single chance to unload," Juan laughed. "Maybe, if you're real nice to me, Christian, I'll give you Jim to take home with you as a parting gift."

"No gifts, Juan. You promised. And besides," I laughed, "I fully intend to have Jim so worn out by the time I leave, with your permission of course, you'll be considering selling him off with a lot of old brothel slaves just to recoup a little of what he must have cost you."

"Oh! Christian. Jim didn't cost me much. The National Security agency in the U.S. sells off their prisoners ridiculously cheap. It's practically like they pay you to get rid of their 'terrorists.'"

"He's a 'terror' all right. That boy would make anyone forget about politics," I laughed. "But, if he came to you cheap and he didn't take all that long to train, I will be more than eager to buy him from you. We agreed to no gifts and I can fully afford, as you know, to buy a boy I really enjoy."

"Well, I'll sell him to you then." Juan stepped over to his computer and checked some files.

"He only cost me $50,000 and his training and upkeep cost me about $20,000. Allow me my usual 30% markup and I'm making plenty charging you $100,000 although I admit a boy like that in New York would set you back twice that much."

"Sold, Juan," I said as I handed him my credit card. "Put it on Visa now and I won't have to worry about paying you later."

"That's fine," Juan said swiping my card through his machine. "But I insist on paying his upkeep as long as you're my guest here."

"That I'll let you do, Juan. The slave chow shouldn't cost you more than a dollar a day or so - I know that's about what it cost me to feed Beauty and Rico each. And, can I keep his collar, tit rings, and genital band? They all fit well now."

"When I sell a slave, it's as is - that's includes whatever fittings he's got. I even throw in a tube or two of lubricant if they're worth fucking."

"Then I want four or five tubes, Juan," I joked as Juan went to a nearby closet and lugged out a full case of K-Y to give me.

"This should last you through your stay, my ruttish friend," Juan laughed. "Welcome to Brazil."

I thought back to the rogue slave as well as Jim, my new property and my face clouded over briefly.

"What's wrong, Christian," Juan asked, genuinely concerned.

"That rogue slave we saw coming up here, Juan - his owner was just a teenager, it seemed, and he must have been, well, old enough to be his owner's father practically. And I must look like a kid to Jim - he must be 28 or so and I'm, well, you know. Isn't it hard for a slave to respect a master who is just a kid compared to them?"

"Why should it, Christian?" Juan replied, obviously puzzled. "One's a master; one's a slave. One's property of the other. What does age have to do with it. Respect is an entitlement when you own a property, whatever its age."

"But how does a mature slave feel being under the yoke of a teenage kid, like that rickshaw slave back there?"

"Who gives a shit how a slave 'feels' about something or other? Jesus, Christian, you think up the silliest damn things I ever heard of. Think of all the prime age slaves given as gifts to teenagers by their mothers and fathers. Or all those slaves given as awards to young kids winning this and that? They all get fucked silly if they're even halfway decent looking. Do you think anyone ever thought about the fact the slave is older and more grown up than their master? It's totally irrelevant. A slave is obligated to serve his master or mistress and that goes whether their owner is 5 or 50. Slaves know that! Why can't you? Age has nothing to do with it. Ownership has everything to do with it. If you're the property of someone else, then you damn well better respect them. Remember that, Christian," Juan laughed, "if you ever get yourself enslaved somehow and find yourself sold off to a 12-year-old boy with pimples on his face and whose so young he can't even get it up yet. He's still the master and you're still the slave."

"Yes, but Jim must wonder a little about being fucked at the whim of someone a lot younger than him," I persisted.

"He better not be, Christian, or it's back to the training sheds for him. But I noticed your great concern for a slave's feelings didn't extend over to buying outright a slave who doesn't have a clue he's changing hands. How does the slave feel about being sold without even knowing about it. What if he doesn't want to be sold?"

"I hadn't thought about it, Juan," I admitted.

"Oh! Don't worry about it. When he does find out, he'll probably be delirious with joy with his good fortune in not being sold yet to a 70 year old mistress fat and ugly as sin. That's the usual fate of slave's like him, you know. Most sex slaves are sold off to those who have to buy their bed partners anymore - no free person would dream of having sex with them. If you do eventually ask him about what he thinks about getting sold to you, I'm sure he tell you how tickled he is at his good luck. But, Christian, that too is totally irrelevant. No one, including slaves, values the opinions of slaves. Slaves aren't entitled to feelings, thoughts, or opinions about what happens to them. That's one of the first things they learn after they're enslaved. What I'm saying, Christian, that if you asked Jim such a stupid question, he would think you were crazy or something and, I'm sure, wouldn't even know how to answer such a dumb question."

Nevertheless, I did ask Jim the "dumb" question when I was fucking him on his back that next night, his huge prick hard and dripping pressed against my stomach as I plowed into him. As Juan had predicted, he just stared at me a while, unable to even understand what the question was it was so out of a slave's realm of cognition.

"Sorry, master, I don't understand," he responded - honestly, I thought.

I was learning here in Brazil. I never asked such a 'dumb' question again.  CHAPTER 13

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Juan was proud of his ranch and wanted me to see it all, although he thought I would most enjoy seeing the basic training center for his purchases who had been newly enslaved, his sex training facility where my own new purchase Jim had received his special training, and the training facility for those destined to be eventually sold as rickshaw and drayage slaves. Each would warrant at least a few hours, Juan told me, but he was sure I would find it interesting.

"Could we visit your breeding facility, Juan?" I asked.

"Of course, Christian," Juan replied, " but outside of watching two slaves rut, there's not much to see. But you might enjoy looking the studs over that we're currently using. Some mighty impressive boys in the pens back there, if I do say so myself."

"Could be start with where Jim was trained?" I asked.

"The basic training or the sex training?" Juan said.

"The sex training," I replied. "I've always wondered how they got a slave up to market standards in that area."

"Oh, there's no mystery to it, Christian, as you'll see in a few minutes if that's where you want to start."

"I do, but I don't want to take so much of your time, Juan. I know you've got a business to run. Why don't I take my new slave Jim with me and he can explain it to me - after all, he's a recent graduate I understand. If he can't explain what's going on, I don't know who could. And you'd get a chance to catch up on some of your paperwork while we're gone, Juan."

"That's considerate of you, Christian. That place is pretty self-explanatory anyway and Jim should be able to any questions you have - he is a recent alumni, as you say."

"When we get back, maybe you could show me the rickshaw training center or whatever you called it, Juan. I'm real interested after seeing that 'rogue slave' the other day."

"Be glad to, and once you see that operation, I think you can see where it was obvious that rogue never had any real training for his new job," Juan laughed.

With that, Juan went to his office to catch up on some work and I went back to my suite where Jim was busily completing his two hours of mandatory daily callisthenics specifically designed to keep his body in prime shape and limber for a master's use. He was covered in sweat and still panting a bit when I arrived. He thought I wanted to use him then and there, quickly assuming a slave's submission position on his hands and knees with his legs spread wide to expose the puckered opening of his asshole.

"Master," he panted, obviously expecting to be fucked.

"Not so eager, Jim," I chuckled. "Take a clean shower, oil your body, and get your ass back here pronto. I want to take you to your old stomping grounds."

"Yes, Master," Jim choked out, a look of complete failure on his face as he headed for the bathroom in accordance with my command.

When he returned within minutes, his body agleam, I hooked a short walking leash to his genital ring and we started on the short journey to the nearby facility.

"Why do you look so... well.. So heartbroken, Jim? Aren't you proud to accompany your master when he takes a stroll?"

"Oh, yes, master, but..... but are you returning me for retraining, master? I had hoped... master.... that I was proving satisfactory to you, master. I'm sorry, master, that I haven't pleased you," he said apologetically as I led him down the sidewalk literally by his balls.

I jerked his leash sharply to show my irritation and the slave gasped from the pain in his balls.

"You stupid asshole," I laughed. "Master Juan was too busy to take me on a tour of the sex training facility right now and I suggested you should be able to give me a decent tour since you graduated from the place just a few weeks ago, unless," I paused, ''you think you need some retraining, Jim."

I look of relief swept over the handsome slave's face and he adjusted his pace since I had shortened his leash, forcing him to keep exact step with me to keep his balls from being stretched continually.

"Thank you for this honor, master, and, 'no,' I don't think I need retraining quite this soon, master, although, of course, that's not a slave's decision, master."

"One slip-up, Jim, and that's where you'll be. You know that and it's always good to keep that in mind. No master, including me, will tolerate a slave who is not giving everything they've been trained to do... and more," I replied adamantly.

"Yes, master," Jim replied as we entered his former 'home' during a two month stretch.

The trainers, all slaves themselves, promptly knelt with their heads bowed when they spotted a master. When I told them I was Master Juan's guest and was here for a visit with my new purchase as my guide, they relaxed and, with a nod of dismissal from me, went back to their work.

"Hey, guys, look who's here," the trainers yelled to others in the next room. "Jim's brought his new owner over for a look-see." They nodded to Jim with satisfaction, proud that their recent trainee had found a new owner so fast and that he was being honored by being allowed to show the facility to his new master.

"His new master must be impressed with the slave," I overheard one of them say to another. "We must have done a good job on him," another said while still another said, "Jim must have learned his sex lessons well to be honored like that by his new owner." Still another commented, "I told him that big prick of his would find a buyer." I chuckled at the last comment since every trainer in the place seemed to be equally well endowed.

The place itself was large and impressive. On one side, at least 25 trainees, all very good looking and well equipped, were forced on their knees by tight thigh restraints, vigorously sucking their trainers, who had their hands gripping their charges' heads to guide them through the process. No matter how much the trainees choked and gagged as the trainers' huge pricks were being forced down the trainers' throats, the trainers held them steady until their pricks were well down the trainees' throats and practically into their stomachs as one after another, they discharged a full load down a suckling throat.

On the other side, another 25 were chained in place on rutting benches which forced their legs wide apart, their arms above them, and their ass hole completely accessible. Mounting each were another 25 trainers, all hugely equipped themselves, who were pumping in and out of those holes slowly but deeply as the slaves beneath them gasped, groaned, and tried to wiggle their butts to lessen the pain by opening up more.

"How long are they fucked like this?" I asked Jim.

"All day, master," Jim answered.

When I looked surprised, he explained.

"Those on the rutting benches get fresh lube, a chance to stretch, and a new trainer every half hour, master. Those on their knees get an opportunity to walk around a bit and a drink of water each time they swallow another load and before a new prick is presented to their mouth."

"Jesus, that's solid training," I commented.

"Yes, master. By the end of a training day, your stomach is full of cum if you're on the right side and your ass is mighty sore if you're on the left side. The next day, you're switched to the other side. Back and forth until a slave shows he can handle it with no sweat, Master."

"And how long is that, Jim?"

"After a month, it's just routine and you can't remember when you weren't sucking dick or taking it up the ass, Master."

"And after that, Jim?"

"Let me show you, master," as Jim guided me pass the heaving bodies into the next room.

There slaves were not restrained in any way but were using each other for "practice" as Jim put it, sucking and fucking each other, switching partners whenever a whistle blew. The big difference here was that both male and female slaves were involved in the training.

"This way, a slave learns to fuck on command if that is what a master or mistress may want, and learns how to present himself properly if a master or mistress wants to suck him. Of course, he's still getting plenty of practice in sucking someone off and taking it up the butt, master" Jim said seriously as if he were talking about learning how to play baseball.

The room reeked of sweat, spent cum, saliva, cunt juices, and ass lubricants. Every male slave seemed to have cum leaking profusely out of his ass hole, drool coming out of his mouth, and cum dripping off his prick. Every female slave was wet with cunt juice on her thighs, drool on her chin, and cum deposits in her hair and on her face. All went frenetically from one partner to another, male or female indiscriminately, despite their exhaustion.

"Why so frantic, Jim?" I asked.

"They're trying to earn a meal, master," Jim answered. You have to give five fucks and take five fucks minimum, half with each gender, to get even a minimal amount of slave chow. To get fed to the point where you're not hungry, you need 10 of each, Master, along with at least five suck jobs on a male slave and five oral services of a female slave."

"No wonder you seem to be indefatigable, Jim," I laughed. "Having just a master or mistress, or even both, after this must seem like a breeze."

"Yes, Master, it is. But remember, Master, we sex slaves tend to end up in brothels and we need to be trained for that destination as well, Master," Jim said flatly as if all people ended up being fucked around the clock in a brothel setting.

Jim then guided me to what he labeled "the finishing room."

"Here, master, we get really specialized training," Jim said without explaining further.

I looked around and saw slaves strung up on crosses being whipped, slaves being fitted with biting nipple clamps, slaves being fucked with dildos well beyond the size of any human, slaves rimming obviously unflushed assholes, slaves drinking each other's urine, and, over in one corner, slaves being fucked by horses, dogs, baboons, and even a goat.

"You were here, Jim?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, Master. Slaves here are trained for any eventuality."

I stared in amazement at what uses a slave's body could be put to and the myriad ways masters or mistresses could creatively use a slave to entertain their most bizarre inclinations.

"Yes, Jim," I commented. "It's better slaves are prepared for whoever might purchase them. It's always easier, I suppose, when you know exactly what to expect," thinking back on the rogue slave trying to wrest free of his rickshaw restraints just because his young owner decided to fuck him in public.

We left the training center shortly after that, but I couldn't help asking Jim, again being led by his tight leash to his genital band, if he had been fucked by an animal or drunk someone's urine while being trained.

"Yes, master," Jim answered with no apparent residuals of shame or guilt which seemed to have little relevance to a slave anyway, especially here. "But I also sucked off a dog and ate a trainer's turd, master. And, oh, I almost forgot, once they had me.... "

I cut him off.

"I get the picture, Jim. Completely trained for any eventuality."

"Yes, master," Jim replied as he trotted beside me, his fully erect organ bobbing and weaving as we returned to the main house. There, I ordered him to give himself a series of enemas, freshly lubricate himself, and apply a fresh coat of herbal smelling body oil. I then placed him over the side of the suite's divan and fucked him long and thoroughly, thinking back to all the scenes I had taken in back at the sex training center.

Soon, Jim was full of a fresh load of cum up his ass and, as he cleaned me with his mouth, remembered to thank me profusely for using him. I locked him in the suite's slave cage without allowing him to shower. He could do that later after he had soaked up his master's cum, I thought. It was difficult for me to get rid of the thought of some dumb animal fucking him, but then realized he had been fucked by hundreds and hundreds of slaves in the training center and they were animals too so I dismissed the whole thing from my mind. He didn't seem to mind - why should I, I figured, and it hadn't affected his ability to take a great fuck one iota as far as I could tell.

Later, I mentioned to Juan what I considered the more gross aspects of Jim's training at his center and the slaves' rather lackadaisical attitude toward it.

"It's good for a sex slave, Christian. Teaches them to appreciate the master they've got."

I thought about Juan's brief comment and decided he was right. It was probably a necessary and vital part of a sex slave's formal education.

Lunch with Juan was served by two slaves I hadn't seen before - a short Latino with handsome dark looks and superbly equipped and an Arab man with a handsome well- trimmed pencil-line beard outlining his face who retained all of his black body hair outside of some tasteful trimming around his large genitals so they displayed well.

As I admired the naked waiters, I asked Juan where they were from.

"The one's a Mexican captive sold to us by a rebel army operating in the southern provinces and the Arab is from a Libyan prison that was selling off their surplus. Nice looking, aren't they?" Juan explained.

"Yes, and the Arab's unusual - you allowed him to keep his body hair. Very attractive in his case."

"That's what the processors thought when they first evaluated him. His body hair is evenly colored, nicely distributed, and adds to his body features - just like that neatly-trimmed beard adds to his facial handsomeness.

"Are you going to sell them soon?" I asked.

"They're scheduled for the next big auction, but, until then, I keep them around the house rather than in the holding pens."

The two slaves being discussed as if they weren't there reacted by getting bone hard within their tightly fitted genital rings and both started dripping eventually.

"Jesus, Juan," I said, pointing to the hard-on's the slaves were exhibiting even though they were red in embarrassment at their body's response. "Was it something I said?"

"No, it was what I said," Juan replied laughing. "A well trained slave seems to always respond to talk about being sold with a big hard-on. My trainers think it's because they think they'll get some sexual relief with an actual master."

"Well, in their case, they're probably right," I laughed. "I doubt a new master or mistress is going to just look at them."

"You're probably right, Christian. Most any owner is going to bed them down first thing, I would imagine, and they'll probably get some relief before he or she's through with them."

With that, we left the two slaves with their dripping hard-ons and Juan took me to the center where rickshaw and other drayage slaves were trained.

It was outdoors and the first thing you noticed was the immensity of the center. As far as the eye could see, slaves in training were hitched to rickshaw shafts, yokes, and wagon shafts. Many were fitted with right-fitting leather harnesses, mouth bits that pulled their lips back cruelly, reins attached to the sides of their heads, and leather holders that held flexible large plastic dildos deep inside them. Rickshaw slaves had wrist cuffs that could be fastened to the shafts of the carts they drew, while drayage slaves were invariably harnessed in place on the yokes of the wagons they drew. All slaves here were heavily tit ringed, had thick bands forcing their genitals out for full protrusion, and all featured a large ring fitted through their nose septum.

"The nose rings are handy when you want to attach them to a hitching post," Juan explained, "and the tit rings are useful if you want to bell them. Most owners do - that makes for a nice musical note when they are prancing down the street. The genital band is almost necessary for slaves having to run like them - it keeps their balls out of the way nicely and gets their prick out where people can see it properly."

"What the dildo for?" I asked.

"Oh, to remind them of their status constantly, but also it makes their butt churn when they run - a very nice display. Owners into the finer points of dressage want a prancing step, churning butts, and head upright. The whip handles the prancing step; the dildo takes care of the churning butts; and a tight leash on their slave collars insures their heads are always held upright."

Our attention was temporarily distracted by a slave screaming in agony, still attached to his rickshaw by his wrists. The trainer was whipping him until blood was running profusely down his back and rump.

"Wasn't lifting his legs high enough," was Juan's casual comment. "Happens all the time in early training. After a week or so and a scared up back, he'll be prancing around with the best of them. It's hard to lift your legs, apparently, when you have a big dildo rammed up your ass, but it's certainly possible as all our finished products demonstrate."

My eyes shifted to two more rickshaw slaves where their trainer had gotten between the shafts and behind them. They then removed the slaves' dildos, glistening with hot lubricant, and laid them on the rickshaw seat behind them. Each of the slaves had their heads jerked high by a restraining leash connected by their collar to the rickshaw, their prick and balls in full display due to their tight fitting genital bands, and were held in place by the locks holding their wrist bands to the rickshaw's shafts. Both were young and better looking than most drayage slaves - one a pretty brown boy; the other a shiny jet-black man. The coarse looking ugly trainers then proceeded to thrust their large pricks deep into the two slaves right in front of us and fucked away without a care as to who was watching them.

The slaves groaned and shifted as they were fucked, shame and humiliation easily seen since their heads were forced upwards in an unnatural position. Nevertheless, they did nothing but stoically endure the fucking, obviously accustomed to it.

"Is this standard procedure?" I asked, rather astonished at the audacity of the trainers doing this right in front of us.

"Yes, Christian," Juan answered. "Some of these free trainers think it's their God-given right to fuck any slave under their tutelage anytime they want and view it as a 'fringe benefit' despite the fact the slaves are my property, not theirs. That's why I use slave trainers whenever I can. They only fuck when I tell them they can," Juan laughed, "and don't dare use my property without permission."

I studied the two slaves being fucked again and noted how accepting they seemed, passing this observation on to Juan.

"Christian, it's either a big dildo up their hole or a big prick. After a week or so, I doubt if it makes much difference, except most pricks are smaller than the dildos we use. Hell, it may even be a relief to have a prick stuck up you now and then. With a big dildo up you, it's like being fucked every time you take a step anyway - that's why we usually fit all the drayage slaves with them - a constant reminder you're a slave."

Another series of screams were coming from a team of drayage slaves chained together by their necks in a team of eight. One of the eight had fallen in exhaustion pulling the heavy wagon they were hitched to and pulled the others, heavily chained, down with him. All eight slaves were being beaten with a bullwhip until finally they managed to rise as a unit, a mass of blood and bruises by the time they were able to stand upright again. They quickly got back to pulling the heavy load with every muscle in their body outlined in the strain, their bodies spilling rivers of blood mixed with sweat.

"It's tiresome, but it seems to be the only way slaves learn proper breath control, Christian. Drayage slaves' big problem is wind and they've got to stretch their lungs until they can breathe deeply enough to meet the pace demanded. At first, like you just saw, a few flounder around until they get control of their body. After that, they're good for all day no matter how heavy the load or how past the pace. It's just a matter of getting the body properly conditioned and internalizing a 'can do' attitude about their new assignment."

"And if they don't, Juan?" I asked.

"Well, it's off to the rendering plant," Juan replied. "That's what so motivational about our system here. It works so well, we actually lose very few to the rendering plants and, even if we do, these slaves don't cost all that much. But, remember, Christian, we only use the big, strong, stupid, and ugly for these types of slaves. Once fully trained, they're remarkably enduring and generally last for years. They make for a good investment actually - especially at the prices owners can snap them up for these days - even fully trained like the products here."

"Where do most of these slaves come from originally, Juan?" I asked curiously as I studied their mammoth frames, their layers of muscles, and their massive chests and legs.

"They bred for it, mainly, Christian. Oh, once in a while we spot a freshly enslaved that's naturally built for this, but mainly, they're all bred nowadays. They're brought up to expect nothing else than being hitched to something or other with a whip on their back and a dildo rammed up their butt. That's why we have so little trouble with them despite, admittedly, the exhausting work they're put to each and every day. They've never known anything else, generation after generation. They're happy; we're happy."

"Well, I don't know if happy quite describes falling to the ground exhausted with blood running down your back form the whips, but I suppose not knowing any other life would help considerably, Juan."

"That and the fact we throw a wench in their cage once a week if they've met their work quota with no trouble. That's where their replacements come from 15 or 20 years down the line."

"You've thought of everything, Juan," I said in admiration.

"I'm beginning to understand why that slave turned 'rogue,'" I added. "He didn't have the distinct advantage of being bred for his work as I remember."

"That's nine-tenths of that slave's problem, but he can be trained nevertheless," Juan added.

"I can't believe how much I'm learning here at your ranch, Juan," I gushed. "I have trouble assimilating it as fast as you're teaching me, professor."

"Is that your way of saying it's time for some rest from all this learning, Christian? How about sampling one of the house boys I don't think you've seen yet. He's a real charmer and extremely well trained and something you haven't experienced yet - a bred slave. He's from a breeding farm in Zanzibar renowned for the quality of their output. He's just turned 19, has had full training as a pleasure slave, and is a beautiful deep brown color. It's high time you tried out a bred slave - a lot of people claim they're markedly superior in bed. I've never noticed the slightest bit of difference between a well trained boy like that Jim you bought and a bred slave, but you be the judge. I'm going to use that Arab man that served us dinner. Shall we entertain ourselves in the garden room, Christian? It's fully equipped for pleasure of that sort."

"Who could turn down a invitation like that, Juan?" I laughed. "Especially if it's air- conditioned. Damn, it's hot out here," glancing once again at the hundreds of sweating slaves pulling for all they were worth under the unrelenting Brazilian sun and the two rickshaw slaves, covered in sweat, still being rigorously fucked by their trainers. "And those damn whips - don't they ever stop?" I asked as we turned toward the house.

"A good whip is essential to a slave's proper training, Christian. But, I do admit the sound of it gets tiring over time."

CHAPTER 14

The bred slave from Zanzibar was perfect in bed but somehow disappointing. I couldn't fault the slave for doing everything in his power to please me, but despite his expertly trained ass and throat muscles, his willing compliance with anything I wanted, his obvious eagerness to please me, there was something missing. Suddenly, when I was well up his ass for the third time that night, I realized what it was. I really liked the suppressed resentment of a slave like the stud Thor who admitted he hated being fucked but certainly cooperated with it anyway, knowing as a slave there was nothing he could do but please a master no matter what was required. It was the power of forcing a slave do something he didn't really want to do that turned me on. I remembered Thor groaned in shame and resentment whenever I fucked him although he managed to churn his ass muscles and everything else appropriately. The boy from Zanzibar viewed being fucked like getting his next meal - it was a natural part of his life.

When Juan asked me the next morning how I liked bedding down a bred slave, I shared my thoughts with him.

"We can test your supposition out when we visit the basic training center today," Juan smiled. "All the new stock there get fucked right from the start to impress upon them they no longer have any control over their body - that belongs to someone else now. You can rape a brand new one and see how you like it - that way you'll know if your hunch is right or not, Christian."

When we got to the basic training center, the fresh stock had all been given a series of enemas, most had been stripped of all their body hair below their eyebrows, and all were fresh from the showers. Most were in a state of shock, viewing the loss of their body hair and the indignity of being administered forced enemas, along with a heavy metal collar locked around their neck not unlike an farm animal, more than they could bear. Some were openly crying; some were staring into space as if in a trance; some were screaming obscenities; some were testing their sturdy restraints with every muscle in their body. Now the handlers, two to a slave, were fastening them over a sawhorse face down, their wrist manacles fastened to rings set in the floor on one side of the sawhorse and their ankle manacles fastened to rings set widely apart in the floor on the other side. This forced their ass into a fully exposed position atop the sawhorse.

For most of these new purchases, this restrained position caused even more consternation and the maelstrom of protests rose to a crescendo. As a trained slave calmly proceeded down the line of sawhorses and jammed grease up the exposed hole of each new slave, their panic expressed itself in falsetto shrieks and a body covered with cold sweat.

"Pick a slave that's appealing to you, Christian, and then rape the shit out of him. If you like it, your hunch is probably right. If you don't, I'd stick with the bred slaves or something equally well trained. We don't gag the slaves at this stage of their training - we want them to hear their own screams of outrage and despair and realize it doesn't do them one bit of good. They're going to be fucked regardless of anything they do - that's a given for a slave and especially important to learn this early in his training."

Juan led me over to a bound slave that was still covered with black body hair with the exception of his pubic and ass area which had been shaved to expose these parts to full advantage. Hanging between his legs was a respectable package which looked appropriate for his very large muscular body that featured wide shoulders, a tight bubble ass, a very thin waist considering his chest development, and a nice thick (but collared) neck. He had a heavy three-day growth of beard over rugged jaws, high cheekbones, and deep-set dark eyes. His back muscles, most visible in his position on the sawhorse, were large and well defined like the rest of him. He was covered in sweat - probably from the rage he was expressing with every breath he drew - "you can't treat me like an animal;" "when I get loose, you'll pay for this;" "you sons-of-bitches;" that sort of thing that pretty well matched what all the other new slaves were mouthing off.

"I think you'll enjoy raping this one, Christian. He's just been a slave for a week now, but most of it has been in a holding pen and then shipment down here. He's a construction worker from St. Louis enslaved for failure to pay child support. One of my agents snapped him up - he's just 23, has a good sturdy body, and isn't bad looking if you're into the rugged types. As far as we know, he's hetero - at least he had a wife and three kids before he deserted her, and he's a white boy under all that black hair."

The slave being described responded by a new string of obscenities, directed at both of us, most of them directed toward the fact he wasn't going to be raped by anyone, let alone another man.

Juan paid absolutely no attention to the slave at all, other than reaching between his legs and roughly squeezed his balls, something the slave had no means of preventing.

"Calm down, slave," Juan said as he massaged the slave's balls vigorously. "A good fucking is the best thing that can happen to a new slave. Teaches them their body now belongs to a master."

The large white slave bucked and twisted within the tight limitations of his bondage with a fresh barrage of threats and violent objections.

"He's already well lubricated, Christian. Pound his butt until he shuts up but watch that he doesn't bite you. They can't usually restrained like that, but a few real flexible ones have managed occasionally. If it looks like he might, motion for the handler and he'll fasten a tight leash from the ring on his collar to a restraining ring in the floor. But, let me warn you, Christian, this experience is going to be the exact opposite of last night with that slaveboy from Zanzibar."

I slipped out of my clothes and cautiously mounted the hairy slave restrained beneath me. As he felt my prick forcing its way up his chute, he did try to bite me, as Juan had warned. But he was too well restrained to make that possible no matter how much he bucked and strained. His mouth never stopped as, inch by inch, I forced my way up his ass. In fact, his screams of protest and threats got even louder. After I was fully in his virgin ass, he gasped and tears poured out of his eyes (whether from shock, pain, or rage I never knew or really even cared) and he was so out of breath he couldn't scream as loud as before. When I started a rhythmic pounding, making sure each stroke was full length in and full length out so he would be sure to know I was 'long stroking' him for the full effect of feeling fucked, his screams slowly died out to sobs and within 10 minutes he was reduced to subdued crying as I reached around with one hand and stroked his organ until it was erect - shaming him all the more, especially when I eventually was able to milk him to a full ejaculation which spilled all over his upper thighs and dripped onto the floor beneath him. When I reached my own unhurried orgasm and dumped my full load well up into him, he seemed to know I was filling him with my seed as fresh sobs of despair emanated from a broken man. When I pulled out and cleaned myself with a Kleenex, I knew two things: (1) I had been right - my greatest thrills came out of fucking slaves who resented me doing it but could do nothing to stop it; and (2) raping a new slave was an important and essential tool in breaking him to his new role in life - it demonstrated once and for all his body wasn't his anymore - it now belonged to someone else.

Juan had watched the whole proceeding as he quietly got an update on the basic training center from his manager there, himself one of Juan's slaves who had been kept on for his management skills instead of being sold off. When I was putting my pants back on, the manager motioned for a slave trainer to "take over."

As I watched, I saw what that meant as the trainer mounted the back of the slave I had just fucked and began again what I had just finished. The slave groaned in despair as he was once again entered as some of my own cum gushed out of him.

I obviously looked surprised. "Again?" I asked.

"And again and again and again, Christian," Juan laughed. "We fuck the new slaves until they're bleeding, passed out, screamed out, and don't even have the energy to moan anymore. At least for the next two hours or so with at least six to eight trainers up their butts. After that, when they come to, slavery isn't an abstract concept to them - it's reality and they're beginning to understand that a slave has no more control over his body and his life than a cow bought for its milk production. It's a lesson learned more powerful than the collar around their neck, the rings through their tits, the brand on their butt, or being shorn of their hair. From now on, it's a master's privilege to fuck them, milk them, shave their bodies, squeeze their balls, work them until they drop, hitch them to a wagon, pinch their tits or anything else that might please them. It's all part of a well researched program. The end result is what we call a "broken" slave, i.e., a slave that knows his place in the scheme of things, who does anything he's commanded to do without hesitation, whose privilege it is to bring pleasure to his master, whatever that might entail, and who no longer thinks of himself as anything but what he is - an animal owned by others. This program produces just that, especially when we teach a slave what real pain is, that pain is controlled by their owner, and pain is to be avoided at any cost, no matter what a slave has to do to avoid it. That's why every slave isn't just fucked over and over - they're also beaten over and over until they understand a master or mistress can do this to them for no other reason than they are that person's property. And pain always, without fail, follows asserting a will of your own or even the slightest hesitation in total obedience."

"That explains all the screams and whip sounds and the sizzling sounds of the prods I hear in the next room," I added.

"Exactly," Juan responed, "although the new slaves are exposed to all sources of pain available to a modern master: electric shock dildos, tit clamps, finger and ball presses, and tooth extraction; along with the traditional forms of slave control: food, water, and sleep deprivation, forced abstinence, additional branding, nose ringing, a ring through your prick; and, of course, the more extreme control measures: castration, burning out a slave's eyes, cuttingg their leg tendons, or clipping their vocal chords. Of course, those extreme measures drastically hurt a slave's resale value and should be a last resort. Nevertheless, every slave needs to know what can happen if an owner is displeased with their property. That's why we have them sample some of the control measures so they understand their situation and force them to watch actual or filmed demonstrations of the extreme measures. When a slave finds out it's all for real and does happen often enough, there's invariably a drastic change in both behavior and attitude. When that's backed up by them sincerely thanking someone for fucking them or disciplining them, they're usually broken and can live their new life a hell of a lot happier than before. An unbroken slave is invariably a miserable slave. That's why this basic slave training is so important - it leads to a well adjusted, happy slave eager to enter his new life of service to whoever buys him."

By this time, yet another trainer had mounted the slave I had fucked and was humping away, the slave reduced to babbling at this point. Juan nodded in approval and led me to the next room where, sure enough, discipline, in all the formats useful in training a new slave was in full force.

Slaves screamed horrifically as an electrified dildo was activated well up their ass; as a ball press was tightened; as sizzling hot brands were pressed into their flesh. In another section, chained slaves, long deprived, were desperately begging for a drop of water or a scrap of food. In another section, a few slaves were having nose rings installed in their bleeding freshly-pieced septums while others were having a Prince Albert ring installed in their end of their pricks. TVs throughout the room showed detailed images of slaves being castrated, having their eyes torn out, or having their vocal cords burnt out. In yet another section, new slaves, pumped full of Viagra, constantly stroked to full arousal and dripping profusely, tried desperately to bring themselves off, but it always prevented. In the largest section of all, slaves were chained to individual posts where trainers competed with each other in how much blood and how wrenching the screams they could get out of the slaves being methodically whipped with all sorts of lashes, scourges, and metal-tipped floggers.

"I'm beginning to understand why a slave is so eager to be sold off," I offered, carefully studying each scene before me. "Most any master or mistress would be an improvement over this I would think."

"That's the whole point, Christian," Juan laughed. "A teacher friend of mine always claims it's smart to ride around on a broom for the first few days with her students and after that, she lets up a little and they love her."

"These slaves must really love their new masters and mistresses," I chuckled as screams of terror and agony kept up its constant wail.

"You know that fresh slave you raped, Christian? There's a market for 'unbroken slaves' with some buyers. They love the experience of breaking the slave themselves or, in some instances, trying to keep him 'unbroken,' that is always fighting his restraints and swearing at their owner, and that sort of stuff. That turns them on better than anything. We always save a few out for that particular market with the warning they'll have to be kept under heavy restraint and with a prod in your hand the whole time you have them out of their cage. You think you might be interested in a slave like that? I could arrange it easily enough and they're cheap enough - even one decent looking."

"I liked Thor, Juan. No problems with his obedience or doing exactly what you wanted - on the other hand, he had a way of letting you know he didn't like what you were doing to him but knew there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it other than just bend over and get fucked. That I liked! But keeping them chained and in a cage with them screaming obscenities at you struggling against their shackles - no, I don't think so. Besides, it sounds kind of scary."

"Well, I offered, Christian," Juan snickered.

With that, we left the basic training center, leaving the same way we had come in. When we left the last room we had been in, the relative silence was refreshing. By the time we got to the first room we had been in, the slave I had fucked was still being fucked but probably didn't realize it - he had passed out and looked like dead meat being pounded on the sawhorse supporting him.

By the time we had worked our way outside again, the birds were singing, the air didn't smell like sweat and cum, and the quiet was relaxing.

"Juan, it's a great place you have here," I said. "I can see where it's hard to get you to go anywhere else."

"Are you saying you want to extend your stay, Christian?" Juan smiled.

"No, Juan, but New York City just doesn't stack up."

CHAPTER 15

Perhaps New York wasn't as interesting as Juan's ranch, but it was my home and I missed it. Six days at Juan's ranch had allowed me to see first hand the most interesting aspects of his operation, sample some of his house slave's he wanted me to explore, and bond again with a longtime and wonderful friend.

But the visit was exhausting in a sexual sense. There was so much available meat, each new offering better than the last, that my fears of drying up and dying of exhaustion like a common brothel slave, seemed eminent. Besides, six days was about what I had planned to start with in view of Rico and Beauty penned up at the kennel during my absence. My newly purchased slave Jim had been a nice bonus to the trip, but I did need to get the acquisition to his new home. I wondered how he would fit in with my two existing slaves, but reflected I now had a black, a brown, and a white slave so I could pick and choose according to my mood. How striking the tri-colored threesome would look when I took them out for a walk, all fresh and oiled, being led by their leashes. I imagined them with matching brightly colored neck collars and genital bands - something like bright red or purple - so everyone would know all three belonged to me.

Juan's private jet was in use at the time I planned to leave - it was on a long trip to pick up some recent purchases: first Turkestan where one of Juan's agents had nailed down a great deal on six exceptionally handsome Kurdish house slaves being discarded by a fallen dictator; and then six Polynesian studs being marketed in Samoa. Juan said that jet had already paid for itself in saved freight charges and was considerably easier on the stock being transferred.

Consequently, I made arrangements for first-class accommodations back to New York City on Brazil's major airline (at a much cheaper fare than any American airline charged) and Juan made all the arrangements for Jim to go airfreight next-day delivery and to be delivered from the airfreight terminal to my home when he arrived by the delivery service Juan usually dealt with. Jim's shipment cost was surprisingly reasonable for next-day delivery - about five percent of my first-class ticket, but then, I wasn't going in a huge rack of cramped cages with a plug up my butt and a water bottle clamped to the bars being jerked around by a forklift when I transferred from one plane to another. I would get a couple of decent meals and some wine; Jim would be sucking water out of bottle fitted with a penis-shaped nipple, no food at all, a huge plug up his butt to make sure he didn't dirty his cage, and piss probably raining down on him periodically if he was unlucky enough not to be on the top row of cages.

It was standard shipment for slaves if they were lucky enough to be on an airplane instead of the slave transport trucks used for local transfer. Those types of carriers frequently just crammed all slaves into one huge trailer cage with the open bars allowing for plenty of air (and dust) and open viewing by the public as you slowly bumped from one city to another. It wasn't uncommon for slaves shipped like that to be subjected to a rough fucking right in public by the strongest of the lot; to be bruised and stomped as the slaves were tossed against each other when the truck got up to speed and went around corners or braked hard; and to be covered in each other's shit by the time they arrived since no facilities were ever available. Food was throwing them some slave chow through the bars when the truck refueled and water was being sprayed with a fire hose if the service station had one.

I paid for my airline ticket. Juan insisted on paying for Jim's freight charges, claiming most slaves he sold were priced to include the airfreight charges if their new owner was from a foreign country.

Slaves didn't need passports or visas, of course, in that they were just property, but were subject, like all goods, to custom fees. Juan took care of that too as was his practice with an international purchase - in fact that was completely taken of before the slave ever even left his ranch for shipment. I found out the custom charges were modest - only $240 for a valuable slave like Jim. For a common draft slave, Juan informed me, the custom charges often were as little as 15 or 20 dollars for the U.S.; about $5 for China; $3 for India; and zero for Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and the U.A.E. who imported slaves by the shiploads these days.

Juan insisted we spend our last night together, which we did. But Juan is never happy with just one person for a full night and, accordingly, while we were going at it, two other slaves were kneeling beside the bed in readiness - a green-eyed boy from Kurdistan just graduated from Juan's sex training center and a pure black boy from Nigeria, recently obtained from a male brothel in London. Both slaves were very muscular, short enough to be easy to handle, strikingly handsome, circumcised, fully trained for bedroom duties, and, as you would expect, quite well hung.

Juan and I had our farewell fling, but once recovered from that, discovered what the two slaves could offer us. Neither of us were disappointed and, more often than not, all four of us were in Juan's huge bed at once. Jim, during this time, was receiving a series of enemas in preparation for his big trip, so there was no opportunity to add him to the harem at this point.

Juan took me to the airport, driving the car himself. His chauffeur followed, accompanied by a handler, in a slave transport truck since Juan would be accepting delivery of 26 new slaves purchased from a Macedonian prison at a air transport terminal nearby.

"I lucked out on this purchase, Christian," Juan explained. "Macedonians are snapped up once they're properly trained. Everyone here in Brazil seems to want at least one. They go for their nice builds, their smooth skin, their round typically blue eyes, and their almost innate desire to please. Besides that, most Macedonians are blessed by God when it comes to sexual equipment. Some of them are hard to believe!"

As we neared the airport, I again witnessed the thousands of drayage slaves under the whips, more and more rickshaws being pulled by slaves in full dressage, showy litters being borne high by even showier slave bearers, chain gangs repairing the roads and building new ones; collared construction workers sweating away under the ever present prods and whips; and, the latest fashion, 'display' slaves accompanying their owners from one shop to another, all on short leash, all tightly banded to best display their ample sexual equipment; all exceptionally handsome; and all with bodies that defined masculine beauty. Most were led by a mistress who loved the envious looks she got from her friends and casual observers as the slaveboy carried her packages or knelt at her feet when appropriate. But some were led by a master who enjoyed the raw power and appreciative stares an unusually handsome slaveboy commanded when displayed in a fancy tall, often jeweled, collar with large matching tit rings and a thick genital band. I noted most of these new fads were fitted with gold or silver nose rings to emphasize their animal status.

Juan saw me studying the 'display slaves' we passed. Most in this district seemed to be owned by women.

"You get something like that started and in no time at all, every women with any money at all has to have one," Juan laughed. "Those you can market to this new craze sell for four or five times what they're really worth. Then the fad will be over and those mistresses will be off and running to the next fad. But, in the interim - I'm making a killing taking some of my best looking trained sex slaves, fitting them out with a fancy collar and nose ring, putting big rings in their tits, and banding their package so tight it's practically a separate appendage. They're selling as fast as I can get those tall collars welded around their necks and at prices you won't believe."

"What a life!" I commented as we both witnessed an old lady fondling the penis and tits of the 'display' slave of a friend with a decidedly licentious look in her eye.

"Wait until you see what the master's have as display slaves," Juan chortled. "Handsome freaks if you ask me. But, if you're selling, I keep my comments to myself."

"I saw a couple a few miles back," I laughed. "A white and a black - both were, as you say, freakish, almost. But, handsome bastards, I must say. Both of them showing hard. How in the hell do these slaves stay hard all the time, Juan? Even at our best, we can't do that."

"Lots and lots of training, my friend," Juan chuckled. "That, plus never being allowed to shoot off and having a good size plug up your butt to keep your prostate tickled all the time. But still, it's a real skill and highly valued in both display as well as litter slaves."

"And being a house slave at your ranch," I laughed. "It was rare when I saw a normal sized flaccid prick on a slave around your house, Juan."

Just at that point we passed the largest litter I had ever seen. It looked like it could hold at least four persons if it had to although you couldn't tell because it was completely curtained for privacy. It was made out of a rich hue of Brazilwood trimmed with gold-plated fittings and bright orange silk curtains. It was so heavy it was borne on the massive shoulders of 14 naked bearers - all the same height and muscular build; all jet-black; and all with approximately the same size circumcised genital organs banded by gold which matched their spiked collars. Each of the 14 muscular bearers were fitted with tiny bells attached to their tit rings.

Juan brought the car to a virtual halt so we could both study the full display.

"That's the owner of the slave market right down the street here," Juan explained without my asking. "She's really crass and crude and I understand most of the society women here in Campinas hate her guts. She dresses as gaudy as her litter and local gossip has it each of those poor litter bearers with the bells on their tits and those spiked bands around their prick and balls has daily duty in her bedroom as well as heft her all over town on their shoulders. As a friend of mine put it: 'those black boys on her litter have such big butts because the muscles back there have double duty - working their ass carrying the bitch all over town AND working their ass pumping into her old cunt the minute they get her back home.' Christian, let me tell you, it would take an overseer with a good strong whip to keep those black brutes sweating and panting and humping around the clock. No training I know of would keep a slave doing all that without steady reinforcement."

"But they're all smiles above their collars," I pointed out.

"If they don't show happy, they don't get fed," Juan chuckled. "That's easy enough to accomplish."

Juan and I both had a laugh on that one.

"Christian, if you like your boys really black, any one of those trotting along there might be damn interesting in bed," Juan commented. "All that hard muscle; those big nicely trimmed dicks of theirs swinging around in front of them; and all that sweat running down those shiny black bodies sort of turns you on, especially when you think of any one of those handsome brutes in your bed trying their best to please."

"Jesus, Juan. I was just thinking the same thing. What does something like that cost down here currently?" I asked.

"A team of 14 with the litter or just one of them?" Juan asked.

"Just one, Juan," I answered. "I'm not up to 14."

"It would set you back about $35,000 - no more, and possibly less. Black slaves have gutted the market here currently and the price is going down, not up. It's the breeding farms, Christian. If they keep production up at current levels, they'll be selling for no more than $20,000 in just a few years. The goal is to get the price down to where just anyone can afford a decent looking slave, but the breeders down here love the blacks - they're easy to breed and there's a steady market for the pure blacks at least. Sort of a historical thing down here as much as anything. Now up in New York, they wouldn't have that appeal. Breeders up there are concentrating on whites primarily with some emphasis on mixed bloods, I understand. That makes sense. You breed what's going to sell, Christian."

"It does makes sense, Juan. Do you think it would be wise to invest some in a white breeding farm close to New York City?"

"It wouldn't have much risk, Christian. And it would have the potential for some solid return on your investment. After all, the only cost are a few handlers that enjoy keeping everyone in line and knowing their place, some good breeding stock to start with, and a little slave chow and water for 15 to 16 years. After that, every year you've got another batch to sell at market. Profits can be enormous, let me tell you, especially if you pick your studs and wenches carefully to start with."

"Well, you ought to know, Juan," I laughed. "Your own breeding operations must be making a fortune after all this time."

"Christian, I admit I wouldn't have to do anything else to make my fortune, but of course, currently my training facilities and my marketing and import-export operations are also bringing in more money than I care to divulge, but slave breeding is as good an investment as any."

Juan was the best friend I had ever had, and, I felt sure, I was the best friend he had. Both of us were without family; both of us never had to worry about money; both of us had the same bent; and both of us were not only appreciative of the availability of slaves nowadays, but both of us put them to practical use. (As Juan put it, we were the ones that kept the economy going!) Juan had found his niche in the world - Brazil's leading slave firm into slave acquisition, slave training, slave breeding, slave processing, slave marketing, and slave selling. As it turned out, my niche was just about to develop.

Juan got serious as neared the airport.

"I'll admit I've been studying you, Christian," Juan started out.

"By fucking me silly last night?" I laughed.

"No, stupid. Sizing you up intellectually and emotionally - not just appreciating that nice fuckable body of yours which I don't want to discredit in any way. Christian, .... " he paused and pursed his lips. "Christian, ... How would you like to work for me, buddy? I don't want to sound ingenuous, like 'work for me' sounds, but, Christian, I really need someone I can trust and understand to run an American office headquartered in New York City. We're currently importing a lot of slaves from all sorts of sources through the States and exporting several times that number to America from all over the world. We've even got American slaves being shipped down here for processing and training and then we ship them right back to sales outlets in the U.S. America's demand for slaves is growing astronomically and demand far exceeds domestic supply and will until the breeding farms are in full operation there. Until then, there's a fortune to be made reallocating the world's slave output to the needs of America's economy. Frankly, it's more than I oversee properly. I need someone right in the States who will wrest the last penny out of that market and built up the quality image we currently have all over the world. My goal, Christian, is to be not just Brazil's biggest, most profitable, and most prestigious slave operation, but the world's."

"Jesus, Juan, I don't know.... "

"Shut up and listen, Christian. You're perfect for it. You don't have anything else to do I can see other than fuck those three slaveboys you own. You're clever. I can trust you. You understand now all the uses slaves can be put to. You understand that most any property can be trained to whatever the market demands. You seem to understand that slaves are just property without rights, no different than a horse or a goat. And you don't have any qualms about training them to market needs, buying or selling them, or," Juan laughed, "just fucking them for a person's enjoyment. You're even eager to invest in breeding operations for the production of local white boys. "

"You're laying it on pretty thick, aren't you, Juan?" I laughed.

"Christian, when I first met you years ago, I said you needed a purpose in life and you agreed. Well, Christian, the slave business is your calling just like it is mine. Once you get yourself involved, you'll forget about these weird philosophical notions you entertain about 'finding yourself' and all that crap. Hell, you have 'found yourself' and it's with a whip in your hand buying and selling human livestock. You believe in destiny, Christian?"

"Yes," I admitted. "Things do seem to happen according to some plan or another."

"God's will or just destiny. Hell, I don't know. But your destiny is as clear to me as it should be to you. Just say yes to working for me and destiny is at your doorstep, Christian," Juan stated quite empathically.

I was overwhelmed and didn't know what to say.

"Here's the deal, Christian. My agents in the U.S. will ship me fresh stock after clearing it with you. You can add any new agents or sources you want and get rid of any agents that aren't pulling their own weight. You'll get 5% on each slave shipped down here from the states or, with bred or previously trained slaves, a 5% transfer rate when you resell them in American markets. With all stock shipped up to you, including Americans trained down here, you'll get 5% of their selling price in the U.S. I'll rely on you for quotas of nationalities, colors, sizes, and shapes, based on what's selling for top prices in the U.S. I want you to buy up breeding farms already in operation and set up some new ones using American studs and breeding wenches, using my capitol to set the whole operation up. In return, I'll get 5% commission on output from those farms when they're of prime selling age. The more you sell (or breed), the more the make. The more I sell to you, the more I make. It's a win-win situation and a deal that doesn't lead to arguments later on. The best part is - we'll both make so much money we'll be billionaires many times over within a decade and my firm will be known as the best on God's green earth. And you, Christian, will be proud as anything, making more money and having greater respect than your own father ever dreamed of."

It was Juan's last comment that made up my mind. I had always felt guilty living off inherited wealth, even when I knew I could never spend it all, no matter what I did or didn't do. I wanted an identity of my own and Juan was offering it to me on a golden spoon.

"Is there a retirement plan? And what about medical insurance?" I joked.

"God Almighty, Christian," Juan practically exploded. "Is that a 'yes'?"

"Yes, Juan, and fuck the retirement plan. I was thinking the other day I'll probably have the life span of a brothel slave if I don't stop fucking slaves three or four times a day."

"You're growing up, Christian," Juan said. "But I have that same worry about fucking myself to death," he laughed.

We embraced and I now worked for Juan de Silva - an arrangement that lasted for many a year and, as Juan had predicted, made us both multi-billionaires within 5 years, not the 10 he had predicted.

CHAPTER 16

Six Weeks Later:

Parading Jim, Rico and Beauty on a stroll through Central Park was satisfying, although not quite the sensation I thought it would be. The trouble was, everyone else seemed to have the same idea and with stock just as good looking and sexually exciting as my three slaves. True, having them outfitted alike (bright orange collars and genital bands fitted tightly with matching gold plated tit-rings) and each a different fully shaved hide color (black, brown and white) along with the different leash placements (one slave by his collar; another by his tit ring; and the third by his genital band) created some stares of appreciation and admiration. But many other masters and mistresses had put thought and energy into both what they were displaying and how they were displayed. Some people too poor to own even one slave came to the park just to see what was being shown that day - the same people that routinely go to the slave markets to see what new stock had come in overnight. The advantage of Central Park viewing was you were viewing the best the markets had to offer; the advantage of visiting the slave markets was that you could actually feel the goods for yourself, including stroking a big buck into a full dripping erection and no one seemed to care much even knowing you couldn't afford to buy the goods being offered that day.

Six weeks ago, when I had arrived back in New York, I freshened up in my townhouse and then walked down to the kennel where I had boarded my two slaves Rico and Beauty. They squealed in delight when they first spotted me through the bars of their cages, both springing full erections just from seeing their master again. They seemed to be in good shape, obviously having been fed, watered, and exercised properly in my absence. Their dripping erections indicated the kennel had followed my directions in keeping them shackled within their cages so they couldn't get themselves off no matter how needy they got over the entire week I had been gone. I must say the place was reasonably clean (they and their cages had obviously been hosed down recently) and the other kennel occupants seemed well taken care of despite their cramped cage confinement.

As I paid the kennel's fees for maintenance of the two slaves, I asked the owner how his business was doing.

"Thanks for asking, sir," he answered politely. "I can't complain and we're adding some services almost every month that's beginning to add to the bottom line."

"Well, there's more and more slaves every day here in New York and a certain percentage of those are going to have to be kenneled now and then for their owner's convenience," I commented, "but what are the new services? I thought a kennel just fed, watered, and exercised slaves primarily. Oh, maybe a nice grooming occasionally."

"More than occasionally, sir," the kennel owner laughed. "Some owners are bringing in their stock just for that during the day without ever renting a cage. But we now offer some services you used to have to take your stock to a slave market to get: tit ringing, re-collaring, genital banding, ear ringing, personalized decorative tattooing and branding, installation of a penile ring or a ring through the slave's nose septum, circumcision, and, our latest new service, deballing."

"Well, that is handy," I complimented the owner, "but just how many are turning their studs into eunuchs these days? Oh, I know they used to back in Roman times and in the Old American South, but you're giving up their studding potential and probably some strength and energy in the long haul - at least from what I've read."

"Well, one good stud can service 500 breeding wenches if he's managed right," the kennel owner laughed, "so not every slave stud needs to reproduce anyway. And, if a slave is nutted after he's fully mature, there's a lot of debate about just how much strength and stamina you really lose when you castrate them. A lot of aggression, probably, but not much actual strength, it seems. A slave that has trouble controlling their aggression and gets a little feisty sometimes or seems to need too much whip to make him easily managed is a natural candidate for the procedure in my mind. It's easy enough to do and they recover quickly if it's done properly. Not much risk and a lot to gain in certain cases. We're able to offer the procedure for only $300 plus boarding charges for three days. That's peanuts compared to what slaves cost. Not too much more than we charge for a nice clean nose ringing these days."

"But, how many owners are actually forking over the money?"

"For a nose ringing or a deballing?"

"Ball removal," I answered.

"We're doing about 3 or 4 a day anymore. We've got a whole new wing added just for that procedure and then caging them for recovery. Not many, compared to the numbers brought to us for banding their slave's packages or ringing their tits, but still worth our investment in the new facilities. The biggest growth has been in installing a large ring right through a slave's nose septum. Owners like it as a great control device - it's easy to hook a leash to, for example, or to fasten a slave to a retainer ring - but a lot of them just like the look it gives - it's catching on fast, sir. You might want to consider it for these two," he said, looking down at my own slaves kneeling beside me, my two leashes fastened securely to each of their genital bands.

Once the bill was paid, I led the two slaves to their "home" a short distance away, each walking behind me in perfect coordination the length their leash allowed. As they had been trained, each kept their heads upright with lowered eyes, their posture erect, and remained totally quiet. But both slaves were obviously very happy to be uncaged at last, sniffing the fresh air, practically prancing in their step, and proudly flaunting their bodily assets as others walking glanced appreciatively at them, especially their huge erections, still hard and dripping.

Along the way, I was amused by a stocky middle aged black master, more fat than stocky actually, fucking his muscular light-skinned Mexican slave. The handsome slave, looking to be in his late teens, was bent over a park bench while his master fucked him, his collar leash tied to the bench itself so make sure he stayed bent over properly. The young slave's owner was quite well hung and it seemed amazing the slaveboy could handle the pounding without being split in two, but other than the slave groaning and grimacing in pain, he seemed to be handling it, no doubt well broken in to his master's huge tool by this time.

I stopped, along with some others out for a stroll, to take in the little show and noticed by own two slaves glued to the scene being played out in front of them, their pricks quivering and dripping copiously. It didn't take much to get them all excited, I thought, after spending a week in a cage shackled so they couldn't bring themselves off. It would make them appreciate me all the more when I put them to regularly servicing me again now that I was back in the city.

When we got back to my townhouse, their nostrils quivered the minute they entered the door, conspicuously smelling my new property, Jim. Slaves are uncanny that way - any new slave in 'their' territory seems to send out a unique scent that is instantly noticed. Both Beauty and Rico's pricks quivered in response. I took them downstairs and showed them Jim kneeling in his cage and explained I had purchased the slave while in Brazil. He was an Oklahoma boy, a few years older than them, and specially trained as a sex slave in a renowned Brazilian slave training center - owned and operated by my friend Master Juan who had fucked both of them here in this very house on his last visit.

"It will be nice to have a pretty white slave to service me when I want in addition to you two colored ones," I smiled. "A master always enjoys a nice variety at hand."

That's all I said in that there is no need to explain anything to a slave, let alone justify anything. I didn't give a damn whether they felt threatened by the new arrival or not - it was their job to accommodate me - not the other way around.

Whether there was tension or not at the new competition for my usage I don't know. I never saw any of it and by that night all three were serving supper, each dripping hard, each eager to do anything requested without hesitation, and each properly subservient. When I ordered Jim to fuck Rico for my entertainment, he mounted Rico eagerly while Rico, on his hands and knees, took Jim's large organ up his chute without a moment's hesitation and, as Jim pumped away, got a big smile on his face even before I ordered Beauty to get beneath Rico's body and suck him off. Later, I had Jim suck Beauty off and, after those initial introductions to each other's bodies, the slaves got along fine with each other. My timing was perfect. The two kenneled slaves hadn't been allowed to cum in over a week; Jim hadn't been allowed to cum for the entire time he was in transit. No wonder they liked what each could do for each other - albeit under my complete direction, of course.

Within a week, I had the three slaves fitted out in matching collars and genital bands and was using them as display slaves as well as bed bucks.

But, I didn't spend all my time fucking the three slaves at my disposal. Now that I worked for Juan, I had to prove he was right in trusting me with his business interests in the United States.

The first order of business was to invest in some long-term breeding operations. Either buy out some existing ones that showed promise or set some up of my own. This required checking out what was ongoing and could be purchased if one had the capital. I had capital practically unlimited - Juan had in essence given me a blank check!

The first purchase was a small operation located on a farm not thirty miles north of the city. They owned two magnificent Nordic blond studs who were being mated regularly with a small stock of only 300 light colored American breeding wenches. It was a new operation, but promising with a first crop of 280 now two years old and the second crop of 283 (some twinning had occurred) now only a year old. Already all 300 breeding wenches were successfully impregnated and seemed to be well into yet another healthy pregnancy. The farm was fast running out of capital and could barely fed the stock on hand. If they didn't find a well-financed buyer, it was doomed. They sold to me at a great price which included all 563 products so far, all 300 wenches (all under 21 even now) with their swollen bellies, and the two studs, only 19 now with at least a few more years of constant fucking left in them. Assuming we could count on 250 surviving stock a year by the time they were 17 or so, we would have an inventory of 3750 potential slaves for the marketplace without any expansion at all. All would be white or near white and, looking at the breeding stock, all would have a good chance of being big, handsome, sturdy, well hung, and, by the time they would be marketed, totally compliant and biddable to anything a buyer might want. I kept the managers in place instructing them not to spare any cost in feeding the stock or keeping them healthy in a clean, well-supervised environment with good medical care and lots of exercise each and every day. I assured them their original concept was sound - they just lacked the money to pull it off. Now they could, but, of course, the profits would be mine, not theirs. But they would have a good well-paying job, they would be doing something they liked (overseeing breeding), and they could take pride in a good saleable product if they continued doing their job correctly.

As the new owner, I did request the two Nordic studs be sent to my overnight hotel room from the farm's rutting sheds. They arrived that evening freshly scrubbed, completely douched, and well lubricated. Both gave no resistance as I ordered them onto their backs with their legs spread wide and up over my shoulders for a good fucking, but they had that same look of controlled rage and abject shame I had so enjoyed in Thor, Juan's white stud down in Brazil. Again, I decided it was the resentment I enjoyed as much as the tightness of their well- greased ass chutes.

Next, I bought up six similar small operations, also nearby where I could keep an eye on them. One was a breeding operation up in Harlem run out of some old tenement buildings, now gutted with barred windows and doors allowing vast open spaces for corralling the breeding stock, holding pens for the products, and exercise and training facilities aplenty. This 'Harlem breeding factory' as it was called specialized in American blacks and had an average yearly output of about 300 a year. It had been in operation for six years now, but was also running out of capital since slave pups bring little on the open market - you have to hold out until the stock is fully mature to get a decent price. Another was in nearby rural Pennsylvania and turned out whites primarily. A third was in New Jersey and utilized Porto Rican slaves as the breeding stock. A fourth, in the worst areas of the Bronx, was a little bigger but produced only draft slaves, using some of the cheapest slaves currently available as breeding stock - Haitian slaves. A fifth, also in New Jersey, was even bigger - about 500 a year output - but utilized imported slaves as breeding stock - Russians, various Balkans, and Greeks. The sixth was trying something different - only pure blacks from equatorial Africa were in the breeding pens. The goal was to eventually market shiny pure blacks with huge muscular builds without a trace of genetic mongrelization. Altogether, these six operations should produce a good 2000-3000 quality slaves a year for the markets a decade and a half down the line.

Juan was very pleased with these initial acquisitions on American home soil but urged me to get into some really large operations, similar to those in Brazil, Mexico, and Poland, all of which he had at least part ownership in. Those three countries were currently the world's leaders in huge single-site slave breeding operations. Juan wanted ours to be even larger.

Consequently, I went to the South and Midwest where land was a lot cheaper and non- slave labor costs could be minimized. I settled on Southern Missouri for one mega-factory and Mississippi for a second. Both locations had good rail and interstate connections for shipping the products to market swiftly and at relatively low cost, had land enough to grow the crops to feed the products, and where it didn't get so cold you would have a lot of heating costs over the winters.

The one in Missouri was constructed from scratch to handle over 10,000 wenches in full production, could handle over 150,000 products without crowding or security problems, and would offer full training facilities for every age slave during their development to market. It cost over $125 million to build the simple, but secure facility and another $500,000,000 just for the breeding wenches alone, but, down the road, the profits would be staggering for the long-term investor. The Missouri operation was to handle primarily whites and half-breeds of various types. Consequently the majority of studs were white boys but a few were blacks, browns, and even a particularly handsome well hung Asian boy and a striking Polynesian. I designed the operation to be the breeding farm of the future with its emphasis on lost cost per output, huge production outputs each month, and the finest training facilities around. The goal was to market big, healthy, handsome slaves completely trained for their new life who would bring top dollar on the auction block.

The one in Mississippi was even bigger and we utilized a facility bought from the state - a huge prison they had no use for now that slavery was replacing prison sentencing. With some simple remodeling, the old prison made an ideal slave breeding facility: the old license- plate stamping machines were replaced with rutting benches; the hospital was turned into a birthing center; the exercise yard remained intact as did the thousands and thousands of cells. What used to be isolation and execution were now devoted to training; the prison farms now were slave powered and produced all the food needed plus some for sale; and, of course, clothing issue was no longer needed at all. The remodeling was designed for a minimum of 15,000 broods producing at least one slave a year on the average, meaning, over 15 years, it needed to hold 240,000 products in various stages of being ultimately prepared for market. It was designed to be the largest breeding operation in the U.S. and, along with the Missouri operation, able to fill up to 40% of American's slave markets when it was in full production 16 or 17 years from now. Besides being bigger, the Mississippi operation specialized in the production of black slaves primarily, although the actual color of the product varied from jet black to a majority of nicely hued browns to some light colored, almost yellow, quadroons. These latter products were practically indistinguishable from those from the Missouri operation to the untrained eye.

All of this required huge sums of "up-front" money (billions and billions) but Juan never flinched. Just the opposite - he lauded me constantly for doing exactly what he had in mind and reminded me continually I was not only paving the way to becoming one of America's richest men over time but that my father couldn't even fathom how successful his son was to become.

As it turned out, Juan was exactly right in his forecast. The problem was - we were too successful. Eventually we churned out so many appealing products the market was gutted and prices started to fall dramatically. But, just as Juan and I started to panic, slave prices dropped to the point where the American middle class could fit a slave purchase or two into their budget. When that happened, the market for slaves exploded and prices leveled off and then began a slow upward trend.

As Juan said, "If you're big enough, you can outlast any market." But neither of us foresaw the clouds gathering!  CHAPTER 17

Seven years later:

No one could have foretold what happened to those most responsible for America's prosperity. Someone in the highest places clearly thought the nation's wealth was drifting away from their control and decided to act boldly.

The nation's national security laws, passed hurriedly and with little consideration years and years ago in a near panic, had proven most useful when it came to doing what the government wanted done without the inconvenience of running it though Congress or putting it up for a vote. When a 10% federal tax on slave sales proposed by the Administration to finance the huge cost of their wars in the Middle East (still going on from way back in 2001) failed to get through Congress, the privately owned slave businesses were declared a terrorist threat and America's top security risk and all of them were nationalized overnight. Now all unsold slaves were property of the national government who "could secure the nation's safety by determining to whom they would be sold and what use they would be put to once sold." By this time, almost 40% of the nation's population were slaves if slaves had been counted in the census (which they weren't of course, being property), so it was a massive transfer of wealth from the private to the public sector in an instance since 10% of those slaves were currently owned by these slave businesses. To quell any public outrage at this enormous property theft, the move was accompanied by an executive order to immediately reduce the price of slaves by 15%, a move that was acclaimed by the vast majority of people, even though this was almost immediately changed to a 10% reduction and, six months later, the price was actually raised by 10% from the original prices. The only parallel was when Saudi Arabia nationalized their vast oil fields from foreign ownership back in the 1950s.

Thus, without warning or premonition, all of our capital had gone to the national treasury. Juan's and my own huge fortune in domestic slaves had literally disappeared.

To the slaves, it made little difference who got the money from their sale. Of most importance to them was what sort of a master or mistress they would end up with and what they would be required to do under new ownership. But to the slaves' (previous) owners, it made a hell of a difference. One, all our hard earned money was gone. Two, our potential earnings base was wiped out. Three, (which made the first two mean nothing really) we were charged as terrorists to justify the deed and promptly enslaved ourselves, probably to insure we were out of the way and couldn't protest or take it to the courts.

I was seized, stripped and collared the very next day in my townhouse in New York immediately after the charges of terrorism were read to me by the federal agents. The minute the agents caught sight of my naked slaves Jim, Rico, and Beauty, they roughly leashed them by their genitals bands.

"Your sex slaves?" I was asked.

I nodded affirmatively.

With that, one of the agents took out a marker and placed a big "SS" on the front and back of the three slaves.

"Put them in a separate van and make sure they're put in the holding pens for next Thursday's sale. That's when we're selling off a big batch of already trained sex slaves we've accumulated."

The last I ever saw of my three different colored bed bucks was as they were abruptly dragged by their balls to a van outside somewhere, looking totally bewildered by this sudden turn of events.

Juan was seized under the extradition laws the U.S. administration had worked out with Brazil in obvious preparation for their bold move toward nationalization of the slave industry.(This extradition was easily arranged since Brazil got to keep all of Juan's huge holdings inside their borders, including thousands and thousands of slaves - a real windfall for the Brazilian government!)

All of the captains of the domestic slave industry were sequestered in the vast slave pens used by the Federal government outside Washington, D.C. for those charged with anti- terrorism activities. Those just working as non-slave labor in the formerly private slave operations (the training supervisors, the breed masters, the security forces, the disciplinarians, the marketing specialists, the purchasers, etc.) were enslaved along with us, but were generally sent to the nearest local slave pens, often the very facility where they had previously been employed.

Thus, within a week, Juan and I found ourselves together again - this time sharing a small pen in a stifling hot warehouse stark naked with collars around our necks, our bodies totally shaved, our tits ringed, a thick band tightly fitted around our manhood, a fresh brand on our left butt check and right pectoral, a big plug up our asses, and slave identification marks on both our inside wrists, our upper right arm, and our left ankle. We were sharing a pen since former co-owners were caged together so the government knew where we were coming from.

"Well, at least we have an idea of what to expect," Juan whispered, since slaves weren't allowed to converse in a normal tone, even when caged. Juan wiggled his hips around in an effort to better accommodate the huge butt plug forced up far inside him.

"That's putting a positive spin on things," I said. "My tits are so sore from these rings it almost makes me forget about the pain from the brands. Still, I guess we're lucky we're alive, Juan. I saw the two blacks that ran our breeding operation down in Mississippi beat to death when they fought and kicked over being ringed and banded. Seems like the government doesn't give a damn how valuable the property is that they seized. They're acting like they can afford to just dispose of slaves that are giving them a little hassle initially."

"They're just amateurs at handling slaves, Christian," Juan said. "That much is clear. We would never tolerate the loss of two good looking blacks just because they resisted a little at their initial processing. These guys just view us as government surplus, not something that's worth quite a bit when marketed properly."

More and more cages were filled as the government continued its nationalization of the industry. Juan and I were hosed down every other day, body shaved once a week, and milked once a week for some reason or another. Our processing was routine - getting acclimated to being fucked regularly by the guards, standing in various positions hours on end while trainers fondled, stroked, pinched, and poked every part of our bodies without us flinching, and learning how to best display our bodies for inspection by a potential buyer once we were up on the auction block. To both of us, we knew the routine by heart and these yo-yo's weren't into anything new or novel as far as the marketing of slaves went.

Like slaves all over the world, our biggest concern was our future ownership. Who would buy us and for what purpose - the main concern of any thinking slave. Both of us weren't spring chickens anymore. Juan was nearly 35 by now and I had just turned 32. Nor did we have the nicely defined musculature of most slaves their forced exercise regimens produced. We were both well hung, we were both handsome, and we both had a lot of sexual experience for whatever that was worth. Probably due to our advanced age, the government didn't want to spend any money in specialized training for us. Hence, we weren't sent out for special sex training, or draft slave training, or schooled in how to bear a new owner's litter or pull a rickshaw. Just obedience training, posing on command, and basic hygiene and body grooming were our only classes at the government's holding center. We both knew the government didn't think they were going to get much for us at our age.

Juan and I were scheduled for the same auction. Two days before the big event, we were given a series of enemas and chained out in front of our cage for customer inspections. Twelve hours a day for two solid days we were fondled, stroked, jerked off, fucked with dildos, had our nipples pinched and squeezed, our teeth examined, had our balls hefted in endless palms, and even had our eye lids peeled back as they checked us out. Occasionally, we were unchained, and, led by a leash connected to the band around our balls, taken to a nearby tent which contained a bed, a fucking bench, and a place to kneel. There, in relative privacy, a potential buyer could fuck us, have us fuck him or her, have us suck them off, or do anything else they wanted to explore. I got fucked by an old fart in his 60s, a gangly teenager with pimples, and sucked off a dried-up 70 year old (which took forever). I had to fuck two females - one an old hag in her late 50s and another about my age. Juan seemed to be more interesting to customers: he ended up having to fuck five females ranging in age from their early 20s to one at least 75; got fucked by six men (all of whom were rather gross), and had to suck off a whole series of young boys along with their fathers who apparently wanted their sons to have the full experience of a big public slave inspection.

By the end of the two days of stock inspection, Juan and I both had sore butts, sore pricks, and sore tits. We had swallowed enough cum to dull our appetite for slave chow (which had taken us a while to get used to). When the big day of the auction came, we were almost relieved in that hordes of people wouldn't be pawing our tits, squeezing our balls, and stroking our pricks endlessly.

Juan and I were early in the auction line-up due to our age. The best (prime stock) was saved for last. Juan was up on the block, stroked by the handler to a full erection prior to being presented. He was bid on by an middle-aged Arab sheik, a black man in his mid- twenties, an Asian man who looked to be at least 70, and a rather fat woman in her mid-fifties. The fat lady bought him for only $35,000 - a knock-down price usually reserved for slaves fairly well worn out.

I was next up. Bids were slow as I was turned around and made to bend over to best display my hole, then turned around again and ordered to thrust myself out to best emphasize my erect banded organ. Eventually, bids were made by that same middle-aged Arab sheik that had bid on Juan, the same black man in his mid-twenties, a crude looking white man in his forties, a black woman in her late 30s, and another Arab man I couldn't see very well due to the strong lighting. This time, the black man made the winning bid and I was his for only $33,000 - a very low price due to my age and the fact Juan was hung better and more muscular than I was.

As it turned out, Juan's mistress lived within three blocks of my new black master - both in a middle-class neighborhood where slaves were kept either in a basement cell, a cage in the attic, or a pen in the garage if there was room. This didn't surprise us - slaves at the price we sold for usually ended up as "only" slaves of middle class people who couldn't afford the better quality slaves but who at least had something to warm their beds and do their dirty work. Because of our owner's proximity, Juan and I saw each other occasionally, usually when our owners had us out shopping with them (presumably to carry their packages) - totally naked and being led by a leash attached to one or another of our body fittings. We even had a chance to stealthily converse on those occasions when our owner was busy doing something else and we could whisper a few words to each other. Juan was kept busy all the time cleaning the house, doing all the yard work, doing all the laundry, and fucking his mistress three and even four times every day. She seemed insatiable, he claimed, and he was kept drained dry. Despite that, the old bag offered his services to others occasionally, especially people the old lady owned money to.

"But, at least I'm still doing the fucking," Juan said with a big smile. "Instead of fucking myself to death drilling my pretty slave boys' asses down in Brazil, I end up fucking myself to death humping that old bag," he laughed. "If I don't die first of overwork doing all the laundry, cleaning and yard work the old bitch manages to come up each and every day."

"My fucking days are over, Juan, I'm afraid," I declared. "My black master is just 23, I found out, and horny as they come. I'm his only outlet as far as I know and he fucks me, either up the ass or down my throat, no less than five times a day. I don't know where he gets the stamina to fuck like that, but he does. Besides that, Juan, he's hung like a horse so my ass and throat are sore all the time. I can barely swallow the handful of slave chow he gives me twice a day and my ass is always so sore it's hard to sit down when I get a chance. I haven't fucked anything since he bought me and the only time he let's me get off is when he milks me every Saturday night for his 'special treat' as he calls drinking a cup of my hot cum. He's threatening to sell my services to some of his black friends, but, Juan, I'm not sure he has any friends. His biggest thrill seems to be taking me out on walks leashed by my balls so all his neighbors can see he now owns a white slave. Juan, did you ever realize what all those slave's lives were actually like that we sold by lots of thousands?"

"Yes, Christian. Remember, I trained them for that life from the womb on and broke the rest of them to their new lives in my training centers. I knew what a slave's life was like and, frankly, so did you. Both of us didn't have to concern ourselves about it - we were on the other side of things."

"Juan, did training them prepare you for your life now?" I asked, suspicious I already knew his answer.

"Yes, Christian. I knew exactly what to expect and it's worked out about like I thought. I adjusted fast enough and I'm sure you did too. I just didn't know whether I'd end up fucking a mistress or being fucked by a master. Doesn't matter too much, I guess. When I'm sold off, it's most likely going to be to a master anyway. That is, if I'm lucky and can still be fucked to justify my cost. The day will come, Christian, when we're both sold off as common draft slaves and then it's learning to live under the whip. You know that as well as I do. It's the plight of any slave losing their youthful charm."

"Juan," I answered thoughtfully, "it's strange, but I don't mind it as much as I thought I would. I guess I knew what to expect and it's not as bad as I thought. In fact, I kind of like getting fucked regularly and I do feel valued. Perhaps this is my purpose in life - the purpose you always claimed I needed. At any rate, you're right about being sold off eventually. But I'll face that when it happens."

"What choice do you have, Christian?" Juan laughed. "In the interim, enjoy what you can. That's what I'm doing - even if it is fucking that old bag - beat's no fucking at all - and boy, does she like it!"

About that time, our owners returned and, with jerks on our leashes we were led away in opposite directions. That was the last time I ever actually talked to Juan. He was sold off to a new master who routinely had all his slaves muted by having their vocal chords cauterized. But Juan now was being fucked just like me - he just couldn't talk about it anymore.

Strangely enough, we both met again. Our owners had tired of us at about the same time in that we were now in our 40s and showing it. It was getting hard to maintain a good erection anymore and our bodies just didn't have that youthful appeal anymore. Consequently, we were both in the same lot of 100 being bid on for draft slaves by an agribusiness in California.

We spent the last ten years of our life under the heavy whips of overseers out in the boiling sun 14 hours each and every day harvesting everything from sunflowers to corn to wheat to cabbages. We worked in heavy chains side by side and, despite Juan's inability to talk anymore, we figured out a way to communicate effectively. All in our chain gang were placed in the same cage at night so we were able to snuggle up and use each other sexually when we had the strength. In some ways, we were right back where we started - in each other arms sharing all we had in common.

We even died together as it turned out. A thrashing machine top-sided in a ravine and our gang, chained together by the neck while clearing out that ravine, were squashed by the huge machine, it's hot engine burning our flesh beyond recognition.

Our death was ironic in that the thrashing machine was one of the last in use in the United States. Slave labor was so cheap by now, the fuel to run the machine cost more than the slaves. After that, slaves did all the thrashing - as well as everything else!

THE END

[Comments much appreciated. Send to Bill Smith (anonymous4371@juno.com)